Hefty Page 2

  Her shoulders relax. “Then…stay?”

  If she asked me to ride home on the roof, I would do it. “All right.”

  We both settle back against the seat and I go back to praying she doesn’t notice my hard-on. It’s a familiar position, but it never gets easier. I used to sit in the living room with Jill and Harper on the weekends during their movie marathons. Can’t do it now, though. Not with the way Jill sprawls out on the couch, always dressed in itty bitty shorts or leggings that leave nothing to the imagination. Now, whenever she’s in my house, I spend most of the time jerking off to the sound of her giggle drifting through my bedroom door.

  If Jill knew the thoughts I’ve had, she definitely wouldn’t want to sit beside me.

  She’d probably never set foot in my house again.

  I’m distracted by a smattering of cheers and glance up toward the front of the bus where our kicker is hugging one of the cheerleaders in the aisle.

  “He must have asked her to homecoming,” Jill murmurs, smiling. “That’s sweet.”

  I grunt. “Is that how you’d like to be asked? On the bus?”

  “I hadn’t thought of it.” She rakes her palms up and down her thighs. “It’s a lot of pressure, isn’t it? Going to the dance with someone. All those expectations…”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean…” She adjusts her bow nervously. “Sex. It’s all people seem to talk about lately, isn’t it? Who is doing it. Where. When. Why people haven’t done it yet.”

  Barbed wire coils in my belly, sharp and dangerous. “Is someone pressuring you for sex?”

  Her eyes shoot wide. “Me? No!” She seems to gather her thoughts. “But…everyone feels a little bit of pressure, don’t they? We’re eighteen now. We’re almost expected to be…exploring.”

  It takes me a moment for the tension to ebb from my gut. If someone had been pressuring her for anything, I would have beat the stuffing out of them. And that would have only been the beginning. Thankfully that doesn’t seem to be the case. Not entirely, anyway.

  “Hey, Jilly Beans.” I tip her chin up to make sure I have her attention. “You don’t have to do a damn thing until you’re ready.”

  “What if I am ready?” she whispers, sounding out of breath. “For sex.”

  Christ. My cock throbs, producing moisture at the tip. I have to grit my teeth. But at the same time, my heart is breaking. How long until I have to watch her with another guy? She’s always been blessedly single. Look at her, though. She’s fucking gorgeous. Throw in her sense of humor, quirks and sweet personality and she’s irresistible. How long did I reasonably expect her to be alone? How is she alone at all? “I don’t know, Jill,” I say quietly.

  “It would have to be someone I trust.”

  “Yeah,” I say hoarsely.

  She looks up at me through her eyelashes. “The thing is, you’re the only guy I trust.”

  It takes me a moment to decipher the words that come out of Jill’s mouth. Mostly because I can’t fathom she means what she’s saying. Maybe I’ve been fantasizing about her for so long, my brain is starting to send mixed signals around the real life girl? I know she’s not interested in me sexually. That would be insane. Wouldn’t it? Keep dreaming.

  But then she touches me.

  Her fingertips trail up the center of my chest. “What about you, Zach? Have you ever thought about…exploring? With someone you trust?”

  My balls squeeze up into my stomach and I briefly see double. This isn’t real. Jill can’t be asking me to hook up. I must be dreaming. “Are you fucking with me right now?”

  Hurt flashes in her eyes. “No.” She starts to take her hand back, the color deepening on her cheeks. “Maybe you don’t trust me.”

  I snare her wrist.

  And in doing so, I accidentally let go of the hem of my shirt.

  Her eyes dart to my lap. Of course they do. My embarrassingly large dick is stretching the nylon crotch of my football pants so thin, you can make out the veins, the ridges, the spot of semen I couldn’t hold back.

  I expect her to be horrified. She should be horrified. This guy she’s supposed to trust, this guy she innocently invited to sit beside her, has been aroused the whole time.

  Never in a million years do I expect her to touch it.

  “Zach,” she breathes, squeezing my cock in her little hand, sliding her palm up and down the thick ridge. Fondling me. “Y-you do want to…to experiment with me?”

