Page 42 of Stranger Danger

He grabs my keys off the desk and pauses with his hand on the doorknob. “If anyone asks, I’m getting your textbook.”

“At four in the morning?”

“People still study at four in the morning.” He doesn’t turn around, but I can hear him smiling. “It’s called being responsible.”

I lie there with my dick throbbing against my stomach and listen to him sprint down the stairs. The couple next door hasn’t made a sound in a minute—someone fell asleep, or someone did not know how to do their job. Oh well. I press my palm against myself, and suck back a sad-sounding noise.

Dammit.

My car’s light-years away. I could probably get off before he comes back, but if we’re going to fuck…

Boring prep it is, then.

I pull open the nightstand drawer and grab the bottle, popping the cap up. The cold lube slides down my fingers, sticky as hell, as I rub it against my rim. My finger slides in easier than I expected, and I bite my lip to keep from moaning. The burn is already fading into something warmer. I really fucking need to touch myself.

The door downstairs slams. Beckett’s footsteps pound up the stairs—not even trying to be quiet. I get a second finger inside, and don’t try to hide my noises either.

Our door bangs open so hard it hits the wall and bounces back. Beckett’s standing there in his Cavaliers hoodie and jeans, one hand on the doorknob, the other clutching the orange bag. His hair’s a mess, and his cheeks are so red they’re almost purple. He’s breathing like he ran a marathon.

He looks at me. My hand. My fingers.

The door shuts behind him, and I hear the lock click into place.

Maybe I should stop—I don’t think I can stretch myself anymore without help—but my hips are rolling into my own hand.

“It feels good,” I murmur, keeping my eyes locked on his.

He crosses the room in two strides and drops my Halloween bag near my head. Then he yanks another bag out from under his own bed and pulls the black ski mask over his face, tucking his hair back. He keeps watching me as he undoes his belt and pops open his button. The zipper’s loud enough to make me flinch.

I slip my fingers free and scoot to the edge of the bed, reaching for my bag to get the mask.

But he doesn’t let me get that far. His cock springs out, just as impressive as before, and he grabs my hair hard enough to make me yelp. When he nudges the tip against my lips, my soul panics.

There’s no way I can deep throat this. I don’t know if he thinks I’m a fucking cobra or what. He’s almost thicker than a pop can.

My jaw cracks around his cockhead when he guides it into my mouth, my teeth grazing the sides no matter how hard I try not to. He doesn’t give me time to adjust. His hand tightens in my hair, and he pushes in deeper. I gag around him, tears stinging my eyes.

He pulls back just enough for me to inhale, then slides back in. My hands scramble for his thighs, nails digging into denim. I can feel the muscles underneath, tight and shaking.

“Fuck,” he breathes, and his voice is so low it vibrates through my skull.

I’ve never heard him sound like this. Not in the closet. Not in October. Not ever. It’s so damn hot, even if my lips feel like they’re going to split apart at the seams.

He pulls out all the way, and I gasp, a string of spit connecting my bottom lip to him. My jaw aches, but I can’t stop staring at him. Right now, he’s not Beckett—he’s my best friend I’ve been writing love Polaroids to for months.

“You know what you’re doing?” he murmurs. “I’m going to come if I don’t stop.”

I nod and grab the orange bag, my fingers shaking so hard I almost knock it off the bed. The white bunny mask is right on top, and I move back to snap it around my head.

My throat hurts, but I clear it anyway. “Sit.”

He listens.

His ass hits the mattress, and his cock bobs against his black hoodie, flushed and leaking. The ski mask hides everything but his eyes—green, sharp, dilated so wide they’re almost black. I crawl into his lap, straddling him, and he doesn’t touch me. His hands stay on his own thighs, fingers curled into fists like he’s physically stopping himself.

I grab his wrists and pull them to my hips. His thumbs dig into the bone, and I reach back between us, guiding him to my hole. The tip catches, and I sink down slowly.

The stretch is so much I can’t breathe for a second. My body is giving a firm fuck no to this whole thing. I really should’ve thought this through just a little bit more. More lube. More prep. Maybe a condom.