Marching season is out, but the competition is only heating up.
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Section leader applications for the next marching band season at Halston University are officially open, and percussionist Bay Rodriguez wants the role.
Bay's only competition is Ca...
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THE DESIRE HAS SET IN strong.
It's been so long, too long, since I had Callum, since I felt his body on mine. Out of respect for our new dynamic, slow and purposeful and tentative, I haven't tried anything the whole week. Yesterday, a Friday, I came over to watch a movie with him. We cuddled and talked and cooked dinner together. In his bathroom, I was internally moved when Callum retrieved the spare toothbrush I used back when we were hooking up in secret. He never threw it out.
Still, no sex.
This Saturday morning, we wake up blearily, eyes crusted. Together we brush our teeth, tired but slowly waking up, step into the shower, make out in the shower, step out and towel off, and finally lock the door of his bedroom behind us to get dressed for the day. Outside the windows, there's a gray drizzle over the town.
Callum stands at his dresser, wearing only a towel around his hips, slapping his cologne into the sides of his neck. He asks casually, "Do you need a ride back to the dorms? It's raining."
I stare at the firm muscles of his back and the sharp hip bones leading underneath the white linen. Fall backward onto the bed, I unwind my towel and drop it on the floor. I stretch myself naked on top of his sheets, damp hair cascading over my shoulders. "Can I stay a bit longer?"
Callum glances over his shoulder, and his face goes slack. "Holy."
"Get over here," I command, propping myself up on my elbow.
But he doesn't. Taking in my body, a reverent smile graces his lips. He drops his own towel and I eye his hardening erection with obvious lust. Slowly approaching, Callum closes his hands around my ankles and tugs me to the edge of the mattress. The next thing I know, I'm on my back, the breath knocked out of my lungs in the form of a surprised croak. The backs of my knees rest on the soft blanket, and my toes skim the carpet.
Callum leans in, freshly smelling like that cologne of his, and presses a soft kiss to my mouth. Another peck at the side of my chin. One where my jawline meets my ear. He works his way down my neck, swiping his tongue across the faint pulse at my carotid artery. When he aims for a spot on my collarbone, I grunt with impatience, take his face in both hands and slant his mouth over mine.
His palm lands beside my face, a pleased chuckle falling right onto my tongue. Kissing me back, his scent curls around me, woodsy and warm, his heartbeat thumping solidly against mine. I chase every sensation—the pressure of our torsos together, the slide of his tongue against my bottom lip, his scent—with eyes closed and heart wide open.
