by Harper James
And then he kisses me lightly, draws his hand away, and leaves me unsteady and swaying, still standing on the bench.
“Carson,” I moan, grateful my hands are still on his shoulders, or I’m pretty sure I’d fall over.
“I don’t want to owe you too many questions at once,” he says. He waits until I’m a bit more stable to step away, then strips off his jersey. I step down from the bench and watch as he removes pads, medical tape, but not the skintight pants that show off his muscles. I must be staring, because he clears his throat.
“If you’ve got another question, ask it— I’ve got to go shower off, and if you follow me into the showers then we definitely won’t be working on this interview.”
“How am I supposed to think about questions when you do that to me?” I ask.
“How am I supposed to answer questions when you do this to me?” he asks in a lower voice, then takes my hand and guides it to the waistband of his pants. I hold my breath as he pushes my palm against his skin, sliding it into the front of his pants. I can feel the heat, the sweat of him, and my fingers stretch nervously until I brush against the head of his cock. I jolt; Carson holds my hand there until my eyes drift shut and I dare to push my hand a little farther, till I can wrap the top of my fist around him. He’s thick— god, he’s thick, and I can feel blood pulsing through it as I explore him my touch.
I finally open my eyes again.
“Astrid,” Carson says in a heady whisper. His gaze is hungry and demanding; I like my lips and step closer to him, allowing my hand to slide farther down. I can’t imagine this fitting inside my pussy, and yet I want to find out of it does.
“Your huge,” I whisper.
“Do you know how often I think about fucking your sweet mouth?”
My lips part in shock, in delight at his words. No one’s ever spoken to me like that before, and I love it— and love the idea of him thrusting between my lips. Though again— how could I take all of this? I bite my lip, glance downward, then meet Carson’s eyes again.
“You know, if sucking my cock is on the table, then eating your little pussy has to be too.”
I nod, and the tension between my legs expands into a gnawing pain. The idea of having my mouth on Carson’s cock, of having his tongue in my pussy, tasting me in ways no one ever has before—
A door slams behind me; I yank my hand from Carson’s pants, flush hard. I’m a reporter— I can’t be seen in the locker room with my hands wrapped around the star player’s dick. Carson grins broadly at my alarm, then steps closer to whisper in my ear.
“Next time we’re alone, I need to be inside you.”
8
I end up writing down all my questions and texting them to Carson.
It’s easier this way— I don’t have to remember them when I’m still flushed and dizzy from his touch, and it also gives him to chance to pick through them and answer them as he goes along.
It’s an odd strategy and one that Devin is totally against, when I explain what I’ve done— it gives an interview subject time to prepare an answer, after all. With Carson, however, it works well, because he’s actually interested and excited to answer whatever it is he chooses from the list, even if he usually doesn’t choose the particularly hard-hitting questions. Still, it’s more than enough for an article— but, of course, not enough for the hard-hitting article on Carson’s father that Devin wants to publish.
“What’s your backup plan? If you don’t get drafted?” I ask over coffee one afternoon, before he heads off to practice. Today, he requests I not wear a bra or panties to our meet up at a coffee shop I’d never been to before. I oblige, only to realize that Carson was a step ahead of me— this place is freezing and my nipples are hard and showing through my top. Carson is watching the way my breasts move beneath my blouse, pleased with his handiwork.
“Coaching. Or working with an athletic wear company. I did some modeling for one of them my freshman year, and they were good people,” Carson says, though I can tell this is a distant sort of backup plan. I lean back and, after a quick look around to make sure no one is staring, relax my shoulders so my nipples press hard onto the front of my shirt.
And then I smile a little to let him know it’s intentional—and that I like him seeing my nipples like this.
“Careful,” Carson growls at me. “Don’t think I won’t take you back to my place right now.”
I like it when he talks to me like this. The truth is, though, that we’ve never even come close to going back to his place. We’ve gone on dinner or coffee dates. Carson has massaged my pussy through my panties, rubbed his thumb across my nipples, and had me sit in his lap while is erection threatened to break through both his pants and my skirt. Still, we’ve never seriously talked about going back to his place— which means we definitely haven’t discussed the fact that I’m a virgin.
