Stone Creek

by Davis, Lainey

  He raises his eyebrows when he discovers I'm not wearing anything under the sweatpants. I can see a bulge forming in the front of his pants and I reach my hand out to massage it, but Neal lifts me up onto the table he's just cleared. "Lie back," he tells me, kneeling in front of me on the floor. With my ass at the edge of the table and my legs dangling onto his shoulders, I lie back and close my eyes, savoring the feel of Neal's lips along my thighs.

  No matter how many times he goes down on me, I never can get over how hard he's able to make me cum. When he has his tongue on my clit, he's in control of every pleasure center in my body. By now, he knows all my sounds and movements and he torments me, withdrawing each time I'm on the verge of eruption, drawing it out until I can't stand it anymore.

  I let my fingers drop into his hair and I pull his face against my center, not caring what he wants anymore. I need relief. Neal has two fingers inside me, gently sliding in and out of my slick tunnel as his tongue laps at my clit. He looks up to meet my eyes as he works and suddenly, I feel him slip a finger along my ass.

  "Neal! No! You can't!" I start to protest and sit up.

  "If it doesn't feel good, I'll stop," he says, continuing to glide his fingers in and out of my pussy while his other hand begins to explore my rear entry. I lie back on the table and breathe, trying to relax. I feel my mind slipping out of the moment, starting to worry about my notes spread all over the floor. Then, Neal puts his tongue back onto my clit, and I forget my hesitation. I can feel his digit sliding into my ass, and the sensation of fullness with his fingers inside my pussy, too, creates an unbelievable pressure. He's stimulating me in every possible way and I can feel an orgasm growing unlike none I've felt before. Slowly, his thick finger slides deeper into my ass as two more feel at home in my pussy. I am stretched all around him, firing nerves that have never shot before.

  "Jesus Christ, that feels good, Neal. Holy shit." My back is arched on the table as he moves hands and tongue in unison, lapping and sucking, plunging and stroking. Neal invades my ass with his index finger until something snaps inside me and I cum hard. I feel my pussy oozing wet juices onto Neal's hand. I have never squirted before, but then I've never had anyone play with my ass before, either.

  I lie gasping on the table as Neal stands up and digs a condom from his backpack. He stands in front of me and slides his pants down halfway. His cock is fully erect, standing straight up against his stomach. "Fuck, it was hot making you cum like that." He rolls on the condom. "I have to have you now, Dahlia." Before I can say anything, before he can even undress further, he plunges into my pussy.

  I wrap my legs around his hips and lock my ankles behind his back, pulling him in deeper. He leans over me on the table, his hands on either side of my shoulders as he dips his head to kiss me. My shirt is sliding up under the friction of him thrusting into my body, and Neal lifts it above my breasts to give himself access to my sensitive nipples. While he continues pounding into me, I manage to wiggle out of my bra and I'm immediately rewarded by his tongue flicking my breasts. He begins to suck at my nipples hungrily as his dick slams into me. It's been less than 24 hours since we had sex last, but Neal acts like a man who has been denied release for months. His eyes are wild when he looks into my face and smiles. "I want to be inside every part of you, Dahlia." His voice is raspy and punctuated by deep exhales as he maintains a punishing pace, fucking me until the table shakes beneath my body.

  I slide my fingers along his back, encouraging him by lifting my hips to meet his. I dig my hands into his shoulders when he reaches around my hip to fondle my asshole again. I moan loudly and start shouting his name as he slides the finger all the way inside. The last orgasm was just a warmup for what's happening to me now. Neal's thick cock already stretches me fuller than I ever thought I could handle, and now that he has his finger in my ass, too, I'm stuffed tight. The nerve endings in my lower body are firing, launching missiles that lift me right off the table. The waves of pleasure roll through me and when Neal thrusts deep one final time, he holds himself against my hips. "Agh, fuck! Yes, Dahlia. Fuck, fuck, I'm cumming." His body stills except for his massive cock, pulsing inside me and blasting into the condom.

  "Don't pull out yet," I whisper as he holds me afterward. "It feels too sensitive." Neal nods against my chest until I'm able to tolerate him putting me down and uncoupling. He sighs, deeply contented, and gently lifts me from the table. He kisses me softly, so gently, and he eases me slowly onto my feet.

