“This is insane,” I say, shaking my head at the view. It’s a week after the court hearing, and Tyson and I are in the luxury box at the top of the stadium. The view of the perfectly curated football field below is practically Photoshopped, it’s so amazing.

“Told you,” he says with an almost-smile, watching as I lean toward the glass. The room itself is gorgeous, with leather chairs and enormous televisions, wine cabinets and cigar cases. It doesn’t look like the sort of place you go to watch a football game— it looks like the sort of place you go to negotiate peace treaties or merge billion dollar companies.

We’re here because I’ve never been to a football game. Or at least, that’s where the trip here started— I said I’d never been to one because the crowds made me nervous, and Tyson suggested I watch the next game from a luxury box, since he could get me one without much trouble. I get the impression he wants to know I’m watching him play, wants to know that I’m in the stadium with him, and idea that makes my heart stir a little.

“Alright,” I say, looking down at the empty field, at the rows and rows and rows of empty bleachers. “I’ll come to the next one. How could I turn this place down? I wish I had a picture— I forgot my phone.”

“Wouldn’t do it justice anyway,” he says, and walks up behind me. He wraps his arms around me and pulls me against his chest, so we’re both looking out the window together.

“Does it make you nervous? All those bleachers full of people?” I ask.

He shakes his head above me. “I think it’s more intimidating like this. It seems bigger right now. When it’s full, it’s just a crowd. When it’s empty, you start thinking about how a crowd is really thousands and thousands of people.” He steps aside and slides open the doors that lead to wide balcony, and the cool fall breeze sweeps through the room. The air smells like cinnamon and sunlight, and I take a deep breath, happy to be here with Tyson.

“However,” he says slowly, a coy spark in his eyes, “there’s a price, you know. For the luxury box.”

“Is there?” I ask, lifting an eyebrow.

“It’s a very, very nice place to watch the game from,” he goes on, voice lowering. He steps toward me, and I bite my lip in anticipation of where this is heading. “You’ll need to pay me back for the effort.” My core stirs as he closes the door to the room, then looks back to me. He takes a long, steadying breath, forcing himself to maintain control. “Anna, undress for me.”

I take a breath, looking at the room, at the enormous windows. There’s no one out there, but they’re still so expansive and…well…they’re windows. Tyson clears his throat, though, and so I do as he says, sliding my shoes off, pulling my sweater over my head, and finally wiggling out of my jeans. He watches me the entire time, and when I’m completely naked, I stand before him, enjoying the feeling of him surveying me. I can see his erection, already pressing at his pants.

“Go to the couch. I want you to sit down, and spread your legs. Let me see your pussy.”

I flush a little, but it’s excitement, not embarrassment, then do as he says. The leather of the couch immediately clings to my skin when I sit down and prop my legs open, first a little, then farther when I see the stern look in Tyson’s eyes. He’s still fully dressed, while I’m here exposing my most private parts to him. I rest my wrists over my knees so as not to obstruct his view.

“That pussy,” he says, the word almost a hum. “That sweet, tight pussy. Touch it, Anna.”

I’m surprised by his words, but place one hand across my pussy, rubbing it lightly.

“Touch it like you mean it, sweetheart,” Tyson says, looking entertained by my easy caress. I look down, bite my lip, and spread my pussy lips a bit, bringing my other hand down against my clit. It’s already swollen from just being here, nude, with Tyson. When my fingers roll over it, I shiver in pleasure. My eyes drift shut, and I begin to push a finger into my pussy, wishing it was his cock instead of my own hand.

Soon, the pleasure builds and builds, as Tyson talks dirty to me.

And then I’m calling his name as I come for him and he watches me, and it’s so hot and dirty and wrong…and right.

It’s everything at once.

I can’t believe that he’s gotten me to actually enjoy pleasuring myself while he watches. I never thought I could be so bold.

After I come, and after I get dressed, Tyson takes out his phone.

“I want a picture of you.”

I bite my lip, and then offer a compromise. “Only if you’re in it too.”

We take a quick selfie together, and when he shows it to me, I can’t believe how normal we look.

