The Billet Sister #2
“Everything else.”
“Very dramatic.”
“You should see what the other guy looks like.”
He bent and kissed me again, slower now.
His hand slid beneath my sweater.
The first touch against my bare waist made me shiver. He pushed my sweater upward slowly, giving me time to change my mind.
I raised my arms.
The sweater joined his shirt on the floor.
His gaze moved over me, open and stunned enough to make heat spread across my skin.
“You’ve seen a bra before,” I said.
“Not yours.”
He reached under me, undoing my bra with a flick of his wrist before moving it to the ground.
He leaned over me and kissed each of my breasts before moving his mouth down to the hem of my leggings.
He looked up at me as he slid them down past my ankles and threw them onto the growing pile of clothing on the floor.
He sat back again and gazed at every inch of me before reaching down and rubbing his thumb over the fabric of my wet panties. He pulled them down too, leaving me fully exposed.
He stood up and kicked off his own sweatpants and boxers before moving back on top of me on the couch.
For a moment, we stayed still, naked with his weight pressed on me.
“We’re on your family’s couch,” he said
“I know where we are.”
“Want to stop?”
“No.”
“Good.”
He kissed me while he spread my legs and rested his cock at my entrance. The first full press made my fingers tighten against his shoulders.
He guided us into a slow rhythm, holding his weight up with one hand and wrapping his other around my throat while his eyes stayed fixed on my face.
The couch creaked beneath us. Every sound felt too loud in the empty house. The soft knock of the frame against the wall.
His hands moved lower along my sides.
He moved faster.
His mouth opened against mine, breath turning rough as he built a steadier pace. His hands gripped my hips now, holding me exactly where he wanted me.
I closed my eyes as I felt myself moving closer to climax.
He kissed the side of my face.
“Look at me.”
The quiet command made my pulse jump. I opened my eyes.
“You’re beautiful,” he said.
The pressure inside me sharpened. My legs began to shake under him. My entire body tightened, shaking against him while his hands moved up and down every inch of me.
He whispered my name, again and again until the feeling began to ease.
His control broke soon after.
He pinned my hands over my head, face pressed into my shoulder as his body tensed over mine.
For several seconds, neither of us moved.
The movie continued.
A whistle blew onscreen.
Somebody shouted about conditioning.
I began laughing.
“This is the worst possible movie,” I said.
I lifted my head.
His cheeks were flushed. His hair stuck up where my fingers had been.
I touched the fading bruise along his ribs. He kissed me once.
Then my phone buzzed on the coffee table.
We both froze.
I reached for it without moving him off of me.
A text from my father lit the screen.
Roads are getting worse. Staying at your aunt’s tonight. You two good for tonight?
We stared at the message.
Then at each other.
He began laughing first.
“Your dad is texting you while I’m naked on top of you.”
I pressed my face into his shoulder then pulled him back down for another kiss.
We eventually found our clothes. Most of them.
My underwear had disappeared somewhere beneath the couch, and neither of us could locate it without moving furniture.
We decided that was a problem for later.
He cleaned the coffee table.
I straightened the blankets and turned the couch cushions over, though I could not have explained what evidence I expected them to hide.
We finished the movie with me sitting on his lap.
Neither of us absorbed a single remaining scene.
When the credits rolled, he looked toward me.
“What now?”
“We go to bed.”
“Separate rooms?”
I raised an eyebrow.
“My parents can still come home early.”
He followed me upstairs anyway.
My parents came home at seven the next morning.
I woke to the sound of the garage door opening and nearly fell out of his bed.
He wore plaid pajama pants and no shirt.
I wore an oversized sweatshirt.
His sweatshirt.
We stared at each other.
“Change,” he whispered.
“No time.”
Footsteps sounded downstairs.
My mother called, “We brought pastries!”
He looked toward the door.
Then back at me.
“Act normal.”
“I am normal.”
“You’re wearing my clothes.”
Five minutes later, the four of us sat around the kitchen table.
My father poured coffee.
My mother opened a box of pastries and began assigning them based on who liked what.
The player sat across from me wearing a fresh T-shirt, his hair damp from the fastest shower in human history.
I kept my eyes on my plate.
He kept his on his coffee.
The entire scene was painfully ordinary.
My mother asked about practice.
My father complained about the roads.
The player answered questions in the polite, steady voice he used whenever adults were evaluating him.
I tore a croissant into smaller and smaller pieces.
“So,” my mother said, “what did you two do last night?”
My hand stopped.
Across the table, his coffee mug froze halfway to his mouth.
“We watched a movie,” I said.
“What movie?”
“Miracle,” he answered.
My father nodded approvingly.
“Good choice.”
The player looked at me.
I bit the inside of my cheek.
“Did you like it?” my mother asked me.
“It was fine.”
“Fine?” my father said. “That movie’s a classic.”
“The skating’s bad,” the player said.
My father launched into an argument about realism in sports movies.
The player responded automatically, but his eyes kept finding mine across the table.
I took a sip of coffee.
My bare foot brushed his beneath the table. I slid my foot along his ankle.
His jaw tightened.
My father continued talking about Herb Brooks.
The player kicked me lightly.
My mother pushed the pastry box toward him.
“Eat another. You’re too skinny.”
He looked down at the three pastries already on his plate.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Across the table, he finally looked at me.
His eyes dropped briefly to the sweatshirt I wore.
His sweatshirt.
Then to my mouth.
I pressed my lips together, trying not to smile.
He failed first.
Only a little.
Just enough for me to see it.
My father saw it too.
“What are you grinning about?”
The player reached for another pastry.
“Good movie.”