  I slump into one of the chairs, watching as he throws out the condom and washes his hands. "I never did anything like that before," I say, starting to pick up the mess we've made. I can still barely see straight, so I just try to tidy up the papers.

  "I know you didn't. I also knew you'd like it," he says, grinning at me.

  He sinks into the couch and turns on the television. I crawl in beside him and rest my head on his lap. I'm feeling the kind of tired I imagine comes from a grueling run or a long hockey match. As I'm about to drift off to sleep, I remember that I wanted to ask him something.

  "Hey, what do you guys do for Thanksgiving?"

  "The team? Meh. Thanksgiving day is just another practice day for us." He twirls my hair around one of his fingers as he settles on a football game on TV. "The nutritionist will make us a meal and even bring us some pumpkin pie. Coach will work us mercilessly, then give us Friday off. We have a game Saturday."

  "But you'll be around on Friday?" I sit up to meet his eye when I ask.

  "Yeah. Why? Aren't you going home?"

  I shake my head. "I never go home for Thanksgiving. It's too depressing, and I need to finish my grad school applications."

  "You don't get depressed spending the day all alone? My mom would kill to see me for Thanksgiving."

  That stings. I push off of him and move to stand up. "Yeah, well I don't have a mom and I don't fucking feel like waiting around for my dad to pass out and piss himself."

  I can tell by his face that he regrets saying that. "Fuck, Dahlia, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that." He moves to pull me back into his lap, but I resist, glaring at him. He rubs my wrist, continuing. "I just…I'd give anything to be home with my mom and so I was surprised to hear you say you're sticking around voluntarily. That's all."

  He stands and rubs my arms, pulls me into him for a hug. I'm still stiff, wishing I'd never opened this line of discussion. "You want to spend the day together Friday? You got it." He speaks softly and strokes my hair. As he murmurs into my ear, I loosen up and sink into him, letting him hold me. He kisses my hands and says, "I'll take you somewhere special." He squeezes my butt and says, "And I'll steal you a piece of pie from the team dinner."

  ~~~

  Neal tells me I should sleep over at his place Thanksgiving night so we can start our adventure right away on Friday. For the first time since my mom died, I have something to look forward to on this holiday. As Linda packs up to leave Wednesday night, she kisses my forehead and hands me a foil-wrapped package. "It's not turkey dinner," she says, "But it's my best meatloaf and I figure you can make your own mashed potatoes. It'll be good practice for you." Linda has taken me to Thanksgiving dinner at her parents' house for the past few years, but I really meant it when I told Neal I had to work on grad school applications.

  Everything is due by the 30th, and after Jeremy and I sat through our exams last week, I realized I still had to round up teacher recommendations and gather up transcripts…I had a massive spreadsheet and stacks of papers to organize. Tomorrow I'd seal everything up and send it off before Neal shows me whatever surprise he has in store.

  The day is actually one of the more pleasant holidays I've spent in awhile. Nothing is open, campus is dead, and there's a delicious sense of having the entire day to devote to one specific task. I put the parade on in the background, toss on Neal's sweatshirt and a pair of leggings, and before I know it, I'm licking the last envelope that could determine my fate for the next five years.

  I don't bother making mash
ed potatoes, but eat Linda's meatloaf as I read a book--the first book I've read for fun since the semester began. Mailing those applications was such a weight lifted. I feel a small glimmer of hope that I might get accepted into one of the other programs that offer funding. I realize how it's been weighing on me that going to Penn would feel a bit…slimy. I don't want my funding attached to how well the stressed out players do on their math exams.

  Then I get even more honest with myself, and realize I'm fantasizing about MIT because I hope Neal will be in New England to be closer to his mom. Neal. Thinking about him post-graduation feels scary, so I return to my book and try to focus on this weekend. Before I know it, Neal is texting me pictures of himself naked in bed, a plate of pumpkin pie covering his crotch. Hungry?

  I grab my bag and rush to his suite, where I lick every bit of pie from his lap and even tease him with the whipped cream, rubbing it on his stiff rod before lapping that up, too. We don't get much sleep that night.

  ~~~

  Neal's roommates are all having "family breakfast," but Neal insists that it's fine for me to be there. Tyler and Smith make French toast while Neal works the griddle, cooking truly staggering quantities of bacon that I know the guys will wolf down with no problem. I watch them all stare at him as he pulls me onto his lap and kisses my cheek.

