“Godddddd,” I moaned. I no longer cared who heard us.
His tongue began to move in rapid swirls, pressing up against my spongey surface like I was the ocean floor. I began to rock my hips in rhythm against his face. He drew me closer, burying his palms in my ass. He opened his mouth wider, the better to drink me—then, as I hovered on the edge of ecstasy, he jerked one hand away from my back side and slid three fingers into my tight, soaking-wet pussy.
“Fuck me,” I groaned again, driving my hand further into his hair, drawing him forward. “Oh, baby, you're so good. Fuck me.” Landon's fingers moved in and out of me, tilting expertly against my G-spot. I exhaled, and found myself in a locked state—he was working faster and faster, sucking and pressing, pulling and driving—I no longer knew where I was. I just knew that I was going to come. And harder than I ever had.
“You taste so fucking good,” Landon gasped, drawing his mouth away from me for one torturous second. He returned with one long, exquisite lap of my pussy, dexterous tongue pausing on my clit. He pressed his fingers in and up to the hilt. I widened my stance on the bathroom floor, pushed my palm against the back of his head, and felt myself release. My whole body spasmed. For a second, I saw only color and light—no shapes. And just when I thought it had passed, Landon nudged against my insides again, stuffing me full. I came again, almost on top of the previous orgasm. I clutched at my swinging breasts for something to hold on to. I felt my thighs run slick with expelled juice. I suddenly longed for pillows, for collapse.
I was still panting and weak when Landon began to rotate my hips, so I was facing the mirror. I tried not to look at my face, which was red and runny with make-up—so I fixed my gaze on him. In the mirror, I watched him yank down his pants, producing that beautiful, thick cock. Yet again, he was rock hard. I tilted my head, so I could watch him slide inside of me. I was still throbbing with the aftershock of my orgasm, and tingled on contact—but he placed a soothing palm on my back, guiding my hips. I was so soaking wet he slipped inside easily, groaning. A peaceful smile settled across his face.
“Jesus, Ashleigh,” he said to the ceiling. “You have the most beautiful pussy. Oh, fuck me.” To egg him on, I leaned forward and rammed back against him, dragging my body along his shaft. He bared his teeth with pleasure.
“Oh, yeah? You want some of this hard cock?”
I smiled, and decided to play along. What was a little dirty talk, if two people felt it in the moment?
“Oh, yes, baby. Give me that big hard cock. Give it to me like I've been bad.” Landon's eyes took on that mischievous glow again, and he leaned forward so as to grab one of my tits. His back arched, he began to rock against me, filling me up with each elegant thrust. We found a gentle rhythm off the bat, but I knew it wouldn't last. I was filling up with want all over again. Every time he left me, I felt hungrier for his member.
I rammed harder against him. Landon arched an eyebrow, caught my eye in the mirror, then reached back and slapped my ass. The shock of fresh pain coincided with a perfect thrust.
“Yeah? You like that? Bad girl?” Without thinking about it, I found myself nodding. I did like it. I wanted to be spanked and fucked. Steeling myself against the lip of the sink, I met his eyes in the mirror and nodded.
He rammed me harder. He pushed in and out, in and out, beginning to fuck me senseless. My head bobbed forward like a rag doll, my tits swung back and forth in the low light. Landon slapped my ass with each hard thrust, humping me like there was no tomorrow. I watched his face become a rictus, an almost frightening mask of unmitigated desire. I knew he was about to explode when he dragged his hand back across my body and began to nuzzle this thumb against the exposed bean of my ass.
“Oh, Ashleigh,” he cried, bending over my damp body. I felt like a plucked string—I was vibrating with joy, all over my body. “I love you. I love you so much.”
With a final, perfect, whimper, I felt Landon clench and tighten inside me—then release. The steam of our love had fogged up the space. It was humid. Sounds of the bar began to trickle back in, as if they'd been paused during our fucking.
His words hung in the air, too. Ashleigh, I love you.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Landon
September 27th
It was the day of the big Baylor game.
Clay and I were the first in the locker room, goodie goodies that we were. Or more like, goodie goodie that he was– I was simply making a pathetic, final attempt to convince my teammates that I was reliable. Even though I'd missed a voluntary drill the night before, because I'd been spending the night in with Ashleigh. Even though I'd had my head up my ass for a full two weeks, because I was so high on the girl who was technically my step-sister.
“I get it man,” Clay muttered, as he toweled off in his own corner. “I've been where you've been, you know. Sometimes the right woman can get you out of your head. When I first met Victoria—well, hell. You remember when we went up in flames against Rice last year?”
“Sure do. Didn't you fumble? How did that even happen?”
Clay winced at the memory as he struggled to wrangle his dreads into a rubber band. “I'm just saying, I've been there. You're thinking with your main vein, and not your brain.” I snickered at this, then swallowed. I wanted to confide in Clay. Of all people, he did seem the most likely to understand. But then, Denny's shitty rant kept bouncing around in my head, filling me with the weirdest sense of guilt: why do you make it so goddamned hard on yourself?
Secret's out: I'd gone to Derby's the night before, fully intending to at least pump the brakes with Doll—but instead, we'd done just about the opposite. As soon as I'd told her I loved her (at that most crucial of moments), I'd realized it was true. I'd realized that I loved her more than football, more than my friends, more, possibly, than the rickety Pastor. It had been scary to admit—and ridiculous, and satisfying. But it had felt right.
“Landon, lemme ask you something,” Clay was saying now. “And please don't take this the wrong way. But, man—do you really want to get scouted? Are you actually trying for the draft in April?”
“I've been playing that shitty, Hoskins? You gotta dog me like that?” I thought my bud would smile, but he didn't. Instead, he rounded a bank of lockers to face me, in the ridiculous orange leggings we all had to wear. I sure hated those things.
“Tell me straight, man,” he said. His eyes were kind, but I wasn't really in the room just then, having this conversation—my heart was out in the stands with Doll, who was supposedly keeping field-side vigil with her friends Lotte and Melanie. I think even Carson had been convinced to come to this game, even though she was pretty blatantly anti-football. And for all I knew, Anya and the Pastor were watching on ESPN.
“Landon,” Clay repeated, gently.
“No.”
“Whoa!”
“What, man? Are you that surprised?” This word vomit had been just like the evening prior's—I'd spoken the words, and they had become true as soon as they were out of my mouth.
“It's not that I don't love the team,” I continued. “Or even the game, you know? I mean, football's basically all I've ever known. And it's something people have always told me I'm so good at. And it's come easy to me…”
“Now you're just bragging.”