20. No Good Decisions Were Ever Made In A Locker Room

20

NO GOOD DECISIONS WERE EVER MADE IN A LOCKER ROOM

brISTOL

I never wanted to stop kissing Lila. And I probably wouldn’t have if I didn’t smell like actual ass. Kissing her just felt… right . It didn’t feel like some grand gesture for the cameras. I didn’t even do it for that reason—it was just some instinct that came over me. It wasn’t a celebration without her. I seized the moment and let my heart lead. Will I get shit about it later? Probably, but it was worth it.

It was so fucking worth it.

Oh, and I still have four more kisses to cash in on. The night’s just begun, my friends.

I dry the ends of my wet hair with a towel, coming around the corner to find Hayes still waiting for me with his phone in his hand. “Gonna carpool with Aeris and some of the guys. You still meeting up with us at Beer Comes Trouble?”

Those two are attached at the hip, I swear. One time I heard them complaining about how much they missed each other when they were only one room apart. They’re crazy in love, and you can feel that love whenever you’re around them.

“Yeah, I’ll catch up with you guys. I should probably find Lila first,” I tell him, neatly folding my damp towel before placing it in the communal hamper.

“Alright, just text me.” He waves goodbye and steps out of the locker room before sprinting to go find Aeris.

I’m usually always one of the last ones out of the locker room. I need a major de-stress session after every game, and yes, that does consist of a twenty-minute shower where I either dissociate or pat myself on the back for an awesome play. It’s nice to have some alone time. I love my teammates with my whole heart, but it can get rowdy at times with five other guys constantly around. I spend a good ten minutes air-drying before I have to embark on a night of endless drinks and socialization that’ll probably drain my entire battery.

Adrenaline’s still coursing through my veins—more so from the kiss rather than the game. All I can think about is Lila. All I ever think about is her. Sometimes I’m not as present as I should be during practice; sometimes the campaign slips to the backburner; sometimes I can’t even fall asleep because my mind’s constantly going Lila, Lila, Lila .

Talking to her about Summit was a conversation that needed to be had. It wasn’t easy, but it was time I told her the truth. She seemed pretty normal during the game earlier, so I’m not sure what’s going through her head. She was probably just acting unbothered for the cameras. The weeklong cold shoulder was hard to accept from her, but I know she needed space to think about everything.

I’d rather chew my own foot off than ever put her in a position like that again. She didn’t deserve it. And if I was her, after this campaign, I’d run for the hills. I have a lot of self-work to do. I have a lot of therapy to do. I have a long road of forgiveness ahead of me for Summit’s passing. But I also have a long road of accountability ahead of me for the way I treated Lila.

I take a seat on one of the benches and hang my head, letting the last droplets of water slap against the cold ground. The entire locker room is configured in a giant rectangle that has each player’s respective cubby lining the walls, our pièce de résistance being the giant Grim Reaper logo plastered on the floor. We’ve even got blue LED lights tucked away in the corners for some ambient lighting.

I hear the door swing open, and since I’m positioned toward it, I don’t really bother with raising my head. It’s probably just one of my teammates. But then I’m hit with this strange clacking noise that can only be created by a heel of some sort.

Even through the guilt, when I look up, I’m met by the exact person I was hoping to see.

“Sorry. I, uh, I thought you would be…dressed,” Lila rambles, averting her eyes and pretending to look around the room with the worst poker face I’ve ever seen. There’s a light blush powdering her cheekbones—though maybe that’s just the lighting.

“I should be. I can get dressed now. It’s no big?—”

“You don’t have to. I can leave. I was just…coming in here to congratulate you,” Lila cuts in, looking small in my oversized jersey. The hem of it hangs to her thighs, swaddling those mile-long legs of hers I love. She also looks small in a different way, like she’s embarrassed about having interrupted whatever it was that I was doing. Her face is still downturned, and I wish…fuck, I wish she would just look at me.

When she turns to leave, I stop her.

“Don’t go,” I rush out, taken aback by the foul flavor of desperation on my tongue. “Please don’t leave.”

Finally, after a full minute, Lila’s eyes find mine, ice blue surrounded by strokes of eyeliner that give that irreplicable color a stark pop. I’m enamored by her, falling into deep pools that I have no intention of ever getting out of .

“Thanks…for the congratulations. But I’m pretty sure I should be thanking you .”

She bristles. “Me?”

I lean back against my cubby, careful not to manspread too much and flash everything below the belt. “Yeah. If you didn’t give me an incentive, I wouldn’t have scored nearly as many goals as I did tonight.”

Lila snorts, then immediately covers her nose with her hands. I love the fact that she snorts when she laughs. Granted, most of the time when she’s laughing, she’s laughing at me instead of with me, but I digress. It’s music to my ears all the same. An airy melody that hovers somewhere between raspy and rumbly, like it’s caught between the top of her chest and the base of her throat. It’s the only lullaby that has the ability to soothe me to sleep, to quiet all my thoughts, to calm the inner turmoil that plagues me day in and day out.

Our proximity isn’t necessarily close, but I can smell the jasmine perfume scenting the air around her, and all I want to do is hold her close and lose myself in her touch. The physical distance—albeit minimal—hurts like the peeling of a day-old tattoo.

