Page 67 of Walk the Line

There’s definitely a pattern of us becoming even more hungry for each other after a game, something I didn’t even know was possible judging by the amount of cum I’ve released because of Kaylah.

But pure hunger is the only thing that can explain us fucking roughly against our front door, and then moving on to the stairs, the couch in the front room, and then finishing up in the kitchen.

It’s a lethal desire that can’t be satiated, but I try anyway as I drive into her on the kitchen counter, her sexy moans the only thing that can explain how I can still possibly be getting harder inside of her.

I keep my cum at bay while hers floods my dick, pulling her down from the counter and bending her over against the dining table. She doesn’t waste time fucking me back as hard as I fuck her, her demands of, “Harder,” and, “Faster,” all I need to hear as I obey her every word.

Everything is moving in fast motion, and she’s coming again all of a sudden, and before I even know what’s happening she’s coming up from under me and pushing me against the table.

She slides down, flicks her tongue against the tip of my dick and then pulls the rest into her mouth. She fucks me like she’s mad at me, and she probably is but I’ll take it because nothing has ever felt this good before. I’m losing my grip of reality as she continues her assault on my dick, but I officially feel like I’m going to combust when she runs her finger through my asshole. At first, there’s an adjustment period for me, then she does it a few more times and I fall flat against the table as a sensation so life altering channels through me.

She still impressively manages to continue her work even with me on the table, and she only lets go when my cum charges out of my dick all over her tongue which she quickly swallows.

“That was. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

Yeah, I don’t think I’m going to be able to speak for a while.

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

KAYLAH

I read the message I just typed out on my phone.

We played a great game the other day and you guys were all so impressive. I would love it if we could meet up for a conversation about any problems we might have.

I wince the more I read it.

It just doesn’t sound natural.

Meet up for a conversation? It’s the line that keeps standing out to me for its ingenuity, but I don’t know what I can replace it with. I do want the message to be clear that I would like to talk with them all.

There’s been more tension in the air than usual after the argument with Tamarah the other day. I already felt unwelcome on the team, and that didn’t do me any favours.

But I was proud of us all for coming together to play a game against Mordon University a few days later.

No one would have been able to guess I was on bad terms with my team members or my co-captain.

And if I’m on bad terms with that many people, it’s hard not to think I’m the problem.

I get it. I came in all mysterious, and to many, took on a role I didn’t deserve.

And I could have won them over by now, but I’m just too stoic and awkward to have accomplished that.

I wonder for a moment whether it will just be easier to quit the team.

It’s not what I want to do, Hockey is my life.

But dealing with depression by remaining in an environment that encourages that depression just isn’t a sensible thing to do.

I’m at the point of my overthinking where I’m uneasy and restless

I’m pretty sure no one’s home, so I get down to the kitchen, with no plan in mind. When I walk in, I find myself staring at the cupboard.

I don’t know how long I do that for, the only thing I do know is that a voice pulls me out of it.

It’s a voice that sounds familiar for some reason, but it doesn’t belong to anyone that I live with.

It’s only when I turn around, that I find myself doing a double take at the woman in my kitchen.