  There’s a wet sponge stuck in my throat, so all I can do is nod.

  She’s not just an angel. She’s a saint. I can’t believe she’d even think about doing this for me. Does she have any clue I’ve been sick with hunger over her since puberty?

  I’ve spent so long trying to subdue my lust for Jill, the sudden unfettered onslaught of it threatens to wipe my mind clean. But my first instinct is always to protect her, so I turn my body slightly, blocking her from view of anyone who might venture to the back of the bus. I reach down and blindly pull a sweatshirt from her cheerleading bag, positioning it over my lap and she strokes me underneath it, her hand working me through the nylon. And I can’t believe this is happening. I can’t fucking believe it.

  Eyes glassy, she leans up and whispers in my ear. “Can I put my hand inside your pants?”

  Oh my God.

  “Yes,” I choke out. “But I’m going to…I-I’m going to…”

  “Come?” she breathes, delving her hand inside the nylon and gripping my bare shaft.

  My head falls back against the seat, my jaw tightened to the point of pain. Jill’s hand is on my cock. She’s touching my cock. Stroking it top to bottom, her breaths pelting my neck. I know there is something I should be doing here, but I’m totally immobile, at the mercy of her warm, curious fingertips, the way she tests different speeds, different pressures. I look down and watch her slender forearm move, the sweatshirt lifting up and down in my lap with every stroke. Oh my God, I’ve got about ten seconds left, but I bear down and try to hold on. This might never happen again. All I’ll have is this memory of the time she caught me with an erection and had pity on me.

  “Does it feel good?” she asks against my shoulder.

  “So good,” I say in a burst, sweating breaking out on my forehead. “Ahh baby. Faster.”

  “Baby,” she echoes dreamily, beating me off quicker, quicker, precome greasing her palm. “Can you kiss me while I’m touching you?”

  That’s what I’m supposed to be doing.

  At least, that’s what my instinct tells me. I probably haven’t tried to kiss her, because the whole possibility of her wanting my lips on hers has always seemed unfathomable. But with my balls growing tighter, fuller, and the impossible already taking place, I turn my head, dip down and seal our mouths together. She whimpers in her throat, her hand briefly pausing on my cock, before continuing with her perfect, perfect pumps.

  Swear to God, there’s nothing softer than her mouth. I can’t deal with it. I can’t deal with her mouth and her curious tongue while she’s jacking me off. It’s too much good at once and my head spins, my muscles growing taut.

  “Your hand is so soft,” I grit out.

  My first hand job. Her first, too.

  Both of our first kiss.

  And we don’t waste time trying to determine the correct technique. Maybe I would have if I wasn’t seconds from spilling everywhere. But I am. God, I am. So the kiss is wet and frantic, our lips parting on unsteady inhales, her innocent tongue branding mine. Lapping at it, little sobs breaking from her throat. I’m shocked to my fucking bones how bad she seems to want it, her lips parting so wide for me, as if inviting me to take everything she is.

  To make her mine.

  What if she parts her thighs as wide as her lips?

  What if she opens them for me, right here on the back of the bus?

  As soon as I’m picturing her cheerleading skirt hiked up, her pussy out in the open, invitation in her eyes, the come erupts from the head of my cock. Fuckohfuckohfuck.

  I have to tear my mouth away from her sweet, beautiful one and throw my back up against the seat, hips rolling into her grip, doing everything I can to keep from moaning. “I’m sorry,” I bite out. “I c-can’t stop…”

  “I don’t want you to,” she whispers.

  Her eyes are arrested on my face, excited. She isn’t grossed out by the sticky moisture I’m spurting into her hand, the sheer abundance of it. No, she seems to be almost proud of herself. And it makes me come harder. Longer. Until my well has finally been pumped dry.

  We’re both breathing hard, her eyes bright, my lids at half mast.

  I have to say something, but I have no idea what. Thank you would be a start. But I’m so worried I’ll follow it up with I worship you, I love everything about you, I hesitate—

  And then the bus groans to a stop in our school parking lot.

  I didn’t even know we were moving.

