“Go ahead,” he urges, a smirk turning up the right corner of his mouth. “This way you have something to look at when you play with your pussy at night.”
“Drake,” I shout and smack him on the arm. “You’re so dirty.”
“Don’t tell me you don’t touch yourself.”
“I do, but?—”
“But what? You either do or you don’t.” He grabs his cock that’s hard. I have to get used to waking up next to a man. Following my line of sight, he pulls his cock through the slit in his boxers. “Here, take a pic. You’re my girlfriend now. You should have something to look at while you get off.”
I snort at his comment. “Like all the other girls? You know, now that we’re together, I wish I could go around campus and delete those pics from all of their cell phones. I don’t want anyone to see you but me.”
“You’re so possessive.” He strokes his cock, his eyes fixed on me, a wicked expression crossing his face. “C’mere.”
I suck on my thumb for a second, leaving just enough spit, and then lean over to roll it over the head of his cock. Staring into his eyes, I continue massaging him while he pumps his shaft. “What do you want, Drake?”
“Give me your mouth,” he hisses. Taking my hesitation as a no, he adds, “Please, Taylor. Just lick my cock. I want to feel your mouth.”
“I can’t fit all of you in my mouth.”
He shoots me a look that says, No, shit Sherlock. “I know, baby. Just the tip.”
I move my hand above his to fist his cock, helping him work his shaft, and then I get on my knees to lick the tip. He groans so loud it sounds animalistic.
Peeking up at him, I glide my tongue along his sensitive skin, tasting a little pre-cum. “Feel good.”
“Fuck, yeah,” he grunts. “A little more, baby.”
Doing as he commands, I stop giving him tentative licks and take a few inches of him in my mouth. No one could ever fit all of him. It’s scientifically impossible. If I tried, I would literally choke to death.
Drake’s free hand falls to the back of my head. His fingers dig into my hair, and he pulls me closer, sliding me further down on his cock. I can feel him everywhere. I can’t stop wondering how hard it will be for us to have sex. And then I wonder why I’m even thinking of having sex with him. Maybe it’s because I have this gut feeling that Drake will be the one. I just know it. I’m already starting to care about him more than I thought possible.
With both of our hands working in harmony, we have a pleasant rhythm. We’re an excellent team in the bedroom. Right before Drake comes, his entire body trembles, his legs shaking me, causing me to lose my balance for a second. He must feel it because he tightens his grip on me.
After he comes, I sink back on my heels and wipe my mouth. He blinks a few times, staring down at our hands on his cock and then back up to my eyes.
“Good morning to you, too,” he says with a wink and a crooked grin.
“It’s only fair,” I point out. “I had a very good sleep because of your skilled tongue and fingers.”
He grabs my arm and has me on my back, his body covering mine. “What do you want, Taylor? You want me to make you come again?”
I peek up at him and just about melt from his beautiful blue eyes and those long, perfect lashes. As much as it kills me to feel something for him, I do. That much, I can’t deny. But how does this relationship work? Every girl on campus has seen his dick. They think he’s a manwhore. What does that make me, his actual whore?
We stare at each other for several seconds without speaking before I break the silence. “I’m hungry. I think I need to eat something. My stomach is still a mess from last night.” He almost looks disappointed, so I add, “But you can make me come later.”
With that, his smile brightens. He slides off the bed, fixes his boxers back into place, and then holds out his hand to me. My eyes travel over his thick, muscular thighs to a pair of black boxer briefs that hug him in all the right places. His legs are so solid they look indestructible. I can’t imagine facing him on the ice. He’s a wall of man, most of his body blocking the net.
By the time I reach his chiseled stomach, I’m licking the drool from my lips. A low rumble echoes from his mouth, but he says nothing. He’s used to girls gawking at him. And why wouldn’t they? Look at him.
He opens a drawer and throws a pair of black boxers in front of me on the bed. Does he own any other colors? “Put them on.”
Clutching the cotton in my hand, I stare at him like he’s crazy. “Why?”
He sits next to me. “Because Shannon makes us breakfast every morning, and I thought you’d want to wear something else beneath my shirt.” He extends his hand to me. “C’mon. If we don’t get down there soon, we won’t have anything to eat.”
I slip into Drake’s boxers, and then he tugs on my hand to lift me off the bed. Once we’re in the hallway, I get stage fright. Nerves creep up the back of my throat, the bile almost choking me.
Drake notices my hesitation and stops. He cups the side of my face with his big hand. “What’s wrong?”
