by Harper James
“Shhh,” he scolds against my forehead, then kisses me there. He squeezes my ass cheeks again, then lifts me higher, like I weigh nothing at all. “Wrap your legs around me,” he says. I feel like a doll, moving robotically, but I manage to lift my legs and wrap them around Sebastian’s waist. “There we go,” he says encouragingly. “You’re so small, Ashlynn. I’ll have to be careful when I fuck you.”
My eyes widen. Did he just say that? Does he mean he— oh, god, I’m already thinking about it. How it’d feel to have him on top of me, how it’d feel to ride him, his hands on me, those dark brown eyes staring up at me while I slide up and down on his cock. Is it as big as his body implies? I press myself tighter against him at the idea.
“You like that? I thought you might,” he says, then moves his pinky fingers forward, so they slide against the back of my pussy. Even through my shorts and underwear, the touch makes me hot and wet and pulsing. Is this really happening? I bury my face against Sebastian’s chest, drink in the scent and warmth of him. I’ve never wanted someone like this. I’ve had crushes, of course, and I’ve had sex, but I’ve never felt like I needed someone in so many ways.
He slides his pinky fingers back and forth lightly, tickling me, exciting me. I take a deep breath and lift my head, daring to meet his eyes. They’re sparkling and hungry, eager and confident. They’re also commanding. He holds my gaze as he shifts my weight to one hand, then slides one finger along the hem of my shorts, brushing against the line of my panties. When I quiver, he pushes the finger under the edge of my panties, against the lip of my pussy. I moan out loud, but do so without looking away.
He removes his finger, then carries me over toward the light switch at the edge of the patio. He flicks the light switch off, casting us into darkness other than the faded light from the adjacent buildings. My nerves spike again, and I’m sure Sebastian can feel my tension, but he doesn’t say anything— he’s in charge, now, and it’s thrilling.
I keep telling myself to stop this insanity, that this is dangerous, but the truth is that I’ve stopped caring for the moment.
I want his hands on me again, and I wish I could find my voice to beg for it.
He turns away from the light switch and lifts me up higher on his body, using his chin to coax my head up. He kisses me, hard and gentle at once, sliding his tongue into my mouth and teasing at my own. I’m still frozen, though, just like the night before, and though I try to kiss him back, it’s a paltry effort.
“We’ll get there,” he murmurs into my list. “Once you come for me, you’ll relax.” Then he lowers me again, sliding me down his torso. I jolt up and grab for his shoulders instinctively when I feel something poke at my ass— it’s his cock, hard and pointed straight up at me. “You had to know you were doing that to me, Ashlynn. Go on. Let go,” he says, twisting his shoulders to encourage me to lower myself back down.
Trembling, I lower myself, and there it is— his cock, or at least the thick head of his cock, presses against the fabric of my shorts, which quickly soak through from my own wetness. He must be huge, for his cock to reach me. Am I even big enough to take a monster like that? He said he plans to fuck me— that he’d have to be careful. I look up at him, hoping he can read the question in my eyes.
Even in the dark, I can tell how beautiful his eyes are.
Leaving his cock poised right at my entrance, he slides his fingers back underneath my shorts, under my panties, and urges one of my lips back so the wetness of my pussy spills onto his fingers. He groans, pleased to see how wet I am, and I struggle to catch my breath. No one’s ever touched me so perfectly and gotten me so hot and wet like this.
“Pull your shirt up for me,” he orders, and as frozen as I am, hearing a command seems to free me a bit. I release my hold on his shoulders and tug up the front of my shirt, revealing a fairly boring bra— I didn’t know Sebastian would be seeing it, after all. He looks down at the pale skin of my breasts, then darts his eyes back to mine. “Pull it down and let me look at you.” As he says this, his fingers press deeper between my pussy lips. I groan and reach up, tugging the cups of my bra down, letting my woefully small breasts out.
