garrett graham ❄︎ show me.
pairing – garrett graham x princess!reader summary – nerves bring the night to a pause, only for trust, curiosity and garrett’s complete lack of pressure to turn it into something even more intimate. warnings – 18+, explicit sexual content, mutual masturbation, nudity, dirty talk, praise kink, nipple piercing stimulation, consensual dominance, manhandling, masturbation discussion, orgasm, aftercare notes from me – as requested here!!! i am s o o o down bad for them 🙂↕️ word count – 5.6k
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The hockey house is too quiet for what they’re doing. There’s no Logan yelling at a video game, no Tucker opening and closing cupboards, no Dean wandering into Garrett’s room without knocking because he’s never accepted that doors are intended to prevent entry.
They’re all still at the Sigma house, where the party is probably entering the stage of the night involving broken furniture and someone insisting they can perform a backflip.
She should feel relieved. Instead, the absence of everyone else seems to have made the room smaller.
Garrett is sitting against the headboard with one leg stretched over the mattress and the other bent slightly beneath her, his hand warm against the back of her neck while he kisses her like the last thirty minutes have been leading to this rather than the two of them abruptly abandoning a frat party under separate, extremely unconvincing pretences.
She had told Claire she was tired. Garrett had told Dean he needed to check whether the back door was locked.
Now she’s kneeling beside Garrett on his bed, her bare knees sinking into the comforter, sneakers abandoned near his desk and the short skirt of her cream dress gathered dangerously high around her thighs.
The dress has tiny black polka dots and a halter neckline tied behind her neck in a soft bow. It had looked sweet in her dorm mirror, feminine enough to make her feel polished despite the fact that the back barely covered the top of her underwear.
Garrett had stared at it when he picked her up. He’s considerably less subtle now.
His mouth moves over hers slowly, his tongue catching against her own while his fingers slide through the hair at the nape of her neck. She has one hand twisted into his shirt and the other against the hard plane of his chest, feeling his heart beating beneath her palm with the same fast, uneven rhythm as hers.
It feels so fucking good. That’s part of the problem.
She’s kissed men before. She’s kissed a lot of men, actually, some of them long enough that she learned the precise point where their technique would stop improving and she could begin calculating how much sleep she would get if she left immediately afterward.
She knows how to have sex. She knows how to make the right noises, move at the right moments and smile afterward as if the whole thing has been mutually transformative rather than something she endured with polite enthusiasm. She knows how to fake an orgasm convincingly enough that nobody has ever requested additional evidence, then collect her clothes and move on with her life.
Garrett already knows the noises she makes when she actually comes. He knows the difference.
The thought sends another nervous flutter through her stomach, irritatingly delicate compared to the heat gathering lower down.
Garrett’s thumb strokes beneath her jaw. His lips catch her lower one and tug gently before releasing it, drawing a soft sound from her that he answers with a quiet hum. He shifts his weight and catches her around the waist.
She moves without resisting when he pulls her over his thighs, settling astride his lap while his back presses more firmly into the headboard. The position brings her directly over the hard shape beneath his jeans. Her breath catches.
Garrett’s hands disappear beneath her dress. His palms slide up the bare skin of her waist, broad and warm, gathering the soft fabric as they go until the skirt bunches around his wrists. He traces the curve above her hips, then tucks both thumbs beneath the thin elastic sides of her underwear.
He doesn’t pull them down. He only strokes there, small movements against the delicate skin at the front of her hips while he kisses the corner of her mouth.
Her stomach tightens beneath his hands. Garrett pauses. The kiss breaks slowly. His face remains close enough that his nose brushes hers, dark eyes moving over her expression while his thumbs go still inside the waistband.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” she insists, although the words emerge too quickly and slightly breathless, which means they sound exactly like every other time she has said she’s fine while visibly not being fine.
Garrett draws one hand from beneath her dress and cups her chin. His thumb passes over her bottom lip, smoothing across skin already swollen from kissing. “Princess.”
She looks at his shoulder instead of his face. His black shirt is slightly wrinkled beneath her fingers, the collar pulled sideways from where she has been holding him. “I’m just a little nervous,” she admits.
Garrett nods once. There’s no laugh. No smug comment about her being the one who dragged him out of the party or climbed into his lap. His thumb moves over her lip again, gentler now. “Baby, we don’t have to have sex tonight.”
