I kiss her deeply while gripping her knees and pulling them up toward her chest. She breathes hard as I long-stroke my cock all the way in and all the way out. When I feel her body begin to clench and quiver around me, I know she’s close. Letting my weight press down on her a little, I shove my dick as deep as it will go and hold it there, short-stroking her G-spot while circling her clit with my thumb.
Her back arches forcefully, bringing her face to mine.
Our eyes meet as she comes, and I attack her mouth with mine.
“Come for me, beautiful, amazing, fucking perfect girl. Come all over my cock.”
As if on command, her pussy pulses and her sweet juices run down my dick.
There was no time for a condom, a rookie mistake I’ve never made, but don’t regret. I pull my cock out just before I come. She lies perfectly still, only her breathing moving her belly as my release pours out all over it.
Her body is still trembling when I clean her up with a warm washcloth.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been anyone’s first before,” I admitted. “I hope it was okay.”
She sat up, her full breasts pressing against me. “Pizza is okay. Waking up before my alarm goes off and realizing I can sleep another hour is okay.” She placed a chaste kiss on my bare shoulder. “That, Aiden Singleton, was so much better than okay.”
I drop the rag on the floor and climb over her once more. “Yeah? So, what was it exactly?”
She grins up at me. “It was ketchup painting in the dark amazing. It was sleeping in the hockey jersey of the sexiest guy alive fantastic. It was almost as good as peanut butter M&Ms.”
I catch the last part and tickle her ribs mercilessly.
I love her laugh. It fills the space all around us as she convulses into a giggling fit.
When I finally stop, she pulls me to her, breathing hard. “It was how-soon-until-we-can-do-it-again mind-blowing.”
“Now, beautiful girl.” I kiss her mouth deeply. “We can do it again now.”
11
Aiden
-TWO WEEKS LATER-
Two weeks. That’s how long it had been since the most intense weekend of my life.
Fourteen days since the girl I’d spent all summer lusting after, showed up in my bed like something out of my wildest dreams and we made love until the sun came up.
Roughly three-hundred and thirty-six hours since she gave me her virginity, the precious gift of being the first man inside her beautiful body. And the second, and the third.
Then she fucking disappeared like I imagined the entire ordeal. I woke up alone. But I know I didn’t imagine anything. It was real. She was real.
I can still smell her on my sheets, still hear the echoes of the sweet sounds she made while I was inside her.
Day after day, I jogged along the water’s edge, back to the property where the carnival had been, hoping to see her. I’d pushed myself to the limit in order to stop thinking about her. Running six miles every morning on foot, skating who knows how many hours on the ice, and busting ass setting up my classroom.
She’s like a ghost, not on social media, not in class—not anywhere.
She steals into my mind over and over, and I have to remind myself to focus. I existed just fine before her and I’ll exist long after.
But no matter how hard I try to forget, she’s always there. Standing down by the water’s edge among the phantom memory of a carnival. In the bleachers during hockey practice, silently watching, morphing into another girl with similar hair when I move in for a closer look.
I even caught a whiff of her scent while building the bookshelves in the classroom where I’ll be teaching Government and coaching hockey this fall at Fillmore High School.
She’s everywhere and nowhere and it’s driving me mad.
I don’t know where she lives. I don’t even have her number. She has mine. She hasn’t used it.