The Freshman (Kingmakers)

by Sophie Lark

  I arch my back just a little, pressing my ass back against him, testing to see if that’s really what I’m feeling. Leo lets out a low growl, deep and thrumming, and his cock gets twice as hard, like an iron bar between us.

  All my sleepiness burns away in an instant. My blood rushes through my veins as Leo turns me over roughly so we’re facing each other, his cock pressing against my belly now.

  We’re face to face, looking into each other’s eyes. Slowly, Leo runs his tongue over my lips, tasting me. Then he kisses me, fully and deeply. I’ve never kissed someone like this, our mouths wide open, our tongues delving deep, our breath mixing together. I feel like I’m melting into him and he’s melting into me. I’ve never felt so connected to another human, as if we were becoming one person together.

  I know Leo so well that I can feel what he’s feeling, I know what he’s thinking. I feel like I’m becoming him and he’s becoming me, that even our consciousness is blending.

  It’s surreal and almost spiritual. Fuck it, it is spiritual—the most enlightened experience of my life. This is nirvana. This is soaring above the earthly plane. This is the epitome of human existence—two souls combining as one.

  And that’s just from a kiss.

  It goes on for a long, long time. The better part of an hour. Until my lips are just as swollen as Leo’s and more sensitive than they’ve ever been, all the input of my body focused on lips, tongue, mouth, and my hands fiercely gripping Leo’s face.

  At last we break apart, just an inch or two apart. Leo is looking into my eyes. All the confusion, the resentment, and the misunderstandings between us have burned away. I’ve let go of all of it. I don’t blame him for anything. I see him, all of him—a person who is young and growing, who makes mistakes but who is the best human I know, who can’t do anything but get better every single day.

  I hope he sees the same in me. Because I’ll do anything to make Leo happy.

  “I’m sorry,” Leo says.

  “I’m more sorry,” I tell him. “But it doesn’t matter. You don’t have to be perfect to be the perfect person for me.”

  “But I did fuck up, Anna. I want you to know, I never cared about any other girl. Not Gemma, not anybody. I’ve only ever felt this way about you.”

  “I know,” I say. “It’s the same for me.”

  “And I don’t care that you slept with Dean, it’s doesn’t matter—“

  “I didn’t,” I interrupt him. “I never slept with Dean. We never actually . . . you know. Went all the way.”

  “It’s okay if you did,” Leo says. “I don’t care.”

  He thinks I’m trying to spare his feelings.

  “I didn’t,” I tell him firmly. “We got close one time, but I couldn’t do it. I was thinking about you.”

  Leo is quiet for a moment. A long moment. Then he says, “That’s what happened to me.”

  I look at him, at his still and sober expression that I can barely see in the dark infirmary.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Any time I was about to do it . . . I just . . . couldn’t.”

  Now I’m the one frowning in confusion, not understanding him.

  “Leo . . . are you trying to tell me you’re a virgin?”

  There’s an embarrassed pause and then Leo says, “Yeah.”

  I almost want to laugh. That seems impossible, ridiculous even. But I would never laugh at him when I can tell he’s feeling so distinctly uncomfortable.

  “How is that possible?” I say, thinking of the endless parade of girls who threw themselves at Leo in high school.

  “I mean, I fooled around a lot. But when it came time to actually do the deed . . . it just never felt right. It never felt like the right girl. I didn’t want to think about it. I never admitted to myself that the right girl . . . had to be you.”

  I think if I could see Leo clearly, he might actually be blushing for the one and only time in his life.

  “I felt the same,” I say quietly. “I’m a virgin too.”

  “Yeah?” Leo says, and now I hear something else in his voice: deep relief.

  It hits me at the exact same moment.

  I’m about to have something I never thought I could have.

  Leo and I are about to experience sex for the first time together.

  28

  Leo

  I can’t believe Anna’s a virgin, too.

  I really can’t believe it.

  My heart is hammering against my chest, and I’m trying not to squeeze her too hard in my arms.

