40. Connor
CONNOR
Idisregard the stares as I wait for Eden outside the main door of her dorm. The two women looking me over are probably some of her dormmates trying to figure out who I’m meeting.
“Come on inside,” Eden says as she peeks out of the door.
I tighten my grip on the small duffle I’m carrying and slip through the door.
She laughs as I kiss her cheek. “Yeah, not really incognito there, Connor. Six foot six and wearing that.”
I look down. Oh, I’m wearing a Waves T-shirt. I didn’t even consider it.
“No one knows who I am, though, right?” I mean, practice squad players who kicked for Princeton aren’t exactly celebrities.
“No, I’m teasing. But one day…”
“Thanks for your faith in me. Now can we go to your room?”
She gives me a last amused look and then leads me up the stairs to the second floor, turning left at the top. “Bree’s still in there, just so you know. She’s leaving soon.”
“Totally fine.”
Not that I could have missed her. A loud “Hi, Princeton boy” welcomes me once we step into their suite.
“Hi, Bree. Will I ever move past that nickname?”
“Doubtful.” She sweeps past us. “Have fun tonight, you two. I know I will.”
As the door clicks behind us, I take Eden in. She’s wearing a zipped-up Tolliver hoodie and white shorts. Nothing fancy, but like my attire—perfect for a night at home. Or at the dorm, in this case.
“She won’t be back until tomorrow, at least if things go as planned. She’s meeting up with this basketball player she hooked up with last time he was in town.”
Works for me. “You want to give me the tour?”
“Welp, this is our shared area.” She waves her hand in a semi-circle.
The space is maybe 400 square feet, but that’s plenty for their furniture. Like many Florida buildings, it has a new construction feel. They’ve put up enough Halloween decorations to counter that, together with a couple of plants I assume have been there all year.
“Nice.”
“We’re hosting a pre-party for the team Sunday before we stop by a couple of gatherings, so Bree wanted to get festive.” She gestures toward an open door. “This is my room.”
She heads in, while I stop at the doorframe. The room is as small as she described. The bed, a twin, with just enough space to walk through to her desk and closet on the back wall.
I must be making a face, because she grimaces. “I know, it’s tiny. With both of us here, anyway.”
“Good thing we like each other.” I don’t want her to feel bad. “Come sit on the bed with me.”
A minute later, after she rearranges some pillows to cushion our backs against the wall, we’re side by side, legs dangling off. She’s so cute, waving her bare legs back and forth.
“Now you see my exciting view every night.”
I tilt my head toward her. “I don’t mind this view.”
Her answer is a kiss on the top of my brow. “Me neither.”
“Are we going to the dining hall for dinner?” I tease.
“Haha. No, there’s a bunch of takeout menus we can pick from. Are you hungry now?”
“Cool. No, later.”
She rubs the top of my hand, which is resting next to her hip. “How was your appointment today?”
I’d walked out of it three hours ago. “I liked her. Deb—that’s her name—went to school with my Princeton counselor and has similar energy. This first time was more about sharing my history. We’re going to do a round of EMDR on Tuesday.”
“Oh, that’s great.”
“I’m relieved.”
Those two words come out without thought, but a beat later awareness hits—with her, I’ve fully shed my normally airtight filter. I can talk to her about anything.
A wave of gratitude washes over me. I don’t have the right words yet to tell her how much it means to have her in my life.
So instead I wrap her up tight in my arms, cradling her against my body. Showing she’s cherished, if also recognizing she’s becoming my life raft.
After a few minutes, I loosen my hold, and we drift back to rest against our respective pillow cushions. “Do you need to do any homework? If so, that’s okay.”
“No, I worked all day so I could be free.” She raises a brow, a smile creeping on her face. “I do have my questionnaire filled out if you’re ready to compare?”
I was going to wait to bring it up, but since she has… “I’m ready.”
Her grin widens. “Okay, but before that, let me take off this sweatshirt.” Her voice is full of innuendo—and my curiosity starts to rise: am I getting a peep show already?
But nope, when she stands and unzips the hoodie, a different surprise is waiting for me.