Like a real couple.

Except, we’re not a real couple. Nobody even knows about us. It makes me sad, but then I remember that I agreed to all of this sneaking around and secrecy.

There’s no one in the stadium so we walk with unusual confidence, our hands clasped together. Holding his hand is such a simple act, so first-base, and yet it feels almost as powerful as having sex with him— though in a very different way, of course. We part ways once we’re outside— Tyson has his own practice to get to— and my palm is left warm and wanting from where it was pressed to his.

“Wait,” I say, remembering, and turn to call out to him before he’s out of earshot. “The picture.”

“You want me to delete it?” he asks genuinely.

I bite my lip and smile. “No. I want you to send it to me.”

“Of course.”

I walk back to the apartment in a sunny haze.

When I get inside, I hear Trishelle on the phone, talking loudly.

I go into the bathroom, leaving my purse out on the couch as I freshen up. When I come back out of the bathroom, Trishelle is sitting on the couch, staring at her phone.

“What have you been up to? You hungry?” I ask as I walk to the kitchen and fill up a pot to make a box of macaroni.

“No,” she says, voice steady— far steadier than it was a moment before. “In fact, I suddenly lost my appetite.”

“Why, are you feeling sick?” I ask. “I can make you some chicken broth if you want.”

She doesn’t answer and now I’m getting worried. Maybe she’s really sick and not just a little under the weather. I leave the kitchen and see that Trishelle is still looking at her phone, her eyebrows furrowed, her mouth a line.

Except then I realize— it’s not her phone. It’s my phone.

“Trishelle,” I say, heart pounding. “That’s my phone. Why did you take it out of my purse?” I walk toward her, but Trishelle springs away down the couch, all without ever taking her eyes off the phone. “Trishelle!” I say, voice growing higher, more desperate.

“I knew it,” she says, voice almost a whisper. “I knew there was something going on, some reason why I never met your mystery boyfriend.” Her eyes are tearing up and her voice shakes.

“Trishelle, please,” I say, and now there are tears in my eyes because I know exactly, exactly what she’s looking at, and I can’t undo it.

I know that I should have just told her the truth about me and Tyson Slate from the beginning, but I was a coward and now I’ve hurt my best friend.

My hands fall to my sides, and shake as I speak. “Trishelle, give it back.”

“Don’t lie to me anymore,” she says, even though I’m not able to speak, much less lie, right now. “Is Tyson Slate the guy you’ve been seeing, the person you’ve been sleeping with?” Despite her words, though, she looks like she might still be convinced that she’s wrong.

“You! You and Tyson Slate!” she snarls. “How? How the hell did you even meet him?”

“At your tryout. I didn’t know who he was, Trishelle, and then he and I were…we were sort of a thing before I even knew you wanted him,” I stammer.

“You were already with him when I told you I wanted him, and you didn’t bother mentioning it to me?”

“I didn’t think you’d believe me!” I answer, and I’m crying, and she’s crying, and I don’t even know what to say or how to say it or who I am or who she is. Everything is a dark blur of speed and anger.

“You didn’t give me the chance to believe you,” she says. “The auction— he bought me at the auction and then…it was to get to you, wasn’t it? It wasn’t about me at all? I’ve been— fuck, I’ve been throwing myself at him like an idiot, and you just let me!”

“We didn’t want to tell anyone. We wanted to keep it a secret.”

“I’m your best friend, Anna. You aren’t supposed to let me humiliate myself so a guy you’re sleeping with can avoid telling the world that he’s with you.”

“Best friend? I barely even see you anymore, Trishelle! And when I do, you’re like some psycho cheerleader version of yourself,” I snap, emotion shifting like a riptide— though the tears are still coming.

“Sure, yeah, pretend like I’ve become a bitch when you’re the one fucking a football player and running around in secret, laughing at me behind my back.”

“I’m not laughing at you, Trish. I would never.”

“Sure you are,” she says. “And just so you know, he will never be seen with you in public, Anna. This picture is as good as it will ever get. Trust me.”