  I never even let myself picture this scenario.

  But now that’s it’s happening, it seems like it could never have worked any other way.

  Fate has orchestrated every confusion, every hesitation, every failed relationship that came before so that Anna and I could experience this precise moment, coming together when we were finally and fully ready.

  Anna is laying in my arms, dressed in her damp bra and panties. We’re completely alone in the infirmary, Dr. Cross too old and too far away to hear us, and every other person on campus fast asleep.

  There’s nothing to stop me taking her right here and now. Nothing except my own fear of fucking this up.

  I’ve never been so scared in my life.

  I know what I need to do, but I’ve never actually done it. Of course I know how sex works. I’ve seen plenty of porn. But that’s not the same thing as experience.

  It’s Anna’s first time, too. This has to be perfect for her. I don’t want to fuck it up. I don’t want to let her down.

  She feels the pressure of the moment just as much as I do—I can feel her pulse jumping wildly under my fingertips where my hand caresses the side of her throat.

  Wanting to help her relax, I slide my hand down and start to knead the tense muscles where her neck meets her shoulders. As I feel the stiffness ebbing away, I move my hands down further, massaging her shoulder caps and pressing my thumbs into the tight muscle just above her breasts.

  I know she must be aching from all the running, fighting, and shooting earlier in the day. Sure enough, she can’t resist my touch. She goes limp and docile in my arms, like a rabbit turned on its back.

  The thought of Anna helpless in my arms is strangely erotic. Anna is fierce and stubborn. She’s never helpless. But I’m suddenly aware that as strong as she is, I’m much stronger.

  This is what it means to overpower a woman—it means that when you touch her the right way, she literally falls under your control. Her body is putty in your hands.

  Reaching around behind her back, I unclasp her bra and pull it free, dropping it down on the floor. I curse how dark it is in the infirmary, because I want to see her naked. Only a faint bluish light emanates from the digital clock on the wall. It’s just enough light to see the silvery glow of Anna’s skin, and the firm, full swells of her perfectly-sculpted breasts.

  I can see her nipples standing out, slightly upturned, and aching to be touched.

  Gently, I run my hand over her breast, feeling the butter-soft expanse of her skin with the single hard point of her nipple dragging across the center of my palm. Anna groans, arching her back to press her breast harder against my palm. I close my hand around it, easily gripping her breast, and then I slide my fingers down to caress and tug on the nipple itself, seeing how much stiffer it can get.

  That obvious sign of arousal acts like an electric shock to my cock. It jumps up, jabbing against Anna’s hipbone.

  I wrap my arms around her whole body, crushing her against my chest so my cock can press hard against her, so I can feel how small she is compared to me.

  I growl in her ear, “I told myself if I ever got you back, I would never let you go.”

  I squeeze her tight to let her know that I’m strong, that I’ll protect her, and that I’ll never let go of her.

  I squeeze until I feel her relax against me, giving in to the embrace because she can’t do anything else.

  “I’m yours, Leo,” she whispers. “I�
�ve always been yours.”

  She’s giving herself to me. Every part of her. Even the parts that have long been the most secret and forbidden.

  With that pervasive sense of taboo still hanging over me, I reach down her flat belly, sliding my hand under the waistband of her thong to touch the achingly soft skin of her pussy. How many times did I watch Anna dancing in a leotard, and the thought crept into my mind to wonder how tight and perfectly shaped that little pussy must be beneath, covered by only the thinnest and smallest strip of material . . .

  I have never in my life felt skin as soft as her bare pussy lips. My fingers glide over the surface like satin. I reach a little lower, down the narrow cleft between her lips, until I find the wetness around her entrance. I dip my fingertip inside, using the lubrication to slide my fingers up and down her pussy.

  I lift my finger to my lips, tasting her wetness. I’ve never tasted a girl before. I’ve gotten plenty of blowjobs, but I never reciprocated on anyone. I never wanted to.

  This is completely different.

  I don’t just want to eat Anna out. I need to do it.

