But I’m not thinking about hockey as I step quietly into our bedroom. Fallon is sprawled out on my side of the bed, her head on my pillow. And I’m ninety-nine percent sure that’s my t-shirt she’s wearing.
Tossing my hockey bag near the closet door, I strip down and throw my clothes directly in the hamper. It takes a second to charge my phone and set my alarm, but soon enough, I’m lying in bed with Fallon. It just feels right.
Even if I am on the wrong side of the bed.
I lean over to press a gentle kiss on her forehead and then shut my eyes and wait to drift off to sleep.
It never happens.
After about ten seconds of trying, I had to give up. It’s not that I’m wide awake, it’s that there’s a hand on my thigh. And it’s inching upward.
Fallon presses her body close to mine and reaches for my face. We lock eyes before she kisses me soundly.
We don’t talk at all. We don’t even sign. But we communicate.
She tugs off the stolen shirt she’s wearing—because she clearly likes to take the things that are mine— and crawls on top of me. She’s straddling my hips and draping her body against me, so we’re touching nearly everywhere, and our faces are mere inches away from each other. Fallon grinds on me, and my cock is instantly up for anything. Her soft lips take control of mine and I let myself fall all the way in love with her. There’s nothing separating us now, not even clothing.
My hands grip her hips so I can show her just how much I want her, and she replies in kind by reaching for my shaft and stroking it. In a move that makes my eyes roll back in my head, she spits on her palm and goes back to touching my greedy dick.
My need for her is desperate, so I’m more than ready for her as she sinks herself down onto me, inch by glorious inch. When I’m filling her completely, I find her lips and kiss her as our bodies set the rhythm.
The only sounds in the room are my moans and Fallon’s whimpers. When I slip a hand between us to find her clit, swollen and needy, she rocks her body against mine as she grasps onto my shoulders. She’s not bucking wildly, though. It’s more like she’s hugging me and never wants to let me go.
That’s fine by me.
My thumb rubs her clit as her arousal begins to cover my hand. I love it. I want more. I want to feel her body pulse around mine. I want to wake up with the weight of her on top of me so we can do this all over again.
My free hand rubs her back, keeping her body pressedagainst mine. When I feel the first tremors of her orgasm, I pump into her slowly again and again, doing my best to draw out her pleasure. My own follows seconds later. It’s so damn good every time. When Fallon pulls away from me, I feel her absence like a shock to my system, even though I know we can’t stay locked together forever.
She curls up beside me, her head on my chest. Our sheets are a mess, but it’s late and we don’t care. She’s holding onto me so tightly that I don’t think I could get up out of bed even if I wanted to.
And let me be clear: I don’t want to.
I take a seat in the worn leather booth at the diner. This week has been hectic, and Fallon and I have barely connected. I usually make her lunch at the house, but she’s had a ton of studying to do, so she’s been spending her downtime at the library on campus.
She claimed she’d be too busy to meet up today, but I knew I could lure her here with the promise of waffles and strawberries.
When a server stops by, I order a cup of coffee. I was running five minutes late for lunch, but Fallon must be running even later. I don’t mind because I always have reading to catch up on, but before I can crack open my laptop, my phone buzzes with a text.
Fallon: I’m so sorry. I can’t meet you for lunch. I was on my way, but then I saw some people from my Calc class, and they asked if I wanted to join their study session. Our test is tomorrow, and I really want to do well. My midterm grade was not the best, and I need to bounce back. Can I get a rain check?
Disappointment hits me like I’m being slammed against the boards. It’s silly, because she’s a sophomore, so she has to take a bunch of gen eds, and I know she wants to do well. I also know she was really bummed about the B on her mid-term and while I want to tell her that B is for Badass, and she’s killing it in Calc and should totally join her handsome husband for lunch, I get it.
I don’t like it, but I get it.
Ollie: No problem. Will you be around for dinner tonight? I can make tacos before practice.
Fallon: Hopefully!
My phone rings, and I bet she’s videocalling me, so I answer immediately. But the caller isn’t Fallon. It’s my dad.
“Oliver, glad I caught you. Do you have a minute?”
Looking down at the plastic covered menu in front ofme, and the empty seat across from me, I sigh inwardly. “Yeah, Dad, what’s up?”
“I just got off a call with Chris Hutchins. He said you met up with him again last week?”
My dad doesn’t sound accusatory, but I feel like I have to defend myself all the same. “Yeah, he was great when we first talked a couple weeks back. He agreed to a generous donation, but we met up again to discuss sponsorships. He liked my ideas, and he’s agreed to partner with us. With his help, we can get a lot more local businesses on board, which translates to more money for charity. Chris and I had a good talk.”
