I scrambled out of bed, my hands shaking with adrenaline, anticipation, need. The drawer in his nightstand slid open with a soft clack, and I pulled out the restraints—soft, black, worn in a way that made my skin tingle with memory. I carried them back over to the bed like an offering, climbing onto the mattress and holding them out with both hands.
Carter took them from me slowly, his eyes never leaving mine. “Lie back, baby,” he said, voice a low purr. “Arms above your head.”
I obeyed instantly.
The restraints wrapped around my wrists like a memory. Carter moved with calm, practiced efficiency—anchoring me to the headboard, tugging each strap just tight enough to hold but not to hurt. My chest rose and fell in quick, shallow breaths. I felt the moment shift—this wasn’t just affection anymore. This was Carter claiming me again.
When my ankles were secured—spread and tied to the corners of the bed—he climbed over me, straddling my hips.
“You’ve been aching, haven’t you?” he murmured, trailing a finger down my sternum.
“Yes, sir,” I whispered, eyes fluttering shut at the touch.
“All week long, you’ve been craving this. Waiting. Getting hard when I kiss you. Grinding when I hug you. Trying not to beg.”
He leaned down and brushed his lips against mine, maddeningly gentle.
“You wanted me to ruin you days ago. Didn’t you?”
“Yes,” I gasped. “God, yes.”
“And I didn’t.” He kissed my neck. “I denied you. You’ve been leaking for me like a good little toy, and I just kept walking away.”
I whimpered—because it was true. Because I was so far gone that even his words made my cock twitch.
Carter smiled, wicked and soft all at once. “So now,” he said, “I’m going to play with my toy for as long as I want. And you’re going to thank me when I’m done.”
He didn’t touch my cock. Not at first.
Instead, he kissed me.
Slowly. Thoroughly. Deeply. The kind of kiss that felt like he was trying to memorize me from the inside out. His tongue traced mine, his hands explored my chest, my ribs, my throat—everywhere but where I wanted them most.
And still, I melted.
“God, you’re beautiful when you’re tied like this,” he whispered against my lips. “So open. So desperate.”
He trailed his mouth down my body—lips brushing my nipple, sucking lightly, then moving lower, dragging hot kisses across my stomach. He rested between my thighs, face just inches from my cock… and then laid his head on my thigh, not touching me at all.
“Let’s just enjoy this view for a bit.”
“Carter,” I moaned. “Please…”
“Shhh.” His fingers traced lazy patterns on my hipbone. “You asked me to tie you up, baby. You didn’t ask to cum.”
He stayed like that—torturing me with patience. Teasing touches. Filthy praise. Long, heated glances that promised everything but delivered nothing.
I writhed against the restraints, my body on fire, cock leaking, aching, twitching with every breath.
And Carter? He looked relaxed. At ease. Like this was his favorite part of the week.
Finally, finally, he looked up. His eyes locked with mine. “You ready for me to make you beg for real?”
I was already begging.
But I nodded anyway.
“Good,” he whispered. “Then let’s begin.”
Carter didn’t move right away.
He just lay between my legs, chin resting on my thigh, watching me squirm like I was the most fascinating thing in the world. His breath ghosted over my cock, close enough to feel but nowhere near enough to relieve.
“I think it’s time we expand our little toy collection,” he murmured.
My breath caught.
He reached over to the nightstand again—not the usual drawer. One I hadn’t seen him open before. When he came back, he was holding a small velvet pouch, a tube of lube, and something that looked... techy.
My cock throbbed.
He grinned. “Let’s see how many ways I can make you beg without even wrapping my hand around you.”
From the pouch, he pulled out a metal Wartenberg wheel—a small pinwheel with dozens of fine, evenly spaced spikes. Not sharp. But definitely intimidating.
“Don't worry,” Carter said as he twirled it lightly between his fingers, “this won’t break the skin. But your nerves are going to think it will.”
He started at my collarbone, letting the wheel roll slowly down my chest, over each rib, across my stomach. It was featherlight but intense, like static electricity dancing across my skin.
When he brought it closer to my cock—just brushing the sensitive skin at the base—I gasped and tugged hard against the restraints.
