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I blush but I have no shame in admitting the truth, not anymore. So I agree. “I couldn’t, no. But I still don’t think that they stared at me like you’re saying.”
He gives me a look then.
Like I’ve lost my mind.
Then, “You were the only girl in the bleachers who didn’t go to our school and you put the cheerleading squad to shame with the way you’d jump up and down and bounce on the seat every time I scored a goal. So yeah, they’d stare at you.”
“That is not true,” I tell him. “I did not jump up and down and bounce around when you scored a goal. My brother was there too, remember? He would’ve killed me if I cheered for his enemy.”
“I could see your perky tits trembling with joy in your fucking dress every time I scored a goal,” he tells me back. “So yes, you would jump and bounce and clap while smiling as bright as the sun, fucking blinding half the school with your happiness.”
I bite my lip then.
I would smile, yes. Because that was the only thing I could do. Because as I said, my brother was there, and he used to get super annoyed that I’d show up to practice and his games when he’d always asked me not to. But now I’m rethinking things.
Even so, I maintain my position. “Again, I think you’re overreacting. You think every guy looks at me and —”
“Why do you think I’d score so many goals?” he asks.
“What?”
His eyes are narrowed, giving him a threatening look. “Why do you think I’d fight your brother so hard for the ball?”
I blink.
“Why do you think,” he keeps going, “I’d fight your brother not only for the ball but for every little thing that I could think of?”
“For me,” I breathe out.
“Because you were watching,” he says, his eyes boring into mine. “Because I wanted you to know that I was stronger. Than him. Better than him. I wanted to show you that I could crush him with my bare hands if I wanted to. And then take you away from him while he lay there broken and bleeding to death.”
A tic has started up in his jaw, making him look ten times more aggressive.
More violent now.
And the fact that I can see the outline of his dick through his workout pants — he’s still in his practice clothes from before, all deliciously sweaty and male — all hard and big and so fucking ferocious, makes me throb with lust.
Makes my pussy all slick and juiced up.
“But mostly,” he goes on, his hand going to his dick now, pressing it over his sweatpants as if soothing the ache, “I wanted to take you away from my asshole teammates who would pant over you like a bunch of dogs and give you what you’d been asking for.”
I’m rhythmically pressing my thighs together as well.
I may even be rocking and subtly humping the air but I can’t be sure.
All I know is that I want him here, not over there, and I want me to rub that cock, to soothe it, to pet it and lick it, not him. Licking my own lips because I can’t lick his yet, I ask, “Asking for what?”
His eyes drop down my body, to my chest specifically. “For a titty fuck.”
His words hit me with force, right in the center of my belly, and I have to do what he’s doing. I have to massage my lower tummy like he’s massaging his dick.
I also want to massage my tits with my other hand because I think he’s right.
I think I did want that.
Maybe that’s why — subconsciously — I would shake and bounce on those bleachers even though I knew it was dangerous to do that with my brother present.
“You were, weren’t you?” he asks.
And even though he already knows the answer, I nod. “Yes.”
He licks his lips then.
As if like me, he wants to lick something else right now, maybe my tits. But because he can’t, he has to make do with his own mouth.
Still massaging himself, he goes, “And I would. But I wouldn’t do it behind closed doors, no.”
“W-what?”
He lifts his eyes then and I know he’s speaking the truth.
I know every word that’s coming out of his mouth is God’s honest truth. Because he’s so gone, see. His lust has overtaken him, every part of his body, every inch of his brain and every thread in his soul. He doesn’t have it in him to lie right now. To make stuff up.
And that just gets me more excited for some reason.
To hear the truth.
Hear about everything that he imagined.
Because I think I’ll like it too. Like I did when he’d told me the story behind this bed and what he wanted to do to me in it.