“Very nice,” he growls approvingly, then hikes me up high against his chest, so that I’m gripping him with my legs at his ribcage rather than waist. I miss the press of his cock against me, but the feeling is quickly replaced when he presses his tongue hard against my right nipple. I moan— loud— and it encourages him. He takes my nipple into his mouth and sucks on it, grazing it with his teeth. I arch my back and press my breasts tighter against him; he opens his mouth wide and takes more of my breast in his mouth, massaging me with his lips, flicking his tongue back and forth across my nipple.
My core heats up, my body vibrates in pleasure. I want more of my body in his mouth, I want him to lick me, to bite me, to suck me. He grips me tighter with one hand, then presses his thumb under my panties and up against my clit. I buck against him in surprise and excitement, but he’s holding me tightly— there’s nowhere I can go, except closer to him. He continues to such on my nipple as he massages my clit in tiny circles, sending my nerves racing, sending electricity through my body. My head rocks back, I pant and feel floods of wetness soak through my panties.
Sebastian releases my right nipple, moving to the left. As he does so, his thumb moves, hovering over my entrance for just a moment. He stalls there, waits until I look down at him. He knows how bad I want his fingers in me. He’s waiting me out, waiting for me to grow desperate. I give him a pleading look and try to press my hips down, but he’s holding me against his chest so tightly I can’t move. I whine and grab fistfuls of his hair. He sucks on me, then pushes his thumb inside me, wrapping his remaining fingers around my ass cheek. He grips me there, then rubs the inside of my pussy with his thumb until I tremble and cry out.
I’ve never felt like this— I’ve never known I could feel like this. Sex has always been something that I did that felt marginally good, like going for a run or getting tipsy. But this…this wild, dizzy feeling, this heat rising from my pussy as Sebastian finger fucks me with an expert touch…I had no idea. I feel my legs go slack, unable to hold onto him anymore, but Sebastian has no trouble supporting my weight on his own. He lifts me higher, then drapes me over his back like he’s picking me up and carrying me off. My legs dangle across his chest, my ass rests on his shoulder, and it all gives him perfect access to change from his thumb to his fingers, longer and bigger. He rubs my clit every few thrusts, keeping me just on the edge of orgasm.
“You’re so tight Ashlynn. Are you a virgin?” he asks as he pushes his fingers deep inside me. I try to answer, but it’s no use. “Even if you’re not a virgin, I guarantee you’ve never been fucked the way I’m going to fuck you.”
Hearing this sends me over the edge; the heat growing in my chest expands like a sun exploding, and I whimper loud and long. Sebastian flips me back over and catches me, cradles in just one arm. “I want to see your eyes when you come for me,” he murmurs, looking down at me. I nod frantically— I want that too. I fight to keep my eyes from squeezing shut as Sebastian moves his fingers to my clit, rubbing lightly, perfectly, urging the orgasm from me slowly.
I’m not scared anymore. I’m…I don’t even know what I am. I don’t even know who I am, right now. The orgasm comes across me slowly, starting at my clit and creeping over my body like an explosive tide. I arch in his arms, but he doesn’t give up, continuing to stoke my clit until I let out a single, long cry; at that point, he moves his fingers down and presses two inside me, stretching at my pussy, sending my body bucking in arms.
I pant, dizzy, confused, exhausted, and turn my head into his shirt fighting for each breath. My orgasm tapers off— a real orgasm, that’s what that was. I thought I’d come before, but those experiences were barely noteworthy now that I’d orgasmed like this. I don’t even know how he did it— how did he know just how to touch me, just how to take me? My heart is pounding, my forehead sweating, knees wobbly
and trembling. I hear Sebastian take a satisfied breath, then he sits down on the edge of the wall by the pizza oven, where I’d been when he first came out. He holds me against him as I regain my senses.
“Next time,” he says, reaching up and pushing a stray strand of hair behind my ear, “I’m going to put my tongue in you.”
Oh, god. I want that— I want that so bad. I want him between my legs. I want to feel his mouth on my pussy. I want to feel his cock in me, scary as the prospect is. I can still feel it beneath me, hard and eager, and I can’t help but wonder at how he doesn’t seem bothered to have not gotten off. I’ve never given a blowjob before, but I wonder if I’d be any good at sucking Sebastian’s cock—
What am I doing? My rational brain cuts in for the first time since Sebastian walked out here. Sebastian Slate just sucked on my nipples, just made me so wet that I worry it might show through my shorts, just made me come with just his fingers. What the hell is going on here?