  I need it more than I need to draw my next breath.

  I slide down her body, bracing myself on her thighs with my hands. I pull off her underwear, dropping it down on top of her bra.

  Her legs open up like a flower, knees pointing out, because Anna is flexible. I love the way it opens up her pussy to me. I can just see the pale pink folds inside, the tiny nub of her clit exposed at the top, and then her opening which doesn’t look open at all. It looks like it wouldn’t even accommodate my pinky finger, which gives me a twinge of concern as to how we are actually going to fit together.

  For now, I do what I know I can do. I lick her pussy softly and carefully, running my tongue all the way up her slit at what I hope is the right speed. I’m licking her like you’d lick ice cream—tasting her carefully, trying to reach every last bit of her.

  Anna responds at once, moaning and writhing her hips on the sheets. She isn’t pulling away from me, but rather pressing her clit against the flat of my tongue. I assume she likes this, and I’m doing it well.

  Instantly I get that competitive fire, that desire to perfect my technique. I want to test to see what’s most effective. So I start using different strokes with my tongue, different levels of pressure, carefully analyzing the sounds she makes and the way she moves, being sure to only continue what elicits the softest moans and gasps of pleasure, and not to do anything that seems too intense or uncomfortable.

  Soon Anna’s breath becomes a steady pant like she’s running. She’s whimpering, and I can tell she’s ramping up. Gently, I slip one finger inside of her. I’m shocked how firm her flesh is inside, how tensely she grips around my finger, like a hand grasping me.

  I can’t believe how close I am to putting my cock in there. I’m desperate to do it, and yet I don’t want to rush because I want all of this to last forever.

  I definitely want to make Anna cum before I even put my cock inside her. If I can’t control myself, if I blow instantly, I want to make sure she got off first.

  Feeling how tightly she’s squeezing my finger, I have no confidence in my ability to hold back my orgasm.

  I’ve found the right rhythm, gently sliding my finger in and out of her while I lick her at the same tempo. As she pants harder and harder, she seizes me by the hair and holds my head right in place while she grinds her pussy against my tongue, wordlessly telling me to hold my face still while she applies exactly the pressure she needs.

  I’m obsessed with the way she smells. I’ve heard men criticize women’s scent—they must be out of their fucking minds. I’m breathing in her scent purposefully, and it’s as rich and sweet as her sleep-heavy neck. Like the pheromones of skin, but at a much wider and deeper amplitude. It’s a natural scent, like summer grass in the sunshine.

  I’m ferociously eating her pussy, unable to get enough of it.

  Anna starts to cum, which makes me more aroused than I’ve ever been in my life. Her orgasm is more intensely arousing to me than anything I’ve experienced myself.

  As she shakes and shudders, falling back against the bed, I rise up on my knees, towering over her, looking down on her. I want to see the whole length of her gorgeous nude body.

  Of all the parts of her I’ve seen or imagined, I never could have imagined the perfection of her completely naked form. If it were made into a painting, it would be the most famous art in the world.

  I take my cock in my hand. It fills the whole of my hand, throbbing and heavy. Kneeling between Anna’s legs, I lean forward and rub the heavy, burning-hot head of my cock against her still-sensitive clit. Anna moans and squirms, barely able to stand it. It feels incredible to have the most sensitive part of me rubbing against the most sensitive part of her.

  As I rub her with my cock, I use my free hand to massage her breasts and pull on her nipples. Her nipples look so sexy that I lean over and take one in my mouth, amazed at how soft that skin is too. Every part of her is softer than anything I imagined.

  I nuzzle my nose against her neck, kissing her soft throat, inhaling her scent.

  “I want to be inside of you,” I tell her.

  “Yes,” Anna gasps.

  I position myself on top of her, leaning on my elbows, and I shift my hips so that the head of my cock presses against her pussy. I expect her to have loosened up a little now, from my finger and her extreme wetness and the fact that she had an orgasm.

