I shift until most of my body is visible in the frame and then I tug up the bottom left corner of the shirt an inch at a time. I don’t speak, because words aren’t always necessary. I pull the edge of the shirt up over my bare hip and then glance at my phone to see Ollie’s reaction.
It doesn’t disappoint. His full lips are parted, his eyes are trained on my body, and his reaction is exactly what I need to keep going.
My fingers move toward the center edge of the shirt, the part that drapes across the juncture of my thighs. I lift it in a motion so painfully slow that even I’m wishing I’d hurry the hell up. But watching Ollie watch me is just too good. I can’t help but draw out every moment.
His camera moves and now it’s my turn to watch him grip the edge of his t-shirt. He’s not patient enough for a playful striptease, though. He whips it over his head in one swift motion and leaves it to fall on the bed next to him. He’s still wearing a pair of basketball shorts, but the material is thin and there’s no hiding the outline of his thick cock beneath the thin, silky fabric. His strokes himself once, twice. Then his hand stills and his eyes find mine.
He doesn’t have to say the words. I know what he wants because it’s what I want, too. My fingers lift the edge of my edge of my t-shirt the last remaining inch to reveal myself to him. I’m wearing nothing but his shirt, nothing but the arousal that has pooled between my legs, nothingbut the desire to watch his face on the screen as I touch myself.
Folding my legs so that my knees are in the air, I part my thighs and adjust my phone so that Ollie can see exactly what I do to myself when I think about him, and so that I can watch him, too.
I’m not hesitant or tentative. I’m not going to pretend I’ve never done this before. Ollie owns his sexuality and so do I. It feels good to put my fingers between my legs, to rub my clit, to tease myself. It makes me think of the way Ollie commands my body, the way he draws each orgasm out of me. The way he knows what I need before my brain can even conjure the words.
I look for his reaction as I slide a finger inside myself, pump it a few times, and add another. His face is heated, his breathing a little labored. “Take good care of that pussy, Fallon,” he tells me. “Because I can’t wait to fuck it.”
A moan escapes my lips and instinct takes over. I’m not forming words, I’m just crying out as I tease myself and inch closer to release with every touch.
Ollie releases his cock from his shorts and takes himself in hand. The image is so erotic, so primal. Ollie and I are urging each other on, fueling our fantasies, and meeting our most basic needs together.
And it’s so damn hot.
My orgasm crashes over me and I cry out a few seconds before Ollie goes over.
As incredible as sex with Ollie is, I also love the quiet moments after we’ve found release, when we’re wrapped up in each other and coming back down to earth together.
Ollie is the first to break the silence. “Watching you touch yourself while wearing my shirt might be the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”
Bainbridge’s second game against Coleridge went about the same as the first. It was a massacre that ended with a score of five- zero. Only this time, Bainbridge was on the losing end.
Ollie was also on the losing end because Coleridge came back with a vengeance and aimed a lot of their aggression at him. Fighting is banned in college hockey, but that doesn’t mean it never happens, and it doesn’t mean there aren’t dirty hits. When he arrived home an hour ago, I couldn’t hide my shock at the bruise already forming around his left eye and the nasty cut close to his temple.
Most of the guys are in bad moods, and that’s no surprise. They didn’t just lose, they were owned. It’s not a feeling they’re used to, so if they all need a night to be out of sorts or up in their feelings, I’m certainly not going to judge.
Besides, my only priority is helping Ollie feel better. Although, since we skipped the dating portion and went straight to the altar, I’m not so sure what he needs right now. Does he like to be left alone? Does he want to talk about the game and give me a play-by-play? Would he rather I distract him with sex? Or maybe he just wants to cuddle and watch a movie.
I really have no clue what to do, but when I see him sprawled out on our bed, I flop down next to him. He stops scrolling through his phone to turn his face toward me. “I'm not pretty anymore, Fallon,” he whines.
I can’t help but laugh. He’s still gorgeous, of course, and he knows it. But I can’t resist playing along. “Your face is a mess, but the rest of you makes up for it,” I say, lazily trailing my fingers over his shirtless torso. I think I’ve finally figured out why he’s always bare-chested. The manis allergic to the chore of doing laundry. It’s a problem we need to address, but it can wait.
“I mean, I’m not even paying attention to your face right now. Not when there’s so much else to look at.”
“Oh, yeah? Like what? Tell me where your attention is, wife.”
Wife. As a woman who vowed she’d never fall into the cage that is marriage, I should not like that word as much as I do. But when it falls from Ollie’s lips or his fingers, I find myself clenching my thighs. “Well,” I say, drawing out the word, “your muscles are pretty impressive.”
“Which one’s your favorite?” he asks, his grin lascivious as his dick twitches underneath the soft, worn fabric of his gray sweatpants.
“Hmmm…that’s tough.” My eyes and hands roam over his body. “I like these,” I say, letting my fingers drift lightly over his six-pack of abs. But I don’t stop there. My pointer finger outlines the puckered fabric of his waistband. His cock is practically begging for my attention, and it wouldn’t take much for my hand to reach down and stroke his hard, thick length.
“Fallon,” he breathes, his patience waning.
“You know what I think I like the best?” I ask, hoping my voice sounds half as sultry as I intend it to.
“What’s that?” he asks. His phone buzzes in his hand, but we both ignore it.
“Your calves,” I tell him.
“My what?”
