Page 54

The screen blurs out of focus for a second, and when it comes back, there’s a nun strapped to an operating table with her legs spread wide. A black strip of cloth barely covers the essential parts. All I can think about is how I want to spread Ira exactly like that, wide enough that I can fuck him until he’s a whimpering, moaning mess like always.

Ira moves up until my face is level with his middle back, my dick almost free. Then he lowers himself back down, agonizingly slow, grinding down, and I bite back a groan. The nun on screen is screaming, some possession nonsense, and the room erupts in claps and hollers—perfect cover for me to exhale a quiet moan.

“You’re shaking,” Ira whispers, barely audible over the noise.

“You’re going to make me pass out.” I press my forehead into his shoulder. “Slow down.”

He doesn’t. He rolls his hips in a way that makes my vision spot, and I close my eyes and pretend I’m reacting to the film. Someone—Gavin, I think—laughs at something, and I can’t help but thrust up again.

The movie pauses.

Cold slips down the back of my head, and my mouth goes dry.

This is it. We’re going to get caught.

Goodbye reputation.

“I need to piss,” Gavin says. “My bladder’s going to explode.”

Allison stands. “Same. I want another Jell-O shot, too.”

Good.

We're still safe.

Ira takes the opportunity to move like he did before. Harder this time. Faster. The back of his thighs slam down against my legs, and I bite my lip to muffle the sound that tries to escape. He tilts his head back like he’s stretching, throat exposed, and I want to sink my teeth into his skin until he’s just as needy as I am.

He’s pushing me to my fucking limit.

“—and when I get back, we’re finishing this debate,” Sam continues, shoving himself up from the floor. “Urban Legend has the better opening, fight me.”

“It’s a fucking knockoff,” Matt shoots back, but he’s already standing too, following Sam into the kitchen.

Half the room clears in five seconds.

Then it’s only a scattering of people, and no one’s near the couch. They’re bent over their cellphone, or wandering around, reading the alumni plaques on the wall.

I have—maybe—two minutes, and I’m going to make every second count.

No more hiding behind jump scares. I lift him and slam him down, and this time I let myself make noise—a quiet exhale, a grunt I don’t bother swallowing. Ira’s hands move up to grab the back of my head, like he’s trying to steady himself. Bullshit. Not after what he’s put me through.

“Beckett—” he gasps.

“Shut up.” My voice doesn’t even sound like mine, low and ragged. “You wanted to see if I’d break.” I grip the inside of his thighs under the cover, wrenching them apart as I fuck him. “You won.”

His head falls forward, the back of his neck so tense I see each muscle. Finally, I’m not the only one falling apart.

“I didn’t—” he starts, and I cut him off with another thrust, angling up until he chokes on whatever he was going to say.

“You didn’t think I’d do it?” I growl against the back of his head, and he shudders. “You enjoyed watching me suffer for an hour.”

The blanket slips, and I let go of his thighs. Grab the black blanket with one hand, yanking it back up while the other presses hard into his stomach, pinning him exactly where I want him. My palm finds his cock, leaking so badly the hoodie’s damp, and he makes a sound.

I love his whimpers, but not now.

That’s not fair.

“Stay quiet,” I whisper, pumping him in time with my thrusts.