Lessons In Losing It (Study Abroad Book 4)

by Jessica Peterson

  “I’ve got condoms in the loo,” I say. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Condoms?” she says, grinning. “I like the sound of that.”

  In the bathroom, I grip the edges of the sink and lean into my hands and try to catch my breath.

  I’m shaking. Almost as much as Rachel shook when she came.

  This is happening. I’m finally losing my virginity. I always imagined the girl I’d lose it to. But Rachel blows all those imaginary girlfriends out of the water. She’s smarter and hotter and more interesting. She is everything I didn’t know I wanted.

  I’m so bloody pleased that I could make her come.

  I am actually good at something other than football.

  I am also officially obsessed with Rachel’s pussy. I loved how she smelled and how she felt and how she tightened around my fingers when she came. She was so swollen. Swollen and so fucking wet and soft. My cock throbs at the memory of it. At the sweet, salty smell of her.

  Now I just need to keep from blowing my load in the first five seconds I’m inside Rachel. I’ve overheard the lads say that condoms help with this…er, issue.

  I glance in the mirror above the sink. I don’t recognize the man looking back at me. I imagine this is what I’d look like if I ever ran into J.K. Rowling on the street—pleasantly shell shocked. Bewildered in the best way.

  I put a couple condoms in the front pocket of my jeans and head back out to the living room.

  Rachel sits up on the sofa when she sees me, leaning against a pillow. Her hair, long and loose around her shoulders, is wild, and so are her eyes. Her lips are swollen, red.

  She is swollen and soft everywhere.

  I want to bury myself inside the softness between her legs. The thought of how good that’s going to feel—

  I stop a few paces from the sofa, gritting my teeth.

  “You’re gorgeous,” I manage. I don’t recognize my voice.

  She laughs, and the sound hits me squarely in the chest, like I’m hearing it for the first time all over again. “You sound like you’re in pain.”

  “I am,” I say. Rachel moves to cover herself back up with her shirt. “Don’t. Don’t you fucking dare.”

  Her dark eyes go wide. Not with fear—with arousal. “Oh—okay.”

  “I want to see all of you. As a matter of fact, take it off. Take everything off. Now.”

  She looks at me for a long moment. When this whole encounter started, I took control because I didn’t want to ejaculate in the first three minutes of kissing her. I thought if I was in charge, I’d have a better chance of making it last.

  But now I’m discovering I like being in control. It turns me on.

  From the look of it, it turns Rachel on, too.

  Her gaze latched onto mine, she takes off her shirt, one arm at a time, and, grabbing her bra from behind her back, tosses it to the side. Her eyes are burning now.

  “Open your legs,” I say.

  Slowly, she draws her knees up to her chest. Then lets them fall apart.

  Her pussy is just as gorgeous as the rest of her. Red, pink, swollen. It glistens in the low light of the room.

  “Here,” she says. She reaches down and sinks her first finger inside herself. “I need you right here, Fred.”

  My pulse roars at the lewdness of the gesture.

  At its perfection.

  I cannot get enough of this girl. I’m scared I’ll never get enough of her. But I’m not going to think about that now.

  I toss the condoms onto the coffee table, and then I take off my belt, unbutton my jeans. She reaches out and helps me tug my pants and boxers off my hips.

  “Oh my God,” she says when my dick springs free.

  It’s my turn to grin. That’s a good Oh my God if I ever heard one.

  “I’m clean,” I say, kicking my clothes off my ankles. “But I want to be safe with you, Rachel, and the condoms might help me slow things down a bit, yeah?”

  She nods, eyes still glued to my dick. “I’m clean, too. I actually have an IUD, so the birth control part is taken care of. But I’m definitely cool with condoms.”

  “I can send you a copy of my medical records—”

  “I trust you,” she says. Her eyes are dark and serious.

  My heart thumps. “I’ll send them to you tomorrow anyway.”

  I lower myself onto the sofa on top of Rachel. The hardened points of her nipples brush against my chest. I groan, reaching down to take one of her breasts in my hands. She sighs when I pinch her nipple.