I swallow, choking on the breath I’m trying desperately to take. She’s wrong. I know she’s wrong— I know I held Tyson’s hand today, I know he took the time to get me into the theater to practice, I know he thinks I’m perfect. I know she’s jealous. I know she’s angry.

I know there’s nothing I can do or say to make myself feel anything but sick and furious and awful and wrong.

I bite my lip hard, then spin around. I gather my phone, my purse, a few incidentals, and I hit the door just as the pot of water I started a lifetime ago begins to boil over.

16

I probably should have sorted out where, exactly, I’m going, before I got outside. I don’t even have a car, and can’t think of a single other friend I can call to stay with. Hell, I don’t even have the last name of the other students whose numbers I’ve gotten for study groups or class projects. I make my way to the student center and collapse onto one of the oversized couches, just like I did that night of the auction earlier in the year.

I stare at the clock, waiting for it to be eight. That’s when Tyson gets out of practice. That’s when I can call him. That’s when I can tell him what happened.

“Whoa, slow down,” he says at 8:01.

“Trishelle saw the photo. She got to my phone. And she’s pissed at me.”

“Oh, god damn it,” Tyson says under his breath.

“I don’t know what to do,” I say in a squeaky, pathetic voice. “I left and don’t want to go back, but I don’t know where else to go.”

“I’ll take care of it,” he says. “Give me a few minutes to get something from the varsity house, okay?”

“Should I come there?” I ask.

“Definitely not— if Trishelle tells the other cheerleaders, they’ll be there and out for blood. We’ll go somewhere private, okay? I’ll call you back and come pick you up in a little bit.”

I nod, slightly relieved— at least there’s a plan now. I gather my things and head down to the front of the student center; a few moments later Tyson calls and lets me know he’ll be picking me up shortly, and that we’ll be going to a hotel. He arrives in another rental car, and when I get in he zips away from the student center fast, like he’s worried someone might get a photo of us if he doesn’t peel out.

We’re on the highway now, apparently going to a hotel that’s nowhere near main campus— which is fine by me. We ride in silence, save the hum of the air conditioning, finally exiting almost a half hour later. The hotel we pull up to is on the lake, and is really more of a resort— there’s a valet out front, and we’re met at the door with glasses of champagne despite the fact that my face is tearstained and Tyson is still wearing his dirty practice clothes.

“Thanks, we need it,” he mutters, taking a glass for himself then handing another to me. At the check in table, he gives our names, then adds that the reservation for a week was made by Sebastian Slate.

“Your brother?” I ask.

“He offered— and believe me, he can afford it,” Tyson says. “If anyone knows the need to get away, it’s my brothers. I called him and he set it up for us.”

“That was really nice of him,” I say with a small smile.

“Hey, Trishelle is going to get over this,” he says, sensing how distraught I am about our argument.

“I don’t know about that. And even if she does, I’m not sure I will.”

I remember how excited we were to move in together back when we got our acceptance letters. We planned our dorm room out to the tiniest detail, coordinating comforters and computer chairs. When the dorms were full and we wound up in the apartment, we dreamed up cooking nights and throw pillows and flowers on the balcony. None of those things happened once she tried out for the cheerleading team.

But at the same time, I can’t say that I wish she’d never tried out.

That’s how I met Tyson, and I don’t regret it.

I won’t regret him, no matter how much Trishelle tried to poison it for me.

The hotel room is an absolutely insane suite, with a king sized bed, a living room, and a bathroom that’s bigger than my entire bedroom. There’s an Oriental rug on the floor, televisions in each room, and a fabulous view across the lake the resort is situated on. It’s dark by now, but the water is still visible from the lights at the ends of docks and the string lights hanging above the resort’s stone-lined pool. I drop my things on a coffee table, and try to be thrilled at the prospect of staying somewhere so glamorous, but fail.

My best friends’ horrible insults are still ringing in my ears, even now.

“I’m going to take a shower,” Tyson says gently, kissing my forehead. “Do you want to order room service?”

“Yeah,” I say with an exhale. “Yeah, that’d be nice. Thanks.”