“Empty threat,” I tease him. “We never go back to your place.”
“Empty? No. I just assume you have somewhere to go this evening, and I don’t think I could be done with you that quickly,” Carson says and takes a long drink of his coffee.
I lick my lips and squirm in my seat— I’m already wet, practically since the moment I walked in and saw him here, but when he says things like that it sends a whole new wave of arousal through me.
I bite my lip and try to sound like I’m teasing back when I say, “I don’t have anywhere to go this evening.”
Carson lifts his eyebrows. “Well. I have practice in an hour,” he says.
“Right,” I say, turning red. I shouldn’t have said that— I shouldn’t assume he actually wants to have sex with me just because we’re doing whatever it is we’re doing. I mean, just because I want him in me doesn’t mean he’s required to want anything more than what we’re doing, no matter how dirty he talks.
And ugh, I do want him in me, in a way I’ve never wanted a guy before. It’s not curiosity about what sex feels like. It’s Carson— I want him. I want him to take me, to guide me, to take control and—
“I’m free after practice,” he says, words clipped and serious. “You should come by my place then.”
I blink. “Really?”
Carson nods, his eyes hooded. “Really,” he says, then leans forward, adjusting his chair in the process so that no one can see when he rolls his hand over my left breast, squeezing my nipple lightly between his thumb and forefinger. I stifle a moan as he leans into my ear and whispers, “I need to fuck you, Astrid. I’ve needed to since I first say you, I’ve just tried to ignore it. I can’t anymore. Do you need my cock in you, sweetheart?”
“Carson,” I whimper as he nips at my earlobe. “Yes. I need it. But—“
He releases my earlobe and sits back a bit, a look of concern on his face. He doesn’t release my breast, but he relaxes his fingers working my nipple. “You don’t have to, of course,” he says, and he means it.
“That’s not it.” I say hurriedly. “I want to— I really, really want to. But I feel like…I feel like I should tell you something.”
“Oh,” he says, looking concerned. I can’t blame him; that was an awfully open ended “but”.
“I’m a virgin,” I say, unable to keep my eyes on his as I say it. I bite my lip; Carson’s hand falls away from my nipple, and he goes still.
“A virgin?” he asks.
I nod at the floor.
“But you’ve…you’ve done some things, right?” he asks.
My eyes feel hot— I might actually cry. I guess Jess was right— guys freak out when you tell them you’re a virgin. Why did I say anything? I should have just risked it; he’s been incredibly attuned to what I like this far, why would I think he’d be different in bed? It’d have been fine. But now I’ve gone and—
“Astrid? What have you done before?” Carson presses me.
“With anyone other than you?” I ask meekly, and I see him nod in my peripheral vision. “Nothing. Well, kissing. Sometimes sort of intense kissing, I guess, but that’s it.�
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Carson inhales, sharp and surprised. “So I’m the first one to touch you like I’ve been doing?” he asks.
“I shouldn’t have said anything. My roommates just got me worried that it’d be too rough and I’d get hurt and Arianna said I should tell you and I wish I hadn’t—“
I’m quieted by Carson’s mouth on mine, firm but gentle, his tongue easing against mine, his free hand sliding around my back and pulling me a little tighter to him.
“Eight o’clock. I’ll text you my address,” he murmurs against my cheek.
9
I count down the hours, the minutes, practically the seconds till eight o’clock. I shave my pussy, because that seems like the sort of thing to do. I reapply all my makeup. I put on my one and only set of matching underwear, which isn’t actually matching at all, but the bra and panties are practically the same shade of pink so it’ll work.
When his address appears in my text messages at seven, I stare at it for far too long. This is really happening. I’m losing my virginity to Carson Slate tonight, in an hour.
It’s an excruciating amount of time to wait.
