Rosie Labrun is a lot of things: a college student on the cusp of graduation; an intern for the Portland Pirates, a romance novel connoisseur; and the most recent addition to her resume...the girlfriend of a professional athlete.
She won't let it d...
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"These are nice." I tell Rosie, feeling the fabric of the sleep shorts that she's wearing - and wondering how long I should wait before taking them off. It feels like they've already been on her - and not on the floor or crumpled up in some suitcase, for far longer than they were meant to be.
Underneath, I can feel the backs of her thighs; the smoothness of her skin and light goose bumps that trail up and down her body. "Thanks." She responds, studying me and my movements as I fiddle with them. They're light blue and have little stars all over them; and if they weren't a barrier to the place my dick wants to be, I'd say they're cute. But right now, I just really need them off her.
"Erik." She laughs when I hoist her up with one arm and then slide them off easily with my other hand. Leaving her with only a pair of cotton underwear that I swear I should've thrown out a long time ago: the number one rule when we're finally living on our own - no underwear allowed. It's pointless and serves no purpose other than to get tangled up with my socks in the washing machine.
And also take up space in the shower; where it always has to hang delicately from a hanger because - as Rosie puts it, they're fragile. I think she's just trying to make me hard everytime I enter the bathroom by hanging her underwear for me to see.
"You didn't wanna wear a pair of my boxers?" I ask, half-wondering and half wishing she would wear my stuff all the time. She looks so fucking adorable in my clothes, it's almost a criminal offence. The sleeves always hang to long down her arms and the pants are way too baggy, making her end up like she's trying to be a 12th grade gangster.
"Why would I wear your boxers?" She asks, furrowing her eyebrows together like it's the most confusing thing I've ever said. In some ways, it's nice having her focus on something while I focus on taking her underwear off; I think there's a fireplace in the family room where I can burn them. Would also give us the opportunity to make smores which I know she's a fan of.
"Because you're my girl." I remind her, not realizing that it would ever have to be explained why a man enjoys seeing his significant other wear his clothes. I'm not sure if there's honestly much logic behind it - other than it just being sexy as fuck. Plus, then your clothes smell like her and make you think about her whenever you wear them.
Not that I ever would want my clothes back, or not be thinking about Rosie to begin with. I swear to god, sometimes it feels like she's the only thing I can think about. The way she smiles at me in the morning when we first wake up; the way her hips move when I move my mouth on her neck and suggest we get some more sleep and stay in bed a few extra minutes.
She doesn't seem to know what to say, or how to respond - which is a first for her, to not say anything, this is. Or not know what to say. Usually even if she doesn't know how to respond, she'll just laugh. She laughs a lot though: when she's nervous, scared, turned on, turned off. I guess laughter is universal, in the dictionary of Rosie.
Another thing that's universal? Me wanting to be inside her, that now, that seems to be an everyday occurrence. "Do you have a condom?" She asks me, her feet dangling off the edge of the counter like we're swaying at some sappy country concert. Maybe she's nervous that someone will be able to hear; and that's why she's trying to rush.
But I, have never been one to rush magic.
"What's the hurry?" I tease, not being able to stop myself from grinning when I gaze at her naked body. Fully naked, now. She looks so fucking beautiful; so fucking hot; I can't even think straight. Holy fuck. I just want her to feel the way I do, like my pants are about five seconds away from becoming home to my excitement.
She seems to be able to detect this - unsurprisingly, because I tend to have the problem of not being able to last long. It's not like I have ED, it's just that usually by the time that my dick is going into her vagina, we've had about forty minutes of foreplay and I've spent about thirty-nine minutes of it having to think about the alphabet in order to not come.
"I've been thinking about getting an IUD." She blurts out, informing me of something that makes me unable to form a coherent sentence. Being inside Rosie + no condom = heaven. Not even heaven, something beyond heaven; beyond Disney Land as a kid and being able to stay up late and have junk food on a school night.
I don't think Rosie's aware of the atomic bomb she just dropped, because she then goes to start pulling at my shorts, which I have to gently guide her hands away from. Because if she touches my dick, I'm gonna come.
"Sorry." I laugh, wondering if it'll always be like this or maybe I'm having a medical issue. Truth is, I did mention it to the team doctor - who I have a decent relationship with and I know wouldn't say shit to anyone. He just laughed, asked how long we'd been together and then said that's normal. "I just need...a minute." I finish - not literally, I'm still holding my balls full of what feels like pulsating blood. I just need a minute to collect myself and calm the fuck down.
Maybe it's the fact that we're somewhere other than the bedroom. I'm no more an exhibitionist than Rosie is, but it has always been a fantasy of mine to make love in multiple locations. On top of the washing machine while it's on the spin cycle, in the kitchen, on the dining room table, the list goes on and on.
Some of them we've already crossed off, like in the car (was a tight fit), in the shower (not ideal with only one shower head), and in our bedroom (that one was at the top of the list). But there are some that I'm still waiting for us to have our own place to try out, because I know she won't go for it just because Kayden's not home. That fucker has the tendency of showing up when you least expect it, kind of like the plague.
"Are you actually that turned on?" She asks me, curious eyes turning down towards my manhood. She never seems to understand how much she turns me on; how hard she makes me by just doing something simple like smiling a certain way, wearing leggings, or just generally breathing around me.
I lick my lips, looking down at her own mouth like it's the next place I'd like to call home. And I mean with my mouth, not by sticking my dick in it. I'm not massively into head (on me) pre-sex because as we've established, I can't last long. And then it's like a half an hour period of time where I'm squinting my eyes and trying to get hard again, since she won't let me eat her out and there's only so much I can do with my fingers.
"Seems like you are, too." I remark, running my hand down the inside of her thigh until I've reached my favorite place, my second home, my home away from home. And where I intend to detour to make her come all over my fingers.
