Page 21 of Blitz'd

The girl in the club long forgotten, I head to my car and climb inside, slamming the door behind me. “Fucking hell.”

My dick is still hard, pulsing against my leg. It’s like the orgasm back in the bathroom meant nothing. I’m hard and raring to go, wanting more.

But not from Kerian. Itcan’tbe from Kerian. He already has me so fucking confused I can’t think straight. Hard to imagine what would have happened if I had let him take me home and feed me his dick.

God, his dick. Thick, long, and uncut. It was a shock that I could take him all. My gag reflex had activated, but not enough that I pushed him off me. He tasted… musky. Like what I imagine a man is supposed to taste like.

Fuck, I had another man’s spunk in my mouth. I almost fuckingswallowedit. Hell, I let him push my own cum in my mouth.

“Goddamit!” I shout, shoving my key into the ignition, starting my car up, and driving back to my dorm.

I don’t want to think about the club anymore. I don’t want to think about what I tried to do when I arrived and what I ended up doing before I left. And I definitely don’t want to think about what I planned on doing before Kerian got that phone call.

Back at my room, I shuck my clothes and go to shower. I quickly clean Kerian’s cum off my shaft, ignoring how the spray of the water makes my dick throb painfully. But Idoignore it. I will not allow any memories of Kerian to bring me relief. If I touch myself, no amount of trying to think about pussy and titties will get me off. It’ll be Kerian. I’m not ready to face that right now.

Once out of the shower, I dry myself roughly and pull on my underwear, my cock still painfully hard.

Scooping up my phone, I scroll through my texts until I find the thread for Kerian, shooting him off an angry message.

Me: Real dick move leaving me in the alley like that. asshole

When I see he’s read the message but doesn’t answer, I toss my phone onto my desk and throw my arm over my eyes. I refuse to pull my still aching cock out to tug myself to orgasm. The one at the club was enough. Kerian won’t get another release from me.

* * *

The feel of the football in my hand draws me out of my daze. I drop back to pass, launching it deep to my wide receiver before my D line slams into me. I hit the ground hard and curse when I hear the groan from the O line. Either the pass was too long or too short.

Russ helps me up, patting my helmet when I’m on my feet. “You almost got away from me, big guy.”

Even though I’m in no mood for jokes, I grin at him. “Almost ain’t good enough.”

“You damn right it ain’t!” Coach shouts, his hands on his hips as he stares at me. “You need to get your head out of your ass, Braithe, or we’re gonna be fucked come game day. The fuck has you so distracted anyway? A girl?”

Justin snickers from where he’s practicing with the special teams. He taps his friend and whispers something and they both start laughing. Then Justin mimes holding someone by the hips and thrusting into them. His expression is lewd, his eyes rolled back in his head and his mouth open as if he’s moaning. The rest of the special teams see and laugh raucously, their cackling buzzing through my ears.

Anger builds within me, and for the first time I want to shove my fist into someone’s mouth so they swallow my fucking knuckles.

“Not worth it,” Russ says, though his face betrays how he really feels.

After Russ saw how pissed I was about the shit with Megan and Justin, he’s had my back, icing Justin out and not even being cordial to him. I told him it was unnecessary, that his bullshit won’t get to me, but Russ wasn’t hearing it. It’s good that someone has my back.

Coach does too, apparently. He blows his whistle three times, getting everyone’s attention. “Is something fucking funny, Echer?”

Justin starts, probably shocked at being called out in front of everyone. “No, Coach.”

“That’s funny, because I thought I saw you being a fucking nuisance at my fucking practice. You and all the special teams, suicide drills. Now. Until I get fucking tired or until I puke. And I ain’t feeling sick today.”

All the guys glare at Justin as they jog to the end zone and start running their suicide drills. I suppress a smile, knowing if I let it bloom, Coach will have my O line joining them.

Russ stuffs his mouthguard in to hide his smirk.

“To the line,” Coach yells, blowing his whistle again.

We line up for the play, and I try to keep my head in the game, but it’s hard.

It’s been five days since I heard from Kerian. I’m ashamed to say that I’ve sent him repeated messages—some pissed, some almost begging, some really fucking confused. After the first day, he either stopped reading them or turned his read receipts off. Either way, I haven’t heard dick from him.

And speaking of dick, every morning I have to jerk off, thoughts of what we did in Nirvana assailing me. Memories are supposed to weaken with time, but with each passing day, I get more and more keyed up. Any slight brush against my dick has me rock hard, and it takes at least two orgasms for my cock to deflate.

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