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Garrett Graham did not do jealousy. As an elite college athlete, the captain of the Briar University hockey team, and a man who routinely had half the campus trying to catch his eye, he was entirely secure in who he was. He trusted Hannah implicitly. He knew she loved him. He knew they were solid.
Until he found himself standing in the dim hallway of the music building, staring through a narrow glass window pane, feeling a dark, possessive heat claw its way up his throat.
Inside the practice room, Hannah was seated at the piano. Next to her sat Atlas, a tall, lean senior majoring in orchestral percussion. Atlas had a reputation around the music department for being incredibly talented, effortlessly cool, and perpetually surrounded by a faint aura of artistic detachment. Right now, his long legs were stretched out under the keyboard, a pair of wooden drumsticks loosely gripped in one hand while his other hand hovered just inches from Hannah’s shoulder as he leaned over her sheet music.
Atlas was supposed to be helping Hannah deconstruct a complex polyrhythm for her latest composition class. Instead, Garrett watched as Atlas shifted closer, his head tilting down so his dark curls almost brushed against Hannah’s hair. Atlas wasn't looking at the notes anymore. He was eyeing Hannah—tracing the line of her profile, his gaze heavy and undeniably captivated.
Then, Hannah smiled.
It wasn't a flirty smile. It was just her smile—the bright, radiant, high-wattage laugh that always crinkled the corners of her eyes and lit up whatever room she was in. She gave that same genuine smile to the campus barista, to Garrett’s loudmouthed teammates, and to random strangers. But seeing her direct it at Atlas, while Atlas looked back at her like she was the only lyric that mattered, made something fierce and entirely irrational snap inside Garrett’s chest.
Garrett didn't stop to reason with himself. He didn't think about how ridiculous it was for an All-American hockey player to feel threatened by a guy holding drumsticks. His hand hit the brass doorknob, and he swung the door open, letting it hit the interior wall with a sharp thud.
The two inside looked up instantly.
"Hey," Garrett said. His voice wasn't loud, but it possessed a hard, gravelly edge that instantly cut through the quiet hum of the practice room.
He strode in, his broad shoulders practically eating up the cramped space. He didn't take off his leather team jacket. He just stood right beside the piano bench, invading Atlas’s personal space by a good six inches, and crossed his arms over his chest. He threw a brief, ice-cold nod toward the percussionist before dropping his gaze to Hannah.
Atlas blinked, completely thrown off by the sudden, suffocating shift in the room's atmosphere. He cleared his throat, pulling his hand back from Hannah’s sheet music. "Uh, hey. Garrett, right?"
"Yeah," Garrett replied, his posture completely rigid, his jaw tight enough to crack stone. He didn't look back at Atlas. "You guys almost finished here? I thought we were heading out for dinner, Wellsy."
Hannah’s breath caught. Her eyes darted from Garrett’s tense, unyielding shoulders to Atlas’s suddenly pale face. She knew Garrett inside and out, and she had never seen him look quite like this—like a predator marking his territory in the middle of a university arts building.
"Yeah," Hannah said softly, clearing her throat to break the tension. "Actually, Atlas, I think I finally understand how to transition that bridge now. The counting makes sense. Thank you so much for your time."
"Right. Yeah, no problem," Atlas muttered, picking up his drumsticks and hurriedly tossing them into his leather backpack. He felt Garrett’s intense stare burning into the side of his head the entire time. "See you in seminar, Hannah."
The moment the heavy acoustic door clicked shut behind Atlas, leaving them entirely alone in the small room, Hannah turned around on the piano bench. She looked up at Garrett, who was now staring down at her notebook as if the pencil marks on the page had personally offended him.
A slow, delighted realization washed over her.
"Garrett Graham," Hannah said, her voice dripping with sheer amusement. "Are you jealous?"
"No," he said instantly, his tone defensive. He didn't look at her, instead adjusting the cuffs of his jacket with unnecessary focus.
"You basically hovered over that poor guy until he was forced to flee the premises," she pointed out, a massive grin tugging at the corners of her lips.
"He was sitting too close to you," Garrett muttered, finally meeting her eyes. His expression was a volatile mix of sheepishness, irritation, and a lingering, raw intensity that made her pulse quicken. "And you were giving him the smile."