But finally, at eight o’clock, I arrive at the door to Carson’s apartment, shaky and scared and excited and practically vibrating off his front step with the confluence of emotions. My heart races as I hear him walk to the door, and feels like it stops completely when he answers it.
“Astrid,” he says, that arrogant smirk pulling at his lips. He’s showered after practice, and I can smell the sharp scent of shaving cream on his skin even from here. He steps to the side and allows me into the apartment.
He’s from a wealthy family and he’s a successful football player, so I shouldn’t be surprised that he has a remarkably big one-bedroom apartment to himself rather than cramming in with suite mates. I am, however, surprised at how neat it is. There’s nothing on the walls and no real decor to speak of, but there’s a tidy futon that even has throw pillows, a two-person dining room table, and a decent kitchen. It screams “I’m never actually here”, but it also screams “I don’t trash it when I am”. Carson shuts the door behind me and I jump; he lifts an eyebrow in amusement.
“Relax,” he says, shaking his head and stepping toward me. He cups my face in his hands and lowers his lips to mine, kissing me soothingly. It doesn’t totally abate my nerves, but I do feel some of the tension slipping away. I lean into Carson, part my lips a bit, and he slips his tongue lightly into my mouth before pulling away. “I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to,” he says.
“I know. I’m just a little scared,” I answer, blushing.
“Of me?” he asks.
“No. I’ve heard horror stories and I just…I don’t know what to expect,” I admit. “You’re…you’re a lot bigger than me.”
“You’ve got nothing to worry about. Trust me.” He kisses me again, and then sweeps me into his arms in a single motion. I startle, but then lean into the feeling of his body carrying me, how strong his arms feel beneath me. I drop my purse and my lips find his neck as he carries me into the back— to his bedroom. He lowers me to the made bed gently, and turns on a tiny bedside lamp that’s the only source of light in the space. The shades are already pulled, and the room smells like him. I sit stiffly on the edge of the bed, ankles crossed, unsure what to do next.
Carson steps back and looks at me, letting his eyes drag up and down my body without restraint. “You’re perfect, you know,” he mutters, stepping forward, brushing a piece of hair over my shoulders. He runs his fingertips down the side of my neck, then drags them underneath my right breast. I inhale at the sensation, and bite my lip. “I’m going to go so slowly, Astrid. So slowly. I don’t want to forget anything about this, and don’t want you to either.”
“Okay,” I say breathlessly.
“Relax,” he tells me again.
“I’m trying,” I argue.
He nods. “Maybe— wait here,” he says, and then walks to his closet. He returns a half second later holding a neck tie, one I recognize as the color the football team wears out to formal occasions. I sit perfectly still as he props a knee on the bed beside me, then lays the tie over my eyes.
“Carson, I want to see—“
“You will,” he promises, words a hot whisper in my ear. “You just need to relax a little first, Astrid. I promise—you’ll be looking in my eyes when I fuck you for the first time.”
“Okay,” I stammer as he knots the tie around the back of my head. It’s smooth and cool— silk, I think— and I have to admit, not being able to see forces my shivering to subside a bit.
Carson never takes his hands away from me entirely, so I always know where he is. He smooths my hair down, slides his palms down my arms, drags his fingers across my legs, playing at the hem of my skirt as he goes. I know he’s staring hungrily at me— I can feel it, even through the blindfold— and I like it. I find my lips curving into a smile as he drags his hands further down and gets off the bed to carefully unclasp my shoes, one at a time. He kisses the side of my foot, then my ankle, my calves, up and up and up until he’s at the hem of my skirt once again.
“Perfect,” he mutters again, and then lifts my skirt the tiniest bit to kiss me there. I expect him to repeat this, but instead he moves back up, and lifts me a little bit to push me farther back onto the bed, so I’m lying flat on my back. I cross my feet again, instinctively I suppose, as Carson positions himself at my side. He must be kneeling, because one hand strokes my cheek while the other begins to creep up my inner thigh, urging my legs to uncross. I obey, and then spread them a bit to give him better access. “That’s right,” he says, then brings his lips down to mine, kissing me slowly and passionately. I lift my arms, wanting to wrap them around his neck, but then he pulls away. For a moment, I’m not sure what he plans— but then I feel his breath on my thigh.