  But as my cock presses up against her opening, nothing has changed. It barely feels like there’s any hole at all, and I’m not quite sure what to do.

  Anna is urging me on, holding her legs spread wide, grinding her hips against me to try to help me get inside.

  “It won’t fit,” I say, slightly embarrassed. “Do you want me to push harder?”

  “Yes!” she pants.

  I shove and thrust, with a guilty sense that this must be hurting her. It’s working, though—I can feel intense heat and warmth as the head of my cock slides inside of her, millimeter by millimeter.

  That sensation does something to me. It elevates me far beyond simple arousal. It unleashes a monster inside of me. A beast that is single-minded in its lust.

  There’s no stopping now, no holding back. I’m actually enjoying the feeling of her pussy tearing around my cock. The warmth and wetness increase, and I don’t care if it’s blood or lubrication.

  I bite the side of her neck and the monster inside of me growls, “I’m going to dig a hole in you with my cock. I’m going to sculpt that perfectly tight pussy to fit me alone, and I’m going to tear a path to make it fit.”

  With that, I give one last thrust all the way inside of her so I’m buried up to the hilt, and Anna gives out a cry more like a scream that would certainly wake Dr. Cross if he weren’t halfway to the grave.

  I slow down just a little—partly to give Anna a breath, but mostly because I want to savor this exquisite sensation: my cock gripped tight inside of her from the very tip of the head all the way down to the base.

  Then I start fucking her again, speeding up the penetration, sliding all the way in and out as my every stroke jolts her body.

  As Anna seems to get more comfortable, I rise up on my knees again, holding her legs open wide at the ankles, and driving deep inside of her. I think of all the times I’ve seen her stretching and bending on the floor, her legs wide open in the splits, her body bent all the way over. I remember the lust that percolated inside of me every fucking time, how impossible it was to keep it buttoned down.

  No—I can’t think about that. I’m going to blow if I picture pulling her leotard to the side and fucking her. I’m going to blow right now if I don’t stop driving into her so deep.

  Hastily, I switch positions so I can cut off the urge to cum.

  I scoop Anna up, sitting her on my lap, lowering her down on my cock like she’s sliding down a pole. Even though Anna is on the taller side, she feels tiny and light in my arms.
She’s so strong that she can support her own weight with her arms around my neck, and I can easily bounce her up and down on my cock with hands under her ass. The control I have over her body, her utterly vulnerability, is intensely arousing. I can feel my orgasm building again. I’m barely holding onto it, like a rabid dog about to burst its leash.

  I try rocking her on my lap, my cock no longer sliding in and out, but just bumping up against her cervix in shallow thrusts, her clit grinding against my lower belly right above my cock.

  She presses her face against my neck and starts inhaling deep breaths like I did to her before. She loves my scent just as I love hers. It makes her ride me harder, like I’m a pony in a race. She goes from canter to gallop on top of me.

  Then she shoves me down on the bed, biting and sucking on my neck.

  This has a strange effect on me. I was already ninety-seven percent hard, and all of a sudden I’m at a hundred and ten percent. My cock swells beyond where it’s ever been before. Bizarrely, this seems to reset my orgasm, just for a moment. But immediately I can feel it building again, like a brake check followed by increased acceleration.

  Anna sits up partway, her palms spread on my pecs, her fingernails digging into my skin. She’s still riding me, bucking her hips hard. I never could have imagined how erotic this would actually be, having this gorgeous girl ride me so desperately. I feel like a fucking billionaire with a girl like this wanting me so bad, taking pleasure from my cock.

  I’ve hit buzzer-beaters in an arena full of people, but I’ve never felt a rush like this. Anna’s animalistic attraction to me is better than any win, any triumph, any high.

  Anna is feline, and my pheromones are catnip. She’s going wild, biting and scratching my chest.

  We have years of built-up frustration between us, sexual tension we couldn’t even acknowledge, let alone dispel. The harder we fuck each other, the more we give and receive these bites and scratches, the more catharsis we feel.