Chapter Twenty-Five Alex #2
I groan at the sound of her voice saying my name and have to grip the machine behind her to keep from losing myself. My breath quickens, pulse racing. Sam palms my throat, her small hand applying just enough pressure to force my eyes to hers. Then suddenly she pushes me away.
“You’ll beg before I ever let you touch me again.” There’s annoyance in her tone now. “I don’t fuck for favors.”
Then she shoulders past me, bumping me hard enough to send me stumbling backward. She shoots daggers at me, and she stomps over to the supply closet for detergent.
“Fuck,” I utter under my breath. Trying to reach out for her only to miss her by a hair. “That’s not what I—”
“Save it, Alex. Please take your shower so I can get the hell out of here.”
I drop my hand at my side, staring at her back a little longer. When she turns in my direction again, I try to read her expression, try to get her to look at me, but it’s useless. Her features are stone now, eyes glued ahead of her as if I don’t even exist.
“Sam,” I try again, only to go ignored as she unscrews the cap and pours laundry soap into the slot.
She doesn’t respond, her walls already up. I pivot and exit the laundry room back into the main portion of the locker room. Stripping the rest of my gear along the way, I turn the corner and step into the shower stalls. The showers are empty, but the air is still damp.
Snatching a towel from the clean rack, I hang it on the nearest hook and step into the first stall. The sound of the shower rings scrapes across the metal bar when I yank the curtain closed. I smack the knob upward and the water sputters to life.
Dipping under the stream, I let the hot droplets beat down on me. Thank God for great water pressure. It seems this is the only tension release I’ll be getting. It wasn’t my intention to offend her, and I clearly misread the moment.
Fuck. Now she probably hates my guts more than she already does. She’s probably filed me away in the category of audacious asshole. Yet another thing I screwed up.
My father was right. Coach was right. I am a fuck-up.
Maybe it’s time to stop fighting that label and embrace it. It’ll sure as hell make shit easier. I’d no longer need to force myself into the mold my father created for me. I’ve been so busy trying to find a version that doesn’t exist instead of just being me… every disgruntled fiber.
As I contemplate the idea of letting go of all of it, Sam grunts in the distance, distracting me.
My gaze drifts toward the partially open curtain.
The slit is small but large enough for me to see her without having to squint.
She picks up abandoned gear, rolling her eyes, and is completely unaware that I’m watching her.
And for some sick twisted reason, I like knowing I can see her, but she can’t see me.
She moves about, following her checklist meticulously.
Always with that fucking list.
I pump soap into my palm and lather it over my body. When I get to my dick, Sam bends over again, that pretty ass of hers spreading just right.
“Shit,” I groan low in my throat.
The ache, the sudden need to release is full-body, and pricks like static beneath my skin.
It’s all-consuming, goading me past all logic, all sense of reasoning.
Because the last thing I need is for her to catch me like this, cock in hand, jacking off to her.
After that ultimate fail of a proposition, this will sure get me labeled a creep.
But I can’t stop touching myself. Can’t stop picturing Sam’s hand in place of mine.
My fist closes around my soap-slicked length and I work it. My grip is rough, hands calloused, my strokes careless and brute, but the only thing on my mind is coming. I know it’s been far too long because white-hot passion blurs my vision.
All I can think about is her.
Does she like it rough? Or is she a gentle lover? Does she like to be talked through it? I already know she’s not a silent lover, but now I wonder just how loud she can get. Can she contain herself? Or will everyone in a twenty-foot radius know my name?
My cock throbs at the thought, veins pulsing as I squeeze tighter, pumping up and down my shaft with measured, angry pulls. Pre-cum mixes in with the water, milking from my tip and hitting the shower floor.
What if she walked in here right now and caught me?
Tipping my head, a tingling sensation shoots up my spine, and I let my mind fill in the blanks. And it’s a vivid image. The thought alone is enough to nearly send me over the edge before I even get started.
She pulls the curtain back, eyes growing wide as she realizes what I’m doing.
But I don’t stop. I can’t. Instead, my gaze locks on hers, then trails the length of her body.
She doesn’t say a word, but she doesn’t have to.
Her nipples harden to tight little peaks staring at me through my sweater, my number etched on her front, the hemline falling just above her bare thighs.
Sam’s eyes fall to my dick, and it’s hard as steel in my grasp.
I follow her gaze, periodically flicking my sights between her and my hand moving along my shaft.
Her eyes grow wide, lips slightly parted just before she licks them.
There’s hunger in her eyes as she drinks me in.
Sam’s hand bunches the jersey, revealing more of those thighs.
I want to touch them, feel them wrapped around my waist. Slowly she inches the fabric higher, teasing me, but those sexy as fuck brown orbs never break from me.
