Six
Heath
Knowing how Teagan is, if she says she’ll be over at eight, she’ll be outside my door at 7:58. I’m not mad about it. This arrangement of ours has had my not-so-little man rubbing against my zipper all day.
The slowest nine hours of my life. Fuck, I want this bad—I want her bad. Dry spell aside, knowing the way dreams of last summer have made me wake up to sticky sheets more times than I’d like to admit, I rubbed one out in the shower the minute I got back from our meeting to make sure I wouldn’t embarrass myself tonight. But even that barely took the edge off.
Reaching down to give it a little squeeze, I find I’m harder than I thought. I’m not sure I’ll make it to 7:58 at all.
My phone vibrates against the kitchen counter and I snatch it immediately, thinking it’s a message from her. It’s not. Just my dad again. I ignore it like the last three I’ve gotten from him this week.
The quiet taps on my door catch my attention. Finally . I glance at the clock in the kitchen and smirk when I see it’s 7:56. “You’re early,” I say when I open the door.
“I’m always early.” Teagan walks past me and drops her things on the island countertop like she lives here.
Her outfit is different from before. Her hair too. The thin material of her white T-shirt dress hangs loosely while still tracing every curve of her waist, hips, and ass. Beneath it I can see the crisscrossing front of her black bra. I know she didn’t just throw all that on just to walk around her house.
“I don’t mean to rush you, but could we make this kind of quick?” she asks, turning around to lean back against the island. “I forgot I have a thing tonight.”
Quick? I get to get in her sooner than I thought? My pants suddenly feel much tighter. “Yeah, sure. No problem.”
When I step closer, her eyes flit around the room, avoiding mine. Her long lashes flutter down as I lean my hands onto the counter behind her, caging her like my prey. She brushes her straightened hair over her shoulder, pretending she’s unfazed.
“You’re nervous,” I tease.
“I’m not nervous,” she hisses. Her snippy demeanor makes her so edible. “I agreed to do this because you said you could give me an orgasm in five minutes. If you’re going to be all talk, we can call this shit off and—”
She stops short when I reach up her dress and slide her panties down her thighs. Her mouth closes when I move my hands back up to grab two overflowing handfuls of her perfect ass. Her bottom lip catches between her teeth as I pull her body tight against mine, letting her feel my excitement. “Do you want to keep bitching at me or do you want me to make you come?”
Her glare remains, but her mouth stays shut.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
As I kneel down, I rip her panties down the rest of the way, holding them while she clumsily steps out, the little piece of lace catching on the buckle of her shoe. In one quick motion I swing her leg onto my shoulder and lift her up to sit on the countertop. She murmurs something about me not needing to, but I’m not doing this for her. I’m hungry.
She smells like body wash, her warm honey scent hidden underneath. I slide the tip of my tongue up the full length of her, feeling the delicate petals against my tongue, tasting the sweetness waiting for me deeper inside. Mmm . . . I pull her other leg onto my shoulder, spreading her wide so I can get a better taste.
Taking my time, I appreciate the way her body can’t hide her arousal from me. She feels warmer, tastes sweeter, smells better. She’s melting for me. I press my tongue inside and back out to circle her sweet little bud before gently sucking it between my lips. Her fingers comb into my hair, tugging it as she moans, her thighs quivering in my hands while her hips swirl against my tongue. How did I get this lucky?
I pull her from the countertop to stand, then turn her around. She looks back at me over her shoulder but doesn’t protest. Both of us know she likes it better from behind. The low light glistens against her pussy as it awaits my company. While I tear my shirt over my head, push my pants down my hips, and roll the condom on, she pulls her dress up higher and wiggles that tight ass, teasing me. Can’t leave her waiting, can we?
Not wasting any more time, I grip her hip and push my way in, my mouth dropping open when I feel her stretch over my head. Fuck . She’s as tight as I remember, wet and warm in a way that makes my mind quiet and my senses heighten. Spreading her feet wider, I slide in deeper, burying myself in her heat. When I press against her, her whimper is halfway between pleasure and pain, making my balls tug.
The second I start to move, it’s already over for me. I love the tight friction when I pull myself from her, the small fight it takes to make my way back in. I pull back and thrust hard, my hips crashing against her ass. The way she squeezes around me when I’m deep drives me crazy. When I’m inside her, watching her ass shake with each impact, hearing her little moans while I’m stroking it . . . nothing compares.
