TackledP: A Sports Romance(57)

My heart thumps loudly in my chest, and she looks at me, her hair sweaty from exertion, her cheeks flushed red, bottom lip pulled between her teeth. Fuck me, if I ever get tired of seeing that expression on her face.

"You're dripping out of me," she whispers.

"Are you trying to get fucked again, saying stuff like that?" I ask. "Tell me you like it."

She moans. "I like it," she says. "And yeah, I'm trying to get fucked again."





28





Cassie





I'm lying on my bed in my room when I hear Sable yell. "Spill it! Cassie!"

I don't have time to respond before she bursts through my bedroom door, throwing it open and looking at me expectantly. "Knocking would be nice," I say. "What if –"

"What if you and Colton were getting it on in here, right?" she asks, grinning broadly as she walks over and flops down on my bed. "If you were doing the deed, I'd be scarred for life. But I didn't hear any uhhhh-uhhhh-uhhhh."

I slap her hard on the arm. "That is not what I sound like."

"Stop getting distracted. Did you do it or not?"

"I'm not kissing and telling!"

Sable looks at me like I have three heads. "I tell you about my sexual misadventures."

"Yeah, because you never learned appropriate boundaries as a child and you think that talking in great detail about your sexual conquests is totally normal."

"My sexual conquests," Sable says. "I like the way that sounds."

"Speaking of which, how's Tank?" I ask.

Sable sighs and leans back with her head against the wall. "Jonathan is…good."

"Jonathan?" I ask, laughing.

"That's his name. His actual name, not his nickname."

"Since when did you start learning the names of the guys you bang?" I ask. That sounds like a bitchy thing to say, but it's not. Sable prefers to refer to the guys she dates by a moniker other than their names – The Artist, or The Drummer, or The Jackhammer. "I've never heard you call anyone by his name."

Sable shrugs. "I like his name."

I sit up straight in bed. "You like him."

Sable rolls her eyes. "I do not," she says. "I like banging him."

I narrow my eyes as I point my finger at her. "No, no, no, this is not the I-like-sex Sable I know and love. This Sable is all weird."

"Oh, shut up," she groans, her cheeks pink.

"You're blushing again."

"So what? I think Jonathan is cute and I like hooking up with him."

"You liiike him," I tease, dragging out the word.

"Shut up, Virgin."

"Not anymore."

"Hah. I knew it!" She bolts upright in the bed, turning to face me and crisscrossing her legs. "You have my undivided attention. Tell me absolutely everything in exacting detail."

"We did it," I say. "That's it. I'm not a virgin anymore."

Sable screws up her face. "Oh. I see. Well, don't worry about it. You know, it's not necessarily fireworks and magic the first time anyway."

"What are you talking about?"

"It's okay if it was disappointing," she assures me. "I mean, it's a lot of pressure, twenty-three years of waiting for the big moment. So it's naturally going to be hard for it to live up to the expectation."

"It wasn't disappointing," I tell her. "It was… really good."

"Why did you make it sound like it was disappointing?"

"I didn't!" I protest. "I just said that I lost it and that's it."

"Where did he take you?" Sable asks. "Did he make me proud?"

"Make you proud?" I ask.

"He was worried about the whole deflowering thing."

"What??" I squeal. "He talked to you about it?"

"Not exactly," she says, waving her hand dismissively. "He wanted a little advice. It was so sweet."

"He needed advice on how to do it?" My voice goes up approximately three octaves. It's one thing for Sable and I to deconstruct our sex lives or lack thereof, but another thing entirely for Colton to talk to her about how to deflower me.

Sable cocks her head to the side. "No, he was clear on the mechanics," she goes on. "I mean, at least I hope he was."

"Yes," I mumble, my teeth gritted. "We were both clear on the mechanics, thanks. What exactly did he say to you about it?"

"He wanted to make the experience… special," she explains. "Romantic."

"So you told him what to do?" I ask. I feel a sudden pang of disappointment that he asked Sable for advice. Here I was, thinking that he had come up with the back-of-the-truck thing all on his own.