"I smile at everyone! It’s called basic human decency, you Neanderthal."
"I know, I know. It's completely irrational. I'm aware." Garrett stepped into the space Atlas had just vacated, placing both of his hands on the edges of the piano bench, effectively trapping Hannah between his arms. He leaned down, his face inches from hers. "But I walked up to that window, and he was staring at you like he wanted to taste you, Hannah. And I didn't love it. At all."
Hannah’s breath completely hitched. Her heart hammered violently against her ribs. Rationality told her this jealousy was totally unfounded—Atlas was just a classmate, and she only had eyes for Garrett. But seeing this rare, unfiltered crack in Garrett’s usually bulletproof confidence sent an intoxicating spark of heat straight down her spine. The raw, possessive look in his eyes right now was, without a doubt, the hottest thing she had ever seen.
She leaned back slightly against the piano keys, a teasing, wicked smirk spreading across her face. "Oh, wow. The great Garrett Graham—big, bad hockey captain—is worried about a guy who plays the xylophone? Should I be concerned that you're losing your edge, big guy?"
Garrett’s eyes narrowed, a low, dangerous growl vibrating in his chest. "My edge is perfectly intact, Wellsy. Don't test it."
"He was just helping me with a 7/8 time signature, Garrett," she teased, reaching up with both hands to slowly smooth down the collar of his jacket, her fingers lingering against the warm skin of his neck. "But I have to say... seeing you all worked up and protective? It's a really, really good look on you."
Garrett caught both of her wrists in one firm hand, stopping her teasing movements. His eyes softened just a fraction, a small, triumphant smile finally breaking through his tension as he pulled her slightly closer. "I'm glad my psychological breakdown is entertaining to you."
"Incredibly entertaining," she whispered, her eyes shining. "And incredibly hot."
He leaned in, brushing his lips against hers in a slow, lingering kiss that left them both breathless. "Good. Now let's go get dinner before I have to go start a fight with the brass section."
Hannah snorted. “Brass has absolutely nothing to do with this, you goof.”
Garrett only smirked.
Two weeks later, the heavy bass of the house music vibrated violently through the floorboards of the off-campus hockey house, but Garrett barely noticed the noise. His focus had been entirely compromised from the second they walked through the front door. Tonight, his self-control was hanging by a dangerously frayed thread, and it was entirely Hannah’s fault.
She was sitting on the worn-out velvet couch in the corner of the living room, looking absolutely devastating. The emerald green top she wore was a masterclass in distraction. It was completely backless, exposing the smooth, elegant line of her spine, but the front was cut into a daring, deeply plunged neckline that put her chest on stunning display. The rich silk fabric draped perfectly, accentuating her curves in a way that made it impossible for Garrett to look anywhere else. Every time she laughed or moved to the rhythm of the music, the dim party lights caught her skin, and Garrett had spent the first hour of the night with his palm anchored firmly to the small of her waist, silently marking his territory to every guy in the room.
"I'm gonna grab you a cider," Garrett murmured against her ear, his breath hot against her skin. He gave her hip a firm, possessive squeeze, his gaze lingering on her lips before dropping briefly to her neckline. "Stay right here. Don’t move."
"I'm not going anywhere, Graham," Hannah laughed, giving his chest a playful, affectionate shove.
Garrett navigated the packed kitchen, pushing past his teammates and shouting over the roar of the crowd to grab two cold drinks from the fridge. He was gone for less than three minutes.
But the moment he stepped back into the archway of the living room, his entire body went rigid. His jaw clenched so hard the muscle ticked.
Atlas was there. And he wasn't just talking to her.
The percussionist had completely cornered Hannah on the couch, invading her personal space so aggressively that his shoulder was practically brushing against her bare shoulder blade. Hannah was trapped against the armrest, giving him her usual, polite smile—the friendly, pleasant one she gave to everyone—but she was leaning back, clearly trying to maintain a comfortable boundary.
Atlas, however, was completely oblivious to her subtle cues. In fact, he was practically leering at her.
