Sweeper

by Amy Daws

“Zander, I’m going to…”

  My voice is cut off because he moves his hand between my legs and presses his thumb to the hood of my clit. He slides it back and forth rapidly, and an orgasm hits me with such unbridled violence, I nearly buck him away.

  But his hold is strong, and he’s not done. He’s still pounding relentlessly into me, and when he brings his thumb that was just touching me to his lips and sucks on it, I think that I must be in the middle of the dirtiest sex dream of my life because this cannot be real.

  I’m jostled when he pulls out of me and flips me onto my back. I hold my breath high in my lungs as he spreads my legs and drops to his knees. His lips and tongue are now assaulting my sex, and my body feels like it could crawl out of its skin. It’s all coming so fast, so hard, so frantic. He shakes his head from side to side, savagely feasting on me as his fingers dig into the meat of my thighs. The noises he makes vibrate through my core, and I feel as if I’ve been launched into another dimension. I don’t even have a chance to catch my breath, to catch my mind, my heart…all of it is gone, emptied to the depths of my dancing vagina that’s gearing up for another…

  “Not again…” I croak as the release hits me like a sharp branding iron, and I scream out, “Zander!”

  He moans his approval into my sex, lapping at my sensitive nub as I shudder and go limp beneath him. He stands to push back inside me. His cock is still gloriously hard as he holds himself up over top of me and pumps with a smooth, sultry rhythm. I try to lift my head off the bed to kiss him, but every ounce of muscle is drained from my body, and my sex seems to be the only thing left as it pulses between my legs with its own bloody heartbeat.

  Zander’s eyes are trained on me, but I can barely see past the stars dancing in my vision. “Do you want to taste yourself, Daphney?” he asks, his voice husky as he licks his moist lips.

  I nod and find the strength to reach up and grab his neck. I pull him down to my lips, and he swirls his tongue deep into my mouth. He tastes naughty and sensual, and the entire act has my pelvis greedily grinding up to meet his thrusts. A third orgasm approaches, and I can’t even believe it’s possible.

  How did I live my entire life, never realizing this was what I was missing? How will I live my entire life, potentially never having this again? That thought causes a pang fear to surge through me, and it’s apparently triggered a domino effect because the next thing I know, I’m toppling over the cliff for the third time.

  I cry out as Zander pushes through my trembling aftershocks. It feels like I’m practically milking him, and I fear he’s going to try to make me come again, and I’m not sure my body will survive another.

  Finally, he lets out a frustrated growl, and when I see his jaw go taut and his arms turn to rock-hard boulders around me, I exhale with relief. Seconds later, he expels a savage groan and freezes as he releases inside me.

  With a huff, he drops onto my body, and the dead weight of him is like a delicious, weighted blanket I’d love to own.

  Finally, he comes to and glances down at me with a smug look I’m surprised he has the energy to express. “See? I’m not bad at sex.”

  His comment causes a confused jolt to shoot through me as he rolls off and stands, giving me a perfect view of his sculpted arse as he walks toward my loo.

  “What did you just say?” I prop myself up on my elbows and watch his profile through the open bathroom door as he discards the condom and washes his face and hands in my sink.

  He wipes his hands with a towel and turns to prop himself in my doorway. He quirks a pleased brow. “I showed you, didn’t I?”

  “Showed me what?” I sit up and push my tousled hair out of my face.

  “That I’m a good lay.”

  My body tightens. “Who said you were a bad one?”

  He laughs and shakes his head as he returns to stand in front of me. He grabs his boxers off the floor and pulls them on. “No one. Ever. That’s why I had to prove it to you.”

  Frowning, I grab my robe off my bedpost and slip it on, cinching it tight around my waist as I stare back at him. “Zander, what are you going on about?”

  He hits me with a flat look. “I could tell the other night you weren’t impressed. Which is really unfair because I’d just finished playing ninety minutes of soccer. What did you expect of me? It’s fucked up, ye know. Women get mad at men for being misogynists, but one mediocre performance, and you’re ready to write a dude off. It’s a double standard, Ducky. I expected better of you.”