Her gaze lifts to his. “We don’t?”
His eyebrows pull together. “No.”
“But…” She glances toward his closed bedroom door, as though Logan, Dean and Tucker might materialise behind it if she references their absence too directly. “The house is empty.”
“That doesn’t mean we need to have sex.”
“Oh.”
Garrett studies her face. “Okay?”
She nods slowly. “Okay.”
His brow remains furrowed. He strokes the centre of her lower lip once more, watching the small drag of his thumb as if he’s trying to smooth the uncertainty out of her by hand. “I’m serious.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
She huffs, but her chest loosens enough for a little more air to enter it. “I don’t know. I thought you’d be annoyed.”
“Why would I be mad?”
She shrugs, the movement small beneath his hand. “I dunno.”
Garrett’s expression changes in a way she cannot name without becoming uncomfortable. Something soft and unhappy crosses his face before his mouth curves, not quite into his usual grin but something close enough to make the room feel familiar again.
“I’m not mad,” he says. “I like having you half-naked in my bed whether or not there’s a scheduled activity.”
Her mouth twitches. “Scheduled activity?”
“Sex.”
She presses her lips together, trying not to smile. “I understood.”
“Good. Didn’t want to overwhelm you with the terminology.”
She rolls her eyes, properly this time.
“There she is,” he murmurs.
She leans forward and kisses him. Garrett makes a pleased sound and settles his hand back at her waist, allowing her to choose the pressure, the pace, the slow movement of her mouth against his.
The butterflies don’t disappear, but they loosen, turning warmer and less frantic beneath her ribs. She kisses him again, then once more because his mouth is soft and hot and his lower lip fits perfectly between hers.
“I like kissing you,” she whispers.
Garrett’s eyes remain closed for half a second after she pulls back. “Yeah.”
She waits.
He opens one eye. “What?”
She huffs. “That’s all?”
“What do you want, a written review?”
She pinches his side.
He laughs, catching her wrist before she can do it again. “I like kissing you too, princess.”
“Good.”
“Great.”
“Perfect.”
“Glad we cleared that up.”
She presses her smile into his mouth. Knowing he’s not waiting for anything seems to have removed the imaginary timer ticking somewhere in the room. She can kiss him without wondering when the kissing is supposed to become something else. She can sit on him and feel his erection beneath her without believing it’s become her responsibility.
Which, naturally, makes her want to get naked. She keeps kissing him as she reaches behind her neck and catches one end of the halter tie. The bow slips loose beneath her fingers. Garrett notices when the front of the dress begins to soften against his chest.
His hand closes around her waist. She draws the ties forward and pulls the dress up. The cream fabric slides over her hips, catches briefly at her breasts, and then disappears between them in a soft, polka-dotted heap.
Garrett stares. She’s left sitting in his lap wearing only a tiny pair of cream underwear, her nipples already hard in the cool room, the silver bars glinting faintly beneath the light from his bedside lamp.
“Hi,” she says.
Garrett’s eyes drag upward with visible effort. “You’re evil.”
“You said you liked having me half-naked.”
“That was before you launched a targeted attack.”
She smiles, pleased, and reaches for the hem of his shirt. Garrett grips the fabric himself and drags the shirt over his head in one impatient movement. His hair catches in the collar and springs free in complete disarray. She laughs.
“What?”
“Your hair.”
“You’re naked,” he mumbles. “I don’t care about my hair.”
He tosses the t-shirt toward his desk without looking. It lands nowhere near it.
She places both hands against his bare chest. Garrett’s warm beneath her palms, skin smooth except for the faint roughness of hair beneath his navel and the small marks hockey has collected across his body without permission. A fading bruise sits over one rib. There’s a pale line near his shoulder she has seen a hundred times at pools and practices, although touching it now feels like learning it again.
Garrett’s hands return to her hips. She kisses him harder. The relief of having nowhere to get to makes everything more intense. His mouth opens beneath hers. His fingers spread over the bare curve of her ass, drawing her forward until the damp centre of her underwear rubs over the hard length trapped inside his jeans.
Her lips part on a moan. Garrett does it again.