Garrett watched from across the room as Atlas’s eyes brazenly traveled down from Hannah's face, tracking the exposed skin of her neck before sweeping slowly, deliberately down to the plunging neckline of her emerald top. There was a smug, predatory look in Atlas's eyes, his gaze heavy and entirely undisguised as he openly stared at her chest, his head tilting lower as if he had every right to look. He reached out, his fingers casually tracing the edge of the velvet couch right next to her hip, closing the distance until he was inches away from touching her skin.
A fierce, primal heat flared instantly in Garrett’s chest. The sight of another man looking at Hannah like she was a prize on display—especially while she was wearing something that already had Garrett’s own possessive instincts on high alert—sent a jolt of pure, unadulterated adrenaline straight through his veins. Irrational or not, Garrett wasn't about to stand by and watch.
He didn't care that they were in a room full of people. He didn't care that half the hockey team was within arm's reach. He strode across the living room with the terrifying, unyielding purpose of a captain rushing the ice during a brawl.
Before Atlas could even finish the sentence he was leaning in to whisper, Garrett slammed the cider cans onto the coffee table with a loud, ringing clatter.
Atlas flinched, his head snapping up just in time to see Garrett’s massive frame looming over him.
Without uttering a single word, Garrett wedged his knee and then his entire upper body right onto the narrow cushion between Hannah and Atlas. He physically forced the percussionist back a full foot, cutting off his line of sight completely. Before Atlas could even protest, Garrett wrapped his heavy, muscular arm securely around Hannah’s waist, pulling her flush against his side so her back was pinned flat against his chest. His fingers dug slightly into her hip, a silent, unyielding declaration of ownership that left no room for misinterpretation.
He turned his head to look directly at Atlas. Garrett’s dark gray eyes were ice-cold, and entirely unblinking.
"Am I interrupting something?" Garrett’s voice was a low, gravelly rumble that easily vibrated right through the booming bass of the speakers.
Atlas froze. The smug, confident expression vanished from his face instantly. Looking up at Garrett’s broad shoulders, his lethal posture, and the hard, terrifying set of his jaw, the percussionist swallowed hard. He suddenly realized he was profoundly outmatched.
"Uh, no. No, man," Atlas muttered, his voice cracking slightly as he scrambled backward, pulling his hands away from the couch. "Just... asking Hannah about the composition project. We're good."
"Cool," Garrett said, his tone entirely devoid of warmth. He didn't move an inch. He just kept his gaze locked on the guy, a physical wall between him and Hannah.
"Right. I'm gonna go... find my friends," Atlas stammered quickly, sliding off the edge of the couch and disappearing into the crowded room without looking back once.
The moment he was gone, the tension in Garrett’s shoulders melted just a fraction, though his grip around Hannah’s waist didn't loosen at all.
Hannah let out a low, breathy laugh against his neck, the vibration sending a sudden shiver straight down his spine. She turned her head on his shoulder, her lips brushing against his jawline as a wicked, teasing smirk spread across her face.
"Garrett Graham," she whispered, her eyes shining with pure amusement. "Twice in two weeks? You're becoming quite the overprotective boyfriend."
Garrett looked down at her, the intense, possessive fire in his gaze softening only for her, though the heat remained as his eyes dropped to the devastating display of her top. He leaned down, his lips hovering just a hair's breadth from her ear. "Look at what you're wearing, Wellsy. He was practically drooling on you. You can't blame me for wanting to black out his windows."
Hannah’s heart raced, her pulse pounding in her ears. Seeing him this utterly consumed by her—knowing that his usual bulletproof confidence could be completely derailed just by someone looking at her—was undeniably intoxicating. She leaned back against his chest, her fingers reaching up to slowly trace the tense line of his collarbone.
"So, you approve of the outfit, then?" she teased, her voice dropping to a sultry murmur.
"It's devastating," Garrett admitted honestly, his voice low and rough as he shifted closer, his hand sliding slightly up her side, his palm warm against her skin. "But I’d much prefer it if we were somewhere a bit more private than a crowded house party right about now."
Hannah smiled, her teasing demeanor shifting into something much more breathless. "Is that an order, captain?"
