22. Maddox

TWENTY-TWO

MADDOX

After double-checking that my door handle is locked, I flip off the lights and take the few strides across my tiny room to my bed.

The frame creaks as I drop onto the mattress.

My blankets are still flung back from this morning, but instead of pulling them over me, I kick them out of the way.

I've learned to sleep through anything, so I don't mind the music vibrating through the house.

But I'm not going to sleep.

Not yet.

I grip my hardening dick through my boxers.

And picture Hannah.

Picture what she must have looked like standing in the bleachers.

Imagine the way she'd have thrown her arms around my neck if I'd been able to find her after the game. Remember the way her perfect, soft body felt against mine.

Shoving my waistband down, I wrap my fingers around my length.

And I think about how well she'd take me.

I think about it in detail.

The sounds she'd make.

The way she'd dig those fingernails into my shoulders.

How she'd bounce with each thrust. How I wouldn't have to worry about hurting her. How I could be myself with her.

I close my eyes, and I think about Hannah Utley.