  Being able to touch her like this—knowing I turn her on as much as she turns me on—it’s fucking overwhelming. It’s so much better than I thought it would be. I guess a small part of me didn’t let my imagination go this far; I guess deep down I thought I’d be better off putting all my focus on footy, because I was never going anywhere with girls.

  Because I’d never find a girl as genuine and as sexy as Rachel.

  The tip of my cock throbs against the soft skin of her belly. She reaches between us and takes me in her hand, and my entire body goes rigid.

  “You okay?”

  In response, I slip my hand between her parted thighs and touch a finger to her slit. She’s still wet, still very, very wet, and hot.

  She’s ready.

  I swallow. Please let me last long enough to get her where she needs to be.

  I lift my head and press my lips to hers. She pushes mine open with her tongue, and then we’re kissing, really kissing, demanding something of each other we haven’t yet given.

  The kiss gets messy. She bites my lip; I buck my hips, forcing my dick further into her hand. She’s rolling her hips against me, and I’m playing with her clit, and suddenly I can’t take it anymore. My arms are shaking—I can’t get a grip, my hands are sinking into the sofa cushions—and I feel like I’m going to come or die or both.

  I fasten her against me with my arms. She draws a breath.

  I roll onto the floor, a swift, sure movement that has Rachel crying out in surprise. I land on my back, careful to hold her tightly so I absorb most of the impact.

  “Okay?” I ask.

  “Okay,” she says.

  I roll over again, pinning her beneath me on the carpet while I kneel between her legs. Her hair is spread out around her head, a dark halo that compliments even darker eyes.

  “Please,” she pants, reaching for my cock. “I can’t wait. I don’t want to wait, Fred.”

  I slam a hand onto the coffee table, searching for a condom while I part her legs even further with my other hand, guiding one of her knees up onto her chest. I can see her pussy better this way, and she liked it when I did something different before. Maybe she’ll like it again. I hope so.

  I rip open the foil packet with my teeth. I’ve practiced this, too, so I’ve got the condom rolled onto my dick in a heartbeat and a half. I put my hands on either side of her head, careful not to pull her hair, and lean forward.

  Rachel reaches down and guides me to her center. I close my eyes, and suck in a breath through my teeth. She already feels delicious. I can already imagine the fucking insane pressure of being surrounded by her. Being inside her.

  “Go. Please,” she whispers. Begs.

  It makes me wild. I feel like a fucking animal.

  I buck my hips, hard, and she gasps when I surge inside her. She’s hot and tight and soft and bloody hell I want to live here, I want to live inside her throbbing heat. For a second my mind goes blank. All my focus is on this place where our bodies are joined; on the sweetest, most intense sensation I have ever felt.

  When I come to, I notice that Rachel winces, closing her eyes.

  Fuck.

  “Rachel. Christ, Rachel, are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

  She shakes her head. She doesn’t open her eyes. “It’s just been a while for me. I needed a second to, um, adjust. But I’m okay now.”

  “You sure?”

  Finally her eyes meet mine. “Fred, I’m so much better than okay. This�
��this feels—”

  I start to move inside her, a little baby thrust. The rug burns against my knees, the heels of my hands, but I don’t care. With her knee so high up—with her so spread open—the angle is deep.

  “—so fucking good. So fucking good,” she says.

  Her pussy flutters around me. A rush of blood gathers in the tip of my dick; my balls tighten.

  Oh, no. Not yet. I’ve got to last more than fifteen seconds.

  I pull back and close my eyes and take a deep breath through my nose. I corral my focus, will my body to do what I need it to do. It works on the pitch. I hope it works in the bedroom—or on the floor, I guess.

  Rachel rocks her hips. It’s a small movement, a gentle one, and when I open my eyes and see her looking at me, her eyes glassy and soft and satisfied, my confidence comes back in a rush.

  I’ve got this. I can trust my body.

  I can trust Rachel.

