Page 41 of Tanner

As my hot tongue slowly slicks up her center, her legs tighten, and her ass tightens against my hands. She’s at a level of ecstasy I’ve never seen, and it’s getting me off, just seeing the way she’s melting at my touch.

“Oh God, Tanner. Please. Please don’t stop. Please. I-I—you—fuck.” She’s speaking gibberish, and I know exactly what’s she’s feeling.

I remove her panties the rest of the way and stand up to remove my pants, grabbing a condom from my wallet before I do. She’s panting when she reaches up, stealing the condom from me and ripping the packet open. Crawling over to where I am, she raises her eyebrows at me as she slides it on, making my head drop back as I try hard to calm myself.

As she lies on her back, I lie on top of her, pushing my way in slowly, and we both moan at the way our bodies become one for the first time.

Taking a deep breath, I have to pause, closing my eyes and truly enjoying the warmth her body offers, wrapped tightly around my cock.

She gasps as she wiggles underneath me, trying to gain friction. “I-I don’t want to come this fast,” she pants.

I lean back to see her eyes pinched together. She’s serious right now.

“Please move. I’m. So—”

I slightly pull out, and she moans from so deep inside. I slam back into her, making her scream out as I get my rhythm. Every time I slow down, she groans, wiggling underneath me in sweet agony.

I’ve never seen a girl so responsive to sex. Her entire body is lit on fire, and with the slightest touch, it seems like she’ll explode.

And, when she does, I pause, amazed at the way she squeezes me as her body goes tight underneath me. A scream intertwined with a moan escapes her mouth in a breathy tone as her chest rises, and her head falls back on the bed.

Mere seconds later, I follow her release and lose all control as I grip her beneath me, barely able to breathe, as my body feels like it was just drained in the most intense way.

10

TANNER

I have an hour in between classes, so I walk to a diner to grab a quick bite to eat. Once I’ve ordered, I choose a corner booth, and before I can take my first bite, my phone rings. Austin’s picture—the one he put on my phone of him standing in front of his Camaro, wearing a leather jacket, blue jeans, and the cockiest fucking smirk I’ve ever seen—appears. The guy loves himself; that’s for sure. I don’t give him too much shit about it.

“What’s up, brother?” I say as I accept the FaceTime call and pop in my earbuds.

“Are you having soup for breakfast?”

“Lunch. I’m three hours ahead, remember?” I put the phone against the square silver napkin dispenser, so I can talk and eat at the same time.

“What’s good there?”

“I got some clam chowder.” I hold up the spoon, showing off the creamy goodness.

“It’s in a glass bowl. Who eats clam chowder out of a normal bowl?” he asks, confused.

In San Francisco, it’s a mortal sin to eat it in anything but a sourdough bread bowl.

“New York does.”

“You’re shitting me, right?”

“Believe me,” I say, taking a sip of my soup, “the first time I ordered sourdough toast for breakfast, the waitress looked at me like I was crazy. She said my choices were rye or whole wheat.”

He laughs out loud. “Is there no sourdough in the entire city?”

“I found this awesome bakery in Chelsea Market that makes it, but it’s not the same as back home. According to the baker, the yeast is best grown on the West Coast.”

“Well, there you go. Yet another reason to come back to San Francisco.”

I laugh out loud. “Yes, that makes total sense. I’ll tell everyone I’m moving back home just so I can have sourdough bread,” I say sarcastically and open the bag of crackers that came with my soup. “But, hey, at least they gave me this awesome little bag of oyster crackers.”

He slams a fist into his chest as if a sword just went through it. “This is sacrilege.”