“You like that?” he murmured. “All that sensitivity? All that pent-up tension? Good boys get sharp little kisses.”
Then came the ice.
He reached down to a bowl I hadn’t noticed earlier and pulled out a perfectly round, slowly melting ice sphere.
He dragged it down my chest—watching every twitch, every hiss—as it trailed a freezing path over my overheated skin. He circled my nipples with it until they were painfully hard, then dropped the melting ice ball right into the dip of my navel.
“FUCK,” I moaned, my body jerking.
“Too much?” he asked, smiling.
“Not enough,” I panted.
Carter laughed—deep and genuine. “You really missed this, huh?”
He reached back into the drawer and pulled out a small, flexible silicone tool—a looped tickler, with dozens of soft, rubbery strands that moved like fingertips. He ran it up and down my inner thighs, then under my balls, each movement barely-there, infuriatingly light. When he finally grazed my cock with it—just once—I nearly came.
“Nope,” Carter said, watching my reaction with glee. “Not yet.”
And then he pulled out the kicker: a sonic toothbrush—new, unused, sealed, which he unboxed with maddening slowness.
“You ever had vibrations this precise, Johnny?”
My eyes went wide. “Sir…”
He clicked it on. The soft buzz filled the room.
He used it on my thighs first. My stomach. My neck. The side of my fucking knee. Teasing every nerve ending into overdrive.
Then he hovered it near my cock. Not on it—just near it. He pressed it to the base, held it there for a second, then dragged it slowly up the shaft, not once touching the tip.
I was thrashing.
“Carter,” I gasped. “Please. Please, I need to—”
“You need to what, Johnny?”
“I need to cum. I can’t—I’m going to explode.”
He kissed the inside of my thigh, slow and sweet. “That’s the idea.”
He left me there, trembling, cock dripping, muscles clenched tight, as he cycled through the tools again. The pinwheel. The looped tickler. The cold. The buzz. Each one driving me further past the edge.
But never over.
Finally, he crawled up beside me, kissed my temple, and whispered, “I’m gonna go heat up some leftover pasta. You stay just like this.”
“WHAT?!”
He grinned. “I’ll be back in five. Try not to scream too loud.”
I lay there, panting. My whole body was trembling, my cock still leaking, twitching helplessly against my stomach. Carter had left the room a minute ago, and I could still feel the ghost of the Wartenberg wheel tracing my ribs, the buzz of the toothbrush pulsing through my thighs.
My skin was hot. My chest heaving. My cock? Unbearably hard.
I heard him humming down the hall. Fucking humming. Casual. Like I wasn’t tied to his bed soaked in sweat and desperation.
Then his footsteps. The door creaked open.
“You didn’t scream,” he said with a teasing smile as he stepped inside, a bowl and a fork in hand. “I’m impressed.”
I glared at him. “You’re evil.”
“I am nurturing,” he corrected, sitting on the edge of the bed. “And very good at leftovers.”
He held up a bite of pasta, twirling it gently. “Open.”
I hesitated.
“Do I need to use the vibrating toothbrush again?” he asked sweetly.
My mouth opened instantly. Carter grinned and fed me a bite—warm, cheesy, spicy. It was stupid how good it tasted, especially in the state I was in.
“There’s my good boy.” He spooned another bite and fed me again. “You’ve earned it. Kinda.”
I chewed and swallowed, staring up at him. “You’re really just gonna… feed me like this? While I’m tied up and hard as fuck?”
“Yes,” he said, deadpan. “Isn’t that what all good subs want? Balanced meals. Aftercare. Constant edging.”
He gave me another bite, dragging the fork slowly over my bottom lip first just to watch me twitch.
I groaned.
He set the bowl on the nightstand and leaned down, brushing the tip of his nose against mine.
“I love this,” he murmured. “Feeding you. Tying you up. Keeping you right on the edge. It’s... addictive.”
He kissed me, slow and deep—his mouth tasting faintly of garlic and heat.
“You make the best sounds when you’re frustrated,” he whispered. “I should record you and make it my alarm clock.”
“I hate you.”
“No you don’t.”
“…No I don’t.”
He kissed me again, then picked up the fork. Another bite.