  My knees are on fire, but I don’t care. I keep moving. We’ve both started to sweat. I roll my hips against hers. She grasps my forearm, like she’s holding on for dear life. I tighten my abdominal muscles, use them to thrust a little harder, harder, harder, the slap of our bodies coming together only egging us on.

  She’s rolling her hips, too, she’s moaning, she’s coming apart.

  I pull her leg out from between us and settle even further in the cradle of her pelvis. Her tits bound in time to my thrusts. I’m really moving now; holy fuck we’re really animals.

  This is really fucking good.

  My low back stiffens as my orgasm gets closer. This time, I know I can’t hold it back. I’ve used up all my control, all my strength.

  I bend my neck and kiss her. She takes my face in her hands and makes the kiss hers, like she knows I’m about to fucking lose it.

  I pound inside her one last time. Her pussy swells around me, clamping down on my dick. And then I really do lose it.

  Something goes soft inside my chest at the same moment my orgasm explodes through me. I bite back a yell and squeeze my eyes shut. It’s too much. The release is too bloody much, too much relief, too much sensation. My body throbs; my vision goes blank; all I feel is Rachel milking me to completion, her tight heat pulling on me and pulling on me, pulses of hot cum filling the condom.

  I come for what feels like days. I don’t want it to stop, but then again I do. I do because it’s so intense it scares me a little. I don’t know what I might do or say.

  I’d give this girl bloody anything right now.

  Her hands are still on my face when I open my eyes. The hair at her temples flutters as I breathe, hard, into her face. Her hairline is damp with perspiration.

  Rachel leans forward and kisses my mouth, softly.

  And then she smiles. I notice then what it is about her smiles I love so much. They take over her whole face—cheeks, eyebrows. Eyes. She smiles with her eyes, the dark brown lit up with all sorts of good things.

  My heart skips a beat.

  “Holy hell that was excellent,” she says, and holds up her hand for a high five.

  I scoff. I give her the high five, but then I lace my fingers through hers, pressing our palms together.

  “So. Bloody. Good,” I say, and we both laugh. I look at her. “How was it for you?”

  “I’d fucking hate you if you weren’t such a great guy. You have, like, ridiculous physical talent in all areas of life—it’s not fair! You may be a gifted footballer, but you’re, um, gifted in other ways, too. You’re the best lay I’ve had. Ever. I’m not exaggerating.”

  I grin, reaching down to play with her pussy. I know she’s on the brink of another orgasm; I felt the first spasms when I was inside her just a minute ago. “Yes you are. But thank you nonetheless.”

  “No I’m not, Fred.” She gasps when I thumb her clit. “You’re—you’re amazing at this. Seriously. And I am seriously about to come again. Oh, oh my God.”

  That softness in my chest—it’s back, and it makes me want to be close to her in every way possible.

  “Look at me,” I say when she tries to close her eyes. “I want to see your face when you come. Your eyes.”

  She gives me a little nod, swallowing.

  “It’s just my back—I think I’m going to have a wicked rug burn,” she says.

  I go still. “Come on, Rachel. Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

  “I’m okay,” she says. Her lips part when I press my thumb against her clit a little harder. I’m still inside her; the spasms are happening again, small at first. “Please don’t stop.”

  I duck my head and put my mouth on the skin just beneath her ear. She tastes like skin, sweat. I suck her there, her pulse beating against my tongue. All the while I keep my eyes on her face.

  Trailing a long, ardent kiss down her throat, her shoulder, her collarbone, I finally reach her breasts. I know she likes this.

  So I go for the kill. I take her nipple in my mouth and bite down, hard.

  She comes. Her eyes go wide and her body arches up and she clenches around me. She whimpers; I growl, my dick getting hard all over again.

  This hurts.

  This is the best fucking thing that ever happened to me. It’s like I’ve stumbled on a whole new world—one I didn’t know existed outside of the football pitch.

  This world of Rachel and orgasms and dinners in and TV marathons and museums.

  I want to keep living in this world.

  I want to be with Rachel. For good. This happening fast, I get it. But a girl like Rachel doesn’t come around that often. A connection like ours is rare. I would know; I’ve been looking for it for years.

