Hard Fall (Trophy Boyfriends 2)

What?

After a long, torturous silence, “Never mind.”

I stare up at the ceiling, unable to see it but scowling just the same. I wanted to know what she was going to say, but I’m not going to press her.

I shrug in the dark. “Suit yourself.” Or tell me. Whatever.

The quiet room is deafening. My hands? Lying next to my sides, my head resting on a flat pillow my mother needs to replace, pronto.

This floor sucks even harder now that Hollis has joined me. What is she doing, trying to kill me with her close proximity? Knowing her, she is. She loves fucking with me, that much is obvious.

“Trace?”

“Hm?”

“Don’t you feel like we’re doing something we shouldn’t? I feel like a teenager sneaking around your parents’ house.”

That makes me smile. “It does kind of feel like that, in a way, but not really.” I never brought girls home in high school—never really dated anyone, not that girls didn’t chase me. I might have been a walking, talking hormone, but my parents were strict, and I needed a baseball scholarship, so that was the only thing on my mind as a teenager. Not sneaking girls into the house, or having them over and copping a feel while Mom was in the kitchen preparing snacks.

“Feels taboo,” she adds.

“We’re not doing anything but lying here.” As my dick would so helpfully like to point out, lying flat against my thigh, limp and defeated.

“No, we’re not.” Pause. “But…”

“But what?”

“What if…”

My dick twitches curiously. “What if…what?”

Hollis repositions herself so she’s facing me now, resting on her hip and elbow, breasts brushing against the blanket. I can’t feel them but I can feel them, if you catch my drift.

“Wouldn’t it be fun if we…I mean, since we’re both awake…”

“If we what? Fucked?” Little Buzz puffs out his dick chest.

“Pump the brakes—I haven’t even kissed you yet.”

Yet. She said yet, which means she’s planning to, which means there’s a snowball’s chance in hell.

“What if we, like…dry humped. Kept it old school. You know how we—”

I grab her and pull, hauling her atop me, still wrapped in her blanket. “Yup, I’m game. Let’s dry hump. Fantastic idea.”

Hollis is laughing, quietly gasping for air, hands on my chest, straddling me now, ass on lower abdomen. She’s tiny—compared to me—and my hands find her waist. Naked waist. Smooth, warm waist.

Awkwardly, she discards the comforter from the bed, pulling and prying it out from under her so it no longer separates us, and I groan when my hands can cup her ass.

“You should kiss me or something,” she tells me, so bossy.

“Lower your face,” I tell her back.

Her hair hits my chest first, tickling my pecs, breath mingling with mine.

I don’t move a muscle.

She is in complete control.

Her lips are gentle, pressing against my mouth once she finds it in the dark, pushing delicately. Testing. One kiss, then another, and little by little, I open my mouth.

Offer up the tip of my tongue until she touches it with hers, the dick in my boxers hardening with every stroke. With every wet, teasing stroke of her tongue in my mouth, her hips begin to move.

Hollis shifts her body. Slides it down a few inches until her pussy is on top of my dick, the tip flirting with her slit.

She moans.

I don’t move a muscle.

“Put your hands on my ass,” she instructs. “And…pull me back and forth.”

We both groan, and I’m as giddy as a horny fifteen-year-old. Just as revved up, too, waiting for more instructions.

“Now what?”

Hollis doesn’t tell me, just rolls her hips. The only things between us are her sheer panties and my boxers, which are laughably thin. We might as well be naked. It’s not the same, but it’s close. Blessedly close.

But not the same.

But close.

Shut the fuck up. Quit arguing with yourself, idiot—focus.

Above me, Hollis clears her throat, trying to find some words. “Would you…put your hands on my…”

“On your what?” I breathe out. Hips? Ribs? Shoulders? Be specific—I need all the help I can get.

“My…”

I can’t see her tits, but now I can feel them, because she’s moved my hands from her ass…to her rib cage…all the way up to her breasts. Her high, perky boobs—from what I can feel in the dark, anyway—and I’m tempted to flip the light on.

I want to see it all.

Her nipples are stiff. Her back is straight. Her head? Tipped back.

Hips grind over me, working their way over my dick and balls, smushing them into my pelvis, but who actually gives a fuck? It feels amazing. It does its job, creating friction and pleasure—the way it did back before I lost my virginity, when a quick dry fuck was the only safe way to get my rocks off.

I was a virgin late in life—seventeen before I lost it to a college freshman after a campus tour. I didn’t get a scholarship to play baseball at the school, but I did get laid for the very first time in the dorm rooms there. Ahh, the memories.