“You can thank my brother,” he says, but he looks relieved that I’m interested in eating rather than merely wallowing in dismay. I order pasta, which I pick at, and then get in the shower after Tyson to wash the burning sensation from tears off my cheeks. I feel world better when I emerge, hair damp, wearing one of the cushy bathrobes that was hanging by the bathroom mirror.

“Hey,” Tyson says, smiling at me from the bed. “You look like you feel better.”

“Much better,” I admit. I take a breath, then climb into bed beside him. We’ve never been in a bed together before, and there’s something so sweet about it that I don’t think twice about cuddling up next to him.

He smells clean and bright, and his bare chest is warm, skin soft over hard muscles. I press my cheek to it; hearing his heartbeat soothes me as much as the shower did.

Tyson leans over and kisses me gently. I relax into the kiss, then deepen it. It’s not the most passionate kiss we’ve shared— but it’s romantic, and sure. The kind of kiss that only happens when two people have kissed plenty of times before. Tyson reaches over, lifting me up and onto his lap like I weigh nothing all, his lips on mine the entire time. Once I’m situated, he pulls away from my mouth, kisses my cheeks lightly, then meets my eyes. “I don’t regret anything with you. Do you regret being with me?”

I smile. “No. Not at all. I feel like I ought to— like it’d all be simpler if Trishelle hadn’t gone to that cheerleading tryout. But…I can’t regret it.”

He pulls me closer, and I feel my heartbeat prick up at the sensation of being protected by his arms. He holds me, stroking my back, and the motion makes the robe slide off my shoulders, exposing my chest to him. He presses his tongue to my teeth when he looks down at my bare breasts, at my nipples hardening in the cool air. I tilt my head to the side, and reach for one, pinching at it, rolling my nipple between my fingers—

“We don’t have to,” he says quickly. “It’s been a long day. A very long day. I didn’t bring you here to have sex with you.”

I kiss him, the motion bringing my chest to his, my breasts pressing against his muscles. “I know,” I say. “But when we have sex, you’re in control, Tyson. And believe me when I say, I’ve never wanted to let someone else be in control more than I do right now.”

I ease myself out of the bathrobe, letting it fall to the bed, and Tyson reaches over to turn off the bedside lamp. The room is lit only by the lights outside, leaving us in near darkness save the occasional flash of Tyson’s eyes, or the gleam of dim light off his sleek arms. He takes charge, turning me onto my back and pushing my limbs out, then kissing my mouth gently, letting his tongue flick at my lips. I arch toward him as he moves down, trailing his tongue across my jaw, down my neck, kissing my shoulders before sliding a hand up my side and cupping my right breast in his palm. He moves down, pulling my nipple to his mouth and sucking it, his tongue circling my areola, his touch gentle but firm.

We don’t speak, even though we’ve been far from silent with one another up until now. There’s something about the room, though, about the situation, about us that makes this time different. I don’t need to tell him that I belong to him; he already knows. He doesn’t need to tell me how hard it is for him to resist fucking me straight away; I already know. Instead, I relax as he appreciates my body with his mouth, pulling my breasts together and licking through my cleavages, biting lightly at each one, flicking my nipples with his tongue one at a time. I hum with pleasure as the rest of the world and its incessant drama melts away, and Tyson moves down to kiss my stomach, my scars, my hips, and then gently slides a hand between my thighs to part them.

I lift my pussy toward his mouth, but he moves slowly, methodically. He kisses at my knees first, back and forth between each thigh, then along each side of my pussy. I moan, and though the sound is light, it’s perhaps needier than usual. Tyson responds by kissing my clit gently, as quick as a peck on the cheek, and then tongues up and down the sides of my pussy, exploring each fold, tasting me, enjoying me. He finally deepens his kisses, and his mouth covers my pussy, his tongue sliding into me and circling my entrance— I’m still so tight, even when it’s only his tongue penetrating me.

