Page 20 of 3rd and 4 (Season of Change #3)

“Daya? Baby, your screen’s lighting up.” I nod to the phone in her hand.

She’s been staring at it for more than a minute, but I’m sure she isn’t seeing it.

She’s been in a daze since we left the stadium.

Here, in the hotel, it’s quiet and just the two of us, but she’s lost in her head and I’m not sure how to help her.

I need to comfort her, though, like an itch beneath my skin. There isn’t a single thing I could have done to prevent this, and yet I feel I’ve let her down. I didn’t protect her. A hundred thousand spectators listened to me talk dirty to her.

I love your little titties.

Fuck. I run a hand through my disheveled hair and tug at the strands.

I drop to my knees in front of her. She’s sitting on the small couch in our hotel room, her eyes unfocused, her mind a million miles away…

or half a mile, still surrounded by thousands of people who now know how much I like to suck her nipples.

I pry her phone from her hands, set it on the couch beside her, and draw her ice-cold hands to my lips.

“At least your words were positive,” she mumbles, her voice barely above a whisper. “You could have demeaned me or made fun of my tiny boobs. You said my nipples were pretty.”

“They are pretty. The most beautiful nipples I’ve ever seen. Ever felt beneath my tongue. They’re the perfect size to suckle.”

“Your dirty talk game is on point.” Her eyes slowly lift to mine, blessedly clear, as a smirk tips her lips. “You should teach a master class.”

“Daya.” I breathe a sigh of relief, dragging her off the couch and into my lap awkwardly. My face in her neck, I greedily suck her scent into my lungs, thankful for the warmth that seeps back into her body.

“We need to call our parents.” I nod, but don’t release her.

She chuckles lightly, running her hand over the top of my head, threading her fingers through my hair.

“And I have 10 missed calls from my roommate. And a bunch of text messages.” Her voice trails off as she pushes against me to let her go.

I loosen my hold enough for her to grab her phone and really look at it this time. “Oh. No.”

“What is it?”

She doesn’t answer, putting the phone to her ear and listening to her voicemails. I hear her roommate’s frantic voice and my brows dip. She’s hysterical. Daya pulls the phone away, her fingers rapidly moving across her screen, her eyes darting back and forth as she reads through her texts.

Then the phone is back to her ear and it rings. “DAYA!”

“Claudia. Take a deep breath.”

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t know! Please. I hate myself for this. I can’t believe I was so monumentally stupid! This is all my fault! I’m sorry! God, I’m so sorry!”

“Claudia!” Daya yells, pushing against my shoulder as leverage to hoist herself back on the couch.

I frown, not liking the distance. “Calm down. Please.” Daya looks up at me and points to my pocket.

She mouths, “Call your parents and Elyria.” I nod, not wanting to leave her, but knowing our families are probably freaking the fuck out if they know.

“Honey. It’s ok. It’s not your fault. No!

I don’t hate you. I could never hate you.

I know. I know. It’s alright. Shaye is responsible, not you.

” I pull up my parent’s contact and hit call.

It rings while Daya continues. “How about we don’t let anyone in our room unless we introduce them to the other?

Yeah. I’m not mad, honey, I promise. Not at you. ”

“ELI!” Mom answers, her voice shrill. “Eli, are you ok?”

“Hey, Mom.”

Daya and I spend the next hour reassuring practically everyone we know that we’re alright, we’re safe, the police and the university are taking care of it, we’re laying low, and we aren’t home.

She convinces her parents and brother not to fly up, there’s nothing they can do.

I send Elyria a middle finger emoji when she bitches that I’m being selfish by not allowing Brad to fly up to comfort her… er, us. Brat.

When we’re finally done, our phones clatter to the coffee table and we slouch back into the couch and take matching deep breaths. I turn my head to look at her and smile when she has the same thought.

I know we showered at the stadium, but after everything, I know I feel unclean, if that makes any sense.

I assume Daya probably feels the same, so I force myself to stand, scoop her up and carry her into the bathroom.

I start the shower, then happily strip her naked, before tugging my own clothes off.

We step in, standing under the spray, our bodies pressed together as we let the water rinse away the day.

I poke my arm out and grab a washcloth, wet it, squirt some hotel soap on it and proceed to thoroughly clean my woman.

She’s a puddle of goo by the time I’m done.

On my knees, I lift her left leg over my shoulder and have her clit in my mouth before she knows what’s happening.

I love the sounds she makes, crave the noises she can’t hold back.

“Eli. I need you. Please.” I put her foot on the floor of the shower and surge up to stand.

Hands under her thighs, I lift her, groaning when her legs open around my hips, her pussy kissing the underside of my cock.

I shift her slightly, her hands on my shoulders, tilt my pelvis and slide her down my cock.

“Oh, God!” My hands move to her waist. With a steady grip, I lift her up and down my length, using her pussy to jack my cock. “You’re so strong!”

“Fuck! This is so hot.” I growl, my eyes glued to where her body swallows me whole. I, reluctantly, tear my eyes away to look her in the eye. “Did they…did they ruin dirty talk?”

“GOD NO!” She screams, her body trembling, her pussy pulsing when I drive deeper. “Don’t stop! Love your mouth. Love the filthy words. Makes me feel sexy.”

“You are, baby. So fucking sexy. And strong. And good. And your pussy is heaven on earth.” I’ve seen it in porn, but I’ve never done it like this before.

My arms burn, my thighs are crying out for relief, but I don’t stop.

I can’t. Fucking her standing up is… “FUCK!” Daya bites her bottom lip, leaning her upper body back until her shoulders touch the shower wall.

She uses it as support, her hands leaving my shoulders to cup her tits.

Her thumbs flicking her nipples, her pussy gushing in response.

She moans, she cries, she begs, and my mouth never fucking stops.

I demand, command, and do some begging of my own before I’m ready to cum.

Our skin slaps, the sound echoing in the stall.

With every word out of my mouth, with every sound from hers, my hips force myself deeper inside her.

I pound out my lust, and her pussy welcomes every hard thrust. Her orgasms roll one into another.

She looks me in the eye, pinches her nipples between her fingers and pulls them, the flesh of her tits stretching, her cunt snapping around my length so tight it steals my breath.

I explode. I grind my cock into her channel, my hands on her ass, rocking her body back and forth, my tongue flicking over and over the distended tips of her nipples.

She shudders, her abs contracting, her eyes rolling back in her head…

then she fucking squirts, the pressure of it pushing my cock almost all the way out of her.

Her arms fall away, I push her harder against the wall, my forehead resting against her sternum as I catch my breath. Jesus, fuck. That was intense. And fucking awesome. “I fucking love you.”

She giggles, one hand coming to pat me on the back.

“I fucking love you, too.” A minute later, I feel confident I can walk on my slightly shaky legs and turn the shower off.

I towel us both until we’re dry enough to crawl into bed.

She’s my little spoon, my semi-hard dick nestling against her bare ass.

“Parts of today were unpleasant. And I could have done without them. And I have no idea what the fallout will be.”

“But…?” I prompt when she pauses a few beats too long.

“But…our half-time show was phenomenal! We won! You fucked me standing up AND made me squirt! And I’m lying in bed with you at the end of the day.”

I kiss the back of her head, cinching my arm around her waist a little tighter. “Ain’t nothing we can’t overcome together, Itty Bitty.”