The Princeton Soccer T-shirt I gave her at Bree’s party over two years ago. Tucked into her shorts so she could hide the reveal.
“You…you kept it?”
“I did. I…wasn’t sure exactly why then. But I’m so happy I did now.”
“A keepsake,” I say faintly, digesting the sight before me.
She smirks. “Like my panties…” Oh yeah—from our drive home after the club. Still sitting in my dresser drawer, except when I want to hold them while I…
And now I’m turned on. I reach and pull her down on the bed, gripping the shirt. “Come here, beauty.”
She bounces against the mattress, and I roll on top of her, connecting our lips in an instant. I pour all the gratitude, affection, and trust I felt earlier into the kiss. The promise of what we’ll be together, what I’d do for her, which is pretty much anything she needs.
“Mmmm,” she moans underneath me, her fingertips rolling up my back. She begins reciprocating, nipping my lips, rubbing her tongue against mine. So sweet, and in that shirt, so fucking mine.
My dick hardens as the kiss intensifies, and I grind against the gap between her legs. And shit—the motion shakes the little bed. I try to ignore it, but then it happens again.
I pull my head back, and she chuckles lightly underneath me. “Did you miss this part of college life?”
“The child-sized furniture? Not at all.” I ease up, and she follows suit, so that we’re both sitting again.
“We’ll need to get creative when you stay here.”
I click my tongue. “This weekend may be the final sign for me to get my own place. I don’t want us to be hamstrung by Rawley’s schedule, and I can afford it now with the practice squad checks.”
“I mean…don’t feel obligated for me, for us.”
I grasp her hand. “I want to be able to live my day-to-day without worrying about imposing on someone else, or sneaking around.”
She squeezes my hand. “I get it.”
“Plus whatever we both find in common on our lists”—I flick my eyes down to the duffle containing mine—“we’re going to want space to explore.”
“More than this three feet right here?” She drags her finger along the width of her bed.
“Exactly.”
“Well, why don’t we begin by discovering what things we have in common?”
This is the second time she’s nudged this discussion along. I’m fucking glad she’s as intrigued as I am to see how we match up.
“Okay, grab your answers, and we’ll compare.”
I open my duffle and pull out mine while she picks up some papers and a notebook off her desk.
The questionnaire has over fifteen categories, and in most you answer whether it’s a favorite, like, curious or not for yourself, and for the partner or partners you’re with.
“Let’s start with the general intimacy category?” she proposes, while raising her notebook. “I’ll take notes here when we overlap.”
“Good.” Her demeanor, like she’s in a lab, examining clinical data. But with a closer look, I spot that telltale blush spreading on her cheeks. I hope she’s as excited as me, anyway.
We each lift our sheet so the other person can read it. I see she answered the subtopics similarly to me. Likes to: hugging, kissing (body), kissing (mouth), and using real names. She’s given a “favorite” tag to romance, spooning, and sleepovers. Nothing marked as “no.”
“You have the kissing ones listed as favorites?” she asks. “Both body and mouth?”
I push my glasses up, then lock our eyes. “Yes.”
She squirms a little, for reasons I can only guess, before taking up her pen again and scratching something down in her notebook.
“What are you writing?”
“Just summarizing.” She holds it up so I can see. “I mean, this one isn’t complicated, but maybe some of the future categories will be.”
The next two topics are clothing and groupings, and we move through those quickly. On the latter, we both pick male-female pairings as favorites, with every other option a “no.” We hadn’t explicitly discussed that topic yet, so the clarity from this exercise is helpful.
The fourth topic is called “General” and is pretty random. Fingering, blowjobs, edging, face-sitting, and so forth. We both marked either “like” or “favorite” to all of these, except the one that reads “self-injury/self-humiliation.” That one’s a no on each sheet.
“You’ll see when I get to the pain section,” she says. “I’m not into anything that’s going to hurt—hurt you or me—and degradation is a no too.”
“Yeah, I don’t want you to be in pain, and it’s not a thing I’d enjoy either.”
We go through each category, and the more we continue, our ease in walking through our preferences grows. Another moment to build trust. I’m kind of kicking myself that we didn’t complete this list before the rooftop scene, but that fumble is part of being new at this, I guess.
