Page 9 of His First Time
My eyes roamed over Michael’s legs, up his thighs, his hips. Lingered on his pecs, and then settled on his face. He was watching me. Smiling.
“Who are you?” I blurted out. Maybe this was ass-backwards. Maybe I should have asked this yesterday on the beach. Before I had his cock rearranging my insides. “You’re here on Spring Break, but you have the penthouse suite?”
Michael tipped his head back and laughed. “I’m reliving a bit of my youth, I guess. I’m getting my L-L-M degree. Master of Law.”
“Like a master’s?”
“Like, the master’s you getafteryou’re an attorney. After you get your J-D.”
“Shit.” I whistled. Michael was way, way out of my league. “In what?”
“I practice corporate law, and I’m getting my master’s in international business litigation. I want to practice on a global scale. My firm is paying for my L-L-M. After I finish, they’ll move me to the international practice. I’ll spend a few years learning the ropes.” He rolled toward me, reaching for my ankle. His hand stroked up my calf. “What about you? I’m guessing athlete…”
“Yeah. College Football. Big Twelve.” I grinned as he licked his lips. Smiled wolfishly. “You? You look like you played something.”
“Crew. And I know my way around a gym.” He winked. “I was a proper Harvard boy.”
“Harvard?” Way,way, out of my league.
Michael crawled up the bed, dropping kisses to my knees, my thighs, my hips, my belly. Each of my nipples, where he spent a few minutes suckling each peak to hardness. He kissed my neck, my jawline. Our stubble brushed together. I shivered. “How about I order room service,” he breathed, “while you and I shower? And after…” He whispered in my ear filthy, filthy things.
My eyes met his. “You’re on.”
* * *
During a fourth quarterdrive in the opening game of my Sophomore season, I caught a slant pass and made a breakaway, hauling ass to the end zone for the winning touchdown in our home stadium.
The crowd exploded, the cheers, the applause, the shouts deafening. I held the ball over my head, shouted for the crowd to get louder. My whole team was there, clapping me on the back, on my helmet. We jogged to the sideline, and I got to keep my touchdown ball.
I had someone to give it to. Someone sitting a few rows back, someone who had flown in for the weekend.
Someone who had given me a good luck fuck the night before.
Hopefully, no one on the team could smell Michael’s cum, still wet inside my ass.
* * *
2
Business Class
Every flight was canceled.
Snow pelted the airport’s windows sideways. Planes parked at the ends of their jet bridges disappeared under feet-high drifts as icicles formed on the plane’s wings. No one was flying out tonight.
No one was even leaving the airport tonight. Taxis had long ago given up in this storm. Endless lines of miserable travelers started to make camp in the terminal, stretching out, heads on their luggage, coats spread out like blankets. Exhausted children whined. Babies wailed.
The drone of the airport’s loudspeakers was a spike into my brain, the same repetition aboutall flights canceledandno transportation available out of the airport.
Get me the fuck out of here.
I was on the last leg home of my week-long business trip out glad-handing with my clients. I’d landed a multi-million-dollar sale, the biggest I’d ever had, and spent the last week with the company execs as my team installed our custom networking and cloud computing solution for their headquarters. A week of sunny smiles andno problem sir, andsure thing, we can absolutely fix that for yousir, and sleepless nights worrying about something, anything, going wrong with the install had worn me down. I’d screwed my smile on in the morning, breezed my way through golf and mimosas, debriefed with my engineers every night, and then chewed a bottle of antacids and knocked back a shot of Pepto with my vodka.
I was fucking wired, and one more set of suitcase wheels going over my toes was going to send me barreling right over the edge.
My team, of course, had flown out the day before. I stayed behind to do the final hand-shaking, the last congratulatory dinner and drinks with my client after their install. “You should leave early with us,” my chief engineer had said. “Weather looks bad on the connection.”
Nah, I’ll be fine. I always come out on top. Look at me: thirty-two, and now with this install, I’m a certified millionaire. In cold hard cash, not just stock or digital money. Not a Bitcoin millionaire. Actual cash.