She begins moving without waiting for him, rolling her hips into the pressure, arms winding around his shoulders as she grinds against him. The denim is rough through the thin fabric between her legs. Every slow drag catches against her clit and sends another bright pulse of pleasure through her.
Garrett groans into her mouth. “Fuck,” he breathes.
His head lowers to her chest. He catches one breast in his palm and closes his mouth around the piercing.
Her entire body jolts. “G.”
He hums around the metal, the vibration moving straight through her. His tongue traces the bar before he sucks carefully, one hand holding her hip steady while she continues grinding over him.
Her forehead drops against his curls. The room contracts around the wet pull of his mouth, the heat of his body beneath hers and the heavy friction building between her legs.
This is what she likes most about him. Not only that he knows what he’s doing, although he does, which remains both deeply satisfying and personally irritating. It’s the way he makes the constant noise inside her head go quiet.
Garrett puts his hand somewhere and her body stays there. He tells her to look at him and she does. He catches her jaw, her hips, her wrists, and suddenly she doesn’t have to manage the angle or the rhythm or what expression belongs on her face. She doesn’t have to orchestrate her own pleasure while guiding a man toward the conclusion that he caused it.
She can simply let him handle her. Garrett releases her nipple with a soft, wet sound and moves to the other. His thumb circles the one he has abandoned, keeping the metal slick beneath the pad while his tongue finds the second bar. She whimpers and tightens her thighs around his hips.
“That good?” he asks against her breast.
“Yes,” she gasps.
His teeth graze her nipple. The rest of the complaint dissolves. Garrett laughs softly and turns them.
One second she’s above him, fingers twisted into his curls, and the next her back meets the mattress. He follows her down, fitting himself between her thighs while his mouth travels over the centre of her chest.
She stares at the ceiling as he kisses beneath her breasts, along her ribs and over her stomach. His hands hold her hips in place, thumbs moving absently along the elastic of her underwear.
By the time his mouth reaches the skin below her navel, she’s breathing too quickly again. She pushes herself upright, and Garrett glances up.
His face between her thighs does something dangerous to the rhythm of her heart, but her hands have already reached for his jeans. She catches the button and begins working it open.
Garrett straightens immediately. One hand closes around her jaw, fingers firm beneath her cheeks, and he kisses her. Deep. Slow. Thorough enough that the button remains trapped uselessly beneath her thumb while his tongue slides against hers and the hand at her face keeps her exactly where he wants her. Her thoughts blur.
When he finally pulls back, her lips chase his before she can stop them. Garrett’s thumb presses gently at the corner of her mouth. “Thought you didn’t want to.”
“I…” She glances down at his open fly, then back at him. “I don’t know.”
He watches her. She hates how easily he can see the confusion inside her, the desire winding itself through relief and nerves until she cannot tell where one stops and another begins.
“I want you,” she says, because that part is true. “I just don’t know if I want to, like…”
“Have sex.”
She nods.
“Okay.”
Her brow furrows. “But I don’t want to stop.”
“I didn’t say we had to stop.”
She blinks at him. Garrett’s head tilts slightly. His gaze shifts over her face, then down the length of her body, lingering where her thighs remain open around his hips.
“I have an idea.”
She nods immediately.
His mouth twitches. “You don’t even know what it is.”
“I trust you.”
The words leave her without ceremony. Garrett goes still for one quiet moment. Then he bends and kisses her, softer this time, once against her lips before sitting back on his knees. “You get yourself off, yeah?”
Heat crawls across her chest. “Yeah.”
“Mhm.” He drags the sound out, visibly pleased with the information. “Well, show me.”
Her arms loosen. “What?”
“Show me.”
Her stomach drops pleasantly. Garrett holds her gaze. There’s no mockery in his face, though his eyes have darkened and his mouth keeps threatening a grin.
“And I’ll show you,” he adds.
She looks down at the shape straining against his jeans. Her thighs press together without permission.
Garrett notices. “Interested?”
She nods.
“Words.”
“Yes.” Her voice comes out softer than intended. “Okay.”
He kisses her again as if rewarding the answer, his hand sliding into her hair while his mouth opens over hers. She feels him reach between them and push his jeans down, fabric dragging over his thighs before he breaks away long enough to stand at the edge of the bed.