  I see Smith glowering and flush, sliding off Neal's lap onto another seat. Neal follows my gaze and glares at Smith. "Dude," he says. "What the fuck?"

  Smith frowns into his breakfast and then looks Neal in the eye. "I just think you need to be careful, Sweeney."

  Tyler pats Smith on the back. "Relax, man."

  I can tell something is going on, and start to feel angry that none of them will tell me what. "Tyler," I say, "what are you guys talking about." Neal squeezes my leg under the counter, but I don't look away and Tyler points at me with his fork.

  "Coach Thomas has a rule about girlfriends."

  "A rule?" I look to Neal for confirmation, but he's staring into his bacon.

  Tyler nods and keeps talking with his mouth full. "He doesn't care if we screw around and blow off steam, which obviously a lot of us do that. But have you ever seen Rocky?"

  "The movie? Of course I have." I tuck my hair behind my ears and wait for Tyler to keep talking.

  "You know the grumpy dude who hates Rocky's girlfriend? He says, 'women weaken legs.' Well, coach pretty much thinks that way." He swallows his food and walks over to the sink with his plate. "Smithy here just broke things off with his professor because coach caught wind it was getting serious."

  At this, Smith storms out of the kitchen with a muttered, "Fuck you, man."

  Tyler walks back to the counter and refills my juice glass. He looks from me to Neal and says, "But you guys are just study partners with benefits right?"

  Neal doesn't say anything to Tyler, but it seems pretty clear from Smith's reaction that they all have noticed what I have been afraid to admit: Neal and I are a couple.

  We just can't let anyone else find out or it sounds like we're both in deep shit.

  CHAPTER TEN

  "Tell me where we're going," I say as Neal yanks a knit hat on my head. He told me to wear jeans and snow boots, and is rummaging around his closet for gloves and a scarf.

  Wrapped warmly in his own SCU hockey parka, he emerges from the closet with a green scarf and laughs as he ties it over my face. "It'll be a bonding experience." He tosses me a water bottle and he heads down the hallway. Neal raps on one of the doors, shouting. "Smith, I'm taking your truck." We hear a grunt from inside and before I know it, we are both singing along to classic rock as Neal drives us outside of campus.

  He takes the turn for Otter Mountain. I'd never hiked up here, although it's supposed to be a quintessential SCU experience. Neal takes my hand and we head up the steep path. I listen to the sound of our boots crunching the frosty dirt. As we make our way higher, there is light snow on the path and I'm finding it harder to keep up with Neal. Noticing me lagging a bit, he steps behind me and says, "You set the pace. Small steps, Dahlia. It's not too much farther."

  I glare back at him as the path becomes nearly vertical and I have to use my hands to pull myself up the frozen rocks. About an hour after we set out, I see the summit. Exhausted, I don't notice the view at first, just the wooden bench facing campus. I collapse into it and start chugging the cold water. When I look over at Neal, he is beaming, looking around like he's seeing the world for the first time.

  "We do a lot of runs up this mountain at sunrise," he tells me. "When we get up here, all sweaty, racing to see who can be first…we somehow manage to all be here when the sun comes up and it's really special."

  He puts an arm around me and points out the arena, then points down to my apartment building. "I can see everything that matters to me right now," he says.

  The campus looks beautiful from this angle. The sun is shining through the crisp November air. He's right. It's magical up here. Swept up in the moment, I kiss Neal, closing my eyes and leaning into him on the bench. I want to preserve this moment, when he told me I was important to him. I love that he took me somewhere that's special to him, showing me another piece of his life. We kiss for a long time, but I start to shiver in the cold. "Come on," he says. "We gotta make our way back down!"

  Neal takes me to lunch then at the diner right off campus. It feels surreal to be on a real date with him, in public where people might see. Even if everyone who might see us is gone for the holiday. I let myself relax, savoring every second where we don't have to hide in our apartments. I keep my on his leg under the booth, realizing it'll be harder than ever to be professional with him in the hockey building on Monday. The past few months, I've grown hungrier and hungrier for the feel of him. I need the firm presence of his body against mine. Behind closed doors is one thing, but I get a sense of satisfaction at putting my head on his shoulder in public, smiling at the waitress who sees us as just another couple out for lunch together. I feel my mind start to drift into the frightened place, where I'm afraid of my strong feelings for Neal, when he speaks.

