Page 64 of The Game Plan

She swallows around me, and I briefly see stars. She leans forward and takes more of my cock into her mouth.

I’ve had a few very unenthusiastic blowjobs before, mostly from girls who liked to hang out with the football team. At seventeen, eighteen, I was a horny idiot who thought the hot girl actually wanted me. She didn’t. When I saw her at the mall two weeks after our… interlude beneath the football bleachers, hanging out with her friends, I thought maybe it would finally be my chance to ask her out. She acted like she didn’t even recognize me. She might not have seeing as I was in regular clothes instead of a football jersey. She cut me down in two quick flicks of her eyelashes and laughed at me in front of the crowd of people.

I haven’t asked out anyone since. It was easier to stick to the football groupies if I really needed to hook up with someone. Which was rare to begin with. It’s simply easier to take care of anyneedson my own than involve anyone else.

Until Sam waltzed into my life. No, she didn’t waltz. She crashed into me and set my life on fire.

This is what I’ve been missing all these years. This is why people write sappy love songs, why people fly to Paris to propose to people they barely know. Why people constantly consume books and TV shows and movies about falling in love, finding love.

This is it.

She makes me feel alive in a way I’ve never felt before. I notice every breath my lungs take. I wake up every day with her in my arms, and I’ve never been so glad to be alive. I don’t notice my aches and pains, the tight hips and sore knees and bruises leftover from a brutal practice. It’s not that they’re not there—I definitely feel them—but I can’t care how much it hurts when she’s moaning for me to fuck her harder, please, right there, oh yeah.

Sam on her knees for me is almost too much. I have to close my eyes, and I’m subject to an onslaught of fantasies that can’t possibly compete with my reality. My imagination can’t compare to what’s going on in front of me.

“Baby, I’m…”

She rocks forward, taking more of me deeper into her mouth. Her berry-red lips are stretched wide around my cock. Her hands stroke the parts of me she can’t fit. My balls draw up tight, full and aching.

She sucks—hard. And then I can’t control it anymore. I lift my hips, and she groans around my length as even more of me slides in, fucking her mouth. She takes it, she takes it all. A few thrusts and I’m coming, the relief spasming through me.

She takes it all.

I’m breathing hard, a little bit sweaty, my stomach rising and falling with every breath I take.

She touches me with reverence, all of me.

“Come here, baby.” I pull her to her feet and on top of me. Her weight is like a warm weighted blanket, heavy enough for me to notice and be comforted by it, not enough to pin me down. She’s fully dressed, and I have my pants around my ankles.

She kisses me, soft and sweet, and I tug her close and deepen the kiss. She tastes like me. I think I’m not supposed to like it based on what I’ve heard other guys say in the locker room. I don’t care. How can I not kiss her when she willingly went down and took responsibility for my pleasure? She might have been the one on her knees, but she’s the one with all the power here.

When I’ve caught my breath, I run my hand over her hair carefully. I can count on one hand the times I’ve seen her do something with it aside from throwing it up in a grubby top knot; I’m not going to mess it up for her now.

“What’s wrong?” she says, her brows knitting together. I press a kiss to the furrow in her forehead.

“Nothing’s wrong.”

I should tell her. I need to tell her. It’s bubbling up inside of me, a pot threatening to boil over.

I love her. I love her. I love her.

And not because she just rocked my world. Because of who she is. Because she’s kind and caring, but knows when to take a step back and let someone sort out their own problems. And because she sees me for who I am, the kind of man I want to be.

I love everything about her.

Sam pulls off of me, and I let out a whine of disappointment. She grins at me and pulls her shirt over her head, leaving her in a green lace bra and her jeans. I’ve only seen her in jeans a few times before, and never in bed.

“Come here, big guy,” she says, her hands at her waistband.

Surging forward, I trap her beneath me and kiss the ever-loving daylights out of her. My hands work at the button and fly of her jeans, sliding the fabric down her legs. I press a kiss to the inside of her knee, and she sighs.

“You’re good at this,” she says, threading her fingers through my hair. She directs me to that spot that makes her curl her toes and moan.

I lap at her pussy like a man stumbling through the desert drinks from a well. I’m parched, and she’s the source. Her thighs tighten around my ears.

She tells me what she needs. I slip a finger into her tight, wet heat, and she clenches down around me. I can only imagine the supreme bliss of sliding my cock inside her. Later, I remind myself. There will be plenty of time for that later.

Sam arches her back and sighs as I go to work. She tastes like honey, like heaven. Eagerly I lap up the pearlescent evidence of her desire. She’s so responsive, I love it. She isn’t afraid to tell me if I don’t get it right. I’m doing this for her; of course I want to make it good for her.

---