Whitney and Calvin.
We were back.
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
Calvin
My eyes wouldn’t open yet, they wanted more sleep, but my brain wouldn’t cooperate as thoughts continued to patrol my mind. My hand was on something soft, warm, and round. I squeezed, and Whitney grumbled in her sleep.
It wasn’t a dream; she was really here.
I rolled towards her body, curling myself around her, my hand sliding back to the ass cheek that had kept it so nice and warm just moments earlier. I kissed her shoulder, blew her hair gently from her skin, leaving more kisses up her throat.
“Gud moorig,” she grumbled, her face in the pillow. I laughed, my eyes finally cooperating, opening so I could watch her in amusement. Her head rolled, and she turned towards me, her eyes still closed, her mouth smiling.
“Gud moorig,” I mocked her playfully. There were those beautiful green eyes. It always amazed me how bright her eyes were, even first thing in the morning when most peoples’ were glazed or reddened. She was absolutely beautiful.
I lifted my hand from her ass cheek and then dropped it again, creating a small smacking noise on impact. She squealed as if she were in pain and then laughed because she wasn’t. “I’m making coffee. Keep my side of the bed warm,” I instructed.
“Then my side will get cold,” she mumbled and lifted her head from the pillow to watch me back out of the room. We smiled at each other like fools.
“Why’s that my problem?” I teased and rolled my eyes at her like she was being impossible and left her to rest while I made coffee. Our game was early today, and I’d need to leave soon for our pre-game routine. She could sleep a while longer, and I needed to remember to give her my credit card so she could catch a cab to the game. I’d need to buy her a car of her own soon.
I scooped the coffee into the filter and filled the pot with water. Soon, the scent was filling the air around me. I propped my elbows on the counter, my chin resting on my fists. Whitney used to tease me about this stance. She said I looked like The Thinker, the sculpture by Auguste Rodin. Now, nude with my dick shriveled into itself, I thought she would really find a resemblance if she could see me now.
The only reason I knew that Auguste Rodin was a French sculptor was because of Whitney. She had a thirst for knowledge and loved the arts. Her tastes were broad and her mind open. I loved that about her, more than she probably knew. I skated through school only doing what I had to and never developed an interest in culture or history. Whitney always told me I should broaden my mind, expand my horizons.
“What if you don’t make it to the big leagues?” she’d ask. That was high school, before college. Once I made it into my short stint in the minors she’d hadn’t asked that question again. Instead, she would ask, “What if, once you make it, you decide you don’t like it?” That question always made me laugh.
Until now.
Now, I knew there was more than the love of the game. I’d learned the hard way about the sinister part of being in the limelight, the fame that went to my head so quickly. The undercurrents of jealousy that hid beneath the surface.
I still loved the game. Now I had to learn to live with the bad side of it. I wondered if I could.
The coffee machine beeped three times to let me know it was done. I grabbed two cups and poured them full before dumping French Vanilla creamer into both. Upstairs, Whitney was still curled onto the bed but sat up when she smelled the coffee.
“Gimme, gimme,” she pleaded, her arms outstretched, lust shining in her eyes.
I laughed and gave her the warm mug. “You don’t want to sleep a little longer?” I asked. “You don’t need to leave for another five hours or so.”
Whitney took a long sip of the coffee, her eyes rolling back in her head. “That’s good,” she said. “Did you use a new creamer?”
“Nope, same one,” I said and then chuckled. “Maybe I dipped my finger into it to make it extra sweet.”
She wrinkled her nose again and laughed, taking another sip. “Thank you,” she said, her eyes turning serious.
I sat down on the bed next to her. “Thank you, Whit.” I pushed her hair back from her face. “I’ve never been happier than I am right now. Or grateful.”
As we gazed at each other, the alarm on my phone went off, reminding me I didn’t have much time to make it to the field. “I better hit the shower, then head out. I’ll see you there?”
Her smile was gorgeous. “Yes. I’ll be there, cheering you on.”
Leaning in, I gave her a quick kiss, not letting it linger into something longer. Groaning, I headed to the bathroom and turned the shower on hot.
I turned when the door opened behind me. “I do like this shower,” she said as she pressed against me. “So our new house has to have one just like it, okay?”
Jets blasted from every direction and at different pressures. It felt amazing on my sore muscles to back up against the pulsating ones. As I watched Whitney stand under the main shower head, water cascading down her body in streams, I pulled her to me and adjusted one of the nozzles on the wall. I also adjusted the pressure, making the water pulsate.
“What are you doing?” she asked, but I said nothing, simply turned her until her back was against my chest. The water jetted between her thighs and she squealed, then moaned as I maneuvered her just right. She cried out when I lifted her leg, exposing her fully to the pulsating stream.
She leaned hard against me, her head falling onto my shoulder as I trailed a hand down her body, shoving two fingers inside her. She wailed, shaking through an orgasm.
“So, you want this shower at the new house?” I whispered in her ear.
She nodded against my chest as she worked to catch her breath.
Turning her, I pushed her forward until her hands were on the bench, her ass high for my viewing pleasure. With a foot, I spread her legs open more, then a little more until I could see the water rolling between the crease of her backside and down between her legs. My eyes followed the water, and I backed up enough to watch it drip from her pussy lips and onto the floor.
“Beautiful,” I murmured.
She jumped when I touched her exhausted and still sensitive clit. She jumped even more when I pressed my thumb against her anus, the tight ring of muscle contracting as I attempted to breach it.
“Calvin,” she cried as it slipped inside her, then she pushed back, wanting more. I gave her what she wanted, what she needed, before sliding my cock into her pussy, filling her everywhere.