"We're leaving," Garrett murmured, leaning down to press a hard, lingering kiss to her lips that made the rest of the party fade into total background noise. He pulled back just enough to look into her eyes. "Finish your drink. We're going home."
The drive home is so filled with sexual tension, Hannah swears she could cut it with a knife.
Garrett's fingers drummed restlessly against the steering wheel, his grip tightening every time Hannah shifted in the passenger seat. The soft rustle of her silk top against the leather, the way her knee brushed the center console when she turned toward him—each small movement sent a jolt of electricity straight down his spine. The air inside the car felt thick, charged, like the moment before a lightning strike.
Hannah traced idle patterns on the window with her fingertip, the streetlights flickering across her skin in golden streaks. "You know," she murmured, her voice a low, deliberate hum, "you didn't have to manhandle me out of there like a caveman."
Garrett's jaw twitched. His eyes stayed fixed on the road, but his voice dropped to a rough, graveled register. "You're right. I could've dragged you out by the hair instead."
Hannah laughed, the sound warm and throaty, and Garrett's knuckles went white around the wheel. She stretched her arms above her head, arching her back just enough to make the emerald fabric pull taut across her chest. Garrett's gaze snapped to her for a split second before he forced it back to the windshield, his pulse hammering in his throat.
The moment Garrett turned off the ignition in the driveway, Hannah unbuckled her seatbelt with deliberate slowness, letting the strap slide between her fingers like silk before it clicked back into place. Garrett watched the movement from the corner of his eye, his breath hitching imperceptibly. She didn’t move to open her door. Instead, she turned her head just slightly, her lips parted, her eyes dark and unreadable in the dim glow of the porch light filtering through the windshield.
Garrett didn’t wait. He reached across the center console, his hand rough but deliberate as he curled his fingers around the back of her neck, pulling her toward him with a single, unyielding motion. His mouth crashed against hers in a kiss that was anything but gentle—hot, demanding, and edged with the same possessive fire that had been simmering beneath his skin all night. Hannah gasped into it, her hands flying up to grip the front of his jacket, her nails digging into the leather as she arched into him.
The angle was awkward, the gearshift digging into Garrett’s thigh, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Not when Hannah melted against him like this, her breath coming in short, uneven bursts between kisses, her body straining toward his as if she couldn’t get close enough. He bit down lightly on her lower lip, drawing a soft, startled sound from her throat that sent heat roaring through his veins.
Then, abruptly, Hannah pulled back just far enough to speak, her lips brushing against his with each word. “Inside. Now.”
Garrett didn’t hesitate.
Hannah knew that Garrett was about to fuck her so hard and so well and so flat out sinfully (as in he was an extremely kinky bastard) and was about to claim her so devastatingly perfectly she came a whining. Incoherent mess.
Garrett didn’t bother unlocking the front door—his key fumbled in the lock, teeth scraping metal, until Hannah shoved past him with a breathless laugh, twisting the knob herself. The second the door swung open, his hands were on her waist, spinning her into the darkened hallway with enough force to make her back hit the wall. The impact knocked a gasp from her lungs, but Garrett swallowed the sound with his mouth, his tongue sliding against hers in a filthy, claiming kiss that left her knees weak.
"Garrett—"
His name came out half-moaned, half-pleaded, but he didn’t slow down. One hand tangled in her hair, tilting her head back to expose the line of her throat as his other hand dragged the strap of her emerald top down her shoulder, his teeth scraping the sensitive skin there. Hannah arched into him, her fingers scrabbling at the leather of his jacket until he finally shrugged it off, letting it hit the floor with a heavy thud.
Garrett’s hands were everywhere—skimming up her ribs, palming the curve of her hip, sliding beneath the silk of her top to trace the lace edge of her bra. His touch was rough, possessive, like he needed to remind himself with every brush of his fingers that she was his. Hannah gasped when he pinched her nipple through the fabric, the sharp sting melting into liquid heat between her thighs.
"You like that?" Garrett murmured against her ear, his voice a dark, velvety rasp.
"Yes—"
He didn’t let her finish. His mouth crashed back onto hers as he walked her backward down the hall, their steps uneven, frantic, until the back of her knees hit the edge of the couch. Hannah barely had time to brace herself before Garrett shoved her down onto the cushions, his hands gripping her thighs to yank her to the very edge.