“I’m gonna feed you until the bowl’s empty,” he said casually, “and then maybe give your cock one stroke for every bite you swallowed without whining.”
“You’re a monster.”
“I’m your monster.”
I bit my lip. He was right. I was so his.
He fed me slowly, spoon by spoon, his other hand resting gently on my thigh—doing nothing, but radiating heat and promise. Every now and then, he’d lean in to kiss me between bites. Each kiss made my cock throb harder.
When the bowl was finally empty, he licked the fork, exaggerated and filthy, and set it down.
“That was nice,” he said. “Food always tastes better when you’ve been teased for hours.”
I gave him a death glare.
He smiled and slid his hand down my stomach. Not touching my cock. Not yet.
“But I think dessert can wait a little longer,” he whispered.
“Carter…”
“You’re so close, aren’t you?” He traced circles around my navel with one finger. “So good for me. So desperate. I bet you’d do anything if I promised to let you cum tonight.”
“I will do anything,” I choked out.
“Perfect,” he murmured. “Then let’s play one more game.”
Carter leaned in, brushing his lips over my cheek as his fingers wandered low — not touching where I needed, but dragging torturously slow around it.
“One more game,” he whispered against my skin. “But it’s simple.”
I could barely speak. “What is it?”
He straddled my hips again, his weight deliciously grounding, and leaned close to my ear. “You lie here and don’t cum... while I do absolutely everything in my power to make you fail.”
My breath caught.
“Your only rule?” His voice was so low, so dark. “Don’t beg for release. Not this time. Not with words. If you want to cum, I want to see it in your body. In your face. I want to see you fighting for it, Johnny.”
I was already trembling.
“I’ll be watching,” he added, brushing a kiss over my forehead. “And if you last long enough… I’ll give you what you need. But if you slip up? We start over.”
He reached into the nightstand and pulled out a blindfold, soft and silky, sliding it gently over my eyes. Darkness swallowed me whole, amplifying every sound, every shift on the bed, every inhale from Carter’s chest.
And then — a moment of silence.
Followed by heat.
His mouth closed over one of my nipples, slow and wet, his tongue flicking with practiced skill. The sudden burst of sensation made my back arch against the restraints, my breath escaping in a strangled moan.
He moved lower. Kissed down my ribs. My stomach. Lower still.
And then, maddeningly slow — he licked a drop of precum from my tip. Just one. Just a taste.
I shuddered violently.
"Still good?" he murmured.
I nodded blindly, biting back a whimper.
“Good boy.”
Then came the vibrations again — but not where I expected.
He pressed the toothbrush just under my balls, then between them. The buzz was maddening. He alternated with his tongue, circling the head of my cock, flicking over the slit with infuriating gentleness.
My hands clenched into fists. My thighs tensed.
I was already fighting the edge.
Carter could tell.
“You’re trying so hard,” he whispered, clearly loving it. “I can see it. Your muscles are shaking. Your cock is begging. But you’re holding on. Fuck, Johnny... You’re so fucking good.”
He paused. Moved up to kiss my mouth — deep and filthy.
And then he slid his slicked fingers between my cheeks, teasing my hole, circling but never pushing in. Every inch of me was on fire.
“You’d fall apart if I fingered you, huh?”
I nodded, blindfolded, breathless.
“I’d hit your prostate once and you’d be gone.”
His fingers moved away.
“You’re so close,” he breathed. “But not yet.”
His mouth returned to my cock — now kissing the shaft. Now licking slowly down one side. Then he just breathed on me.
“You’ve lasted longer than I expected,” he said, his voice suddenly softer. “Most people would have lost it hours ago.”
I barely managed to rasp, “It’s because… I want to make you proud.”
Carter froze.
Then I felt him press his forehead to my stomach, his hands sliding gently along my hips.
“Johnny,” he whispered. “You do. You have. So fucking much.”
And then, like the flip of a switch, the game was over.
The blindfold was pulled away. My eyes blinked against the light — only to see Carter straddling my chest again, stroking himself, cock flushed and thick and dripping.
“I’m gonna cum,” he said. “And when I do, I want you to watch me lose it. And then — if you’re still good — I’ll finally let you cum too.”