  In front of us, football players start standing and I quickly fix my pants, watching as Jill propels herself into motion, wiping her hand on the sweatshirt, balling it up and stuffing it into her bag. Is she smiling? It looks like it, but she ducks her head and I can’t see.

  It’s probably just wishful thinking.

  As soon as everyone in the seats in front of us have cleared out, I stand and gesture for her to precede me into the aisle. Yeah, I’m a real gentleman. I’ve just let this virgin beat me off on the back of the bus where anyone could have seen. I would have gotten high fived over it, while she would have been ridiculed. But at least I let her walk in front of me, right?

  You’re supposed to be better than this, asshole.

  “Thanks,” she says, brushing past me, bag slung over her shoulder.

  That’s when I notice her nipples are hard against her cheerleading top.

  There are goosebumps on her arms, her thighs. She’s trembling.

  Jill is turned on—by me. Which is shocking enough. But the fact that I’ve done nothing for her, nothing to satisfy her, hits me like a ton of bricks. Jesus, am I really so selfish? I have to fix this. Now. “Jilly Beans, I—”

  “Jill!” one of the cheerleaders calls from the front of the bus. “Come on, I’m starving.”

  “Oh, that’s right,” she mutters to herself, before turning back to me. “The squad is going to the diner. I forgot.”

  Normally I would drive her home. I always drive her home. It’s my job.

  But hell, maybe she wants to get away from the selfish asshole who was too overcome with lust to return the favor she paid him. “Right,” I say, clearing my throat hard. God, I can’t even look at her, I’m so ashamed of myself. Tonight might have been my one and only chance to touch Jill and I fucking blew it. “Will you just…text me to let me know when you’re home safe?”

  I chance a look up and find her eyes sparkling. “Yes.”

  “Inside with the door locked.”

  “I know, Zach.” She turns to leave, but stops and looks back at me. “Um. I’m spending the night at your house tomorrow night. A few of us girls are.” She chews her lip, appearing to work up some courage. The toes of her white sneakers are climbing over each other, her body shifting side to side. “Maybe we can do m-more…exploring?”

  Jesus.

  Is this for real?

  Yeah, I think it is. I think Jill is curious about sex and like she said, I’m the only one she trusts. I’m the guy she’s chosen to experiment with. And I need to remember that Jill wanting to learn about her sexual urges safely doesn’t mean she has feelings for me.

  Not like the obsessive ones I have for her.

  There is a very real chance that getting physical with Jill could make it harder when she moves on someday. When she finds someone perfect like her.

  I’m just here for practice.

  But I can’t say no. I’m not that strong. I’m already hard again just thinking of her using me to get off. Using me over and over and over again. Like her personal servant.

  “I’ll be exploring you next time, Jill,” I say hoarsely.

  Her kiss-swollen lips puff open, a tremble passing through her. God, look at her. She’s horny we hell. She’s a horny girl and I get to service her needs. Maybe she doesn’t want me to be her boyfriend or anything public, but a guy like me getting this lucky happens once in a lifetime. So while my heart might ache like a fishing hook is stuck in the side, there is no way I’ll complain.

  “See you tomorrow night, Zach.” She turns on a heel, her blonde ponytail swinging behind her. “I’ll text you later.”

  And she does. At eleven oh-nine.

  Home safe. xo

  I groan at those two little letters—xo—and roll over onto my stomach, pumping roughly into my fist with my open mouth pressed to the screen of my phone.

  3

  Jill

  There are always a few flutters in my belly when I’m at Harper’s house. After all, the potential always exists for a Zach sighting. But this time? It’s different. Ringing the doorbell, I feel like I’m going to hyperventilate.

  Who was that girl on the bus last night?

  She was bold. She asked for what she wanted.

  Maybe it had something to do with the darkness on the bus. The seclusion of the back row. Or maybe I was just mega horned up after watching Zach mow through boys half his size.

  I don’t know, but I’m almost afraid I dreamed the whole thing.

