8. Cruz #2
“His mouth was right there. Right there. I could feel him breathing on my lips and he wouldn’t…” Her voice cracks. “He kept his hands on the wall the whole time. Wouldn’t touch me. Made me promise it goes no further.”
“And then what?” I push.
“He called me a good girl.”
My cock jerks against my thigh. I sit back on my heels and look up at this beautiful girl who is wrecked, half-naked on a changing room bench, soaked around my fingers and I think Coach doesn’t stand a chance.
“He called you a good girl and then sent you in here to find me?” I confirm.
“He told me to take a cold shower.”
“Sweetheart.” I lean back in, drag my tongue from where my fingers are buried up to her clit, and her thighs clamp around my head. “Does this look like a cold shower to you?”
“Cruz. fuck!”
“Coach is gonna lose his mind when he finds out where you ended up.”
She freezes for a beat. “You’d tell him?”
I lift my head and meet her eye, my mouth wet with her, my fingers still working her open. “Oh, Fisher. He’s gonna know. You bet your sweet wet cunt he’s gonna know.”
She moans and her hips roll against my hand and I drop back down to her clit because there is no version of this where I let her leave without her coming apart on my tongue first.
Daddy. Fuck.
Eli is so fucked.
I slide down her body and put my mouth on her, and the first taste of her sends a wave of hunger through me hard enough I groan into her. Sweet. Tangy. Hers. I lick a long stripe up her center and circle her clit and she damn near comes off the bench.
“Fuck, Cruz, fuck!”
I work her hard. No teasing, no edging, because I want her wrecked. I want her so far gone she’s not gonna be able to look at me tomorrow without remembering this. I drive two fingers up into her and curl them and suck her clit between my lips, and she fists my hair so hard my scalp burns.
“Please, please, Cruz, please let me come,” she begs so prettily.
“Come on my fingers, sweetheart. Right now.”
She does. She shatters. Her thighs clamp around my head, her cunt fluttering tight around my fingers, and she’s biting down on the back of her own hand to keep quiet, but the noise still escapes, this high desperate cry that I’m gonna replay in my head for weeks.
I work her through it. Don’t stop until she’s pushing at my forehead, oversensitive, panting like she just went five rounds.
I stand up.
My cock’s painful, leaking, twitching every time I see her sprawled there, legs open, tits out, mouth slack. I take myself in hand and start to stroke, eyes locked on her.
“Watch.”
She lifts her head. Watches.
“Such a pretty cunt. I’m gonna paint it, sweetheart. Mark it. Want to see my cum all over you when I’m done.”
“Cruz.“
“Yeah.” Stroke. Stroke. “Tell Coach about this? Tell him I had your cunt on my tongue while you came on my fingers?”
“Oh god!”
“Maybe he’ll fuck you next. Maybe I’ll watch. Maybe I’ll be inside him while he’s inside you, just like I told him.”
That does it. I shoot hot ropes across her pussy, her stomach, one streak hitting the underside of her tit, and I keep going until I’ve got nothing left and she’s a mess of me from belly to thighs.
“Fuck. Fuck, look at you.”
She’s flushed pink everywhere, dazed, half-laughing because I think she might be losing her mind a little. I crouch back down between her thighs.
“What are you—”
I lick her clean.
Slow, deliberate strokes of my tongue gathering every drop off her skin. Her thighs shudder. When I get to her cunt I lick there too, savoring the taste of us mixed, and she makes a strangled noise that might be a word.
“Fuck, that’s hot,” she exlaims.
“Mm.” I press one last kiss right at the top of her slit and stand. “You taste good. We taste good together.”
I pull her to her feet. She wobbles. I catch her elbow, steady her, and her eyes blink up at me, glazed and stunned.
I kiss her.
She kisses me back instantly, soft and hungry, and I can feel her chasing the taste of herself on my tongue. My hand cradles the back of her skull. Hers fists in the towel that’s somehow ended up in my other hand.
“You did so good, sweetheart.” I murmur with my lips inches from hers. “Such a good girl for me.”
She makes a tiny sound. Like the words landed somewhere deep she wasn’t expecting.
Then her eyes go wide, like reality has just come banging on the stall door, and she’s pulling back and scrambling for her leggings.
“Oh god.”
“Hey, look at me.”
She doesn’t look at me. “Oh god. Oh my god.”
“Dakota!”
She’s got the shorts on, the bra yanked down, the tank tugged into place, and she’s fumbling with the latch on the door with hands that won’t cooperate.
“I have to go. I can’t—”
“Fisher.”
She finally gets the latch and yanks the door open.
“Hey.”
She freezes.
“Look at me.”
She doesn’t. She looks at the floor. Her chest is heaving.
“It’s fine. Yeah? You’re fine. Nothing changes.”
A laugh bubbles out of her. Slightly hysterical. “Nothing changes?” Then she’s gone. Out the stall, across the locker room, the outer door slamming shut behind her.
I stand there. Naked. Still half-hard. Cum probably somewhere on my chin. The smell of her all over my face and my hands and the bench behind me.
I drag a palm down my beard and let out a long breath.
“Well.” I grin at the empty room. “That’s gonna be a problem.”
I don’t move to fix it. I never do.
I grab my towel off the floor and head back into the shower humming, because if I’m gonna have a problem it might as well be a hot one, and Dakota Fisher just became the best kind of problem I’ve had in years.
Coach is gonna lose his goddamn mind.