My breath staggers as Carson lifts my skirt by tugging at each side, kissing my legs as he goes, growing closer and closer to my pussy. He finally gets my skirt up over my hips, and gently pushes my legs farther apart with his hands. I can’t see, but I know he must have a clear view of my panties now, and by his stillness, I can tell he’s staring.
“Astrid,” he growls. “Look at you.” His hand then gently covers my pussy, and I moan as he massages me lightly, his thumb rubbing against my clit and his fingers stroking my lips. My panties are long soaked through, and now grow even more saturated from the pressure of his hand. My back arches at his touch, my head pitches to the side, and there’s a blurry moment of peaceful, sweet bliss at the feeling.
Carson makes a satisfied sort of hum, and then I feel his fingers move to the edge of my panties, tugging them gently to the side. I don’t know why, but I expect him to plunge his fingers into my pussy— and I want that, to be honest. Instead, he teases at the edge of my lips, circling my entrance and then lightly touching my wet clit with the pad of his fingers. I groan again, shuddering at each touch, so sensitive.
“No one has ever done this to you,” Carson comments in disbelief and delight.
“No one,” I stammer. “It feels so good.”
“We’re just getting started,” he growls, then tugs my panties down to my knees in a single, fast motion. I laugh nervously, and tilt my head side to side, like I might suddenly be able to see what’s about to happen. No luck, though; I’m immersed in darkness when Carson places his palm above my pussy and carefully spreads me with his fingers, exposing me as I’ve never been exposed before. I breathe heavily, waiting for what will happen next, and then feel Carson’s breath tickling my abdomen, my clit, and then the light, gentle sweep of his tongue against my pussy itself.
I cry out without meaning to, and Carson pulls away for a heartbeat, before apparently realizing the sound was from pleasure. He puts his mouth on me again, this time kisses my clit as deeply as if it were my mouth, massaging me with his tongue until my hips buck relentlessly against his touch. My world, already dark, is somehow growing bright from pleasure, and there�
��s a rippling in my chest that’s spreading down to my pussy, an orgasm that feels more powerful than anything I’ve experienced before.
“Carson, I’m going to come,” I whisper.
“Not yet,” he answers, and abandons my clit. I moan in protest, but his mouth moves further down, licking at the sides of my pussy, exploring me entirely with his tongue. He repositions himself between my legs, then lifts my feet so that my knees are propped on his shoulders before he lowers his mouth to my pussy once again. This time, he slides his tongue into me.
I cry out again, nearly a scream this time, at the feeling of being penetrated. My hands dart down and I practically smack Carson in the head in my blindness, but then grasp his hair in my hands and hold on tightly. Carson doesn’t need direction; he knows I’m enjoying this, and he begins to lick up to my clit before returning back down, slipping his tongue instead of me, then licking the length of me again. He hands support my ass from below, lifting my pussy to his mouth, squeezing my ass cheeks hard as he continues on. I feel like I may break apart, I start to sweat, to feel dizzy and hazy.
“Carson,” I pant, but I can only just get his name past my lips. There’s no stopping my orgasm this time, there’s no way. Carson must know this; suddenly his mouth is on my clit, sucking, stroking it with his tongue as I moan loud and long against the feeling. My hands tighten into fists and the wave of arousal threatening me suddenly crashes down, obliterating all sensation except pure and perfect pleasure. I’m hazy and dizzy and writhing on the bed, wanting to both escape and push deeper against his mouth, the sensation too much to bear yet somehow not enough.
Carson’s mouth lightens as I catch my breath, begin to slow, feeling drunk and lightheaded as the most powerful orgasm of my life tapers off. He kisses my pussy again, then lowers my ass back to the bed and ducks to lift my legs off his shoulders. I’m not entirely expecting it when he reaches up and slides the blindfold off my face.