She watches him strip. His jeans pool around his ankles. He steps out of them, then hooks his thumbs beneath the waistband of his black boxers and pulls those down too. Her breath catches.
She’s seen his cock before, held it and taken it into her mouth in the bathroom at Malone’s, but the cramped stall and the urgency of kneeling between his legs hadn’t allowed her to properly consider the fact that he’s… big.
Garrett’s proportionate to the rest of him, which isn’t comforting when the rest of him is built to drive grown men into plexiglass.
Garrett catches her staring. “Problem?”
“No,” she shakes her head. “Just observing.”
He grips himself loosely, giving one slow stroke that makes his stomach tighten. “Observing what?”
She looks at him. “You know.”
His grin appears. “I’d still like to hear it.”
“Absolutely not.”
He drags his bottom lip through his teeth. “Worth a shot.”
She shakes her head, but her hand has already found the side of her underwear. She lifts her hips and shimmies the fabric down her thighs, kicking it toward the foot of the bed. Garrett’s grin disappears. His gaze travels between her legs and remains there.
The attention makes her want to close them, because nobody has ever looked at her as though the sight itself is doing something to them. Garrett reaches down, catches both her ankles and pulls her toward him. A startled laugh escapes her as her body slides over the comforter, stopping at the edge of the mattress with her knees bent and Garrett standing between them.
“Bossy,” she says.
He wraps one hand around himself. “You love it.”
She opens her mouth to argue, but Garrett strokes once, slowly, and the words disappear. His fist moves from the base to the head, thumb sweeping through the wetness already gathered there. The muscles in his forearm tighten. His lower lip catches between his teeth for half a second before he releases it.
Her mouth goes dry.
“Go on, baby.”
She lets her knees fall wider. Her hand slides down her stomach, fingertips brushing over skin still sensitive from his mouth. Garrett watches every inch of the movement.
She finds her clit and begins circling slowly. Pleasure moves through her at once, less sharp than Garrett’s fingers but familiar, controlled. Her body knows her own touch. She knows the exact pressure to use, the rhythm that will carry her there if she keeps it steady.
The difference is Garrett. Garrett standing over her naked, stroking his cock while his eyes remain fixed between her thighs.
“Fuck,” he says quietly. Her fingers falter. He gives himself another slow stroke. “Don’t stop.”
She resumes, cheeks hot.
“That’s how you touch yourself?”
She nods.
“Words, princess.”
“Yes.”
“Show me properly.”
The instruction sends heat pouring through her. She presses more firmly, circling in the rhythm she uses alone beneath her blankets. Garrett’s breathing changes.
His fist moves faster, not much, but enough to make the muscles low in his stomach flex with each stroke. She watches the head disappear into his hand and emerge again, wet beneath the lamplight.
“You think about me when you do this?” he asks.
Her eyes lift to his. “Sometimes.”
“Sometimes,” he repeats.
She bites the inside of her cheek.
Garrett tilts his head. “How many times is sometimes?”
“Garrett.”
“Every week?”
She says nothing.
His grin grows slowly. “Every day?”
“No.”
“That answer came suspiciously fast.”
She speeds up her fingers, partly because pleasure has begun coiling low inside her and partly because it’s becoming difficult to maintain an argument.
Garrett watches her thighs twitch. “What do you think about?”
“You know what.”
“I know what you told me before.” His thumb brushes over the head of his cock. “My hands on your tits. My mouth.”
Her breath stutters.
“What else?”
She shakes her head.
“Come on, baby. You can lie in my bed with your legs open and touch yourself while I jerk off, but you can’t tell me what you think about?”
The words move through her like another hand. She circles herself harder. “You holding me down.”
Garrett’s fist tightens. “Yeah?”
She nods.
“Moving you around?”
“Yes.”
“Putting you where I want you?”
Her hips lift faintly into her own hand. “G.”
“Thought so.” His voice has dropped lower, the amusement thinning beneath something rougher.
She watches his hand slide over himself. His shoulders are tense, broad beneath the low bedroom light, curls falling over his forehead as he looks down at her. He wants to touch her. She can see it in every small movement he refuses to make – the way his free hand flexes at his side, how his body leans toward the mattress before he corrects himself, the dark concentration in his eyes whenever her fingers slip lower and gather more wetness.