I moan again; I’m not close to orgasm, exactly, but I’m close to…something. Some feeling of lightness, of trembling, of relief, like I’m experiencing an orgasm over the course of hours instead of moments. Tyson fucks me with his tongue, and I wind my fingers into his hair so I can better grind my hips against his mouth. He moves up, sucking on my clit, and then reaches underneath me to lift my hips up higher, to give him better access to my pussy. I moan again as he squeezes my ass cheeks gently, massaging them with his thumbs, licking at me like I’m the sweetest thing he’s ever had in his mouth. I lift my legs and wrap them around his shoulders, and he groans against me as the drunken, tender feeling of a long orgasm trickles across my body.

Tyson eases me down, then turns me over onto my stomach; my legs rap against his cock as he does so, and I smile at how hard he is. He slides a hand between my thighs again, opening them, and then begins to lick at my pussy from behind.

.

I squirm when he stops— I want him to keep going— but then I feel his hand on my pussy again, feel him trailing some of my immense wetness backward, up to my ass. The additional lubrication allows him to slide a finger into that entrance easily, and the fine hairs alone my arms prickle at the feeling. Tyson groans again, and I know without looking back that he’s staring at the point where his finger disappears into me. He leaves it there, and then I feel the heat of his cock pressing against my pussy. Bare, again— hot, and bare, and throbbing for me. He eases into me, inch by inch, thrusting lightly, and I moan loud and long as I realize he’s fucking me in two different places.

That drunk feeling intensifies; my body feels electric, a sustained hum of power rather than a single crashing feeling. Tyson begins to fuck me in long, even strokes, and the sound of his breath, of his body lightly striking mine, only serves to make me feel wilder, headier, happier. He begins to cautiously fuck my ass with his finger, never pulling out entirely, occasionally stopping to slick more wetness from my pussy there. I whine in pleasure when he switches from a finger to his thumb, a wider digit that stretches me more. My pussy is already so stretched around his cock; having yet another part of my body so utterly tight around his is arousing in the most primal of ways.

He begins to fuck me harder, though still slower than he ever has before, like he’s taking the time to truly savor each thrust. My mouth is open, my eyes squeezed shut, my body practically limp save for my hips, which I drive against him. I gasp when I feel the base of his cock strike me— he’s wholly inside me. I’ve taken every inch of him, finally. He realizes it too, and stays deep in me for a while, swiveling his hips so his cock rubs me in all the right ways. I moan and writhe for more, and he responds by adding a second finger to my ass.

“Tyson,” I plead, the first word either of us has uttered since the lights went off.

“Anna,” he answers, and my name on his tongue is the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard. I don’t know what I’d planned to say— or if I planned to say anything at all. He inhales, then leans down and kisses my back sweetly, softly. I whimper when he pulls his fingers from my ass, and full-on whine when he removes his cock from my pussy. I try to turn over, thinking this might be my chance to get his cock in my mouth, but he puts a hand on my back and prevents me from doing so.

“Relax, love,” he says softly, and I go still. Love? He called me love? Does he love me?

Love. I feel like I’m in love, right now. I feel like I’m in love with everything to do with him, from the way he makes me feel to the way he speaks to me to the way seeing him makes my heart pound. I swallow, bite my lip, unsure how to respond other than doing as he says and relaxing my body as best I can. Tyson fingers at my pussy, soaking his hands with my wetness, then massages my asshole lightly. I realize what he means to do, and even though my rational brain tells me I should be scared, my heart pounds raw desire into my veins.

Tyson then reaches into one of the nightstand drawers and sorts through the assortment of things there; from my position I can just make out the usual, like sewing kits and pencils. He then removes a condom, which he drops on the table without interest, and then a small package of something else. He tears it open with his teeth, then lowers it to my ass. It’s lube, cool and tingling, and he rubs it against my asshole, letting it dribble down from the top of my ass cheeks, gently pushing it into me with his fingers. I’m slick with it, my body no longer resisting the push of his fingers as he delicately fucks me with one, then two, then three, making sure I’m properly wet. He finally stops and takes a long, steady breath, one full of anticipation and hunger.