  “Zander, I swear on my life I have no clue what you’re going on about.” I stand and stop him from putting on his shirt because I need to understand what he’s saying.

  He narrows his eyes on me. “Just admit that you sent me packing the other night because you thought I was a bad lay.”

  “I never said that!”

  “I can read between the lines,” he volleys back at me. “Although I’m surprised I had to. You don’t strike me as a girl who can’t be honest with a dude.”

  I cross my arms over my chest, feeling properly annoyed now because he’s assassinating my character for all the wrong reasons. “You think I wanted you to leave the other night because you were bad at sex?”

  “Yup, which is why I had to prove you wrong.” He mirrors my stance and cocks his chin. “I can’t have my street cred tainted because of one lackluster performance.”

  A hyenic laugh bursts out of my throat as I cover my mouth. “I can’t believe you’re serious right now!” I shake my head and push my hair out of my face. “Most days, your ego is so big, I fear you won’t fit in this building. But other times, you’re just so utterly human it’s…almost endearing.” I press my hand to my chest, staring at the half-naked footballer in front of me, who looks as if I’ve just kicked his puppy.

  “Then what was the issue?” he growls, his expression turning from cocky arsehole to boyishly confused in the blink of an eye.

  “Not that,” I reply honestly, fiddling with the belt of my robe to avoid eye contact.

  “Then tell me what it was,” he insists.

  “It’s not something you need to worry about.” I sit down on my bed and cross my legs to feign casual, feeling anything but after those three orgasms he just gave me.

  “So, there is something?” Zander’s tone is challenging as he steps in front of me to use his massive frame to intimidate me.

  “Leave it be,” I state firmly.

  “No.”

  “Yes.”

  I glower up at him, daring him to argue with me again, and before I know what’s happening, Zander pushes me backward and flattens his body over mine. He clutches my wrists in one hand above my head, rendering me incapacitated.

  “What are you doing?” I gasp, squirming against his body, my chest heaving beneath his crushing weight. He situates himself between my legs, causing my robe to fall open.

  He eyes my exposed breasts hungrily. “I’m going to get my answer out of you.” He blows cool air over both of my nipples, causing them to pucker beneath his greedy gaze.

  My pelvis writhes beneath him, and I’m aching for his breath to be in another area altogether. But of course, I can’t tell him that. I roll my eyes and sigh dramatically. “Just because you gave me some orgasms doesn’t make you some sex god, you know.”

  His body shakes with laughter, and I see a wicked glint in his eye just before he releases my wrists to assault my sides with his fingers. I squeal in protest and do my best to fight him off as his hands move over my ribs and stomach, relentlessly tickling me until I can hardly catch my breath.

  “Fine, I’ll tell you!” I scream out, my body wilting under his assault as tears from laughing fall out of my eyes. “Just stop tickling me.”

  He’s like a proud dog with a bone as he hovers over top of me, smiling like a loon.

  I sigh and turn away because I can’t make eye contact when I say this, or I’ll die of embarrassment. “I sent you packing the other night because I had just experienced my first orgasm and was h
aving a bit of a mental freak-out.”

  I chance a glance at him, and he blinks back at me in shock. “You’re lying.”

  “Why would I lie about something like that? It’s not exactly something to brag about.”

  He shakes his head as he climbs off me to sit on the edge of the bed. I pull my robe closed around me again and sit up to watch him process this apparently very shocking information.

  “But you’re not a virgin, right?” he asks, looking at me with a puzzled brow.

  “No.” I laugh.

  “But you’re saying I gave you your first big O?”

  A dejected sigh escapes my lips. “It would appear so.”

  “So, I’m not bad at sex.” A smug grin lifts all the features on his face.

  I want to insult him to knock him down a few pegs, but I’m nothing if not honest. “You’re not bad at sex.”

  He bites his lip with a victorious smile. “And just now…” he points at the bed, like a dog begging for a treat.

  “You gave me three more orgasms,” I state flatly.