But he doesn’t reach for her. He gave her an idea. He gave her a boundary inside the moment, and he keeps it even while his breathing turns uneven. The restraint is so much hotter than touching would have been. She drags her fingers through the wetness and returns to her clit.
Garrett groans. “Jesus Christ.”
Her head presses back into the mattress. “You’re staring.”
“You’re putting on a show.”
“You told me to.”
He huffs. “Best decision I’ve ever made.”
She laughs breathlessly, but the sound breaks when she finds the right pressure again.
“That’s it,” Garrett murmurs. “Keep doing that.”
Her eyes drift closed.
“No, look at me.” They reopen immediately. Approval flashes across his face. “Good girl.”
Her stomach clenches so sharply that her thighs shake.
Garrett sees it happen. “There we go.”
“Shut up,” she mumbles.
“You’re lying there touching yourself because I told you to, and you still think you’re in a position to boss me around?”
She makes a soft, frustrated noise.
“Yeah,” he says, stroking himself faster. “That’s what I thought.”
Pleasure builds steadily beneath her fingers, every circle tightening the coil inside her. She watches Garrett’s fist move, watches the muscles in his thighs tense and the bead of sweat beginning to shine faintly at his temple.
His bottom lip disappears between his teeth again. She’s never seen him like this. Not in the bathroom, where she had been too focused on doing everything correctly, and not the morning he fingered her, when he had kept all his attention fixed on her.
Now she gets to watch pleasure move across his face without disguise. His jaw loosens when his hand twists near the head. His brows draw together whenever he strokes down more firmly. His breathing leaves him in quiet bursts through his nose until she moves her fingers faster and a rough sound breaks from his chest.
“Fuck, princess.” She whimpers. “Look so pretty like this,” he says. “All spread out for me.”
Her fingers slip slightly.
Garrett’s eyes sharpen. “Keep going.” She obeys. “That’s my girl.”
The pressure climbs higher, her stomach tightening beneath the remains of his release-free touch. She bends one knee farther, heel digging into the edge of the mattress as her hips begin moving faintly beneath her hand.
Garrett watches.
“What would you usually do?” he asks.
She pants through the next circle. “What?”
“When you’re alone. What else do you do?”
She shakes her head, unable to organise an answer.
He tilts his head. “You use a toy?”
“Yes,” she breathes.
“What kind?”
Her face burns. “A vibrator.”
“Where is it?”
“My dorm.”
“Shame.” She lets out a broken laugh. Garrett strokes himself harder. “Next time, bring it.”
The phrase next time sends another pulse through her.
“You’d like that, huh?” His voice has become rougher, words breaking slightly around his breath. “Letting me watch you use it?” She nods. “Maybe I’ll hold it for you.” Her fingers press harder. “Keep you still while I make you come with it.”
“Garrett.”
“Or make you hold it and tell you when you’re allowed to finish.”
The pleasure spikes. Her back arches slightly from the mattress.
Garrett groans. “Fuck. You like that.”
She cannot pretend otherwise. “Yes.”
“Course you do.”
She’s never been spoken to like this without finding it embarrassing. Other men have tried. They have repeated phrases clearly acquired from pornography, asked questions they didn’t wait for her to answer and called her names that felt disconnected from everything happening inside her body.
Garrett knows where the words need to land. His bossy best friend, who wants control over every detail until his hands close around her and take the responsibility away.
Her fingers move faster. The orgasm begins approaching in heavy, gathering waves, her muscles tightening around nothing while the wet sound of Garrett’s fist fills the space between her breaths. “G,” she whimpers.
“I know.”
“I’m close.”
“Yeah?”
She nods quickly.
Garrett’s head tips back for half a second, throat working. “Me too.”
His hand speeds up. She watches him, mesmerised by the slight loss of control in his body. His hips begin meeting his fist in small, involuntary movements. His free hand grips the edge of the mattress beside her thigh hard enough that his knuckles pale.
He still doesn’t touch her. “Don’t stop,” he says.
“I’m not.”
“Come on, baby. Let me watch.” Her body tightens. “That’s it.”
She circles herself faster, no longer capable of maintaining the slow performance of showing him. Her thighs shake, knees drawing inward before she forces them open again.
Garrett notices. “Keep those legs open.”
