The effect of his kiss is immediate. I feel it deep inside, a bright, steady flame that pools between my thighs as he parts open my lips. What I want is you. Five words that I never expected from him, but they have the power to unravel me.

My mind screams at me to ask him what this means, if this is something he says to all of his old friends. But my body doesn't care. It just demands me to touch and be touched. His thumb lightly brushes my cheek mid-kiss, sending little electric pulses through the skin. Despite the risks involved, my face in his hands – his mouth pressed on mine – seems like the most natural thing in the world.

Another few minutes, and my thoughts are no longer coherent; the taste of him has taken over. I slip my arms around his waist, yanking him closer. He immediately smiles, and my stomach does that thing that it always does on rollercoasters, right after a big drop.

His mouth leaves mine to trail my neck. My lips feel cold in the absence of his, lonely almost, but the way his hands caress my skin makes me forget. All I can think is how solid he feels when he's holding me like this.

How safe.

My breathing comes hard, and so does his. He takes me by the hand and leads me to his bed, where he sits on the edge before pulling me on top of him. I lean forward to kiss him, missing the warmth of his mouth on mine, but he pulls back a little. There is something about the blackness of his eyes that seems endless. They hold me captive as they take in my features, leaving me exposed, but somehow, with him, I don't mind.

His mouth falls on mine again, our tongues entangled as his hands grip my waist, pulling me forward. I'm positioned right over him, able to feel the hardness of his sweatpants through the thin material of my leggings; I feel myself suck in a breath.

"Shit," he breathes roughly. His hand slips under my sweatshirt, running up the length of my stomach. I shiver against him and start to move my hips, causing him to groan in my neck. Electricity crackles in my stomach. I feel it all the way in my toes, a spark that threatens to overshadow all logic. If I don't stop this soon, we won't stop at all.

I'm about to do it, to muster up the courage to put the fire out, but then his hand meets my bra and it's dipping inside, cupping me in his palm. I let out a sharp, shaky breath. A jolt travels through me, followed by a cluster of smaller shockwaves that leave me feeling hot.

He has this power over my body that I can't wrap my head around. It's the same high I get from racing, this whirlwind, out-of-control feeling that makes it so I can't catch my breath – I wonder if it's the same with him.

A brief look at his face confirms that it is. His eyes find mine as he continues to caress me, and it feels strangely intimate, more intimate than anything we've done so far. A familiar confidence takes over, the kind I always get on the track, and somehow I don't mind being watched. I watch him right back, tracing the contours of his mouth with my eyes and losing myself to his touch. When the heat takes over, I press my palm against his chest and push back flat on the bed. 

To say he's surprised is an understatement. He raises an eyebrow, grinning as I lower my mouth onto his. I feel him again, his sweatpants tight and bulging beneath me, rubbing against my thigh. He pulls his lip between his teeth and contracts his jaw. I like his response to my touch so much that I take it even further, desperate to illicit another. My thumb finds the waistband of his sweatpants before lightly tracing it.

His eyes turn black as they grow impatient, but there is something about watching him slowly lose control that excites me. I lean forward again to press my lips to his ear. He cups the back of my neck with his hand and pulls me even closer. Voice low, he mutters, "Stop teasing me, sirenita."

My heart pulses at sirenita. His other hand takes mine and starts to guide it under his boxers. I let out a breath as I feel him solid and ready in my palm. Briefly, I think back to what he'd said that night we were playing pool, when I'd told him he was overcompensating.

Believe me, you don't have to worry about that.

He was right.

There's a moment where I freeze, because this is all so new that I don't know what to do, but then his hand moves with mine and we find a steady rhythm. My heart feels fluttery in a way it never has before. Every jerk of my hand sends a pulse between my thighs, and despite my best efforts, I feel myself losing control.

His hand falls away and finds the waistband of my leggings. There's a brief glance at me where he waits for my approval, and I give him a nod before his fingers dip inside, straight into my underwear. 

The warmth of his fingers makes me tingle. I squeeze my eyes shut, losing myself to the rhythm of his strokes as they mirror my own.

We fall into a fast-paced rhythm, kissing and touching and stroking. We're close to the edge, I can tell from the slightly clenched angle of his jaw, and then suddenly we're not just close, we're free falling over it together.

***

It takes a while for the world to come back. Tyler finally looks over, his chest rising and falling as fast as mine, and then roughly kisses my forehead.

"I think a shower is in order," he says. He must notice my expression because he quickly adds, "I didn't mean together." Lazily, he climbs off the bed and heads to his drawers before pulling out some towels and two fresh pairs of boxers.

"They better be clean," I warn.

He laughs and grabs my hand as we head down the hallway to the bathroom. "They are."

We get to the stalls, and while he's happy to strip off right here in front of me, I step into the shower before taking off my clothes. I hang them on the hook just outside before turning on the water. Tyler starts to sing as I lather up the soap, his voice out of tune as he belts out some country song I've never even heard of. I laugh out loud, because this whole thing is absurd.

Absurd and wonderful.

My body feels euphoric as I stare at the tiles, and I'm not thinking about how this might affect my racing; I'm just thinking of him. How much I want to have sex with him; how much I know that I shouldn't. 

I take my time working the soap in while avoiding my hair. Explaining to my parents why my hair is soaking wet when it's not even raining is something even a seasoned liar such as myself would struggle with.

I'm finished before Tyler, so I change and tiptoe back to his dorm and sit on the bed while checking my phone. There's a message from my mom, followed by another three from Alex. I tell Alex I'm fine and my mom that I'll be home soon before tucking my phone away.

When Tyler gets back from his forty minute shower, he stands in the doorway with soaking wet hair and a grin so cute, I can't even be mad. "Are you hungry? I can order us some pizza."

"I should actually get going soon," I say. "My mom is making dinner."

He frowns and dumps his towel on the floor before laying down on the bed. He pulls me down with him, bundling me in his arms as if reluctant to let me go. It feels like hours pass, and even though we're quiet, it doesn't feel awkward or like I'm wracking my brain for something to say. Instead, it feels nice, peaceful, and I bury my face in the groove of his chest, wishing I could stay here forever.

"Don't let me fall asleep," I mutter, because I've gotten so comfortable that my eyelids feel heavy, but he doesn't seem to mind.

"You can sleep here anytime you want, sirenita."

But I'm barely even listening. I just snuggle in further, overcome by his warmth and the strong, solid feel of his arms around my waist as I fall into dreamland.

A/N

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