  “Fuck yeah, I did.” He makes a fist and pumps it a couple of times in front of him as his eyes dance with victory.

  I comb my fingers through my tousled hair. “I’m glad you’re pleased because sex is probably ruined for me forever now.”

  He stops his mental dance and eyes me curiously. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “Well, I’ve had five sexual partners in my life that never got it done. So, the odds of finding someone who can do it in my next relationship are probably not good. I’m currently one for six.”

  Zander frowns as he stares back at me, his voice taking on a surprisingly honest tone when he says, “Well, it’s not much different than soccer. You probably just need practice.”

  “What am I to practice exactly?” I ask, turning to him with confused eyes.

  “Practice figuring out what you like. I mean…sex is a team effort, so communication is the first step.”

  I frown at that thought. “You mean I should just tell the bloke what to do?”

  Zander nods. “Basically.”

  “But I don’t even know what to tell them. I didn’t tell you anything. You just figured it out.”

  “That’s because I’m a Premier League sexpert.” He chuckles like a moron.

  “Don’t be daft.”

  “Okay, okay.” He wraps one of his muscly-soft arms around me, and my body instinctively tucks into him, inhaling his manly scent for comfort. “What if we keep this going between us?”

  “What?” I peer at him out of the corner of my eye, hoping he’s not winding me up. “Keep having sex?”

  “Yeah…I mean, we can keep it casual. But like, regular. That way, you can figure out what you like. Then someday, when I’ve provided you with enough sexual healing, you can direct a mere mortal’s cock to perform better for your pleasure.”

  “I really hate that I told you all of this.” I groan and drop my face into my hands. “Your ego does not need it.”

  “I love that you shared this with me.” He chuckles sweetly. “I’ve been a fumbling moron around you since the moment I arrived in London. It’s about damn time I got a leg-up for once.”

  I roll my eyes and glance over at his stupidly cute face. He’s like the perfect combination of sexy and adorable. It’s really inconvenient.

  “Just admit you like my cock, Ducky.” He leans in and waggles his dark eyebrows at me.

  “Shut up.”

  “And you like my mouth too.” He bites his lip again, and my center clenches with desire. Bloody hell, I do like his mouth.

  Honestly, how am I not exhausted from those three orgasms already? It makes no sense.

  “Basically, you like everything but the words that come out of my mouth.”

  “That, I will agree to.” I give him a playful shrug.

  “So, let’s keep this going. Let’s have some fun and get to know each other…biblically.”

  “So would you call this friends with benefits?”

  “Friends is a stretch when you just openly admitted you hate everything that comes out of my mouth.” He laughs good-naturedly. “But I know you like labels and rules, so let’s call us…neighbors with benefits.”

  “Neighbors with benefits,” I repeat the silly label and feel myself nodding slowly. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

  Zander

  Marvin Gaye’s lyrics for “Let’s Get It On” boom through my portable speaker as I sit in my living room at eleven o’clock the next day. I’ve been up since eight and have already worked out and picked up my apartment. I even went to the post office and sent a Bethnal Green jersey to my mom.

  And the best part is, I’ve done it all quietly.

  Which makes me hope that when Daphney hears my not-so-subtle music through these paper-thin walls, she doesn’t stomp over here and rip my head off. I’m genuinely not trying to piss her off. Then again, she’s cute when she’s mad, so even if it does get her riled up, I’m still pulling in a W. No one ever said I was mature.

  I wince to myself as the song continues. This is for sure one of the most desperate moves I’ve ever made with a girl. But I have a rare weekend off from soccer because it’s an international break, and I wasn’t called to play for Team USA this time around. It was a damn miracle that the sadist, Coach Z, let us all have the weekend off too. Which means I need to make the most of this. And I can think of no other person I’d rather spend it with.

  Yesterday, after I gave Daphney three orgasms, she had to shower and leave for work. I offered to wash her back, but she said we hadn’t reached that comfort level yet. That was a hilarious response because she looked pretty damn comfy when I was eating her out and she told me she wanted to taste herself on my lips.

  Fuuuck, that was hot.

