Page 74 of Falling

I definitely intended to swear into the pillow, but none of what came out qualified as language, let alone swearing. More a garbled moan that faded to a rumble deep in my chest as my back arched, body demanding more. My thighs parted without my permission, and Booker chuckled against me, scruff scraping against sensitive skin and holy fuck.

Who put the whole room on a turntable and why were they spinning it around me?

“Book,” I choked out. I strained against his hands where he had me pinned to the mattress without meaning to, too overwhelmed for conscious decisions. My brain was unwilling to deal with anything but wanting more right now.

“Okay?” Booker asked, pausing for an agonizing second.

I nodded, and then his mouth was on me again, hot and wet and gentle, lips and tongue soothing as I gripped the pillow and sobbed into it. Fuck, if I’d known about this before…

Booker’s warm laughter vibrated against my skin and I wasn’t sure it was fair of him to torture me like this but I also didn’t want him to stop. Maybe not ever.

“Book,” I gasped, hips rocking back against him the tiny amount they could. All he did was laugh again, warm and wet against my skin. I sobbed into the pillow, hips straining, cock leaking into the sheets under me, head spinning all over again as I gasped for breath.

There was no way I could take much more of this. How did anyone?

“Book,” I tried again, voice breaking. All I could think about was Booker’s mouth, the way he was using it, for me, and how good it felt, and how incredible he was, and⁠—

“I got you,” he murmured, hand sliding under me. “I got you.”

I sobbed as his fingers grazed my cock, hips jerking as he put his mouth to me again. Pressure welled up in my hips, between my thighs in a clear line from Booker’s tongue to my balls, rising and rising with every touch, every breath, every heartbeat.

I cried out into the pillow as a blinding rush of pleasure washed over me, my teeth biting hard into my lower lip, a sound I’d never heard before scraping the back of my throat. Even with my eyes screwed shut, my vision whited out as I came in wave after wave. The relief was so overwhelming I felt as though my brains were leaking out my ears.

If it’d been anyone but Booker with me, I might’ve felt ridiculous.

As it was, Booker pressed a kiss to my left buttcheek, and rolled out of bed.

“Back in a second, gotta brush my teeth,” he said, padding away.

I lay face down on the bed, becoming one with the mattress, unsure I’d ever be able to stand again.

As if to answer my question, my phone went off just as Booked slipped into the bathroom. I groaned, shuffling over to the side of the bed to grab my pants and fish it out of the pocket to answer. If someone was calling me at this hour, it’d probably be important.

“Mr. Evans?” the voice on the other end asked when I managed to mumble a hello. “My name is Angela Golding, and I’m calling from UChicago. Do you have a minute to talk?”

“I didn’t expect it to be so adorable!”

Angela Golding turned out to be a pretty brunette around my age. We’d bonded over matching glasses—she wore them for distance, I only needed mine for reading, but our frames were identical.

She seemed smart, put together, and professional.

She was also obviously charmed by Otter Bay in a way I definitely hadn’t been when I arrived.

Not until Booker, anyway.

Now...

“Mr. Miles!”

I looked down to see Maddie—my erstwhile tormentor—and saw her holding out a piece of paper.

“I made this for Book,” she said with the kind of seriousness only people under ten can manage. “For his birthday. Can you give it to him?”

I offered Angela an apologetic smile and took the paper from Maddie—a drawing, it turned out. Two figures, lovingly rendered in library crayons. One with a shock of red hair wearing brown, the other towering over him, dark haired, broad shouldered, wearing jeans and what I assumed was an approximation of a plaid shirt.

The two of them were holding hands. There was a heart between them.

I crouched down beside Maddie.