Page 20 of Next Level Up
She doesn’t answer, she doesn’t even have to. I close my eyes, the sound of her breath in my ear doing more damage than anything I’ve watched all day. “Goodnight, pretty girl,” I murmur. “Dream something filthy.”
I hang up before she can say a word. I toss my phone on the desk, and just sit there, but I can’t fucking breathe. Not with the sound of her still in my head, the the phantom rasp of her voice wrapped around my name like she’s already underneath me.
I shove my chair back and push to my feet. The hoodie she left here is still on the edge of my bed. I grab it, fist it in one hand. Drag it to my face and breathe her in like I’m starving. I can still picture her, the flush in her cheeks, the way her breath stalls when I told her what I’d do to her.
I drop onto the mattress, legs spread, cock aching as I stroke it through my sweats. I don’t even try to go slow. This isn’t about pleasure, it’s about need.
I shove my waistband down and wrap my fist around my throbbing dick, I leak precum across my thumb.
“Bet you’re wet right now,” I whisper into the dark. “Bet your thighs are sticky and your sheets are ruined.”
I stroke harder, faster. Hips lifting off the mattress, her name half-groaned between my teeth. My other hand curls around her hoodie, dragging it over my face.
“Gonna make you scream for real, angel,” I say, voice tight. “Gonna fuck that attitude right out of you. You’ll beg, you’ll break. You’ll love every fucking second.”
The pressure builds hard, low in my spine, rushing toward that edge like it’s trying to drown me in it. I squeeze tighter, stroke faster-the slap of skin on skin echoing off the walls.
“Mine,” I grit. “All fucking mine.”
I come—hot and violent, spilling over my fist and across my stomach, the hoodie clenched tight in my grip. For a second, all I can do is lay there. Heart racing, my chest heaving, the taste of her still in my mouth.
I wipe my hand on a towel, toss the hoodie back onto the bed, and stare at the ceiling like it’s going to offer me salvation. I think about pulling back, creating distance, shutting it down before it turns into something harder to manage, but I’m starting to think I won’t.
7
Carter
Icall her within the first fifteen minutes of being awake. Coffee in one hand, phone in the other, the sun barely slanting through the kitchen blinds. I lean against the counter and wait for her to answer. She picks up after the third ring, which means I probably woke her up. Yeah, she was asleep. I could hang up next time, you know, be considerate, let her sleep like a decent human being but no, I sit here and wait it out like I need to hear her voice right now. Which… yeah, I guess I do.
“Morning,” she says, her voice is soft, scratchy with sleep.
God, I love that sound. I tip my head back and close my eyes for a second, just letting her voice echo through me. It’s stupid how easy it is, how fast I can fall into the rhythm of her. One sentence and I’m thinking about the first night I found her stream.
She was cursing out campers with that half-laugh in her voice, hands flying across the keys. I called her sweetheart in chat, it just slipped out. She paused, just for a second—then smirked like she knew exactly what it did to me and kept playing. She never let me try to take it back. That was it, that was the moment I knew I would fall hard for her.
“Hey, sweetheart,” I murmur, smiling like an idiot into the phone. “Did I wake you?”
“Kind of, but I’m not mad about it.”
I take a slow sip of my coffee, the warmth not doing nearly as much for me as the sound of her voice does. “Just wanted to hear you before your day got crazy.”
“You’re sweet.”
Sweet. Okay. Yeah. That’s… safe. Easy. I don’t know if I like that or if I’m just glad she’s saying anything at all. Could be both. Probably both. “Dangerously so,” I tease. “I caught your stream yesterday. You looked… unstoppable.”
She’s quiet for a second. “Thanks, that means a lot coming from you.”
I hesitate, letting the silence stretch for a second. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” she says. I can tell it’s the kind of “yeah” that means not really.
“Just a little overwhelmed. Tournament’s creeping up fast.”
“You have been under a lot of pressure,” I say. “And I’m really good at massages. Picking out the best snacks, y’know being totally whipped for you. I was thinking,” as casually as I can manage to sound, “I could drive out. Maybe spend a couple days with you before the tournament kicks off.” Okay, that came out fast. Didn’t plan that. Definitely didn’t think that through all the way before saying it out loud. But it makes sense, right? I want to see her, she’s stressed, I can be there—yeah, no, it makes sense. I’m sticking with that.
There’s a moment of silence. “Wait, really? That soon?”
I smile, biting back the way my heart just fucking leapt. “If you want me to.”