His hand moved faster, his eyes locked on mine. “You’re so hot like this. Tied. Denied. Mine.”
I watched every movement — his face, his chest, the twitch of his abs. His moans were soft at first, then desperate, ragged.
“Fuck, Johnny — you’re so fucking sexy — I can’t —”
And then he exploded, ropes of cum painting my chest and neck as his whole body shook with release. He gasped, loud and broken, his cock jerking in his fist as he rode the high out fully, gloriously undone.
When it was over, he collapsed beside me, one hand resting over the mess he’d made on my chest.
“I’ve never… Jesus,” he breathed. “You wreck me.”
I didn’t say a word. Couldn’t.
Because my cock was aching. My body was trembling. And I didn’t know if I could hold on any longer.
Carter turned his head, grinned weakly.
“Still want to cum, baby?”
I nodded frantically, barely holding it together.
“Then let’s clean you up. And start the real finale.”
Carter's hand rested gently on my chest, fingers lightly grazing the streaks of his cum cooling on my skin. He leaned over and kissed my cheek—tender, slow, achingly intimate—then kissed down to my collarbone, his lips warm and lingering.
“You’ve been so patient,” he whispered, voice like velvet. “So good for me. And I promised I’d finger you, didn’t I?”
I nodded quickly, eyes wide. “Yes, sir.”
His lips curled into a smile. “Then I think you’ve earned it.”
He reached over to the nightstand and retrieved the lube, coating his fingers slowly—deliberately—while his eyes stayed locked on mine. The slick sound of it, the glint of anticipation in his expression, made my cock throb against my belly.
I was trembling already and he hadn’t even touched me yet.
He moved between my legs, settling in close. “Breathe for me,” he said softly, his hand brushing my inner thigh. “Just relax. Let me take care of you.”
The first press of his fingertip was gentle. Just a tease, circling my entrance, warming me up. I gasped at the contact, my hips instinctively trying to push down, but Carter held me still with his free hand.
“You’re so ready for me,” he murmured. “So fucking open already. Just from being teased. Just from being mine.”
His finger slid in slowly, carefully, and I moaned—deep and loud. The stretch, the pressure, the sheer relief of finally being touched where I needed it most sent shockwaves through me.
“Fuck, you’re tight,” Carter growled, voice ragged with lust. “And so goddamn responsive.”
He worked me open with slow, deliberate strokes, curling his finger until he found exactly what he was looking for. When he rubbed over that perfect spot, my entire body bucked.
“Oh my God—Carter—fuck—”
“There it is,” he whispered, kissing the inside of my knee. “That’s what I wanted. Let me play with that for a while.”
And he did.
He added a second finger, moving in and out in perfect rhythm—torturously slow, hitting that spot over and over again until my vision blurred and I was moaning nonstop. My cock was aching, leaking, completely untouched, and I didn’t care. I could’ve come just from his fingers.
“You’re shaking,” Carter said, sounding almost proud. “I want you to feel everything, baby.”
His fingers kept working me—deep, slow, curling perfectly as he watched me unravel. His thumb brushed teasingly over my perineum, sending new sparks through my nerves. I felt stretched, full, desperate, and completely at his mercy.
And when he leaned down to suck lightly on my nipple, while fingering me?
I lost my mind.
“Please,” I gasped. “Please, Carter—Sir—I can’t—I need—”
“I know,” he murmured, sliding his fingers out with agonizing slowness. “I know exactly what you need.”
He kissed my stomach, my chest, my throat.
Then looked into my eyes.
“You ready to cum for me, Johnny?” he asked. “Finally?”
“Yes,” I rasped, barely able to form the word. “Please, sir.”
He moved down, wrapped his hand around my cock for the first time in what felt like forever, and started stroking—slowly, gently, in perfect rhythm with the pulse still throbbing deep inside me from where his fingers had just been.
I felt it building—fast, unstoppable. Every nerve was already raw, ready, begging for release.
“I want you to look at me,” Carter said softly. “When you finally let go. I want to see it.”
And I did.
I looked him in the eyes as everything inside me snapped.
My body arched. My muscles seized. I shouted something I couldn’t even hear as wave after wave of pleasure crashed through me. It was too much—far too much—and it just kept going.
