by Morgan Kyle
Cole slipped into me slowly at first, feeling like he was halfway in, then teasing, working slowly, deeper with each tauntingly gentle thrust of his hips.
I made short gasps each time he went in farther, filling me, his cock gliding against my tight but slick flesh.
I locked my legs around his as we moved together. I had one hand on the back of his neck, the other flat against the muscles of his chest that strained each time his body rocked into mine.
The increasing sunlight in the room allowed me to see his face more clearly now as he fucked me. His eyes were narrow, as if from pain, his mouth agape, as if from pleasure. I felt the same sweet mixture within me.
Cole propped himself with one hand flat on the bed, the other reaching down and taking hold of the back of my thigh, tightly, firmly, holding me in place as he drove in and out of me. His rhythm—lower body moving forward making his upper body rise up—was almost like the way a body moves when swimming the butterfly stroke. Cole’s still-perfect swimmer’s body was made for it, I thought, made for swimming, made for fucking.
A warm tension began in my belly as I felt myself clenching around him, feeling almost on the edge of pain and then releasing as my eyes slammed shut and I let my orgasm ripple through my body.
I heard a deep rumble in Cole’s chest, a groan like an animal, and his breaths became quick and sharp. I opened my eyes to see him with his neck extended, the cords straining—he’d thrown his head back as my contractions subsided, milking him as he came, his body a hard slab of muscle.
He looked down at me. Our gazes met, held, and as he relaxed he lowered himself onto me. I wrapped my arms around him and ran my hands along his back as I felt his breath on my neck.
He whispered, “I can’t believe I thought about not taking a risk with you. I almost don’t care what happens. So worth it.”
*****
We stayed in his bed for a little while. I lay on my right side, Cole pressed against me from behind, his fingers lightly running the contours of my body from my neck to my shoulder down my side and to my hip. We were both still naked, lying on top of the sheets. His apartment was warm, no need to cover up.
I found myself wanting to ask just how much he had considered not taking the risk with me, and when he had thought it. At first? Recently? And what made him decide to go for it?
Instead, we lay silently there, enjoying the lazy morning before we would have to go to practice.
I was so relaxed, I almost started drifting into sleep but then he spoke.
“Let’s eat.”
He was moving off the bed and I followed. He slipped on his shorts and a t-shirt, I got dressed and followed him out to the kitchen where he once again made us breakfast. It was becoming our thing. One of our things, aside from secret sex rendezvous.
“I’m not very good at cooking,” I said, “but can I do anything?”
He had a cabinet door open and he swung his head out from behind it, grinned and said, “Toast.”
“That I can do.”
“Bread’s over there.” He nodded his head toward a basket in the corner of the counter.
I felt at home then, like he was offering me a bit more familiarity with his apartment.
He cooked up some scrambled eggs with cheese, made coffee, and I stood by the toaster waiting for it to pop up.
We ate in silence for a few moments until he told me about the first time he swam in a race.
“I was eleven,” he said, taking a sip of his coffee. “It was a summer league, neighborhood pool, that kind of thing.”
“That’s how I started, too.”
He nodded. “It was freestyle, and I was in the third lane out of ten so I didn’t have a good view of most of the other swimmers. I remember thinking about that on the starting block. How would I know if I was winning? But as soon as I hit the water, I didn’t even think about that. I just swam as hard as I could.” He chuckled. “Terrible stroke. It was less like being in a race and more like I was swimming away from a shark. Get to the wall, decent flipturn, start heading back for the finish. That was the first time I glanced to my left and right. Well, I didn’t see anyone in either direction and I panicked, starting swimming even harder and faster. I thought I was going to touch the wall, come up out of the water and all the other swimmers would be out of the pool already, maybe even dried off.”
I knew where he was going with this, but I loved hearing him tell the story.
He continued, “So I touch the wall and my head pops out of the water. All I could think was, get out of the pool as fast as I can, I’ll be the last one in here, the big loser. But as I looked around, maybe a second or two after I had touched the wall, all the other swimmers were coming into the finish.”
“I love it.”
Cole shook his head slowly. “I couldn’t believe it. My coach is there, clapping like crazy, pumping his fist in the air. My mom ran over as I got out of the pool and hugged me even though I was sopping wet.” He paused for a moment. “And I was hooked.”
“My story of how I got started isn’t as exciting,” I said. “I actually lost my first race.”
“Most people do.”
“Very funny.”
He smiled. “Also very true.”
What I didn’t want to tell him was that I had joined the neighborhood swim team so I would have something to do all summer. During the school year, I cherished those hours away from home. I actually dreaded the summers as a kid, until I discovered swimming. Then I had practices, I was a part of something. Of course Eric was always around, and whenever I got the chance, I spent time at his house. Normal family, normal parents, and they had a dog. It was far from my own home life.
I had to snap out of that thought train, not only because it was depressing and I didn’t want to whine to Cole about it, but I also needed to stop thinking about Eric.
Fuck. Should I tell Cole about what happened? I considered it briefly, but decided not to. Talk about awkward. Why ruin a perfect morning?
“What were you like as a kid?” I asked, almost positive the answer would be that his childhood was more like Eric’s than mine.
Cole’s face changed when I asked. His mouth formed a thin line, the corners of his eyes dropped from that eye-smile position, and he sort of half-shrugged.
“Not much to tell.” He picked up his empty plate, reached across the table to get mine, stacked them, and walked to the kitchen. “You now, just…normal.”
It didn’t take much in the way of psychological training to pick up on what was his response meant. Specifically, I didn’t know, but in general, there was something painful there, something he couldn’t just shrug off. Maybe I had pried too much, considering the fact that we were just two people enjoying each other’s company (and sex, great sex) so pressing for personal details was not an option.
Maybe that’s all his reaction meant. Or maybe not.
“So,” he said, holding a towel and drying his hands. “I guess we better get ready for practice.”
I tried to revive the good feeling we were sharing before I asked about his childhood, so I got up, walked over to him, raised up on my toes, kissed him and said, “Right, Coach.”
*****
Cole was on my mind all day. Not just at morning and afternoon practices, but in between as well. The worst was when I was daydreaming about him and one of my professors called out to me: “Right, Ms. Kolb?”
I had no idea what he was talking about, lost in my thoughts as I was, so I just said, “Can you repeat the question?”
He didn’t. I sank down in my seat until all the heads that had turned my way returned to looking at the front of the classroom. Shit. Why was I thinking about him so much? This was all just a fling, all for fun, all so…not serious. I was letting myself fall for him and I knew I shouldn’t. I needed to get some distance, maybe try to not see him for a week or so.
That plan lasted all of an hour. At dusk, I pulled into his parking lot and sat in the car for a moment. My conscience
was making on last-minute effort to triumph and make me drive him, away from Cole.
How the hell would I maintain my emotionally cool distance when I was showing up unannounced at his apartment? I wasn’t going to fall for him. Not yet, anyway. And really not unless and until he fell for me first.
I laughed at myself. How silly. This is the stuff of teenage self-talk. Just be a grown-up, get out of the car, and go see him.
My logical brain wasn’t what stopped me. What stopped me was what I saw when I looked up at his apartment door before I got out of the car. His door was opening. Someone was coming out. Tan leg first, then her back, and a familiar hairstyle…it was Gwen, leaving his place.
Part 2 coming soon…
