“What?” I ask, not sure if I’d missed a question and wondering if I could pass off my inattention on a lust-induced fugue. I lower my lids to make it look like I’m a little drunk on passion.
“You not a fan of the missionary?” His tone is real dry. I can’t exactly read his expression through my shielded gaze. Is that exasperation on his face?
“No. I like the missionary just fine.”
“You sure? Because it seems like it might not be your favorite, what with the porn star moan and all.”
“That was not a porn star moan,” I huff indignantly. A little panicked at how this night is devolving, I try deflecting, “Are you not enjoying this?”
“I’m enjoying it. It’s you I’m worried about.”
What kind of pussy hound asks these sorts of questions? I shift again, except the discomfort is from Ace’s inspection and not the elastic under my shoulder. “The sheet was bothering me.”
Immediately, he swings into action, somehow pulling me down the bed and smoothing out the sheet at the same time. He’s got the expert touch, I think with a slight smile.
That curve of my lips is enough encouragement for Ace, because he resumes the slow pump of his hips against mine. I close my eyes again and let my hips lift to meet his.
He’s really good at this. Really good. The fact that he’s trying so hard, that he’s so attuned to my needs, confirms my earlier gut feeling. It doesn’t matter that my daddy warned me that circumstances at Ace’s old school made him extra prickly or that some of his new teammates watched him warily at training camp, as if he was hiding something more than a monster cock in his khakis.
The owner of said cock pauses once more and says, “Where are you?” as if he knows that I’m not fully in the moment.
I shake my head and prod him with my heels. “Right here.” I bite my lower lip for good measure and add in another small, not so fake moan. I mean, it does feel good.
“No, no, you’re not. I may be an asshole, but I’m not that kind of asshole.” He rocks his hips against me once more before pulling out.
“What kind of asshole is that exactly?” I frown, watching as he flops down next to me. Did he really just stop in the middle of sex?
“The kind that takes a girl to bed, busts his nut and skates before giving her an orgasm.”
This isn’t going how I anticipated—at all. “Honey, I was enjoying myself. You bring that bad boy right back where it was.”
He dips his head so his mouth is but an inch away from my ear.
“I’m happy to fuck you any way you like, Bryant. You tell me if you want it harder, softer. If you want to be on your knees or bent over the side of the mattress. If you want to be outside, just in case someone wants to catch us, or you want to watch a little porn while we do it. I’m all for any of those things. There’s no judgment. All I ask is that you tell me what you need.”
My cheeks heat. “I’m not much of a talker.”
To my huge surprise, he laughs. “Bryant, I’ve known you all of about six hours, and I’d say you were anything but quiet. You’re not into it and there’s not anything more deflating than a girl who isn’t interested.”
His still-hard dick sort of makes a lie of his statement and I point it out. “You don’t look deflated.”
“Well, my little brain hasn’t caught up with the big one yet, but it’ll happen.” He looks around. “Pass me the remote?”
A trifle baffled, I pluck the gadget off the nightstand and hand it to him.
“You seen Stranger Things yet?” he asks, turning on the television.
“I’ve been meaning to.”
“Me, too. Why don’t we take a breather?” It’s not really a question. “We can revisit this after an episode.”
He flicks expertly through the controls until he pulls up the show. While the synthesized instrumental starts playing, I wait for his next move, because surely he’s not just stopping. But his eyes stay glued to the screen, while mine…well, mine are sorta glued to his cock, which doesn’t deflate at all like he promised.
Eventually, I give up, because even though his cock is still hard, he makes no moves in my direction. I get up, go to the bathroom, and take care of business. The smart thing to do would be to call another Uber and head home, but it’s late and I’m tired. Plus, I’m not prepared to answer a dozen and one questions from my sorority sisters when I get home.
The best course of action is to spend the night here and pretend I slept at my parents’ house. Ace doesn’t seem in a hurry for me to leave. When I return to the bedroom, he’s lying in the exact same position—one hand tucked under his head, the other holding the remote. If not for the missing condom, I would’ve sworn he hadn’t moved an inch.
I climb back into bed, cover myself up, and fall asleep to the sounds of four boys in a basement cursing like sailors.s
Ace
The alarm on my phone wakes me. I sit up with a jolt, then roll over to look at the screen. Shit. I have to be at practice in twenty minutes. I must’ve hit snooze one too many times in the morning.
I quickly look around for my clothes and spot them folded in an uncharacteristically neat pile on the seat of my desk chair. Usually I fling my shit around. I pull my Dry-FIT shirt over my head, tug on a pair of compression shorts, and shove my legs into a pair of sweats. My flips are nowhere to be seen.