I came harder than I ever had in my life—shot after shot painting my chest, my stomach, Carter’s hand. My legs shook. My wrists tugged against the restraints. I sobbed his name.
And Carter was there for all of it. Watching. Whispering. Stroking me through it until I collapsed into the mattress, completely wrecked.
He kissed my forehead. “That’s it, baby. That’s my good boy.”
I was right there. My entire body was straining against the restraints, every nerve electrified, every inch of me begging, screaming for release. Carter’s fingers had just left me wrecked, his hand finally around my cock, stroking me just right.
And then—
He stopped.
Pulled his hand away.
I gasped, shaking. “Wha—?”
“Not yet,” Carter said softly, eyes dark and steady. “I want you to cum while I’m inside you.”
My stomach dropped—in the best, most devastating way.
He leaned forward, kissed me deep and slow, his cum-slick hand cupping my cheek. “You’ve waited this long, Johnny. Let me really be the one to take you over.”
I couldn’t speak. I nodded—wildly, desperately—watching as he reached for the nightstand and grabbed a condom, rolling it on with practiced ease. Every movement was confident, hungry, his.
“God, I’ve wanted this,” he whispered, slicking himself up with lube. “Since before I knew I was allowed to.”
He moved between my legs, grabbing a pillow and sliding it under my hips. “Tell me if it’s too much,” he said, voice quieter now—warmer. “You’re stretched so well already. I’ll go slow.”
“Please, sir,” I rasped. “Please fuck me.”
His eyes burned.
And then I felt him—thick, hard, pressing against my hole.
He eased in carefully, inch by inch, giving me time to adjust. I gasped, my hands clenching into fists above me as the stretch overtook everything. He filled me slowly, completely, perfectly.
“Oh fuck,” I breathed. “Carter—”
“You’re so fucking tight,” he growled, voice barely under control. “So good for me. You take me so well.”
When he bottomed out, we both froze—just breathing, our bodies pressed close. I could feel his heartbeat, his heat, his hunger radiating against my skin.
Then he pulled back. Thrusted in again—slow, deep, devastating.
I cried out, my cock untouched but throbbing hard between us.
“I’m gonna fuck you until you fall apart,” Carter said, already starting to move faster, his hands gripping my thighs. “And when I say you can cum? You let go. Not a second sooner. Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” I gasped, my voice raw.
“Good boy.”
Carter’s hips rolled slowly at first, giving me everything in smooth, deep strokes that had me clenching around him, whimpering into the air. His hands gripped my thighs, spreading me wider, anchoring me as he started to thrust just a little harder, a little deeper.
“You feel that?” he growled, voice thick and low in his throat. “That stretch? That fullness?”
“Yes, sir,” I panted, my eyes glassy, my whole body already vibrating from how sensitive I was. “You’re—fuck—you’re so deep.”
He chuckled darkly, leaning over me, driving in harder with each word. “Of course I am. You think I’d make you wait all day and not fuck you like I mean it?”
My cock throbbed untouched between us, slapping wetly against my abs with each deep thrust. I wanted to cum so badly I could barely see straight. But Carter kept going — not cruel, not rushed, just relentless.
“Look at you,” he murmured, one hand sliding up my chest. “Tied up, wrecked, dripping, begging. I haven’t even touched your cock and you’re already shaking.”
I whimpered something incoherent as he adjusted his angle—slamming right into my prostate. My entire body seized up, and I almost sobbed.
“There it is,” he hissed. “That’s the spot, huh?”
“FUCK—yes, sir, please—”
“Not yet.”
His thrusts slowed again, dragging it out. He wanted me to feel everything. The stretch. The drag. The burn. The ache. He leaned in to kiss me—wet, filthy, desperate—his tongue claiming mine as his cock claimed everything else.
“I love the way you sound when I’m inside you,” Carter whispered against my mouth. “Like your whole body’s begging. You make me feel fucking feral.”
I was whining now, wordless, helpless under him.
“I know you’re close,” he said, his voice just a little softer now. “I can feel it. You’ve been holding it so long, baby. So fucking good for me.”
