Tyed

I'm sure that if it were up to him, he wouldn't have spent our dates rearranging himself in restaurants, bars and movie theatre seats so that his junk wouldn’t break his zipper. Dude is seriously rocking the sexual appetite of a seventeen-year-old with those constant hard-ons. I know he's been blue-balled to the max these last few weeks. But I think he knew I had my issues with going all the way, and I'm one hundred percent sure that he'd still be cool if we waited even longer.

"I don't need you to have experience. I just need...you." He twists uncomfortably, as if this makes him feel vulnerable. "But this can wait."

Is he kidding me? It's not like I'm happy with our current arrangement. I'm a little hesitant, but I am also human, and he is also un-freaking-believably sexy.

"No, I'm good. Let's do this," I reassure. Great. Now I sound like a Girl Scout.

His shoulders shake. He’s laughing at me, or with me, but either way, he is laughing, which is not something you're supposed to do during foreplay. Even I know that.

"Fuck sex, Barbie." His lips touch mine as he speaks. His breath sends a ball of heat straight to my groin. "We can watch a movie or something."

I pull away from him, so he can look me in the eye. "I really enjoy spending time with you, hottie, but I'm ready. Like, really ready." I shimmy my hips to make a point.

"You don't have to tell me twice." His hand dives directly into my underwear, and I don't even have time to digest the fact that his thumb presses my clit before he dips a finger in. "Yup. You're ready for me," he says.

I groan and roll my hips up to maximize his touch, but hell, he knows exactly what he's doing, and he is going for a slow buildup of playful strokes.

I feel him smiling into my neck, and my heart swells. Damn, I'm crushing on this guy so hard. Going into this with eyes wide open, and yet, somehow I feel completely blind. He takes my hand and slowly presses it against his crotch. I try not to freeze. I stroke him, knowing this could be so much better if he didn't have his jeans on, and he must be a mind reader because he stops the kissing and tugging to come up for a gulp of air and a plea.

"I really want out of these jeans." His voice is thick and full of lust.

"Go for it." I nod eagerly.

I've seen his boxers before on YouTube. Every time he goes on the scale during weigh-ins, he wears nothing but boxers. But hell if it isn't more exciting to watch him first hand. I want to reach down and literally do just that—touch the only part of him I didn't kiss or lick yet, but he's moved south, his mouth exploring my nipples with urgency. Every time he licks or bites them, my eyes glaze over and I feel closer to climaxing.

"Don't stop," I pant. "I'm close."

He doesn't. If anything, he speeds up the pace, his fingers working incredibly hard to make me come. And I do, I come on his fingers, swallowing back the loud moan that's tickling my throat.

Holy hell.

Ty kneels down for a few seconds, reaching for his jeans on the floor and plucking out his wallet, from which he produces a condom. He rips the wrapper with his teeth.

And just like that, all the pressure I thought I released earlier builds up again in my lower belly.

He pushes in slowly, testing the water, making eye contact the whole time.

"Does it hurt?" His voice sounds gruff and slightly concerned, like he is genuinely worried.

"It's amazing," I murmur. Because it is amazing, even if it does hurt a little. He thrusts deeper and deeper, faster and faster, and I shiver with pleasure, ready for the second wave of orgasm to wash over my body any minute now. We come together and I cover my mouth so I don't scream my ass off. I'm losing it. I can't even determine whether it was the best sex that ever happened to me or if it simply was the best thing that ever happened to me.

He stays on top of me, his whole weight crushing me, and aside from the croaky groan coming out of his throat, he is completely motionless.

"Thank you," he says after a few seconds, leaving me puzzled and surprised. He doesn't budge, milking the last of his climax and the intimacy of just being close to me.

"Thank you?" I echo.

He nods into my collarbone. "Yeah, I kinda needed that. Thank you so f*cking much."

***

My friendship with Shane may have taken a backseat, but I still feel guilty about his car. After class one day, while I send him to get us coffee, I slip an envelope with a few hundred dollars into his backpack. It’s stupid, since this is pretty much confessing that Ty’s to blame and because I, myself, don’t have a penny to my name. But I do it anyway, to scrub off at least some of the guilt. I haven't asked Ty because I know the answer. He totally did it.

I hope Shane doesn't notice the money in there for a while. Luckily, he is busy with his assignment. The assignment I pretty much worked my ass off on, because he’s transmitted all of his interview questions to Izzy through me. I guided her, pressed and pestered her until she came up with the good stuff. I also took it upon myself to gather all the phone numbers and e-mails for the PR agents, lingerie designers and other key players he wanted to interview.

In short, after giving him the money and doing his assignment for him, my conscience should be clear. And by clear, I mean spotless.

"Want some pot?" Shane enquires with a sinister grin as he hands me my coffee.