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I’d imagined what it would be like to be naked with Ollie ever since puberty struck. I dreamed about it when my body first started to experience hormones that I didn’t quite understand. It was both a blessing and a curse to be so close to him all these years. He was the first boy I looked at. He was the first one I ever desired.
“That way, you’ll know who to beg for when you’re ready to break all over again.”
All this time, I relied on my imagination when I was alone late at night, in my bedroom, in secret. I thought about what his skin would feel like next to mine. If he would be gentle or rough when he touched me. Would he taste as good as he smelled? But in all that time when my brain conjured up images of the hockey stud, I never once thought that it would actually happen between us. Or that the reality would trump the dream.
“Please …”
“Please what?”
“I need to come.”
“You need it, huh?”
Ollie promised to break me apart when we crossed that line together. He vowed to make me beg. And Ollie’s never been a liar. He did just what he’d said he would. His touch was like fire. His kiss was soft and reverent one minute and domineering the next. His cock was thick and throbbing, and I felt him everywhere when he entered me. Eight inches of heaven. And his presence lingered between my legs for days afterward. He stirred things inside of me that I’d never experienced before. Physically, he delivered all he had promised and more.
I’m not really shocked that the sex was so great with him. Ollie has always been an overachiever. And with a body like that … I shiver again, just picturing him naked in the late afternoon sun of his room. He definitely exceeded all my expectations, and he has continued to. But what I was surprised about … what really broke me into pieces … was the emotion that I hadn’t anticipated from him. The way he looked at me like I was the most precious, most desirable woman he had ever seen. The way his hands framed my face, like he was trying to memorize my features. When he demanded that I watch him, mostly so he could watch me too. The slow roll of his hips and the passionate pace, like he wanted to draw it out all day. Like he couldn’t get enough. The way he gazed into my eyes …
I’ve had sex before Ollie, but I’ll never be the same after him. Being with him was the most incredible experience of my life. I’ve never been touched like that before. No man has ever looked so deeply into my eyes that he could see straight into my soul. No man has ever stroked me from the inside out until I was ready to beg him to do it again. And I don’t beg. Ever.
A coed steps up in front of him across the room. Ollie’s distracted, but it doesn’t dissuade her. Her hair is a shade blonder than mine with nearly white highlights. She’s wearing a crop top and a skirt so short and tight that it looks like a headband stretched across her ass. Her boobs are huge. Her skin is golden. She puts her hand on his arm. Her expression melts into momentary frustration as Ollie continues to search the space while basically ignoring her. She tightens her hold and gains his attention. The crease deepens between his eyes, and his lips turn down a notch. She arches her back so her breasts are brushing his broad chest.
I watched for years from a distance as Ollie grew into the kind of stud that every woman desired. He became taller, and his shoulders grew wider. His muscles developed. His chest thickened. He developed scruff across his jaw that seemed to be there whether he shaved his face every day or not, like the testosterone was so potent inside of him that it couldn’t be stifled. The blue in his eyes glowed like sapphires and darkened when he was interested in what you were saying. Females became desperate for his attention. Sometimes, he gave it to them; sometimes, he didn’t. But to this day, I still don’t think he’s aware of the sheer magnetism he carries. The raw animal power he exudes from across the room just by existing.
At this moment, I see dozens of eyes gazing at him. Men staring with adoration and hero worship, wanting to be him. And women begging for his attention. I don’t think there’s one female in here who wouldn’t drop her panties if he glanced in her direction for more than a second or two. If he gave any indication that they had a chance with him. There’s practically a line out the door of those just trying to get near him right now.
And it’s only going to get worse.
Ollie’s leaving soon. It’s an inevitable fact. He’s going to move halfway across the country, miles away from here. He’ll travel constantly. He’ll live on the ice. And when he isn’t playing hockey, the women will be lining up in each city, trying to get a glimpse of the brand-new professional winger. The one with the dark hair, the sultry eyes, the deep voice, and the sculpted body. And they’ll all be ready to fall to their knees for the shiny, new rookie with the million-dollar contract. They’ll have long blonde hair, just like the girl standing in front of him now, and double-D breasts begging to be groped. They’ll look at him with stars in their eyes, like he can do no wrong. They’ll offer their bodies for his pleasure. They’ll offer their hearts for him too.
Something tightens inside my chest as I feel the loss before it’s happened. I can picture the scene, woman after woman warming his hotel beds. Strangers. He’s framing their faces with his hands. He’s kissing them. He’s giving them the same piece of himself for a night that he finally gave to me.
I swallow hard as my stomach sours. I turn away from the scene near the door.
Ollie’s always been mine, even before I had his body. Now that he’s touched me, that possession has turned into an obsession. I want to scratch out every other woman’s eyes so they can’t look at him. I want to break their hands so they can never touch him. I’m like a feral cat, unpredictable and out of control.
“Thanks for staying late,” Nick says, approaching from behind with a large tub of clean glasses. He’s a welcome distraction. He sets it down, and we both start unloading them. He puts his hand on top of mine to stop me after a moment or two. “Get out of here. Jan just showed up to finish out the night. You’ve done more than enough today.”
“Are you sure?” I ask.
He smirks. “You’d better run before I change my mind. We could always use the extra help. Especially on a night like this.”
“Say no more.” I smile while undoing the apron around my waist.
“I’ll have your cut of the tips tomorrow,” he promises, already taking the now-empty tub back to the kitchen.
“Thanks!” I yell after him.
“I thought you were coming back,” a voice says from across the bar.
I turn around, and it’s one of the guys I was waiting on earlier. With plenty of liquid courage running through his veins, he’s leaning on the mahogany surface in between us and eyeing me with interest.
“Sorry … I’m off the clock.” I give him a wry smile.
“Well, in that case”—he leans closer as his grin widens—“come have a drink with me.”
“She’s busy,” Ollie says gruffly.
He walks up beside the guy and glares at him. When the stranger rises to his full height, Ollie still towers over him by a good four inches. And my man looks pissed.
