Page 83 of Falling Offsides

“Fuck!”

My hand slaps to my face, pushing her damp panties into my mouth. Deeper with the punishing thrusts of my gloss-slicked dick into my white-knuckled fist.

I lose it.

Every ounce of sensation shoots through me. From the marrow of my bones and burning pores, straight to my cock. White ropes painting over all the tokens laid out by my phone. Over the image of her.

“Courtney.” A groan claws out of me, ragged and hoarse, muffled by the panties balled in my mouth.

I slump forward, one hand braced on the wood, the other still gripping my shaft like a lifeline.

Everything is spinning. My head. The walls. Every damn thought that’s already dreaming up a next time. Another way to own Courtney.

Nothing’s changed.

Not a single part of me is sated.

I’m still hard.

Still aching.

Still wanting.

Lusting.

Coveting.

Because even like this—fist tight, chest hollow, body drained—it’s not enough.

I lift my gaze to look at the screen.

Roving my eyes over her silhouette, soft in the moonlight.

Peaceful.

Unknowing.

Oblivious to how fucked up I am over her.

Something claws up inside me, feral and vicious and sick with need.

I don’t know if she’ll ever see me the way I see her, if she’ll ever want me like I want her. But even if she doesn’t. Even if she tries to pull away—I’ll be here.

Waiting. Watching. Wanting.

Always.

Even if it wrecks me.

Even if it wrecks both of us.

SEVENTEEN

COURTNEY

Samson is goingcrazy while I pack my backpack for the day. There’s been a knot in my chest since I woke up swaddled in Auguste’s hoodie and Sammy watching me. It almost felt like waking up next to his owner.

Panic hit pretty fast. How am I meant to face Auguste this morning? I told him we could only be friends and then I threw myself at him. I made the move, not him. He tried to stop me and I?—

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