  I want Rachel to be my girlfriend. My real, long-term, maybe-forever girlfriend.

  For that to happen, though, one or both of us is going to have to give something up. Something big. I couldn’t do long distance with Rachel. I like having her here, by my side, too bloody much. And I travel so often during the season—almost every week—that I’d rarely have the time or the energy to jet across an ocean to see her.

  But how could I ask her to give up her dream internship back at Meryton if she gets it? Granted, there’s a chance she could also get the internship here in Madrid at the club’s training facility. But I respect her ambition—I admire it—and if that ambition takes her back to the states, then what?

  I’d have to leave Madrid, just when my contract is being renegotiated for a number that made my eyes water the first time I saw it. It’s a big number. A wildest-dreams number.

  I mean, I love my job here. I work well with my managers and the lads on my squad. I’ve worked hard to earn my place on what is probably the best football team in the world right now. How could I give all that up?

  How could I give it up for a girl I’ve known all of a week?

  It’s crazy. And I don’t know how Rachel and I will make it work. But I think it’s worth trying.

  I want to try.

  I wait until the spasms subside to pull out of her.

  “No!” she says, her arms going to the small of my back in an attempt to keep me there.

  I brush my lips against her forehead. “Your back, love. And I’m worried if we go again that—”

  That what? We’ll cross a line that cannot be uncrossed?

  Because that’s already happened. Somewhere between the kissing and the coming and the fucking, we crossed a line.

  And now I want Rachel to stay.

  So I hold her. I curl her into my arms and I hold her against me. I hold her so close I can feel the hammering beat of her heart against my chest.

  I want to go again. But I am concerned about Rachel’s back, for one thing. And for another, we have some TV to catch up on.

  Tomorrow. Maybe tomorrow I’ll feel her out. Tomorrow we can talk about making a relationship work.

  Tonight, though, I just want to keep enjoying her company.

  “Let’s take a little break,” I murmur into her ear. “I’m bloody dying to know whose throat Lorena rips out
first with those new teeth of hers, yeah?”

  I feel Rachel’s lips move into a smile against my shoulder. “Yeah.”

  Chapter 12

  Rachel

  The Next Morning

  I wake up slowly. I’m on my belly. Somewhere in the back of my mind it registers that I’m super warm and super comfy. This bed is heavenly. It’s soft and it smells clean and somehow so very cozy—flannel sheets, maybe? I burrow further underneath the duvet, luxuriating in the happy sensation of it all. What a delicious change from the cruddy mattress and scratchy sheets back at my dorm room.

  Somewhere in the background, a door closes, quietly; I hear a voice murmuring.

  A male voice.

  Fred’s voice.

  My stomach flips, jolting me fully awake. My eyes fly open.

  Pale streamers of morning light unfurl across a tidy bedroom. I’m in a massive bed dressed in impossibly gorgeous, impossibly spotless white linens.

  I turn over and sit up against the fluffy pillow. I suck a breath through my teeth at the unpleasant tightness of the skin on my back.

  Rug burn. From the crazy animal sex we had on the floor last night.

  Dear God.

  I hold up the blankets and glance down at myself. I’m in a man’s shirt—it’s huge, more like a dress on me—that has a giant purple number seven across the front. Fred’s number.

  I’m not wearing anything underneath the shirt. My vagina clenches, tingling with arousal. I reach down and touch myself.

  I’m dripping wet. And sore.

  I’ve been awake for, oh, twelve seconds, and already I’m so turned on I can barely stand it.

  What the hell did we do to ourselves last night?

  We were supposed to take it slow. And we ended up fucking on the floor of Fred’s living room.

  I hold my forehead in my hand, even as I fight back a smile.

  We fucked on the living room floor.

  Hell. Yes.

  Fred’s voice gets a little louder. It’s still a murmur, like he’s trying to be quiet, but I can hear him nonetheless.

  He’s speaking German, that much I can tell. He uses the word Mama.

  How cute. He’s talking to his mom.