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Baylor keeps one hand on my hip, the other reaching out to play with my boobs. He’s definitely a boob man, I laugh to myself.
Using his chest to balance on, I lean forward and undulate my hips over him. He groans as our bodies slide together. “You’re a fucking goddess,” he praises. We find a rhythm, working together, fully in sync with each other’s needs. The orgasm builds inside me quickly. His hand finds my clit and my movements start to lose the rhythm we found.
“I’m so close, Tor,” he whispers, doubling his efforts to get me there. His hips thrust up off the bed and his thumb thrums over my clit. He picks up the pace, driving into me and I start to tighten, so close to release.
“That’s right, sweetheart,” he encourages. “Just like that.” I throw my head back, my hair falling out of its messy bun. He hits me deep and it’s on just this side of painful. “Come for me.”
It crashes into me and my pussy clenches as the waves of my orgasm wash over me. Everything tightens and he curses, his dick twitching inside me as he comes with me.
Moments later, I fall to the bed at his side, panting and sweating. Fuck, that was good.
Nothing but heavy breathing fills the silence between us as we try to catch our breath. Finally, I pat his shoulder. “You’re not a bad lay.”
The bed shakes with the force of his laughter. I turn on my side to watch him, too lazy to get up and clean myself up.
“You know a lot about those?”
I arch a brow. “Bad lays? Fuck yeah. The horror stories I have.” I shudder as a yawn overtakes me.
He shrugs, moving up the bed to grab a pillow and make himself comfortable at my side. “The downside to being a hoe,” he says nonchalantly. “We all have our hookup horrors.”
I snort and roll my eyes. “At least you don’t have to worry about being kidnapped.”
He holds up a finger, leaving the room and coming back with the tequila. “That’s what you think,” he argues, picking upour conversation right where we left off. “You haven’t seen the crazies we have to deal with yet.”
I narrow my eyes at him and arch a brow, encouraging him to continue.
He nods emphatically. “You’ll see. We have more than a couple players that have already been drafted by the NHL. And it’s not just hockey, the sports here are some of the best of the best. Westbrook has churned out several first round draft picks across several sports. It makes it a campus with a lot of eyes on it.”
How are they playing in the NCAA after being drafted?
“It also means people interested in the fast track to a certain lifestyle are more enticed to show up here. To follow sports just enough to know who everyone is talking about. Who the best prospects are,” he continues before I get the chance to voice my question.
Understanding dawns on me. “You get girls in it for the money.”
He snorts. “There’s no money. Not yet. But yeah, basically. The chance for future fame and money. Lockdown a prospect before they make it big, before everyone wants them. You could be set for life. Of course, some girls are just in it for a good time. The chance to one day see someone on the tv or billboard and be able to say they fucked that guy.”
At least that, I can respect.
“But others,” he hums. “More similar to the girl from your story.”
I give him a side-eye. “Do I need to worry about getting run down now? Or thrown into another bush?”
Baylor squeezes my thigh. “Nah, I’ve learned to recognize that crowd. Won’t be touching them with a ten foot pole. Too messy.” I feel that. But I’m still curious.
“You can’t play in college sports after being drafted.”
He grins at me, bopping me on the nose, making me scrunch it and give him a dirty look. “Wrong. You can’t play aftersigning.None of us sign.” I know more about college and professional sports than your average student, but I’m lost. Most sports you have to complete a certain amount of years in college before you’re eligible for the draft. “Hockey works a little differently,” he explains, seeing my confusion. “Most NHL prospects are drafted out of high school, but not signed until after a couple years playing at this level. They develop here and are signed when the team thinks they’ve outgrown the league. Or not signed and become free agents again.”
“Interesting,” I say, and mean it. I know the ins and outs for a couple of sports, but never had a reason to look into hockey. I don’t think there’s another sport that does it the same way. “Kinda genius,” I admit.
He nods. “It also makes it real clear which hockey players to keep your eyes on. We aren’t just prospects, we’ve already been drafted. Have a good idea of what team we are likely to end up with.”
We finish the bottle as he tells me some of his crazy hookup horrors, including one about a girl who tried to steal the condom they used. Baylor shudders and his eyes take on a haunted look as he laughs through the story, but a pang of sympathy strikes me. “It’s too bad all hookups aren’t this easy,” I say absent-mindedly as another yawn breaks free. I shake it free and open my eyes to catch him looking at me curiously.
He shrugs. “Maybe they could be.”
“Mhm,” I hum, bumping his leg with my foot. Exhaustion from the long day and even longer week tugs at me, but I feel gross. I climb over him and head into my bathroom. It only takes me a few minutes to finish up and get ready for bed.