He leaned back, shifting my legs higher over his shoulders for more leverage. And when he started thrusting again — hard, deep, fast — I nearly lost it. My restraints pulled tight. My hips lifted with every brutal stroke. I was right there. Again.
“Carter—sir—please—I can’t—please—”
He grunted through his teeth, thrusts growing sloppy. “Say it,” he growled. “Say you want to cum with me.”
“I want to cum with you,” I sobbed. “I need to cum with you—please, sir—please—”
“Now, baby,” he groaned, burying himself one last time. “Now.”
And I exploded.
It was blinding. Shattering. I came so hard I thought I might black out—ropes of cum painting my chest, my stomach, my chin—hands clenched, thighs trembling, crying out his name as he fucked me through it.
Carter followed a second later with a broken, feral moan, thrusting deep one last time as his own orgasm ripped through him. He collapsed over me, chest heaving, lips pressed to my neck.
For a long time, there was only our breathing.
Then, finally, he kissed the corner of my mouth and murmured, “You did so good. So fucking good, Johnny.”
I couldn’t even speak. Just nodded, still trembling in the aftershocks.
He stayed on top of me for a moment longer, his weight grounding me, his lips brushing lazy kisses over my throat, my jaw, my shoulder.
“I’m gonna get you untied,” he said softly. “And then I’m going to hold you. As long as you want.”
Carter was quiet for a few moments, his body still half-draped over mine, his breath ghosting over my skin. His hands moved gently now—no urgency, no teasing—just soft, steady strokes over my sides, my chest, my thighs. He wasn’t trying to turn me on. He was grounding me. Letting me come back to earth.
Then, without a word, he sat back on his knees, reached up to the cuffs, and began untying me.
The restraints loosened one by one. First my wrists, then my ankles. As each limb was freed, Carter kissed it softly—my wrists where the leather had held me snug, my ankles that had trembled so much from the edge of release. It was like he was thanking me for letting him in.
“Okay,” he whispered when the last restraint came off. “I’ve got you.”
My arms felt like jelly, my body like it was floating. But I let myself sink into him as he pulled me into a gentle hug, wrapping his arms around me, skin to skin. He held me against his chest like I was fragile—like I was precious.
“I’m right here,” Carter murmured, his lips brushing my temple. “You’re safe. You did so, so well.”
I melted into him, my face pressed against his neck, his hand stroking slow, lazy circles on my back. My heartbeat, wild before, began to slow. His scent, his warmth, the way he curled around me—it all pulled me back into myself.
Carter didn’t rush a thing.
Eventually, when he felt me relax, he leaned back just enough to look at me. “You okay?”
I nodded. “Yeah. I’m... yeah.”
His thumb brushed under my eye. “You cried a little.”
“I didn’t even notice,” I said, my voice hoarse but honest.
He smiled softly. “That happens sometimes. It’s a big release. You did amazing.”
I reached out, fingers tracing his cheek, needing that connection. He leaned into it, pressing a kiss to my palm.
“Wanna shower?” he asked. “Or stay like this for a bit longer?”
I didn’t answer right away—I didn’t need to. Carter already knew.
He scooped me up into his arms like I weighed nothing and carried me into the bathroom, flicking on the warm light. The room filled with steam as the shower came to life, and when the water was ready, Carter stepped in with me, one arm always around my waist, holding me steady.
Under the spray, he was so gentle. He washed me with slow, careful hands, making sure I didn’t have to lift a finger. He murmured soft things as he worked—how beautiful I looked, how proud he was, how much he loved taking care of me like this.
Every time I shivered or leaned into him, he wrapped his arms tighter around me. He rinsed the soap from my skin, combed his fingers through my hair, kissed my forehead again and again.
When we stepped out, he wrapped me in a towel first, drying me before himself. Then he pulled on a pair of sweats and handed me a hoodie of his—soft, oversized, and still warm from the dryer.
“I want you comfy,” he said. “And in something that smells like me.”
I smiled weakly. “You’re ridiculous.”
“You love it,” he said, grinning as he ruffled my damp hair.
And I did.
Back in bed, he tucked us under the blankets and curled around me like he couldn’t stand to be more than a breath away. His hand found mine and threaded our fingers together.