Garrett dropped to his knees in front of her, his gray eyes blazing with intent as he hooked his fingers into the waistband of her skirt. "Lift," he ordered, and Hannah obeyed instantly, raising her hips so he could drag the fabric down her legs and toss it aside.
His gaze raked over her, taking in the lace of her panties, already damp and clinging to her skin. Garrett exhaled sharply, his fingers tracing the soaked fabric before he leaned in, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the aching heat between her thighs.
Hannah’s breath hitched, her fingers twisting in his hair as he dragged the lace aside, his tongue licking a slow, torturous stripe up her center.
"You taste fucking perfect," Garrett growled against her skin, his hands tightening on her thighs as he buried his face deeper, his tongue flicking over her clit in ruthless, relentless strokes.
Hannah arched off the couch with a broken cry, her thighs trembling as pleasure coiled tight in her stomach. Garrett didn’t let up—his tongue circled her clit, his fingers sliding inside her, curling just right to make her see stars.
"Garrett, I—I’m gonna—"
"Come," he ordered, his voice rough with command.
And she did—shattering around his fingers with a sharp, keening cry, her body convulsing as pleasure ripped through her in waves. Garrett didn’t stop, working her through it until she was squirming, oversensitive and breathless, her hands pushing weakly at his shoulders.
He finally pulled back, licking his lips with a satisfied smirk as he rose to his feet. Hannah barely had time to catch her breath before he hauled her up, flipping her around to press her chest against the back of the couch.
"You’re not done," Garrett murmured against her ear, his hands sliding around her waist to unclasp her bra. "Not even close."
Hannah shivered, anticipation curling low in her belly as Garrett’s hands roamed her bare skin, his lips trailing hot, biting kisses down her spine.
She knew this was only the beginning.
He pauses momentarily to check in with her. Like he always did.
Garrett's breath was ragged against the nape of her neck, his fingers slowing their relentless exploration of her skin. "Still with me?" he murmured, his voice rough-edged but impossibly tender beneath the hunger.
Hannah shuddered, pressing her forehead against the cool leather of the couch as she nodded. "Always," she gasped, the word fracturing when his teeth grazed the delicate ridge of her shoulder blade.
Garrett chuckled darkly, the sound vibrating through her spine as he straightened just enough to strip off his shirt in one fluid motion. The fabric hit the floor with a whisper, and then his bare chest was flush against her back, the heat of him searing through her skin. His hands slid down her arms, intertwining their fingers as he pinned them against the couch on either side of her hips.
"You good?" he asked again, his lips brushing the shell of her ear.
Hannah arched into him, her breath catching when she felt the hard length of him pressed against her ass. "Garrett," she whined, her hips canting back instinctively. "Stop asking me that and talk dirty to me."
He laughed again, low and throaty. "You want dirty?" His voice dropped into a gravelly register that sent a shockwave of heat straight down her spine. "Fine." One hand slid down to grip her hip, fingers digging in hard enough to leave marks. "You remember last month, when I had you bent over the piano in the practice room?" His other hand trailed up her thigh, fingertips teasing the edge of her soaked panties. "How you came so hard you left teeth marks in the sheet music?"
Hannah whimpered, her thighs trembling as his fingers finally dipped beneath the lace. "Yes—"
Garrett pressed a searing kiss to her shoulder blade. "Good. Because tonight?" He hooked his fingers into the fragile fabric and ripped, the sound of tearing lace obscenely loud in the quiet living room. "I'm going to ruin you worse."
The cool air hit her bare skin a second before his palm did—a sharp, stinging smack that made her cry out, her back arching off the couch. Garrett didn't give her time to recover. His fingers plunged into her without warning, curling in that devastating way that had her seeing stars. "Fuck, you're dripping," he growled, twisting his wrist to drag another broken moan from her throat. "All this for me?"
Hannah could only nod frantically, her nails clawing at the leather cushions as he added a third finger, stretching her mercilessly.
