his gray boxer briefs our final barrier. I ran my hands over his muscled back, and pulled his underwear down as far as my arms would allow, then wrapped my legs around him, hooking my toe into the elastic waistband and removing them the rest of the way.
“Jesus,” I said, now breathing hard, my hands on his steel-hard ass. “Jesus.”
He rubbed himself against me, teasing me, asking me if it felt good. I told him it did.
“Are you …?”
“On the pill?” I said. “Yes. Do we need anything else?”
He knew exactly what I was asking, maybe even that I was picturing that long line of Cowboy cheerleaders, and said, “No, baby. I’m very careful …”
I relaxed completely, trusting him, feeling that, even if I was one of many, surely I wasn’t one of many he trusted without a condom. Multitasking, Ryan kissed my neck while pulling down my comforter and sheets, then repositioned me forty-five degrees, my head now on a pillow. I looked up at him, but was too close to see anything but his eyes and nose, the exact part of his face you see on television through his blue and white starred helmet. He looked that intense, that focused, as he said, “You ready for this?”
“So ready,” I said. “Are you?”
“Yes, sweetie. I’m ready, too.”
Then he pushed his way inside me, only a little at first, holding back with exquisite timing and control. I opened my eyes. He opened his, looked at me, then closed them again, all his muscles flexing as he pushed deeper in me until he was the whole way inside. My God, I said more than once, along with a lot of other expletives, thinking that it was, hands down, the best purely physical sensation of my entire life. Sort of how I’d imagine it would be to try heroin, the kind of drug that can ruin your life. Instant addiction. Still muttering to myself, I lost all sense of time and space as I let him take charge. His speed changed from slow to fast, then slow again, his rhythm scary good. He turned me over, slid inside me from behind, pressing his chest into my back, holding me down, gently pulling my hair, kissing my ear, saying my name. Then, when I couldn’t stand it another second, he flipped me back over, telling me to look into his eyes. My room grew sauna hot, and I kicked off the covers, our bodies slick with sweat. I felt myself start to shake, then heard myself scream his name as we both came together.
Afterward, I fell into a coma. I couldn’t move or speak or focus on anything other than my breathing, and the thrilling realization that I’d just had the best sex of my entire life with the gorgeous starting quarterback of the Dallas fucking Cowboys.
The next morning, I opened my eyes from a sound sleep to find Ryan standing over my bed. He was fully dressed and wearing his clothes from the night before, but he looked freshly showered, his dark hair damp and precisely styled. I tried to gather myself, pulling my own tangled hair away from my face and wiping my mouth on the back of my hand.
“Was I drooling?” I asked, thinking that stealth early-morning grooming was the worst kind of unfair advantage over a girl who was already the underdog.
“No. You’re a very pretty sleeper,” Ryan said.
“Thanks,” I said. It was actually a compliment I’d heard before.
“You’re pretty when you’re asleep. Pretty when you’re awake. And you’re really pretty when I’m making love to you.” He whispered the last part, as if sharing a secret only he was lucky enough to know.
Embarrassed, I smiled, then sat up, tucking my comforter under my arms to cover myself. “Are you headed out?” I said, trying not to sound needy and noting, with relief, that I didn’t feel that way. If anything, I was actually happy to get the awkward morning-after stuff over with and send him on his way.
“Yeah. I have to. I wasn’t going to wake you,” he said, sitting down on the edge of the bed beside me. “But I didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye either.”
“It’s okay. I need to get up anyway,” I said. “I have to go to work. Women’s volleyball today. We’re hosting Penn State.”
He nodded, then reached over and cupped my cheek in his hand, a gesture that felt surprisingly intimate given that we’d done a lot more the night before.