“Take my clothes off,” I say against his lips, heady power coursing through me.
He does not need to be told twice.
He tears at my clothes with an unabashed eagerness before ridding himself of the rest of his clothes too, tossing them haphazardly onto the floor. He scoots backward until his back bumps against the headboard, legs spread, cock resting on his belly. His cock is thick and long, with a bead of precome at the tip. He strokes himself once, drawing my eyes to where his hand is wrapped around his shaft. “Of course your dick is gorgeous,” I say. How is one person that good looking? It's not normal.
His face flushes deeper, chest heaving, flashing me a radiant smile that literally makes me nervous. “I can say with honesty that’s the first time anyone has ever told me my dick was gorgeous,” he says, pulling me forward by the elbows so that I’m kneeling between his spread thighs.
“I don’t know why. You have literally the most beautiful dick I’ve ever seen,” I say, wrapping my hand around his base. Will makes a tortured sound, a hand shooting out to cover mine, urging me to grip just a little tighter. I pump him once before he guides my hand up to his mouth spitting into my palm. With his hand still wrapped around mine, he spreads the moisture up and down his shaft. And then I start to stroke him in earnest, twisting at the tip, exploring him and what he likes. His eyes are closed, head thrown back in wonderful agony.
I need to be closer to him. I straddle one of his massive thighs, one hand pumping his cock, the other resting on his chest so I can grind my clit against him. Both of his hands are on me, pulling and tugging on my nipples.
“Oh my fucking God,” he grunts when I lean forward, latching onto his collar bone and start sucking, hard. One hand leaves my breast and covers the hand I have wrapped around his length, stilling me. “Wait. Pause,” he gasps in a breath, “just gimme a second. I don’t want to come yet.”
I stop my ministrations and scoot just a fraction closer to him, secretly satisfied with the red mark the size of a dime blooming over his skin right where I was kissing him. He lifts me up by the waist until I’m fully straddling him, legs spread open around both of his, exposed entirely to him, his cock bobbing between us.
I guide one of his hands to my center. Sighing when he presses his thumb over the apex of my pussy, strumming over my clit for a few seconds before pushing his middle finger inside me, grinding the heel of his palm into my clit. “You’re so wet for me.”
“That feels really good.” I start moving against him, searching for my own pleasure, undulating my hips when he adds a second thick finger.
I’m already getting close so I reach between us and start stroking him again, pumping with both hands in time with every thrust of my hips against his fingers, an imitation of riding his cock. Wanting us to finish at the same time.
His free hand cups my breast, squeezing and teasing my nipple. “These,” he lightly tugs on my piercing, “are so fucking cute.” He moves to my other breast. “These pink little gems,” he says, sounding tortured, making me flush with the compliment. He leans forward and sucks my nipple into his mouth, moaning into my skin. I palm the back of his head, holding him to my breast, continuing to pump his cock between our bodies. He grunts, bucking up, pushing further into my grasp.
The image of him like that, so deliciously desperate, is all it takes for me to tumble over the edge. Stars dance across myvision, waves of pleasure crash over me, my pussy clenching and pulsing around his fingers, the heel of his palm pressed against my clit, dragging out the orgasm with every roll of my hips.
As if my climax sets off his own, Will’s breathing stops, hips shuttling up, as he comes all over my hands and his belly.
Chapter Sixteen
Will
“Run it again!” Coach shouts. Perfect. I knew practice today was going to be fucking brutal after losing the first two games and the tie last night. I skate back to the starting line, waiting for the rest of the team to line up so we can run the stick handling drill again. The whistle blows and everything inside me erupts as I skate as fast as I can down the rink while dribbling the puck.
I’m not the last person to finish the drill, but I’m not the first person either. That honor goes to Fuck Head. I eye him as he skates a circle, getting ready for the next drill. He catches my eye then winks at me, getting into position. Cocky asshole.
Every time I see his face, I think about Kennedy confessing to me that Carter would take videos and pictures of her without her knowledge. I don’t have any other way of describing it besides: it's fucked up. It's fucked up what he did to her. More fucked up than I knew about. Something is seriously wrong with that guy. As in clinically. What kind of creep violates their girlfriend like that and then has the audacity to violate herpublicly. A shudder moves through me when I think about what he might actually be capable of when it comes to women.
The way she was literally shaking with fear thathegave her makes me want to keep her as far away from him as possible. I don’t know how I’m going to handle seeing him everyday the rest of the season.
Carter and I were never really friends, even before Kenny dated him. We’re both first string wingers and have been since freshman year, interacting as more rivals than teammates. It's hard to describe because during games he and I are fucking dynamite together as right and left wingers respectively, but there is always an edge to it. He scores a goal in one game, and I do everything in my power to score two in the next one. I skate faster than him in the first drill, and he pushes himself to skate faster than me in the next one. I PR a leg press during weight training, then he PRs weighted squats. I hook up with his sister, who in my defense, I didn’t know was his sister at the time, and he asks out Kennedy the very next week.
Now though, there’s no competitiveness on my side. Just pure unadulterated disgust. Disgust and repulsion.
I don’t realize I’m even doing it until I body check Carter harder than I intended. But I’ve spent the majority of practice unconsciously doing everything I can to harass him on the ice within the constraints of not getting suspended.
“Dude, what the fuck is your problem?” He says, righting his jersey.
“You,” I say.
I’m not sure what I expected, but it definitely was not for him to skate toward me, chuckle, and say just low enough for the two of us to hear, “So you finally fucked her, huh?”
I bite down on my mouth guard as hard as I can, clenching my fists around my stick until my hands hurt. If I punch him, Iwillbe suspended from the team, but more thanthat, I’m pretty sure Kennedy would be pissed. Instead, I say nothing, do nothing, pushing down the low simmering rage threatening to explode out of me.
By the end of practice, I’ve managed to get a tiny handle on my emotions. Carter needs to be in fucking jail or prison, preferbly for life, and looking at him on the ice, playing like nothing ever happened makes me sick.
I get that she didn’t share the details of everything he did to her before last week, but I wish I knew. And I can’t help the niggling feeling that there is so much more she isn’t ready to tell me about.
I glare at the back of Carter’s head, seething. “Bro, you need to chill out,” Adrian says on the way into the locker room. “You’re gonna make us skate laps if you don’t start playing nice.”
