My eyes are heavy with orgasm, and my breathing is shallow. I feel buzzed from sex and I’m moments from passing out. I see a red light blinking on the wall across from me. Was that the recorder he told me about? I drift off.

I immediately pop up from Brock’s pillows and sheets. My eyes dart about the room. Drowsy, I momentarily forget where I am.

"Relax, Driver.” Brett places his hand on my arm. “It’s just my alarm.”

He rolls out the side of the bed and I get a glance at his sculpted bottom. He turns off the alarm and I can see his member, stiff. God it’s huge.

“Stop staring,” he says with an impish grin before he heads to his bathroom. I’m left with my bedhead, my body tangled up in his white sheets. I hear the showerhead turn on in the next room and I desperately wish I could jump his bones again. But I feel a little guilty. He’s got practice at seven and we stayed up till four. He’s going on two hours sleep. He’ll likely get in shit from his coaches today when they see how worn out he is.

But I can’t help myself. I can catch a glimpse of that beautiful boy’s body. I get out of bed and for the first time notice how stylish his room is. The bed I had been sleeping in, had a contemporary style. A large white platform of buttery smooth leather. The headboard stands inside a large alcove in the wall. One side of the platform bed curves slightly upward to form the headboard, and the bottom of the platform curves downward. Parallel to the bed is a large window. I walk over to it and look down at a beautiful view of Central Park. Though it’s five in the morning, the city is up and moving.

I suddenly realize that I’m casually looking out a large window, fully nude. I quickly step away. It’s then I notice a large painting in the alcove above his bed. It’s an abstract. It has several large streaks of black making what appears to be a branch with splashes of red blooms. I quickly realize it’s a cherry blossom tree. He certainly does love Japanese culture.

I head into his bathroom and I spot him through some clear glass. He’s all gleaming skin and rippling muscle in the mist. Shit, Brett, you’re too gorgeous for your own good. I open the glass door; he turns away from the showerhead upon hearing me enter. It’s then that I realize he was taking care of business of his own. His prick hard and red.

“Do you want some help,” I ask, watching him through a hooded gaze.

He chuckles softly, “Driver, are you looking for some more?”

“Well, you could help me with a quickie, couldn’t you?” I step inside the shower room. I’m slightly embarrassed. It sounds as though I’m pleading.

“I need to get rid of this hard-on.” He takes a few steps closer to me. “You could help me out a little, too.”

He takes hold of my waist and pulls me to him. I feel like a small doll under his tight hold. His mouth massaging mine, I hook a leg around his. He grasps my bottom and lifts me onto a teak bench next to us. I can feel the tip of his prick pressuring against my opening, taunting me. His mouth envelops the skin of my neck. He leaves a trail of heated kisses, moving to my jawline. My sex is swelling with need as my hands slide up the ridges of his washboard stomach. He begins nibbling on my earlobe.

“Jesus, take me, Brett.”

His thick cock tears into me and my legs jolt. But the bench is a little too low. He could thrust, but I know he won’t get a good thrust at this angle. He senses the same. Effortlessly, he lifts me from the bench, holding me to him. As he does his sex impales me deeper. “Mmm,” I murmur as I grip onto him like I was climbing a tree. He swiftly turns and my back crashes against the hard glass. It’s cold and wet, but my mind is in a fog as he begins to hammer into me.

Within a few thrusts, I can feel my sex becoming wetter. I glance down at him in awe at his perfectly chiseled muscles flexing as he pistons inside me. Wow. He moves swiftly, it was as though he wasn’t holding any weight at all. But he is, and his cock is prodding deeper. I’m so close.

He growls, his eyes fluttering as he pushes me to my brink.

“That’s it,” I mutter. “There.”

He narrows in, taking short, pounding thrusts.

“There! There! Buh—Brock!” I cry between short gasps of air.

My body finally surrenders. Clasping his hair between my fingers, my toes curl as I delve into ecstasy. I collapse my head to his shoulder, but he’s still pumping and several more waves of orgasm overtake me as my body quakes.

I pull back and my head hit the glass again, but I’m so dizzy I hardly notice. My eyes become slits, and I see his are squeezed tight shut. His mouth forms an ‘O’ as he gives one final thrust. I feel his warmth erupt inside me.

We stand there, our bodies entwined for several moments as we catch our breath.

“You all right, Driver?” he asks while he pulls us away from the glass.

“Mmm hm,” I mutter. I haven’t an ounce of strength to speak. I feel like I’ve been taken by a power drill. He gently places me back down on the teak bench and sits next to me. I want to lean against him, take in those moments of after-sex glow with him. But I remind myself that we’ve already established that this is a casual relationship. Or is it? Does me staying the night and screwing in the morning mean it’s something more? I immediately put the thought out of my mind.

“I should clean up.” I say, rising.

“Yeah, that makes two of us.”

We both wash ourselves, but I want to take the loofah and go over every inch of his heavenly body. I want to clean every hill and valley of his muscles and watch the suds stream down his abs and his huge prick.

But he’s quiet as he continues about his business, washing himself with a cloth. He glances at me, it’s then I realize that I’ve been staring. I pretend to wash my arms with the loofah. “Think I’m done,” I say awkwardly. I squeeze the loofah a few times and set it aside before I step out and get a towel.

I quickly dry off and scramble back into his room. He follows me, his towel wrapped about his waist. He watches me as I get dressed into my red wrap dress. I wonder what is going through his mind. I feel awkward. Normally, casual relationships don’t do overnighters and I’m wondering if he feels pressured to make me breakfast.

I nod toward the abstract above his bed as I put on my red wrap dress. “I like the cherry blossom tree.”

He looks over at it. “Oh? You can tell it’s a cherry blossom tree? I once had someone insist it was an abstract of a murder scene. Slashes and blood. Even though the title beneath it is ‘Cherry Blossom Branch’.”

My eyes go as round as saucers, I giggle. “Murder scene? You’re joking, right?”

He moves closer to me. I stare down at his sleek skin, his six pack and imagining what’s beneath the terry cloth towel. He leans in and gives me a soft kiss on the lips, and I savor their soft warmth. He gently pulls away, “See you, sports bunny.”

“Yeah.” I swallow hard. Hopefully, I see you sooner rather than later.