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Will’s infected my body to the point that I don’t know how I’d ever separate him out, even if I wanted to. This shouldn’t be happening here. And there’s a tantalizing thrill to the forbidden, a temptation far more powerful than caution.
I toss a worried look at the door, then obey. He’s stroking himself now, his huge hand moving up and down the engorged length of his cock. His thighs are spread as he lounges with all the casual confidence of a king on a throne, watching me approach.
“I locked the door,” he tells me. “Don’t worry.”
I am worried, but not about me. No one knows about us.
Will’s been focused on football and keeping in close touch with his brother as Tripp continues to recover from the accident. He also talks to his mom a couple of times a week, encouraging the improvements in their relationship that appeared during his visit to Boston. I’ve had a flurry of new assignments at the paper, and I still have to decide what photo to submit to the EPAs before the deadline next week.
Will chose me over football, regardless of the consequences. But that’s much easier to do when there haven’t been any. I want to tell my family about our relationship, but I have no idea how they’ll react. I’m not confident my dad or Adler wouldn’t leap to conclusions and decide Will was taking advantage of me and use their connections to affect his career.
It’s easy to forget about all that as I walk over to Will.
But I still feel guilty, realizing he’s risking everything and I’m risking nothing.
I know exactly how our relationship would be portrayed publicly. Will, the troublemaker and womanizer. Me, the naive victim.
But I’ve been that before. And it felt nothing like this. I know Will, and I know he would never take advantage of me in any way.
“Hey.” His fingers are on my chin, tilting my face so I have no choice except to look at him. Not letting me hide. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
I glance at the door. My other sessions lasted about fifteen minutes, and I have no idea how much time has passed since he walked in.
Will’s presence removes things like time and logic and reason. And he might have locked the door, but if anyone discovers that, it’ll result in questions. Eyebrows I’d rather not get raised.
“Sophia.” His tone is flinty now. Bossy in a different way than his commands earlier.
“You’re risking more,” I blurt. “You and me…when people find out…you’re risking more.”
I don’t want to share any similarities with the woman who forced Will’s move here. But I know there’s a major one. That our association will cause more problems for him. And I hate that.
“My decision to make,” Will tells me. “Remember?”
Before I can respond, he’s pulling me down into his lap and yanking my underwear to the side, and there’s the stimulating surge as he stretches me open.
Suddenly, there’s only this. The slight burn as my body adjusts. The dark possessiveness as Will watches where our bodies are joined, seeing me take him. The promise of pleasure as he pushes deeper, hitting a specific spot that makes heat unfurl in my abdomen.
“The only thing I want you to worry about is staying silent,” he says.
My fingernails dig into his shoulders as the pressure builds, his hands on my hips guiding my movements. No matter how many times we have sex, my body manages to forget how huge and deep he feels, filling me so there’s no space for anything else. Everything about the way he’s fucking me is skilled and confident. Forcing me to absorb the shock of each upward thrust, to drown in the consuming pleasure of it. No hesitation. No stutter like he’s second-guessing.
Euphoria soars through my veins.
I had no idea sex—intimacy—would feel like this. I’m floating and falling. Aware of everything and feeling one thing. Breathing becomes hard. Everything starts to feel detached. All I can focus on is the sensation of him pounding me, the friction that’s both natural and otherworldly.
We both come quickly. I press my mouth against his shoulder to muffle the sound of my moans. I’m still breathing heavily as I stand and adjust my outfit, my legs shaky. I’m so sensitive, each small motion a reminder of what just happened.
“Not a bad day at work, right?” Will teases as he pulls his shorts up.
He grabs the football before his shirt, bouncing it on one knee. Kluvberg jerseys hang on the wall behind him, ready and waiting for tomorrow’s match.
“Wait,” I say as he leans down to grab his shirt. “One last photo.”
Most guys would probably question it. Get self-conscious.
Will Aster is not most guys.