Garrett's breath hitched against her skin. "Look at you," he muttered, his voice thick with want. "Taking my fingers like you were made for it." He crooked them just right, and Hannah sobbed, her legs shaking violently. "But you know what I really want?"
Before she could answer, he withdrew his fingers with a wet sound and spun her around, hauling her up until her legs wrapped around his waist. Hannah gasped as her back hit the wall, the impact rattling the framed photos beside them. Garrett didn't seem to notice—his entire focus was on the way her chest heaved against his, on the desperate grip of her thighs around his hips.
"Look at me," he ordered, one hand fumbling with his belt.
Hannah obeyed instantly, her gaze locking onto his storm-gray eyes as he finally freed himself, his cock jutting thick and flushed between them.
"Tell me what you want," Garrett demanded, his voice ragged.
"You," she gasped, her hips canting forward. "Always you."
The raw honesty in her voice seemed to undo him. With a groan, Garrett lined himself up and drove into her in one brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt. The stretch burned deliciously, her inner walls fluttering around him as he gave her no time to adjust, no time to breathe.
"Fuck," Garrett hissed, his forehead dropping to hers as he began to move, each snap of his hips ruthless and unrelenting. "You feel—" Another punishing thrust stole the rest of his words, his breath coming in ragged bursts against her lips.
Hannah clung to him, her fingers tangling in his hair as he fucked her into the wall with single-minded intensity. The angle was perfect—every drag of his cock against her sweet spot had her gasping, her thighs tightening around him.
"Close," she managed to pant, her nails scoring down his back.
Garrett growled against her throat, his hips stuttering as her inner muscles clenched around him in the telltale rhythm of her impending orgasm. "Fuck, Hannah—" His fingers dug into her thighs, holding her flush against him as he drove into her one last time, deep enough to make her gasp. "Come for me."
And she did—her back arching off the wall as pleasure tore through her, her cry muffled against his shoulder. Garrett watched, rapt, as her face contorted in ecstasy, her nails biting into his shoulders. He didn’t slow down, fucking her through it until she was whimpering, oversensitive and shaking.
Then, abruptly, he pulled out.
Hannah barely had time to register the loss before Garrett’s hand was fisting in her hair, gently, tilting her head back as he pressed down gently to get her to kneel. His other hand wrapped around himself, stroking roughly as he pressed the swollen head of his cock against her parted lips. "Open," he commanded, his voice wrecked.
Hannah didn't hesitate. Her lips parted instantly, her tongue darting out to catch the first hot, salty drop that spilled from his tip. Garrett groaned, his grip tightening in her hair as he guided himself deeper between her lips, his cock sliding over her tongue with delicious friction.
"Fuck," he rasped, his hips jerking forward involuntarily as her mouth closed around him, warm and wet and perfect. "That's it—take it all.”
The taste of him exploded across her tongue—musky and masculine and utterly intoxicating. Hannah moaned around his length, the vibrations pulling another ragged curse from Garrett's throat as he began to thrust shallowly into her mouth, his fingers twisting tighter in her hair.
Her lips stretched around his girth, her jaw aching slightly, but she didn't pull away—couldn't, even if she wanted to. Not with Garrett looking down at her like that, his gray eyes dark with lust, his chest heaving with every ragged breath.
Garrett’s control unraveled in a single, shuddering breath—one moment he was holding himself back with ironclad restraint, the next, his hips stuttered forward with a broken groan as heat spilled over Hannah’s tongue. He came in thick, pulsing waves, his fingers tightening almost painfully in her hair as he fucked her mouth through it, chasing every last drop of pleasure until she swallowed around him with a soft, obedient hum.
The sound that tore from Garrett’s throat was raw, unfiltered—half growl, half prayer—as he finally stilled, his cock twitching against her lips. For a heartbeat, neither of them moved. The only sound in the room was their ragged breathing and the faint creak of the wall beneath Hannah’s back. Then, slowly, Garrett withdrew, his thumb swiping a stray droplet from her lower lip before he tilted her chin up to meet his gaze.
His eyes were wild, dilated with pleasure, but the moment they locked onto hers, something shifted—the possessive hunger softening into something quieter, warmer. He brushed his thumb over her kiss-swollen lips, his voice rough but tender. “You okay?”