“You know,” he murmured, voice low and calm, “I’ve never done all of that with anyone before.”
“Really?” I asked softly, my cheek pressed against his collarbone.
“Not like this,” he said. “Not where it meant something. Not where I cared this much.”
I swallowed hard. “I’m glad it was me.”
His arms tightened. “Me too. I know I push you hard when we play. But this part?” He kissed my temple. “This is the most important part. Always.”
We stayed like that for a long time. Quiet. Safe. Warm.
Eventually, I whispered, “I love being yours.”
And Carter whispered back, “You always were.”
I was just starting to drift—heavy-limbed and content—when Carter shifted beside me, propping himself up on one elbow. His fingers traced a lazy line along my arm, but there was something in his silence that felt... different.
Then he said it. “I move next week.”
I blinked, turning to look at him. It was like the words sucked a little of the warmth out of the room. I’d known it, of course—I wasn’t an idiot—but hearing it now, after everything we’d just done, made my chest tighten.
“Well,” I mumbled, trying to keep my voice light, “we really crushed the timing on all this.”
Carter laughed, but it was quieter than usual. “Yeah. Took us six years of being dumbasses, and now that we’ve finally figured out how to use our mouths for something other than passive-aggressive roommate banter…”
“…you’re packing up said mouth and moving it across town.”
He smirked and leaned down to kiss me again—soft and slow. “At least I’m not moving across the country.”
I nodded, chewing my lip. “True. Still sucks, though.”
He studied me for a moment, like he was trying to read something in my face. “It’s not a bad thing,” he said finally. “I mean, yeah, the timing is comically shitty. But maybe it’s kind of… perfect, too.”
I raised a brow. “Explain that math.”
“Well,” he said, settling back down beside me, our bodies pressing together again, “we’ve been living on top of each other for years. Always around, never actually seeing each other. But now? Now we’ll get to choose when we’re together. No lazy cohabitation. No just coexisting.”
I stared at him. “You think distance is going to make this easier?”
“No,” he said. “I think it’s going to make it better.”
I went quiet.
“I don’t want to stop,” he added, voice suddenly more serious. “I don’t want last night to be a one-time thing. I don’t want this—us—to be a fluke we laugh about later.”
My heart was pounding again, this time for a very different reason.
“I don’t either,” I said, voice small.
Carter turned onto his side to face me fully, his fingers brushing back my hair. “I want to keep playing. Keep kissing you stupid. Keep figuring all this out. Even if I’m not right down the hall anymore.”
My throat tightened. “Promise?”
“Promise,” he said without hesitation. Then, teasing, “You think I’d break it after all the trouble I went to tease the soul out of you?”
I laughed, choking on it a little. “You are sadistic.”
“And yet you keep begging for more.”
I rolled my eyes, burying my face in his chest. “Only because you’re worth it.”
Carter kissed the top of my head. “And now that I know what it’s like to have you like this?” His voice dropped. “You really think I’m gonna give it up just because I won’t be able to ‘accidentally’ walk in on you in a towel anymore?”
“…You were doing that on purpose?”
“Oh, please. You think I needed to microwave a single chicken nugget at 2 a.m. three nights a week?”
We both broke into laughter then—honest and stupid and sore with affection. When it quieted, I looked up at him.
“We’ll still see each other, right?” I asked.
Carter leaned down and kissed me slow. “Yeah. A lot. And I’ll make it count every time.”
I was tucked against Carter’s chest again, my body still half-ruined from everything he’d done to me, my heart still wide open. But the mood had shifted just slightly—less breathless, more teasing, more us.
“So,” I murmured, my fingers playing idly with the hem of his t-shirt, “when you get your new place… you still planning to have that beanbag chair in the living room like you swore you would freshman year?”
“Obviously,” Carter said, dead serious. “It’s a design statement.”
“It’s a war crime.”
“Wow,” he said, mock offended. “Bold words for someone who cried when I edged them with a feather.”
“I did not cry.”
“You definitely cried. It was beautiful.”
I elbowed him, then kissed his shoulder. “You're lucky I’m into sadists.”
He pulled me in tighter. “You’re lucky I’m into smart-mouthed brats who secretly love being ruined.”
