The Junior (College Years 3)

I come for what feels like an eternity and she laps most of it up while I shudder beneath her. I’m barely recovering when she leaps to her feet, stripping the remnants of her clothes while I get rid of my T-shirt and kick off my shorts and boxers.

Then she’s on me, her mouth finding mine, her hands gripping my shoulders while she rubs her body all over me. I get the feeling she’s trying to make up for something. Probably that shitty remark. She feels guilty and she thinks she can buy my happiness with an extra messy blow job and a quick, hot fuck.

Turns out I’m easily bought, because this shit is working.

We don’t say anything, when normally, we do. I flip her over so she’s on her back. I race my mouth all over her chest. Suck her nipples. Kissing the underside of her tits. Slip my fingers between her legs to find her drenched, her clit swollen, a little whimper coming from her when I pinch it.

She even likes a little pain sometimes. This girl is up for anything. It’s why I believed she was so perfect for me.

I shift so I’m over her once more, my face in hers, my hand braced above her head on the mattress while I guide my cock close to her pussy with the other. I’m already hard again. Aching. I drag the head back and forth through her wet folds, and she arches against me, her eyes closed, her lips parted as she moans. I lick her throat, nip at her jaw. Her chin. All the while slipping inside of her. Just the head at first.

Then deeper.

Until I’m fully inside her snug heat, my cock throbbing. The first orgasm out of the way means I’ll go slower. Be more patient. Not so eager to get to that tipping point. Taking a deep breath, I do my best to gain control of myself and I start to move, a slow drag out of that hot pussy, before I push back inside. She loves it when I do this. The slow in and out makes her wild and I can see it’s already working. There’s a rosy flush to her chest, her tits. Her neck and face. She cracks her eyes open to find I’m already watching her and her voice is throaty as she says, “Feels so good.”

Too fucking good, is what I want to say in response, but I don’t. I don’t say anything at all.

Instead, I fuck the shit out of her with grim determination. Methodical thrusts in and out of her body. I touch her clit. Tease it. Stroke it. She spreads her legs wider, curling one around my hip, her heel digging into my ass as she urges me deeper. I start to pump harder, careful not to lose control, but not holding back with my thrusts either. There is nothing gentle about this moment. I’m fucking her like a beast, like an animal using his mate, not concerned with tender feelings.

I’m just taking. Fucking. And she’s taking, fucking me right back.

Her nails claw at my back as she clings to me, incoherent sounds falling from her lips, as if she doesn’t know how to speak English. I rut into her, grunting with every push, my second orgasm looming just on the horizon. It’s too soon, I think, wanting to prolong this, but she presses her face into my neck, sinking her teeth into my throat and making me yell.

Then it’s on. I’m moving so fast, my balls slap against her ass, our skin sticky with sweat. I fuck and fuck, can feel her growing closer, can sense it. I know her tells, the way those shuddery moans emanate from her. How she reaches for me, reaches in between us, her fingers finding her clit to stroke. I bat her hand away and take over, flicking her clit right as I take her mouth in a brutal kiss.

She comes with a gasp, her pussy clenching around my shaft over and over again, milking the orgasm right out of me. I fill her up with cum, realizing a moment too late that I don’t have a condom on and we just fucked raw.

No wonder it felt so damn good.

I collapse on top of her, winded. My heart racing. She curves her arms around my neck, her fingers in my hair, her mouth on my cheek as she delivers tender kisses. Like she might care for me or some such bullshit.

“My God, that was…” She doesn’t finish the sentence, and I don’t bother supplying any words for her either. We remain quiet, the only sound our rapid breathing, my heartbeat pounding in my ears, roaring in my head.

“That was amazing,” she whispers, tugging on the ends of my hair so I have no choice but to pull away some so I can stare down at her. Her gaze is searching and I try my hardest to keep my expression neutral. But I know without a doubt she realizes I’m upset. “What got into you just now?”

Can’t tell her the truth. That I’m trying to prove to her it’s good between us no matter what. Even when I’m mad at her. Even when she’s already considering the end for us. That we’re connected, though she tries to fight it. I don’t want to fight it.

I’m all in.

I wish she could see that.

Twenty-Eight

Gracie

Something changed the night Caleb overheard me giving our relationship an end date. And I’m not just referring to the frenzied sex we had that night either, though I cannot lie, it had been totally hot. He fucked me like he meant it, and in the heat of it all, we forgot to use a condom.

Thank God I’m on the pill. He probably could’ve impregnated me that night, he was so intent on proving something to me.

No, there’s been a shift in the relationship. In his entire personality. He’s a little colder. Not as sweet and open. He wants to hang out. He talks to me, asks how my day was, but it always seems to be a lead up to sex. As if that’s all he wants from me.

And then he eventually falls asleep, exhausted because the man is just going, going, going all day long and of course he’s going to lapse into a coma after an intense orgasm.

Here’s the worst part of it all: since that night, we haven’t talked about it. Never. Not once. I don’t bring up him overhearing my conversation with the girls, and he doesn’t bring it up either. Which totally sucks, because what a pair of little babies we are, running from our feelings.

But if he’s a baby, then I am too because I’m not about to be the one who brings it up first.

My meaningless words fucked up what we have. I self-sabotage. I always have. How many guys have I been with in the past? A lot. Many of them were trash. Or just not the guy for me.