Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 42889 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 214(@200wpm)___ 172(@250wpm)___ 143(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 42889 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 214(@200wpm)___ 172(@250wpm)___ 143(@300wpm)
I moan into his mouth, unable to stop the sound, unable to control the volume. His thumb is pressing against my pussy through my panties, and wetness floods from me, hungry for more of him. I hold onto him tightly as he rubs his thumb back up and down massaging my clit and playing at the edges of my entrance through the soaked fabric, and I find myself longing for him to push my panties aside and touch me directly.
And then he kisses me lightly, draws his hand away, and leaves me unsteady and swaying, still standing on the bench.
“Carson,” I moan, grateful my hands are still on his shoulders, or I’m pretty sure I’d fall over.
“I don’t want to owe you too many questions at once,” he says. He waits until I’m a bit more stable to step away, then strips off his jersey. I step down from the bench and watch as he removes pads, medical tape, but not the skintight pants that show off his muscles. I must be staring, because he clears his throat.
“If you’ve got another question, ask it— I’ve got to go shower off, and if you follow me into the showers then we definitely won’t be working on this interview.”
“How am I supposed to think about questions when you do that to me?” I ask.
“How am I supposed to answer questions when you do this to me?” he asks in a lower voice, then takes my hand and guides it to the waistband of his pants. I hold my breath as he pushes my palm against his skin, sliding it into the front of his pants. I can feel the heat, the sweat of him, and my fingers stretch nervously until I brush against the head of his cock. I jolt; Carson holds my hand there until my eyes drift shut and I dare to push my hand a little farther, till I can wrap the top of my fist around him. He’s thick— god, he’s thick, and I can feel blood pulsing through it as I explore him my touch.
I finally open my eyes again.
“Astrid,” Carson says in a heady whisper. His gaze is hungry and demanding; I like my lips and step closer to him, allowing my hand to slide farther down. I can’t imagine this fitting inside my pussy, and yet I want to find out of it does.
“Your huge,” I whisper.
“Do you know how often I think about fucking your sweet mouth?”
My lips part in shock, in delight at his words. No one’s ever spoken to me like that before, and I love it— and love the idea of him thrusting between my lips. Though again— how could I take all of this? I bite my lip, glance downward, then meet Carson’s eyes again.
“You know, if sucking my cock is on the table, then eating your little pussy has to be too.”
I nod, and the tension between my legs expands into a gnawing pain. The idea of having my mouth on Carson’s cock, of having his tongue in my pussy, tasting me in ways no one ever has before—
A door slams behind me; I yank my hand from Carson’s pants, flush hard. I’m a reporter— I can’t be seen in the locker room with my hands wrapped around the star player’s dick. Carson grins broadly at my alarm, then steps closer to whisper in my ear.
“Next time we’re alone, I need to be inside you.”
8
I end up writing down all my questions and texting them to Carson.
It’s easier this way— I don’t have to remember them when I’m still flushed and dizzy from his touch, and it also gives him to chance to pick through them and answer them as he goes along.
It’s an odd strategy and one that Devin is totally against, when I explain what I’ve done— it gives an interview subject time to prepare an answer, after all. With Carson, however, it works well, because he’s actually interested and excited to answer whatever it is he chooses from the list, even if he usually doesn’t choose the particularly hard-hitting questions. Still, it’s more than enough for an article— but, of course, not enough for the hard-hitting article on Carson’s father that Devin wants to publish.
“What’s your backup plan? If you don’t get drafted?” I ask over coffee one afternoon, before he heads off to practice. Today, he requests I not wear a bra or panties to our meet up at a coffee shop I’d never been to before. I oblige, only to realize that Carson was a step ahead of me— this place is freezing and my nipples are hard and showing through my top. Carson is watching the way my breasts move beneath my blouse, pleased with his handiwork.
“Coaching. Or working with an athletic wear company. I did some modeling for one of them my freshman year, and they were good people,” Carson says, though I can tell this is a distant sort of backup plan. I lean back and, after a quick look around to make sure no one is staring, relax my shoulders so my nipples press hard onto the front of my shirt.