STUFFED (The Slate Brothers 2)

10

I want to go again right away—I never want to stop. Carson, however, insists we wait at least a few hours before a second round.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he promises. “It’s not now or never.”

“But—“

“Astrid, you’re already going to be sore tomorrow— for a virgin, you took a lot of my cock. I don’t want to keep going only for you to wind up in pain,” he says. “Besides, I came hard. I need a break.”

“Fine,” I pout, and he pulls me closer and kisses the top of my head in consolation. The cool of the night is starting to nip at my skin; I tug the blanket back up my body and allow Carson to position me against him, my head on the front of his shoulder, legs curled up to his chest. I have to admit, I can already feel more than a touch of soreness creeping in, which I suppose is to be expected, given the cock I just took. Carson is still naked, shamelessly enjoying the night.

“What made you hang on to your virginity for so long?” Carson asks, sounding just innocently curious enough that I’m not exactly embarrassed by his words. I am surprised, though, that he cares to ask.

I shrug against him. “I never met anyone I wanted to have sex with that badly. Till you, I suppose. I guess it seemed a stupid to have sex just for the sake of having sex with someone. It’s not like I was trying to unload my virginity to the first available…buyer. Wait, that sounds weird…”

Carson laughs lightly. He sounds so much more relaxed, like having me has sanded down his many rough edges. I prop my chin up on his chest and dare to ask something I’ve wondered about for a few weeks, now. “They say you used to sleep around, you know. That you’ve only stopped dating this year.”

“It’s true,” Carson answers. “I’m just trying to stay focused.”

“That’s totally a newspaper pull quote fake answer. It’s like saying “no comment”,” I argue.

“You’re literally a reporter!”

“I’m literally naked in your arms,” I point out, and he sighs, nodding as if in agreement.

We sit in silence for a moment, and then Carson takes a heavy breath. I can tell that he doesn’t exactly want to tell me the real answer to my question— but I can also tell that he’s going to. “My father slept around a lot. I think he saw women as a means to have sex, not as people.”

I go still against him, worried that if I stir, he’ll stop talking— and he sounds so open, so free right now. I can’t bear to take that away.

He goes on. “Anyway, I suppose you could say that his trial and all the scrutiny surrounding it has made me think a lot about the kind of person I want to be. And, frankly, I don’t want to be like my father. At least not in that regard.”

I bite my lip, listen to the sound of Carson’s hard thumping in his chest. “But in other regards?”

“Definitely. He’s a great football player. Was a great coach to my brothers and me. He was a great dad, when he wasn’t being a terrible one, you know? Like, our holidays were always amazing— Thanksgiving, Easter, Christmas, all of it. He was really into holidays, so we always had these insane parties where the entire extended family and all the neighbors and everyone’s coworkers and half the neighborhood came over. It sounds stupid, but they were magical— like something out of a movie. But…then the holiday would be over, and I guess normal life was boring, because next thing you knew, he’d have a new girlfriend.”

“You knew he had girlfriends? That’s awful,” I say.

He scoffs in disgust. “Oh, we all knew. My mom knew too, honestly.”

My eyes spring open. “Really? Does your lawyer know that? Because that sounds like pretty solid evidence that that woman threatening to tell your mom about the affair isn’t nearly motive enough for him to—“ I stop myself, then cringe. “Sorry,” I mumble. “Got carried away.”

Carson’s voice is a little stiffer when he responds. “It’s okay. Besides, you had a whole bunch of questions about my family on your sheet. I owed you answers to at least a few, after that performance,” he says, trying to tease me a little as he reaches over and lightly spanks me. “Our lawyer does know, though. Our lawyer knows everything. She talks to my brothers more than I do.”

“I got the impression the three of you were close,” I say, frowning. How could you play not only the same sport, the same position as your brothers and not be tight? It’s like a built-in conversation topic.

“We were close. But a murder accusation can really mess things up for a family. Sebastian told my mom he thinks Dad might be guilty. Tyson doesn’t want to talk to any of us anymore, because he’s tired of fighting. I’m sort of stuck between the two of them.”