And I don’t know what’s sexier, fisting my cock with her in front of me, or her watching me like this is the only thing that matters.
My grip tightens and my hips piston to meet my strokes. I pull on my cock, tight quick pumps, then slow and measured pulls. The water still beats down on me, the soap now an afterthought.
“You just going to stand there and watch, Sunshine?” I let out. I want her to touch me, but I might come the moment she does.
Sam doesn’t answer me, not with words at least. Instead, she hitches my jersey around her waist, her pretty bare pussy glistening. I watch her slip a finger between her slit, her breath hitching and back bucking a bit the moment she presses against her clit.
“Spread it,” I say in a near whisper, jutting my chin in her direction.
And she does, using that same hand to spread her lips between her fingers.
“Fuck,” I groan, and wet my lips.
Glaring back at me is the prettiest clit I’ve ever seen. I can’t see past the obscene blur of movement, her brown skin and pink seam. It’s swollen, preening, and screaming to be touched.
“Pet it for me.” My vision tunnels and I focus on the movement of that middle finger, and I’m suddenly envious that it isn’t my finger.
“Come here. Now,” I demand.
She sucks in a breath and takes a step forward, all the while still touching her pussy.
I continue fucking my hand, the grunts coming out of me more animalistic the closer she gets.
With my free hand, I reach out and yank her flush to me.
Neither of us stop what we’re doing. Every taut motion on her clit clashes with me fucking my palm, increasing the friction.
Sam leans in, taking my mouth with hers, and bringing us even closer than what’s humanly possible. We stare at each other, breaths now erratic, and when I feel her soft hands on my dick, I lose it. Head falling back, eyes shut, mouth agape. Something guttural escapes me and my brain empties.
The only thing I can think about are those small, greedy hands working my cock. The smooth wetness of her palm gliding over my angry, dripping tip.
It’s fucking perfect. Better than perfect. Her grip, the low moans slipping past her lips, the unwavering furrow in her brow… her.
Lightning shoots through my spine and straight to my skull. She focuses on the head again and I choke out a shiver. It’s like she’s been stroking me for years, hitting the right pressure, the right rhythm, and I can’t help the way my hips flex into her palm.
Suddenly, she walks me backward, pushing until my back catches the cold tile. She cages me there, still stroking me.
“This is what you wanted, right?” she whispers, her mouth dangerously close to mine. “Want me to use you?”
I nod feverishly, chasing her lips as she pulls away before I can taste them.
“Why are you so fucking hard for me?” she growls, like she hates herself for even asking. “You hate me, remember?”
“Because you’re a fucking menace,” I manage, my voice breaking.
A sinister smile forms at the corner of her mouth right before she drops to her knees. My back buckles, my cock throbbing in anticipation. I adjust myself, pushing toward her full lips. Her tongue flicks out to tease the crown, droplets of water pouring down the sides of her face.
“Damn,” I mutter and reach out to touch her, toying with her now drenched curls.
Sam licks the tip, it’s quick at first but enough to make my toes curl. I watch as she savors my pre-cum then takes me whole. The way her lips purse around the head, her tongue swirling lazily. She works me slowly, taking me deeper, inch by inch, just to torment me further.
She’s not gentle, not really. She has a kind of calculated mischief that makes my knees weak. I hit the back of her throat, expecting her to gag, but it never comes, and she doesn’t let up.
I cup her chin, tilting her head back, and she follows the command without even being told. She lets me take control, my hand now fisting the hair at her nape. I hold her in place, my grip tight as I move my hips. Slow at first, picking up speed with each thrust until I’m pounding. And she lets me.
She doesn’t push away when it gets to be too much, doesn’t flinch when my fingers dig into her neck, doesn’t choke when I cram myself as far as I can go.
Suddenly, the sound of her moving around in the locker room snaps me out of my head.
I peer at her through the opening, still stroking my cock while she remains oblivious to what she’s doing to me.
Pressure builds and it’s unbearable now.
My breathing quickens into a ragged pant.
I bite down so hard my molars ache from me fighting back a howl.
My vision blurs, fireworks of white-hot relief detonating up my spine. And when my orgasm hits, it’s like a goddamn freight train. Over and over, long ropes of cum shoot to the floor. My breathing finally settles, and my eyesight clears.
Completely spent, I stare at her a little while longer. I’ve pleasured myself plenty of times, but it was never like that. It probably doesn’t help that her hand around my throat is etched into my memory. And when she told me to beg, I almost dropped to my knees then and there.
But I don’t beg.
Girls come to me, and that’s not about to change just because I can’t seem to get this girl out of my mind.