For a few moments I’m lost, but before I get too carried away, I exhale and remind myself I have a point to prove. I slow my roll, running my hands up her sides, trailing them back down her spine and over the dimples on the small of her back. The feel of her soft skin against my palms, the taste of her still on my tongue—nothing else matters but the pleasure I’m about to give her.
Teagan thinks I’m beneath her, that she’s doing me a favor by letting me have this. But she forgets I’m an athlete through and through.
Sex is a game. One I play very well.
A good stroke game is nothing on its own. It’s just offense—important, yes, but it’s not everything. Some men think you can win with just that, but women are complicated, multidimensional. Like any game, the strategy is in nuance; the upper hand is in the details. I listen to her, watch her, feel the subtle way her body responds to my touch. When I find what she wants, I keep it steady, even, and when she’s getting close, don’t fucking stop . I know I’m stroking it right, but she won’t get there with only that.
I press a hand against her back, pushing her down against the countertop as I keep pumping away. “You like that?” I ask.
Her “Uh-huh” sounds more like elongated hums between her moans. That’s right.
That’s my defense—the shit that keeps things in line. A firm grip, some dirty talk, and maybe a little spank to let her know that I’m here, I’m in charge, and I have the stamina to keep it that way as long as she wants it.
A rush floods through me, making me groan when it catches me off guard. But I’m not alone. Every movement I make, she coos with delight. She arches up with a loud moan and looks back at me with surprise, her brow stitched, those plump lips parted. She’s close, and I know the one surefire way to get her there.
Sliding my hand between her thighs, I find the slick bundle of nerves. She bucks beneath my hand.
“Ah!” Her grip tightens on my wrist, her pussy does the same around my cock. “Don’t stop. Oh fuck, don’t stop!” She yells my favorite phrase.
Rubbing my fingers faster, keeping to my rhythm, I train my focus on her skin under my grasp. I’m hot, hard as hell, my muscles wound tight. I’m barely hanging on when her legs start to shake and her head falls back with a cry. There it is.
I feel her slick grip tighten around me. Her body dances, her ass jumping as her pussy teases up and down my length. When it’s game over for her, I let myself go.
Slamming my hips hard against her ass over and over and over, I take what I want. The feeling builds with every thrust, every whimper and moan I make her cry. I lose myself in the control, the pleasure, the power—until it slips from my grasp in the most satisfying way possible.
“Oh, fuck .” My balls feel like they’re bursting when I start coming into the condom. Moans fall from my lips while the core of my being empties from me in rush after glorious rush.
As I enjoy the last few strokes, I feel high. All my stress and worry drain from me, leaving a blissful blank slate behind.
This is what we both wanted. The emptiness, the silence. We deal with our shit the same way—physically first, and emotionally, almost never. Whatever stress made her desperate enough to come back to me for relief, I’m thankful for it, as fucked up as that may seem.
When I’m finally empty, I breathe out a sigh of relief and slip from her warm embrace. She turns and leans back against the counter with a pleased grin on her lips. Her legs wobble when she puts her panties back on. The pleased grin on her lips and the glint in her dark eyes tells me all I need to know.
Like I said, sex is a game. Everyone can learn how to play, but few play as well as I do.
The clock on my oven reads 8:04. “That was a little more than five minutes, but I think I proved my point.”
As annoyed as she would like to be, Teagan is too happy to give me shit. “Yeah, I guess you did.”
I smile at my triumph.
While straightening her dress, she avoids looking at me, then grabs her bag and keys from the counter. “See you Wednesday?”
“Yeah,” I agree while trying to catch my breath. “Your place, right?”
“Yeah.” She walks to the door, still failing to hide the drunken haze of happiness. A glow, really. One I gave her. “Try to be on time, okay?”
She lets herself out and leaves me alone in my kitchen with a used condom and the smell of sex on my fingers. I breathe in her scent one more time and feel the smile pull at my cheeks. Five minutes with Teagan was worth a year of waiting.
My phone buzzes on the countertop again. I toss the condom in the trash and pick it up. The texts from my dad make my stomach turn.
Dad: We need to talk about your mother
Dad: It’s happening again
This is what I didn’t want to think about. This is the shit I wanted to fuck away.
Wednesday can’t come soon enough.