Page 110 of The Alternate Captain
“I’m oblivious to rugby,” I explain as I hover my thumbs over the keyboard on my phone, readying myself to text Vicky again.
“You don’t need to, but you could always Google it to find out.”
Which is what I do. Abandoning my uni work, I learn what a scrum and a line-up is; getting myself mildly clued up enough to go with her, so I don’t appear like a complete ass. Moments later, I text her back and tell her I’ll go.
And because I’ve mentally checked out of my thesis, I put on an old hockey game to study instead.
“You can turn it off if you like,” I say, passing Kelly the remote control once the second period ends.
She’s sitting next to me on the sofa with her music book in front of her, cycling through a few of the pages and tapping a beat out on her leg.
“Nah, it’s fine,” she says, and I notice her eyes drifting to the screen as the game plays on. She moves her book to the floor, putting all her attention on the TV. “That number eleven always goes for the right side in the D-zone. Have you noticed?”
“Yeah. I have actually. And the way the play changes to match his position is always the same,” I say. “I thought you hated hockey?”
“I do. But that doesn’t mean I’m clueless about it.” She chuckles and I stare at her. “What?” she asks.
“You. I just—I’m waiting to figure out what your red flag is. I mean, you know mine, but there’s got to be something that isn’t—”
“Hey,” she says, nudging me playfully on the arm, but I pull her right on top of me, wrapping my arms around her waist as I kiss her.
“I’m feeling stuff for you, Kelly,” I admit.
“Oh.”
And I lift her up and carry her right into my bedroom, putting her down in the centre of my bed.
All I can think about is how fucking fantastic she made me feel when she—fuck. I can’t even think straight.
I want her to come as hard as she made me.
I don’t tellJohnnythat no one has ever gone down on me before. I mean, I’ve watched enough porn to know what I should do in the moment, but I don’t want to admit that this is completely new for me. Not yet anyway.
His head is between my legs and the way he looks up at me has me quivering in anticipation. I’ve still got my underwear on, but I know how wet I am.
And I’m embarrassed.
“I wonder if you taste as good as you smell,” he says.
And honestly, if anyone else had said that to me, I'd be mortified—but there’s a lust in his voice that tells me he’s absolutely not kidding.
Instead of sliding my underwear down, he scoops up the fabric and pushes it to the side, and I’m so exposed I don’t know where to look, so I lock my eyes on the ceiling.
He kisses the insides of my thighs and I melt away, completely oblivious to whatever he’s planning on doing. So much so, I don’t even realise my hands slipping down and grabbing at his hair until it’s beneath my fingertips.
What if I don’t taste good? Or what if I laugh? Should I have taken a shower first? What if—oh sweet Jesus.
I don’t even know what he’s doing with his tongue, but my eyes roll back, and I sink into the bed, holding onto his head. Without thinking, my thighs clamp around his neck and he hums. He hums, and it feels so...
My pussy fills as he slips a finger inside, and he does this thing where he presses a spot inside me while he sucks down on my clit, and I scream. I actually scream.
“Shhh,” he says, shifting so I can see his big blue eyes lookingup at me.
“I can’t—”
“Is it good? Is this okay for you?”
“Mhmm.”