“I…I need to go,” I say, barely finding my voice.
Sebastian shrugs, not nearly as offended as I expected him to be. “I thought you might say that.”
“Yeah, sorry, I just…” I stammer, twisting myself around. Sebastian lets me down without a fight, though he has to reach forward and steady me when I nearly collapse again— my knees are still wobbly. I lock them and force myself to take a few steps toward the patio door. “I have tables,” I say lamely.
“Next time, you’ll need to explain why you work so hard to pretend like you don’t want me, Ashlynn.”
“There can’t be a next time,” I say, shaking my head dizzily, still making my drunken way toward the patio door.
“Next time, I’m going to fuck you, Ashlynn,” he calls after me.
And the thing is, I want him to. Because even as insane as this is, as much as I know there shouldn’t be a next time…I know there will be. And I like that.
7
Wait, no, no, there can’t be a next time.
For starters, I am not attracted to football players. Never have been. I dated people in the photography club and music department when I was in high school. I lost my virginity in the black box theater, for god’s sake.
And secondly, he’s a Slate. He’s Dennis Slate’s son. Letting him touch me— hell, letting him speak to me betrays my entire family, especially my aunt. When I haven’t been able to shake the thrumming happiness of my experience with Sebastian from my memory the following morning, I decide to Google Sebastian’s name, to see just how he feels about his father’s role in my aunt’s death.
I’m fairly certain that all of Dennis’s sons have sided with him in no uncertain terms. But I still have some small hope that maybe Sebastian is different…
But no.
Sebastian— and his brothers— have all publicly declared their father to be totally, one hundred percent innocent. They don’t even use my aunt’s name in the various interviews or statements they’ve given; they’re focused on their dad, like he’s the victim here. Even if they think their father is innocent, couldn’t they at least care about the fact that a woman died? That someone murdered her? How can they not even question their father’s flimsy alibi (that he was out driving alone, collecting his thoughts)?
Sebastian didn’t kill my aunt, but he doesn’t seem to care that his father might have. What the hell am I doing, wanting him? I feel sick, twisted around, the nightmare version of the orgasm Sebastian coaxed out of me. I’ve got to get control of myself. I’ve got to forget about Sebastian Slate.
Except, that’s going to be pretty hard at a school like Berkfield.
“Are you still coming with us?” Maddy calls through the door. “Because we need to leave like…now.” She’s growing impatient, and I know it’s only a matter of moments before she flings my bedroom door open.
I’m lying in bed, staring at my laptop, at the dozens of articles on the Slate family I’ve got pulled up. I’ve been reading, Googling, bookmarking, berating myself since almost six o’clock. It’s now nearly ten— about twelve hours since Sebastian and I hooked up— and it’s time for my roommates and I to head to the football stadium. We all entered the same dates in the student ticket lottery, figuring that if nothing else, we’d always have someone to go to the games with.
So now I sort of have to go to the football game with them. Because if I don’t, it’ll be incredibly obvious that something is going on. After all, I came home just a few days ago wearing a football player’s jersey.
“I’m almost ready,” I lie, then spring from my bed, throwing on a mustard yellow sundress and twisting my hair into a topknot. It’s fine, I tell myself. It’s great research for the New Recruits Week case.
Which, by the way, I really regret getting involved with, now. How did I go from barely knowing a thing about the football team to hooking up with a star player in less than three days?
I burst from my room a few seconds later; I can tell my roommates are not impressed by my lack of makeup, but whatever— I’m choosing my battles, today. We make our way to the stadium with what feels like the rest of the college, everyone a sea of burgundy and yellow-gold. I’ve never been to a college football game before. Honestly, I probably wouldn’t have even entered the ticket lottery if it weren’t for my roommates’ enthusiasm.
