Page 99 of Our Secret Moments

“Yes,” she whimpers.

She’s lost all control and I fucking love it. As much as Proper Catherine turns me on, In The Middle of an Orgasm Catherine is something else. Her voice changes when she moans and her whole body responds to every small move of mine. She makes me want to memorise every muscle that moves in her body and to study for hours on what will make her feel good.

After our little show-and-tell session back in my dorm, I know that when my tongue moves faster and her hips start to move that she’s close. I hold tighter onto her open legs, pressing them apart as my tongue works seamlessly over her clit, my head shaking as I flick the small bud in and out of my mouth.

Her orgasm is so sudden that I barely have time to process it when her body shakes and she moans my name so loud I’m sure the neighbours would be able to hear.

Eating her out on the counter was not in the itinerary for today. But fuck me if it isn’t the best meal I’ve had in my life. As she catches her breath, I help her slip back on her clothes until she looks somewhat decent.

I press my lips to hers, letting her taste how good she is and she moans into my mouth.

“You,” she whispers against my lips. I don’t even have to think about what she means, because I feel it too. Right down to my core.

“You,” I whisper back.

THIRTY-SIX

CONNOR/CAT

SICK DAYS

CONNOR

The secondI started to get too full of myself with how the games have been going, I knew something would bite me in the ass. I just didn’t know it would be this.

I’ve tried my absolute hardest to take care of my health so I would never miss a game. I’d spend hours researching the easiest sickness I could get and possibly spread to my team and make sure that I knew all the ways to prevent it rather than cure it. Maybe I did that to be smart and cautious, or maybe because I’ve spent so many years being riddled with anxiety and the thought of not playing.

I’ve only missed a game twice. Once because I had to go to a funeral and the second time was when I was so sick I could barely open my eyes. This time, we’ve already managed to win one semi-final game and our next one is supposed to be today, but both my coach and my parents said I’m not in a state to play and it could only make my health worse, which means not playing in the finals if we get in.

I don’t know how I could have let this happen to me. I tried my best to stay away from Archer and Wes when they were sick. I wiped down everything in our dorm so they wouldn’t pass off anything to me. I steered clear from Wes in classes and anyone else he could have been around and I’ve still managed to get myself sick.

“These things just happen, bro,” Wes says, packing his bag full of snacks at the counter as I lay on the couch. I feel a pang of anger and annoyance through my core, knowing that he’s going to be training all day for the game later and I can barely move without feeling like I’m going to throw up. “Once you’ve rested up, I’ll come back from the game as chipper as ever and then all you have to worry about is carrying us through the finals.”

“That’s the thing, you idiot,” I mutter. “I want to get ustothe finals, notthroughthem. In the nicest way possible, I’m one of the most vital members on the team and I don’t know how much this Hayes Cohen kid is going to be a good fill-in.”

Wes scoffs. “His dad is a legend, he’ll be fine.”

“Talent isn’t transferred through genes, you moron.”

“Being sick makes you more grumpy than usual,” Wes coos, standing beside me on the couch. I look up at him and roll my eyes.

“I’m not grumpy, you just piss me off,” I argue, sounding as moody as ever.

Wes leans down to ruffle my hair. “It’s okay, Connie-Wonnie. You’ll be back on your feet in no time.” His annoying voice moves up two octaves before he throws me a sarcastic smile and heads out the door.

I scrub my hands across my face, ready to spend the rest of the day sulking, knowing I can’t talk to Cat since she has classes for most of the morning.

This is going to be torture.

Instead, I spend most of the morning watching episodes of Family Guy and questioning the God’s why I deserve this.

I’ve done everything right. I’ve stayed on track with what I eat and where I go. I don’t drink. I don’t smoke. I train nearly every day of the week. I give my all in every training session and at every game and there’s still something uncontrollable that I can’t help.

I’ve not always been like this – so in my head and full of anxiety. I can’t even pin-point the exact moment when things changed for me. I never used to take anything this seriously. I always just let things happen and I went with the flow. I wanted to explore and discover and create. But the second I started taking football seriously, I couldn’t go back. My brain immediately went into fixing and providing mode. I saw a goal and I’ve never looked back.

I groan, turning over on my side. These thoughts are dangerous during the daytime. I could spend hours sitting here and not even realise that I’ve been spiralling from the same spot and get to no real conclusion.

I don’t know how long it has been when I hear a knock at the dorm door. I don’t even have the energy to tell the possible stranger not to come in as I curl up further onto the couch.

---