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Another image came through and my jaw dropped. All the air left my lungs. I struggled to breathe at how incredibly hot the photo was of Kova squeezing the head of his cock as his thick and creamy cum dripped down his shaft and leaked between his fingers.
Me: Holy. Fuck. There's so much.
It was all I could say. No way would I tell him what I was actually thinking. I couldn't even admit it out loud to myself, I was too embarrassed.
I was going to need to get a sneaky app like Kova's because this photo was one I sure as hell wasn't deleting.
Me: I don't care what you say, I'm keeping that forever. What's the name of your app so I can hide it?
He told me, and I immediately downloaded it. Later I would save our photos and videos to it.
The water was getting cold and I was suddenly overcome with fatigue. As the water drained, I typed.
Me: I miss you.
And I did. The ache in my heart was proof. I didn't like that he wasn't at the meet with me. I felt like I was missing a part of myself.
Coach: I misse you way more. Trust me
Me: It feels strange without you by my side. I kept looking over my shoulder thinking you were going to appear. P.S. You look wasted
Coach: I have drank myself into a stupor this week. Every time I take a sip of vodka I pretend it is your lips I am kissing. I am drunk on you
Me: That's actually pretty sexy, I like the visual. But what if you lick the vodka off my lips instead…and off other places?
Quickly, I stepped out of the bathtub and got dressed. I found I was much more liberated when it came to texting Kova. I'd never say this in person or even suggest it. I glanced down at my phone, but he didn't respond.
Me: Will I see you soon?
The three dots appeared, and I waited for his message before I left the bathroom to read it. I stood there waiting until my legs couldn't handle my weight any longer and my eyes were falling shut. The message never came. I left the bathroom and headed to bed, confused, wondering why he was drunk on me…all week.
Chapter Forty-Nine
Me: I think I have a better chance of being struck by lightning than getting you to answer your phone.
Within seconds my phone was ringing.
"Jesus Christ, Avery."
"Hey," she said, her voice soft and barely audible.
Alarm gripped my chest at her tone and I sat up a little higher in my truck. I was on my way back to practice after a long tutoring session that involved final exams.
"What's wrong? Are you okay?"
"Yeah," she croaked. There was some shuffling in the background.
"Where are you? Are you sick?"
"I'm in bed. I just woke up."
I glanced at the clock on my dash. My brows furrowed. "Avery, it's midafternoon, and a school day. What's going on?"
"I skipped."
I frowned. It wasn't like Avery to skip school. In fact, I couldn't remember a time when she did cut class. Attendance was important to her. Being active in as many school functions was important to her. And so was getting into the college of her choice. She loved the social atmosphere, her teachers, she was class president and on track to be valedictorian.
She cleared her throat. Her voice still low and achy as she said, "I haven't been feeling well."