“You should have worn Sebastian’s jersey!” Maddy says in a way that tells me she’s been wanting to nag me about this since the moment I stepped out of my bedroom. “Why didn’t you? You’re probably the only one in the school that has one.”
“I just didn’t think about it,” I lie. “Besides, I’m sure he’s given one to someone else. He didn’t act like it was a big deal.” That second part is true, at least. He had a drawer full of t-shirts he could have given me; impressed as my roommates were by the jersey, it must have been decidedly un-special for Sebastian to select it. I mean, he did so before he started looked at me like…
Well. Like the way he looked at me last night, on the patio, when I came in his arms, staring into his eyes.
I feel my breath quicken, and fight off the memories, instead trying to focus hard on what Emily is saying.
“He doesn’t date. I’ve heard he doesn’t even hook up, but there’s no way that’s true,” Emily says, looking to Maddy for confirmation.
“Yeah, no quarterback has ever turned down the amount of ass I’m sure gets thrown Sebastian Slate’s way,” Maddy says through a snort. “I’ve heard he only started not hooking up after his dad became a suspect for killing that lady.”
“That’d make sense,” Becca says, always the most introspective of my roommates. “I mean, your dad goes to jail for maybe killing a lady he was having casual sex with. That can’t make casual sex look too appealing, can it?”
I shake my head in agreement with my other roommates, hoping my face doesn’t give anything away. There’s so much to give away, after all: My hookup with Sebastian, sure, but also, my aunt’s death— my roommates have no idea that the “lady” they’re talking about has anything to do with me. My aunt’s last name was Miller; mine is Sawyer. My mother and I mostly stayed out of the press after my aunt died— our lawyer said it’s best we save everything for the actual court rather than the court of public opinion. Plus, Aunt Tessa died a few weeks before my high school graduation, and I was pretty eager to get to college and not be “that girl whose aunt got killed by that famous football guy”.
So, I didn’t tell anyone at school about my aunt. It’s been easier, this way, but it also feels weird— like I’m living some kind of double life. Aunt Tessa’s death was— is— such a huge part of my life, and here I’m just smashing it down, keeping it quiet, save using it as my motivation to join the student advocacy group. Worse yet? I sort of…like it. It’s nice not thinking about her every single hour of every single day. The downside, of course, is that all that not thinking about her seems to catch up with me at once. Like last night, for example, when I sat in my room for hours berating myself for what I’d done with the s
on of the man who killed her.
I’m about to fall into another pit of guilt and regret when we enter the stadium, and the crowd’s energy makes it impossible to feel anything but excited— they’re so loud that they drown out my thoughts, and the world becomes a blur of school colors as we creep closer and closer to kickoff. We’re in the student section, which smells like cheap beer and smoky cool air and freedom. Maddy leaps up on her seat to whoop when the camera pans over us, and I laugh at her enthusiasm.
I catch it, though, when the crowd roars for the team— the players are coming out of the tunnel, clean white pants and strong shoulders, heads held high, helmets on. I immediately begin looking for Sebastian, but I’ve never actually seen him from a distance. I scan the players, growing frustrated, when I suddenly remember he’s got a giant number 11 on his chest. That’s literally the way they identify them on the field, Ashlynn, I nag myself as my eyes lock on the number.
He’s in the front— he’s the captain, I think. He’s a senior quarterback, so that seems to make sense. He’s walking in long, confident strides, and even though I know he’s just walking toward the benches, it looks a little like he’s walking toward me. My stomach flips, and I bite my lip as my eyes drift down his arms. I was in those arms last night— he held me last night, lifted me up against him, never tiring, moving my body around him, moving his fingers into me—
God, it felt so good. I want it again. I want it now. I know he won’t be able to pick me out of the crowd, but I fantasize for a moment about him doing just that, about him calling me down to the field, taking me somewhere secret in the stadium and fucking me like he promised he would—
“You totally have a thing for him,” Maddy snickers, poking me. “Stare much?”
I jump, but then flush— the more I deny it, the more she’ll tease me. “He’s hot, that’s all.”
“Maybe you should try to see him again,” Emily suggests. They know nothing about last night, of course.