I grinned against his skin. “So what’s the plan now? You come over, wreck me, and then leave me twitching in bed while you go back to your bachelor pad and microwave single chicken nuggets?”
“No,” he said, kissing my temple. “Now I come over, wreck you, order real food, and then stay the night so I can wreck you again in the morning. Obviously.”
“Ah. So mature. So refined.”
He chuckled. “We’re practically grown-ups.”
I snorted. “God help us.”
We laid there for a while longer, wrapped up in limbs and sarcasm, the kind of silence that felt earned—chosen. When I eventually fell asleep, it was to the steady rhythm of Carter’s breath and the feeling that somehow, impossibly, we’d figured it out.
--
1 Year Later
Carter’s new apartment smelled like coffee, sunscreen, and whatever hair product he pretended not to use but absolutely did. The sun was pouring in through the big windows, the AC was humming, and I was sitting on the edge of his bed—legs bare, still half-dressed in last night’s shirt and the bruises he’d left on my hips.
From the kitchen came the sound of clinking plates and off-key humming. I leaned back on my hands, grinning to myself.
“Hey!” I called. “You burning the toast again?”
“I like it crispy!” Carter shouted back. “And anyway, that’s your fault for distracting me with your stupid gorgeous face all night.”
I laughed. “So you admit I’m stupid and gorgeous. Noted.”
He appeared in the doorway a second later, two mugs in hand, still shirtless, his curls a mess. “Don’t twist my words, brat.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Or what?”
“Oh, I think we both know what.” His grin was lazy. Dangerous. Familiar.
He set the coffee down and leaned in to kiss me slow, his thumb brushing my jaw like he still couldn’t believe he got to do this.
After a minute, he pulled back just enough to murmur, “I still like you, you know.”
I smiled. “Still?”
“Yeah, still.” Carter’s voice dropped a little. “Actually…”
He trailed off. His thumb brushed the inside of my wrist like it helped him think, and for the first time in a long time, Carter—the confident, filthy, insatiable tease—looked shy.
I tilted my head. “Actually…?”
His eyes lifted to meet mine. He swallowed. “I think I love you.”
The world slowed for a beat.
Then I grinned, wide and full and completely unguarded. “You think?”
Carter let out a breath, laughing under it. “I know, okay? I love you.”
My chest cracked wide open. “I love you too.”
We didn’t need more words after that. He pulled me into him—fast, greedy, like he had to memorize every inch of my mouth all over again. His hands were already moving, tugging at my shirt, finding the curve of my waist like it was instinct.
I kissed him like I’d been waiting all day, all week, all year. And maybe I had.
He broke the kiss with a smirk. “Upstairs?”
I nodded, breathless. “Absolutely.”
We never made it all the way under the covers. Carter pressed me against the wall of the stairwell halfway up, kissing me so hard I saw stars. Clothes disappeared somewhere between the second landing and the bedroom door. By the time I fell back onto his mattress, naked and laughing and horny as hell, Carter was already crawling over me like a man on a mission.
We played for hours. Soft and silly and slow. Then rough and intense and raw. We took our time. We always took our time.
Later—spent, tangled in his sheets, my fingers laced with his—Carter looked over at me with that dangerous little smile of his.
“You know,” he said casually, “you could just move in.”
I blinked. “What?”
He shrugged. “My lease renews in two months. I could get a two-bedroom. Or not. I don’t care. I just want you here. Every night. Naked, preferably.”
I stared at him. “You’re asking me to BE ROOMMATES again? While we’re still sweaty and covered in cum?”
He grinned wider. “I figured you’d be more agreeable in a weakened state.”
I burst out laughing. “God, you’re such a bastard.”
“Yeah,” he said, kissing the tip of my nose. “But I’m your bastard now.”
I pulled him close. “Fine. But I’m taking half the closet.”
“Already yours, baby.”
"I'm so happy the rumor came true," I said quietly.
"Mmmm," Carter agreed. "Just like in those stupid MM erotica books."
We lay there a while longer, limbs tangled, hearts stupidly full.
And when I finally closed my eyes, all I could think was:
Yeah. This is home.