  In fact, it was dirty hot, which is a nice contrast to the good girl persona Daphney projects most of the time. I intend to make many more dirty memories with her. Starting today.

  A knock on my door causes a giant smile to spread across my face. When I jump off my sofa and run to see who it is, I’m pleased with the sight before me. Daphney wears a big, girlie, shy smile that I really want to kiss off her face.

  I school my features to look aloof as I grab my phone and press pause on the music. “Oh sorry, is my music too loud for you, neighbor?”

  She crosses her arms over her chest and hits me with a devilish smirk. “Why on earth would you think that?”

  I lean on the doorframe and can’t mistake the flare of heat in her eyes as her gaze moves down my body. “Oh, maybe because I was playing it at max volume to get your attention.” I waggle my brows at her, making no mistake the dirty thoughts crossing my mind as well.

  She bites her lush lower lip. “You are such a cheeky arsehole. You could have just knocked on my door.”

  “I was trying to be charming,” I state plainly and glance down at her appearance. She’s wearing a slouchy green sweater and tight jeans with high-heeled boots. Her makeup and hair look freshly done, too. She didn’t just wake up. She’s been up for a while. What the hell? “How long have you been up? I thought you’d still be sleeping since you worked late last night. I’ve literally been sitting here quiet all morning waiting for you to wake up.”

  “I woke up an hour ago.” She slides her hand through her loose blonde curls. “I’m meeting Phoebe for brunch.”

  I eye her seriously. The fact that I wasn’t her first priority upon waking is an offense I will not take lying down. “Well, what a coincidence. I love brunch.”

  She barks out a laugh. “You want to go to brunch with us?”

  “I’m ravenous.” I narrow my eyes wickedly at her.

  “You have met my friend Phoebe, right?” She hooks her thumb over her shoulder.

  “Yeah, she seemed cool.”

  She purses her lips together, and that little dimple appears on her chin. “Very well then, come to brunch with us, Soccer Boy. This should be entertaining.”
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  She turns to retreat, but I reach out to grab her by the sweater and yank her toward me. “Do we have time for an appetizer?”

  She stares hungrily at my lips. “They’re called starters in England.”

  I laugh and don’t even try to hide the smile on my face as I kiss her smart mouth.

  The car ride with Daphney is surprisingly comfortable. Not that I thought it’d be awkward. But I can’t say that I’ve had many experiences hanging out with girls I’ve had sex with outside of the bedroom. Maybe a nightclub, or a bar. But in broad daylight with nary a beer in sight? Not typical.

  Then again, nothing about Daphney is typical. Most girls who found out they lived next door to a professional soccer player would have been tripping over themselves to flirt with or impress me. Daphney tripped over herself to yell at me. Until she kissed me, obviously.

  And what a kiss that was. I guess what they say is true, the chase really does make things taste so much sweeter. And look, I’m not trying to toot my own horn or anything, but I swear Daphney seems cheerier since we’ve hooked up. Maybe we’re actually alike in one way. Good sex equals a good mood.

  Daphney chatters as she drives us to brunch, telling me about the different areas of London and the types of people who inhabit each part. I’ve gathered she has two brothers who live near our apartments, and it was a big deal for her to move out of her parents’ home in Essex last year. It’s a bit of a foreign concept to me because as soon as I started college, I basically never went back home. I considered myself close with my parents but not in the way that Daphney appeared to be.

  We arrive at some fancy-looking brunch place in Soho. The restaurant is covered in white tablecloths with servers bustling around in black and white uniforms. It feels like I’m watching an episode of Downton Abbey that my mother made me watch with her for an entire season.

  “No fucking way,” a voice yells, and I turn my attention to see that it’s Daphney’s friend Phoebe sitting at a small square table with her eyes fixed on us.

  Daphney’s eyes go wide as she clocks a woman with two small children at a table right beside Phoebe. She shoots a furious look at her friend as she grabs my hand and hurries us over to the table. “Watch your language, Phoebe,” Daphney hisses as she all but shoves me down in a seat beside her.