“Tell me if it hurts, Anna,” he whispers, and I nod against the bed linens. I bite my lip when I feel Tyson line his cock up with my ass, and then at the pressure of him leaning forward, pushing into me. I yelp in surprise when the hot head of his cock enters my ass in a quick, popping motion, and he goes still. “Alright?” he asks.

“Yes. Yes,” I gasp, forcing myself to relax despite the fact that this feels so, so good. I had no idea it could feel so good, in fact. Tyson exhales and pushes forward again, gentle and slow, entering my ass as carefully and deliberately as he entered my pussy that first time. He puts a hand on my shoulder to steady himself, and I realize he’s nearly trembling with pleasure just as I am.

“So tight,” he murmurs. “Everything about you is so tight.” His voice is kind and adoring, and I sigh at how precious it all makes me feel. I rock my hips back, giving him another inch inside me, and he groans. I can’t tell how deep he is in me, but it’s certainly farther than his fingers explored. I lick my lips, enjoying how my ass squeezes against him, and then wail with pleasure when he slowly begins to pump in and out of me. He fucks my ass with small and shallow strokes, but they fill me; he grabs for the packet of lube and drizzles it along his cock, then thrusts in deeper. I’ve never felt so alive, so aroused, so full; the long, dizzying orgasm that’s been teasing at me since we started begins to rise up, threatening to finally erupt through my body.

I whine, trying to find the words to tell him this— that I’m going to come, and that it’s going to be intense— but I’m unable. Tyson begins to fuck me a little harder, never as swiftly as he moves when fucking my pussy, but still, it’s intense, and I can feel him growing harder, his cock pulsing as he takes my virginity for a second time. He groans and spreads my ass cheeks apart with his hands; I look over my shoulder and my lips curl into a smile at the sight of him watching his cock enter me. He glances up, meets my eyes, and I know he’s as close to orgasm as I am.

“Anna,” he says, voice guttural and needy. “Can I—“

“Come in my ass,” I answer before he gets the chance to ask the question. I want to say more, I want to tell him that he’ll have everything there is of me once he does this, I want to know he’s aware of just how fully he possesses me, but I can’t— because he’s groaning and pushing deep into me, all the way to the base of his shaft. I cry out, almost in pain, but no, not pain— it’s so close to that, but it’s still pleasure, still need, still want.

I close my eyes and let his body rock mine back and forth on the bed, and my chest wells with heat. I let out a long, hungry cry as the orgasm finally escapes my chest and ricochets down my body, through my limbs, my fingers, my toes, back again. My pussy clenches tight, as does my ass around his thick cock, and suddenly I hear Tyson moan like I’ve never heard him before— like he’s an animal, like the sound is as much a part of him as the breath in his lungs. He thrusts fully into me and goes still; his cock pulses hard, and he fills my ass as he comes deep, deep inside me.

I’ve never felt anything like this, never thought I’d want anything like this, but I lift my ass up, rubbing him against my interior, enjoying how the slickness of the lube and my own moisture allows him to fill me so easily. He reaches forward, steadying himself with a hand braced above my shoulder, and then drops his head down to kiss me, cock still buried in my ass. I never thought I’d be the one to amaze Tyson, but when I curve my upper body, that’s the look in his eyes— amazement. He opens his mouth like he means to say something, but instead he merely kisses me passionately as he slowly, carefully pulls out. My ass feels tender and empty and wanting.

Finally, he collapses beside me, and we pant against one another, wet and hot and happy.

“I can’t believe you took me like that,” Tyson murmurs against my forehead. “I can’t believe you gave yourself to me like that. You’re amazing.”

I kiss his throat. “I told you. I’m all yours. Every part of me.”

“So perfect,” he says, pulling me closer to him. “And so strong. I meant what I said that first night we kissed, Anna— it takes someone strong to give up control.”

“I never wanted to give it up, before I met you,” I answer. “All yours, Tyson. I want to always be yours.”

He kisses my forehead again, then threads his fingers with mine. That’s how we fall asleep, my body sore in the best of ways, his pressed against mine, like we’re afraid to allow any distance between us.

That’s how we’re positioned when someone pounds on the door the following morning.