She moans.
“Good girl.”
The orgasm breaks through her. Her mouth opens around his name as pleasure pulses hard beneath her fingers, hips jerking upward from the mattress. She half rolls onto her side automatically, curling away from the intensity while a broken moan leaves her.
Garrett catches her. His free hand closes around her hip and pulls her flat onto her back again. “No, stay there.”
The firm movement sends another aftershock through her. She gasps, fingers still pressed uselessly between her thighs while her body continues fluttering around the remains of the orgasm.
Garrett steps closer. His fist moves once, twice, faster now, eyes fixed on her face as his breathing fractures. “Fuck.”
His body tightens. Warm release spills across her stomach, landing in thick streaks over the soft skin below her navel. Garrett groans, head dropping forward, his hand slowing as the last of it pulses over her.
For several seconds, neither of them moves. Her chest rises beneath the silver bars through her nipples. Garrett’s does the same above her, shoulders shifting with every unsteady breath. The room smells like sex despite the fact that, technically, they have still not had it.
A laugh bubbles out of her. Garrett looks down. She presses the back of her wrist to her mouth, but another giggle escapes anyway, loose and delighted from the endorphins still moving through her.
His mouth curves. “Good?”
She nods, hair shifting against his mattress. “So good.”
“Yeah?”
“Mhm.”
Garrett wipes his hand against the inside of his discarded boxers, then drops onto the mattress beside her with all the grace of a man whose legs have temporarily resigned.
The bed bounces beneath his weight. She turns her head toward him. His face is flushed, curls damp near his temples and chest still rising too quickly. He stares at the ceiling like it’s witnessed something life-changing.
She shuffles closer and settles the side of her head against his shoulder. Garrett’s arm lifts automatically around her. Neither of them speaks for a moment. His fingers move slowly over her upper arm while their breathing returns to normal. Downstairs, the refrigerator makes a loud mechanical hum and then stops.
She glances down at her stomach. “G.”
“Mhm?”
“You’ve got to clean me up.”
Garrett closes his eyes. “Gimme a second.”
She giggles again. “You made the mess.”
“I’m aware.”
Her nose scrunches up. “It’s getting cold.”
His eyes open. “That’s disgusting.”
“It’s true.”
“Can you give me thirty seconds to recover from the most intense mutual-masturbation experience of my life?”
She tips her face toward him. “The most intense?”
Garrett looks down at her, completely serious. “By a humiliating margin.”
Her smile spreads.
“Don’t get cocky.”
“I’m not.”
He nudges his nose into her hair. “You are. I can feel it happening.”
She traces one finger absently over the centre of his chest. “You were staring at me.”
“You were naked and touching yourself,” he mutters. “What did you expect me to look at? The curtains?”
“They’re nice curtains.”
“They came with the house.”
“You should wash them.”
“There she is,” he says, laughing softly as he catches her hand. “Back for twelve seconds and already assigning chores.”
She threads her fingers through his. “You like me bossy.”
Garrett brings their joined hands to his mouth and kisses her knuckles. “I like you all the time. The bossiness is an extra.”
The softness of the answer catches beneath her ribs. She looks back down at her stomach so he cannot watch it land. Garrett notices that too. His arm tightens around her briefly before he sits up with a groan and reaches for the tissues on his nightstand.
“Elegant,” she says.
“You want a warm towel?”
“Yes.”
He pauses with the tissue box in his hand. “Seriously?”
“You asked.”
“I was being sarcastic.”
She waits. Garrett stares at her. Then he drops the tissues and climbs out of bed. Her grin widens. “Thank you.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“Nobody likes cold tissues.”
“Nobody else orders room service after getting come on them.”
She grins. “I’m your best girl.”
He points at her as he pulls on his boxers. “Weaponising my own words against me is low.”
“You love me.”
Garrett stills for barely a fraction of a second. It’s nothing. A tiny interruption in the movement of his hand as he pulls the waistband over his hips. So brief she could almost convince herself it didn’t happen.
Then he shakes his head and reaches for the door. “Unfortunately,” he says.
She throws a pillow at him. Garrett catches it against his chest, grinning, then tosses it back onto the bed before slipping into the hallway.
