meant, I’m good at bringing myself to orgasm. Usually better than with guys. But you give batteries a run for their money.”
“I’ve always believed the natural way is the best way.”
“So, you’d never consider using, say…toys?”
My heart flutters.
“On you? I might. Only if we run out of ideas though. And let me tell you…”
I slide my fingers under the waist loop of her skirt. I lean closer to her and whisper, “I want you so much that I can’t stop thinking of ways to take you, lots of ideas running through my head now that I’ve had you.”
“Stop,” she breathes. “You’re making me wet again. And there’s people around.”
“You’ve been wet all day, anyway.”
She hesitates, then says, “Damn. You’ve got me there. Problem is, I’m with a very handsome man.”
Her eyes flicker.
I sniff the air. “You smell that?”
She sniffs. “I don’t think so.”
“That’s the smell of you after getting fucked all morning. And the scent of you on my cock after you came all over it.”
“…making me…so wet,” she breathes. “We should have showered.”
“Why in God’s name would I shower your scent off me? I fucking love it. I barely wanted to brush my teeth after going down on you.”
Her lips hang open. “Seriously, I’m going to stain my dress if you keep talking like this.”
Her breath becomes shallow, and I tip her chin to mine. “Don’t look at me like that,” she whispers.
“Why not?”
“You’re making me want to go down on you in this public library.”
I pull my chair closer, and slowly trail my hand down her skirt.
“Grant…fuck.”
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” I say. “We’re going to pretend like none of this is happening between us. We’re not going to tell a soul until we’re ready to come out to them, until we know what this thing between us means.”
“Yes.”
I reach my fingers close to her clit and she purrs.
“But some things are going to change. Because if we do this, I want some things from you.”
She touches her throat. “Like what?”
“I’d like you to start painting again, for starters.”
“I can do that. What else?”
“Skirts, a lot of them,” I whisper. “Dresses. And no panties. You’re a naughty girl, and I know what you want.”
“You,” she whispers. “I want you.”
“Which is good because I want you all the time, Maya. There’s no telling when I might sneak up on you. I might have to pull you out of class. Let me have a sip of that Gatorade, please.”
“Fine,” she says, handing me the bottle. “But if that’s the way you’re going to play it, I can text you at any time that I need you too. And you’ll show up. So, we can really have some fun with this. I feel incredibly comfortable with you. And I’d like to fulfill every one of my fantasies with you.”
“Like which fantasies?” I say, taking a sip of the Gatorade.
She giggles. “To be your fantasy.”
“Your fantasy is to be my fantasy,” I repeat.
“And to be surprised. Can you handle that? Or am I too much for you?”
“Oh, you’re more than too much. I love how you look in the skirt you have on. Something about the way you fill it out drives me bonkers. And I can’t wait until I get you alone again.”
“Oh, anything else?”
“Yeah. Do you have any more of that Gatorade? There’s supposed to be a weird winter heat wave coming.”
The next few days back we both end up being incredibly busy with school things.
I’m still annoyed with Coach and his games, but I’m working my ass off to hopefully change his mind. And Maya has been committed to her class load, which I admire. The few times we’ve met at the library were strictly platonic. Same at the suite, since our dormmates are annoyingly always around. So, our little plan has to wait to come into action, which is excruciating, seeing Maya in skirts all of the time.
She keeps teasing me indirectly though, and we’re the only ones who know it.
When my team has baseball practice Thursday afternoon on an unseasonably warm February day—it’s almost seventy—we see the track girls doing a workout in their tight spandex. It’s extra distracting knowing that the same little body I’m watching from the baseball field is the one I’ve been thinking about being with all week.
Let’s just say I’m extra wound up for today’s throwing session with our pitching coach and catcher in the bullpen.
“Where were you Saturday night?” my catcher, Roofus, teases.
Even normally reserved pitching coach, Coach Santorello, gets in