On a Wednesday (One Week 2)

He pressed his lips against mine, whispering. “Are there any more unnecessary questions, or can I finally fuck you now?”

“Yes…”

“To which question?” he asked.

“The latter.”

“Good.” His mouth met mine again, greedily kissing me as if this was the last time.

Our lips molded perfectly together as if this moment was what they'd always been made for.

Moaning, I wrapped my arms around his neck, letting him dominate my mouth while his fingers still slid in and out of my pussy.

My back hit the mirror, and he briefly tore away from me. Then, grabbing my wrists with his right hand, he pinned them above my head and against the glass.

“You’re so fucking perfect, Court.” He kissed my neck. “So fucking perfect.”

I nodded, unable to say anything else.

“Put your leg on that bench for me,” he whispered, and I obliged.

He took his time kissing my neck, leaving a wet trail of passion against my collarbone.

Pushing my shirt up, he unclasped the front of my bra with his teeth. Kissing his way across my chest, he tortured my nipples with sensuous sucking that made me even wetter.

"Here." He slowly released my hands from his grip. Then he pulled a condom from his shorts and pulled down his pants.

Pressing the foil packet into my hand, he silently demanded that I put it on him.

Looking down, I sucked in a breath at the sight of it. Rock hard, it stood between us, the veins begging for a release.

I rubbed my hands up and down his length--feeling the thickness of him, and Kyle let out a slow breath.

He watched me in the mirror as I took my time rolling on the condom. His fingers threaded my hair until I was finished.

Pushing me against the glass again, he lifted my left leg and wrapped it around his waist, slowly sliding into me, inch by inch.

Once he filled me, he stalled—giving me a few moments to adjust to his thick size.

“Kyle…” I whispered his name.

“Yes?”

He kissed me, said “yes” again, but I didn’t give him an answer.

Holding me like I was weightless, he began thrusting in and out of me—keeping his eyes locked on mine.

Our mouths met with his every stroke, and the muscles in his chest flexed with his every move.

I briefly caught sight of my reflection in the wall of mirrors behind him—taking total pleasure in watching him hitting places that no other man ever had.

“Tell me you love the way that I feel inside of you,” he whispered.

“Yes…"

He buried himself deep and stilled. “Tell me, Court…”

“Yes.” I moaned as he pressed a kiss against my neck. “I love the way that you feel inside of me.”

“Will you let me feel you again?” he asked.

“Yes.” I couldn’t focus with him picking up the tempo. I was suddenly lost in him, and I never wanted our sex to end.

He continued talking to me, turning me on with the bass of his voice against his deep strokes, and I struggled to hold on for much longer.

I clawed at his neck as tremors traveled up and down my spine, as my pussy throbbed against his cock.

“Kyle. Kyle, I…” I came as he bit my lip, collapsing into his arms.

The orgasm was so intense that tears fell past my cheeks.

Holding me steady, he thrust into me a few more times, and then he stiffened and groaned, finding his own release.

“Fuck ...” He rasped, kissing my neck.

He waited a few seconds and slowly pulled out of me, then he lifted me and placed me on a bench.

“Hey.” Kyle wiped my face with his fingertips. “Courtney, did I hurt you?”

“No.” I shook my head.

“Are you sure?”

I nodded.

Unconvinced, he cupped my face in his hands and stared into my eyes. “Court, I would never want to—”

“It’s the best orgasm I’ve ever had.” I didn’t want him even to consider that something was wrong. “I’ve never come during sex before.”

“Never?”

“Never.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” He kissed me. “I’ll be sure that always happens from here on out …”

Kyle: Then

Senior Year

Pittsburgh

* * *

I now understood why some guys lost their minds over their girlfriends as the draft neared. The logic was drained from their brains by feelings, and even though Courtney and I weren’t technically “together,” I could relate on every level.

I woke up every morning, reaching for my phone to call Court, if she wasn’t already in my arms. I showed up to The Pitt News offices during the hours when her staff had gone home, just to catch up with her for no reason. And whenever I wasn’t dealing with my new agent and preparing for the draft, I called and texted her like some type of love-sick beta male.

According to the latest insiders, the New England Falcons in Boston were now in the hunt for a wide receiver, and that meant—

Courtney will still be thousands of miles away from me in London.