She listens to his footsteps move toward the bathroom. Her dress remains crumpled near the headboard. Her underwear has landed beside one sneaker, while the other shoe is somehow beneath Garrett’s desk. His clothes are scattered across the floor. The lamp casts everything in warm, uneven shadows.
Nothing has happened the way she expected. There was no awkward attempt to pretend Garrett’s size didn’t make her nervous. No pressure to continue because the house was empty and they had already taken their clothes off. No need to monitor his pleasure while manufacturing her own.
Garrett had watched her come and known it was real. The thought should leave her feeling exposed. Instead, she sinks deeper into his pillow and smiles at the ceiling.
He returns a minute later with a warm washcloth in one hand and a bottle of water tucked beneath his arm.
“You took forever.”
“I had to wait for the water to heat up.”
“Excuses.”
Garrett climbs back onto the mattress and catches her knee when she starts to close her legs. “Hold still.”
She goes still. His eyes flick toward her face, amusement warming them, but he doesn’t comment. He cleans her stomach carefully, the cloth soft and warm against oversensitive skin. Then he folds it and wipes gently between her thighs where her own release has dried tacky against them.
Her stomach turns over at the quiet intimacy of it. Nobody has ever cleaned her up before. Most men have barely noticed there was anything to clean.
Garrett finishes, tosses the cloth toward his laundry basket and hands her the bottle of water. “Drink.”
She twists the cap and takes several obedient swallows.
He shakes his head. “More.”
“You’re very demanding for someone who claims I’m bossy.”
“Drink your water, princess.”
She drinks again, mostly because the low instruction does something pleasant to the remains of her nervous system. Garrett lies beside her and pulls the comforter over them. She sets the bottle on his nightstand, then curls into his side, one bare leg sliding over his.
His hand settles on her hip. “You okay?” he asks.
She nods against his shoulder. “Yeah.”
“No regrets?”
She thinks about it. “I regret that you know how often I masturbate.”
“I don’t know how often. You refused to provide figures.”
She grins. “And I’ll continue refusing.”
“We’ll see.”
She smiles into his skin. Garrett’s thumb begins moving in slow strokes over her hip, exactly where it had rested inside the waistband of her underwear before he noticed she was tense.
“You still nervous?” he asks.
“A little.”
“About what?”
She lifts her head. He’s looking at her seriously, curls pushed away from his face and all the sharp hunger from earlier softened into patient attention.
She could say his size. She could say their friendship. The deal. The unsettling fact that sex with him will not allow her to hide inside a performance because Garrett will keep looking until he finds the truth.
Instead, she touches the small gold hoop in his ear, turning it lightly between two fingers. “You pay too much attention.”
His eyebrows rise. “That’s a complaint?”
“I haven’t decided.”
Garrett studies her face for a moment, then turns his head and kisses her fingertips. “Take your time.”
The answer settles through her more deeply than anything dirty he said earlier. She lies back down and presses a kiss against his shoulder.
Outside, a car passes along the road, headlights briefly sweeping across the curtains. Somewhere across campus, their friends are still drinking inside a crowded fraternity house, entirely unaware that Garrett is naked beneath his comforter with her polka-dot dress tangled near his pillow.
The secrecy sends a final, lazy spark of excitement through her. She smiles against him. “Dean’s going to know.”
“Dean thinks he knows everything.”
“He saw us leave.”
“I told him I was checking the door.”
“You left a frat party to check the door at your own house?”
Garrett frowns toward the ceiling. “It sounded better when I said it.”
She begins laughing. Garrett catches her around the waist and rolls her beneath him, pinning her lightly into the mattress while she squeals.
“You’re becoming irritating,” he informs her.
“Becoming?”
His mouth twitches. She looks up at him, bare chest warm above hers, one forearm planted beside her head and his knee resting carefully between her thighs. The nervous flutter remains, but it no longer feels like something warning her to leave.
She slides both arms around his neck. “I like kissing you.”
Garrett’s expression softens. “Yeah?”
She nods. He lowers his mouth to hers, slow and warm and smiling slightly when she kisses him back.
“Good,” he murmurs. “Because that’s all you’re getting tonight.”
She catches his lower lip between her teeth. Garrett groans. “We’ll see,” she whispers.
His eyes narrow with immediate understanding. “Bossy.”
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