Hannah’s laugh was breathless, her fingers loosening from where they’d been gripping his forearms. “Better than okay,” she murmured, her tongue darting out to catch the lingering taste of him. “Though I think you cracked the drywall behind me.”
Garrett huffed a laugh against her temple, his breath still uneven as he gently pulled her away from the wall. The plaster behind her *had* cracked—a spiderweb of fissures radiating from where her shoulder blades had hit. "Shit," he muttered, running a hand through his sweat-damp hair. "Guess we're adding home repairs to the list."
Hannah swayed slightly on her feet, her legs still trembling. Garrett caught her instantly, his hands sliding around her waist to steady her. "Easy," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "You good?"
"Mm." Hannah leaned into him, her fingers tracing the bite marks she'd left on his collarbone. "Just realizing I might need a wheelchair tomorrow."
Garrett's grin was smug and unrepentant. "That's what you get for wearing that fucking top." His thumb brushed over the torn lace of her panties still clinging to her hips. "And these. Christ, Wellsy, you were trying to kill me."
Hannah giggled, her fingers still tracing the crescent-shaped marks on Garrett's skin. "And yet here you are, still standing." She tilted her head, feigning innocence even as her hips pressed into his. "Mostly."
Garrett exhaled sharply through his nose, his grip tightening reflexively around her waist. "Keep pushing me, Wellsy, and you won't be walking out of this room at all." His voice was rough, but the corners of his mouth twitched—that rare, barely-there smirk that only ever surfaced when she'd thoroughly wrecked him.
Hannah snorted, and she dragged him up to their room, because she’d officially moved in come the first semester of junior year, and made sure they had their clothes so the boys didn’t come home and see her bra and skirt laying around, and she shoved him on the bed.
When she strips fully, she turns to him. “I want you to fuck my tits.” Her delivery was slightly shy, but her gaze was locked on him and how he was currently stripping.
Garrett froze mid-motion, his hands still hooked in the waistband of his briefs. His eyebrows shot up, but the surprise lasted only a second before his expression darkened with something hotter, hungrier. "Yeah?" His voice dropped to a rough murmur, his fingers tightening against the fabric. "Since when do you ask for things like that?"
Hannah bit her lip, but she didn't look away. The shyness was still there, tangled up with something bolder—something that had only started surfacing in the last few months since she moved in with him full time. "Since I realized you'd give me anything I asked for," she admitted, her fingers trailing down her own collarbone. She kneels at the edge of the bed on the floor, shifting to arch her back and cup her breasts, pressing them together. “And I've been thinking about you cumming all over my chest since the party.”
Garrett exhaled sharply through his nose, his pupils dilating so fast his gray eyes looked nearly black. His hands, still gripping his briefs, flexed once before he finally shoved them down his thighs in one rough motion. "Christ, Wellsy," he muttered, sliding on the bed closer to her, shifting so she was kneeling between his thighs. He wanted her to control the pace.
Hannah leaned forward, her breath hitching as she pressed her bare breasts against his thighs. The contrast of warm skin against his tense muscles sent a shiver down her spine. Garrett’s hands hovered above her shoulders—close enough to feel the heat radiating off him, but not touching. Letting her lead.
She glanced up at him through her lashes, her fingers tightening around her own breasts, pushing them together to form a slick, inviting channel. Garrett’s cock twitched against her collarbone, already hard again despite how spent he’d been minutes ago.
"You’re gonna kill me," Garrett rasped, his voice wrecked.
Hannah smirked, tilting her head just enough to drag her lower lip along the underside of his shaft. "You say that like it’s a bad thing."
Garrett groaned, his fingers finally sinking into her hair—not guiding, just holding. Anchoring.
She licked a slow, teasing stripe from base to tip before pressing her breasts tighter around him, the softness of her skin yielding against his rigid length. The first experimental slide was clumsy, her hands slipping slightly, but Garrett’s breath hitched anyway, his hips jerking forward instinctively.
"Fuck—" His grip tightened in her hair, but he didn’t push. Just held on as she found her rhythm, her breasts gliding slickly around him, the friction deliciously uneven.