  "I want to teach you to skate," he tells me. I raise my eyebrows at this. "Then," he says, "you're going to give me a math quiz and smack me with a ruler when I get the answers wrong."

  I laugh, crumpling up my napkin. "Do you even have a ruler? What about my calculator case?"

  We leave the diner, continuing to joke about all the math tools I'll use to apply corporal punishment, when I realize that he was serious about skating first. He pulls into a parking spot outside the arena. "Neal!" I say. "I have never skated in my life."

  He fumbles in his pocket for his ID card and swipes us in. Most weekend mornings, the arena is open for the public to ice skate, but everything is closed up and dark for the holiday. "No worries," he says. "I help coach peewee hockey camps all the time. If I can teach a 3 year old to skate, you should be fine."

  "Yeah," I protest, "But the toddlers are a lot closer to the ground when they fall on their ass!" Ignoring me, Neal hops over the rental counter and starts to look for a pair of skates for me.

  "What size shoe are you?" His eyes are serious. There's no getting out of this.

  I sigh. "8."

  He procures a pair of brown skates and tells me to put them on. "I'll be right back. I'm just going to my locker to grab mine," he says. His steps echo down the hall as he jogs through the empty arena. It looks so different than it had when I watched him play a few weeks ago. No music, no concessions. No atmosphere of competition. Today, it's just Neal's happy place. "And the freezing cold ice, where I'll bruise my tailbone," I mutter.

  I get the skates laced and start to walk toward the ice, wobbling a bit. I hear Neal come up behind me and he kisses my neck. The ice is lit by the arena emergency lights, so it's enough to see but still dim enough that I'm not too embarrassed as I trip and flap my arms. Neal skates backwards, holding my hands and pulling me along the ice.

  "Bend your knees a bit," he says in a soft voice. "Feel how
you glide along with me." I exhale and try to stop thinking about it so much. His hands are strong around mine. I focus on his legs as he moves. The skates are an extension of his body and we speed faster and faster until the wind flaps the scarf around my neck.

  Neal coaches me to lean my weight into one foot and then the other, pushing off with my thighs and slightly bent knees. He's right--he is good at teaching people how to skate. We move a bit faster together and I'm starting to feel comfortable, despite myself. Suddenly I realize he's let me go and we are soaring around the ice next to each other. As soon as I become aware of this, I trip over something and start to fly forward. Quick as a flash, Neal is in front of me, scooping me back upright. "You move like a panther," I tell him, breathless.

  We slow to a halt against the boards, where I lean for support, panting a bit. "Maybe a fox," he says, reaching behind him. I see that we've reached the penalty box. Neal flicks open the door in the wall and, still moving backwards, tugs us in. "Or a dirty dog." There's a long bench inside and Neal backs into it, pulling me down so I'm straddling him with my knees.

  He kisses me and starts unwrapping my layers, tossing off the hat and scarf, rubbing my ass inside my jeans. His hands feel warm through the fabric, heating up my chilled skin. His unshaven cheek is rough against my face and I like the raspy feel of it. He is wild, nipping at my neck with his teeth and thrusting his hips beneath mine. I can tell he's very aroused at the idea of having me here in the arena. "I thought we were going to play hot for teacher," I tease him, biting the tip of his ear as he starts unzipping my sweatshirt.

  I squeak as he lifts me off his lap and plunks me on my knees on the foam mat. He stands up in front of me, towering impossibly high up on his skates as he starts to open his jeans. "Oh we're playing that later. Right now, though, I'm going to fuck you in the penalty box."

  Neal sits back down and leans forward. He starts to slide his hands up my shirt and his touch brings goosebumps to my skin. The contrasting sensations of his hot touch in the chilly air feels exciting and I shrug out of my sweatshirt, giving him easier access to my breasts beneath my t-shirt. His erect cock is right at my face level and, inspired, I move my hands to stroke him from root to tip. He hisses at the contact with my icy hand, pulling back from my touch. I laugh. "Maybe I should find something warmer to put on your dick," I say as I open my mouth to slide him inside.