  All my fantasies have to be reimagined. He surpassed them all. I can still feel the taste of his kiss on my lips and I’ve been licking them all day. The size and shape of his sex is branded on my palm and those sounds he made when he came. I get goose bumps every time I think about them. How he pushed his hips up off the seat, into my grip. How he called me “baby.”

  Oh God, what if he regrets it?

  What if he hides out in his room all night and I’ve sprayed body mist on my underwear and bra for nothing? And if he doesn’t avoid me, what is going to happen?

  What could happen?

  I shocked myself last night by performing an adequate hand job. But I have no idea what is waiting on the next base or if we’re playing by the rules at all. All I know is that I am craving his closeness so badly, my throat hurts. I miss him. I always miss him, but this time it’s more intense. Acutely physical. We didn’t have time for him to touch me last night and there’s a lingering ache between my thighs that seems to pulse in his name.

  Harper opens the door with a smile, but her expression quickly turns to puzzlement.

  “Why are you bright pink?”

  “It’s hot out here,” I say too quickly.

  “It’s October,” she points out.

  “Oh, just let me in,” I sniff, breezing my way into the house I’ve considered a second home since I was a kid. “I got here early, because I need to talk to you.”

  “Oh yeah?” Harper closes the door behind me and we head for the kitchen, as usual, because that’s where the snacks are located. There are party sized bags of Doritos and a carton of donuts on the kitchen table, all ready for the group of five girls coming over tonight for the sleepover. “Did Miguel finally ask you to homecoming?”

  “What?” I shake my head. “No. It’s about…”

  I point in the general direction of Zach’s bedroom.

  Harper tilts her head with interest. “What about him?”

  I’m nervous now that the moment has arrived to confess what happened on the bus to Harper. But I didn’t even consider not telling her. We’re best friends. We tell each other everything and this is no exception. Also I’ve had a crush on Zach for so long that she stopped being grossed out by it a long time ago. “We kissed,” I whisper. “On the bus last night.”

  Her eyes double in size. “What?” she mouths.

  “I know!” I mouth back.

  She falls back against the kitchen counter. “Holy shit. What now?”

  “I don’t know. It was spur of the moment.” I dance nervously on the balls of my feet. “Maybe he just wants to hook up a couple of times?”

  “You know I have no clue how he feels. About anything except lasagna and the Cubs. Zach is a locked safe.”

  I nod. “I don’t know how he feels, either. But I wanted to make sure you knew what happened. I wouldn’t keep anything like this from you, Harps.”

  “Of course you wouldn’t.” She purses her lips, a twinkle lighting in her eye. “And it’s a good thing you told me, so I can cover for you if you go sneaking around later.”

  “My face is pink again, isn’t it?”

  She laughs. “Magenta.”

  Half and hour later, the other girls start to arrive. It’s a mixture of the cheerleading squad and Harper’s friends from the student council. There has still been no sign of Zach, but before I know it, my nerves have dissipated and we’re all sitting in a circle on the den floor gossiping, laughing, passing around chocolate. Of course, everyone is still talking about homecoming. Dinner plans, limousine seating arrangements, after parties.

  I never forget that Zach is in the house, not even close, but a shock of delight still runs down my spine when I hear his footsteps creaking down the hallway. My fingers curl into the hem of my shorts and I have to work to keep my breathing even.

  He barely even glances into the den when he walks by, but his gaze meets mine for a split second and I almost melt into the floor. God, I love him in those black sweatpants. That tight gray T-shirt with the faded school logo on front. All that cotton molded to his bulk like a loving second skin.

  Not for the first time, I’m shocked that none of the other girls are actively drooling over him. Or craning their necks to see where he’s gone. How are they so blind to his perfection? His incredible body and impressive mind? His quiet kindness and maturity?

  I stand up. “Does anyone need a soda?”

  Harper looks at me knowingly. “I’m good.”

  Everyone else declines, too, launching back into the discussion about eye shadow palettes and I head for the kitchen where I can hear Zach getting ice out of the refrigerator. The muscles in his back tighten when I walk inside, but he takes his time turning around. Ever since last night, I’ve been wondering if things are going to be different between us—and I can see now that they are. For one, Zach rarely lets his attention drop below my neck.