Hannah kept her eyes locked on his face, watching the way his jaw clenched, the way his throat worked as he swallowed hard. Every ragged breath, every twitch of his abdomen—she cataloged it all, reveling in the power of reducing him to this.
Garrett’s thumb brushed her cheekbone, his touch shockingly tender against the obscene heat of the moment. "You’re so fucking beautiful like this," he gritted out, his hips rolling shallowly into her grip.
The praise sent a bolt of heat straight to her core. Hannah tightened her hold, her thumbs brushing over his tip with every upward stroke, smearing the precome beading there.
Garrett cursed, his thighs tensing beneath her. "Hannah—"
She knew that tone. Knew the way his voice frayed at the edges when he was close. Instead of slowing down, she leaned in, catching the head of his cock between her lips as her hands continued working him. “Cum for me, Garrett. Mark me with your cum.”
The command—soft, pleading, utterly filthy—was Garrett’s undoing. A broken sound tore from his throat as his hips jerked forward, his release spilling hot and thick over her tongue before she pulled back, letting the rest stripe her collarbone and the swell of her breasts. His fingers tightened in her hair, holding her still as he rode out the last pulses against her skin, his breath ragged in the quiet room.
For a moment, neither of them moved. The only sound was Garrett’s unsteady exhale and the slick, sticky slide of his cum glistening on Hannah’s skin. Then, slowly, he loosened his grip, his thumb brushing a stray droplet from her lower lip.
"Christ," Garrett muttered, his voice hoarse. His gaze traced the mess he’d made of her—the streaks of white against her flushed skin, the way her chest rose and fell with each breath. A possessive thrill shot through him, sharp and primal. "Look at you,” he growled. “So godddamn beautiful.”
She grinned unrepentantly. “Take a picture. It’ll last longer.”
Garrett froze, his eyebrows shooting up comically. Then, with startling speed, he lunged for his discarded jeans, fishing his phone from the pocket with a predatory grin. "Don’t fucking tempt me, Wellsy."
Hannah laughed, the sound breathless and delighted, as Garrett angled the camera down at her. The flash illuminated the room briefly—her flushed skin, the messy streaks of his release glistening between her breasts, the wicked curve of her smile frozen in the frame. Garrett exhaled sharply through his nose, his thumb hovering over the screen. "Jesus."
"Regretting your life choices yet, captain?" Hannah teased, dragging a finger through the mess on her collarbone before bringing it to her lips.
Garrett’s eyes tracked the movement with laser focus, his jaw tightening. "Not a single one." He tossed the phone aside and hauled her up onto the bed in one smooth motion, his mouth descending on hers before she could react. The kiss was hot and claiming, his tongue sliding against hers with a possessive edge that made her toes curl. When he finally pulled back, his lips trailed down her jaw, following the path of his own spend with deliberate, worshipful attention.
Hannah gasped as his tongue swiped over a particularly sensitive spot just above her nipple. "Garrett—"
"Shut up," he murmured against her skin, his hands sliding down to grip her hips. "I'm busy."
She arched into his touch, her fingers tangling in his hair as he licked a slow, torturous path across her chest, cleaning every last trace of himself from her skin. The sensation was almost too much—the contrast of his rough stubble against her oversensitive flesh, the way his grip tightened whenever she squirmed. By the time he reached the hollow between her breasts, Hannah was trembling, her breaths coming in short, uneven pants.
Garrett finally lifted his head, his gray eyes dark with satisfaction. "There. Now you’re presentable." His thumb brushed her bottom lip, his voice dropping to a rough whisper. "Mostly."
Hannah swatted his shoulder, but there was no real heat behind it. "You’re insufferable."
"And you love it." He rolled them over, pinning her beneath him with effortless ease. His hips settled between her thighs, the hard line of his cock—already half-hard again—pressing against her stomach. "Admit it."
Hannah pretended to consider this for a moment, her lips pursed. "I might," she allowed, her fingers tracing the defined ridges of his abdomen. "If you can prove it."
Garrett’s grin turned wolfish. "Oh, I’ll prove it." His mouth found the spot just below her ear that always made her shiver, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there. "Repeatedly."
Hannah laughed.