I’m reassured by the fact that some of her favorites are things we did that night, like the blindfold. I take close notice of others she selects—bondage, sensory deprivation, vibrators, orgasm control, and orgasm denial, all for her, not for her partner.
I have all of those as likes or favorites for my partner, and my other favorites are “ass” related—ass worship, anal teasing and rimming, giving and receiving. I don’t mention this to Eden now, but Beatrice used to like exploring in that regard, which is how I know I do too.
She has anal teasing and rimming down as “interested,” but not as a “like” or “favorite.” Meaning it’s probably new to her. A discussion for another time. We can focus on what she enjoys most for now.
I did think of a question, though.
“You have all ‘no’s for the pain category, but you have orgasm denial as a favorite. I could…you could be uncomfortable if I edge you. That’s alright?”
Her eyes widen a fraction. “Good catch. Yes, that kind of…‘hurting’ is fine with me. It was other kinds of physical pain I was thinking of.”
In theory, all of this talk could’ve been a major turn-on, and in a couple of instances, images flash in my head of Eden and me acting out something we’re discussing, making my shorts snug.
However, I keep them to myself, limit the conversation to just talking, so we can respect its purpose and finish.
Once we’re done, about forty-five minutes later, Eden sets her pen down on the bed. “Phew. That was good, yeah?”
I nod. “I’m glad we did it. I wish we’d found it even sooner.”
“It’s like a case study to see where…whether we’re compatible.” She smiles. “If only more people filled this out, and paid attention to their partners’ responses, the world would probably be a better place.”
“Truth.” I bite my lip, wanting to confirm one more time. “So you feel comfortable with all the common things on the list? In case I get inspired to try some of them spontaneously along the way?” Sometimes you can’t predict how sex will evolve.
“Definitely.”
“You can always use your safe word, no matter what.” That comment triggers a memory from my research. “I saw in something I read that subs sometimes use ‘yellow’ too, when they need their Dom to slow down? Maybe we should incorporate that as well, since we’ll be trying different things.”
She doesn’t look surprised. “I’ve seen that too. That sounds good.” She stands, setting her notebook on the desk, before sitting back down.
We’re quiet for several seconds, but it’s not an uncomfortable silence, at least to me.
Finally, she lifts the ends of her mouth again. “So you liked that I kept this shirt, huh?”
My eyes rake down her body, appreciating the sight of her in my tee once more. Nineteen-year-old me would have fucking lost it knowing that Eden Larsson would be wearing my shirt in her dorm room three years later.
“That alone made this night worth it.”
She giggles. “If only I knew what my clumsiness with the wine that night would bring about.”
“If I knew, I would’ve spilled it on you myself.”
“You were so impressive with those domestic skills. I was swooning.” She fans her hand over her face. “And the abs.”
“You know they’re even better now.”
“I might have noticed.”
“I meant the domestic skills, Eden.”
She giggles again, then cocks her head. “What time do you need to leave tomorrow morning?”
I roll with the shift in topic. “Nine would be good. I left my Waves gear in the car so I can head straight to practice.”
“Okay, so not too early. Good.”
She goes quiet again, and I reach over to start playing with her hair. “What’re you thinking about?”
The rosy hue returns to her cheeks. “Honestly, I’m still stuck on your abs.”
Ah. “Uh-huh.” I cock a brow. “You want me to strip for you?
She rolls over so she’s half lying on me, and gives me a slow kiss. “Please.”
Actually…“You take my shirt off.”
Her eyes dilate noticeably on the command. “Yes, Sir.”
While her soft hands drag the T-shirt over my head, I calculate our options. If we’re going to do a scene, I want to pick from one of her favorites.
She drops my shirt on the floor. I skim my eyes over the bed, which has metal posts in four corners. A classic no-frills college bedframe, but it could serve our purposes tonight.
“Do you have a sash of some kind? Like from a robe?”
Her eyes brighten, and then she nods before walking over to her closet and grabbing a long terrycloth sash.
She turns back to me, holding the cloth out.
“What do you want next, Sir?”