She chews the tissue of her inner cheek. “You really did all of that just to get a few kisses?”

“Of course I did,” I answer with certainty, my heart trilling bass heavy in my chest, so loud I’m afraid she can hear it. It surprises me she doesn’t realize I would go to the ends of the earth if she asked me to. A few measly goals for an everlasting kiss from the girl who’s got me head-over-motherfucking-heels? That’s not even a fair trade.

She goes deathly quiet, suddenly interested in the toes of her black, heeled boots. It’s clear this is all still hard for her—not that I thought she’d just forgive my betrayal after a week.

Considering the silence that follows, I decide to (regretfully) take it upon myself to lighten the mood, hoping that I can salvage this relationship before losing it to the deep end for eternity. “I’m guessing you’re not here for lip-related reasons?”

That piques her attention. I’m expecting a sharp-witted response from her—maybe a creative insult thrown in for some flair—but something else precedes that sassy snap of her tongue, something foreign that curls in her throat and produces a dulcet, lustful tone. Her gaze rakes over me achingly slowly, lingering on the ridges of my abs before drifting up to my eyes.

“You can’t talk about freaky lip stuff when you’re”—she gestures to my half-naked state, doing a terrible job of pretending like she isn’t hot and bothered by this whole situation—“looking like that .”

“Like what?”

“ Bristol. ”

I stand up from my seat and feel my towel slip just the slightest bit, now one indecent shuffle away from falling completely. Lila’s salacious stare follows the swell of my V-line, although she’s polite enough not to dip to my now-hardening cock.

“Like what, Lila?” I press, bridging the distance between us, so close that I now hover over her from a few inches away. That pillowy landing platform of her lower lip beguiles me to steal a taste.

Her neck tenses, serrated breaths petering out of her. It’s taking every ounce of restraint not to caress her face, not to lightly touch her arm, not to fucking kiss away her hesitation. Her chest inflates, and the longer I spend staring at her, the more my equilibrium spins. Jesus, the way she’s looking at me right now evokes leaden pressure to drop in my belly. The good thing about this still-wet look is that sweat is indistinguishable from leftover shower water.

A blush, now distinctly evident given our proximity, whispers over her cheeks. “Like…some kind of sex god,” she mutters beneath her breath, too embarrassed to say it at full volume.

But I hear it. I hear it loud and clear.

“Sex god, huh?” I tease, stretching my arms over my head and making sure she gets a good, long look at my abs. And she does. She spends a full minute ogling my stomach.

“You’re not playing fair,” she whines, and that whine itself is enough to get more blood rushing to my hungry cock.

“ I’m not playing fair? You’re the one who showed up to the game in my jersey.”

“Because we’re together!”

Those words demolish any common sense I had left rattling around in my noggin, and surprisingly, desire is now runner-up to the hope crowning in my heart. I know she probably didn’t mean it like that, but fuck, it sounds good to hear.

Together. A concept I never thought possible after the death of Summit, and now a reality that I strive to make come true.

Once she registers what she just said, she shrinks immediately. “I-I meant not… together together. This is all fake,” she stammers.

Hating even an inch of distance between us, I lean down, tip her chin up with my forefinger, and whisper against her mouth, “Does this feel fake?”

I don’t apply pressure. I don’t worm my way in. I stay where I am, tossing the ball in her court for once, even as every cell in my body shouts at how incredibly idiotic I’m being.

She gasps, her lips parting instinctively, and I can feel the air around us catch on fire. She’s holding back. She’s holding back, and all I want to do is say “fuck it” and snap that taut string of skepticism in half with my bare hands.

God, I need to feel her again, even if that calls for a punch in the face.

But Lila doesn’t drive her fist into my face. She doesn’t answer me. All she does—which is answer enough—is marry our lips together, kissing me with a certainty that chases all that long-standing doubt away. It’s purposeful this time. She’s the pursuer, and by the way her tongue’s already locking around mine, I’d say she’s ravenously adamant too. Since her heels give her a few inches, her arms have easy access to my neck, and I reflexively pull her body up against my half-naked one.

I groan into her mouth, my dick now fully erect behind this flimsy barrier of cotton. The weight of my desire notches into her stomach, drooling pre-cum in search of that pretty, pink pussy that haunts my every waking moment, and I have to remind myself that a kiss isn’t always a preamble into sex. A kiss can just be a kiss, and maybe that’s all Lila’s ready for. I don’t want to push her. I don’t want to make her uncomfortable.

But that seems like a fucking impossibility now that I’m basically “assaulting” her with my concealed weapon.

When there’s a lapse in the kiss, she takes the opportunity to pull my bottom lip between her teeth, letting it pop back into place. All I do is stare at her dazedly, and I’m so hot that it feels like she’s fanning the internal—and infernal—brushfire swallowing every inch of me. She’s equally flushed, her eyes as large and dark as the murky, blue bottom of the Baltic Sea. A fine sheen of spit glosses her lips, glistening underneath the dull lighting and hitting me in just one of my many weak spots when it comes to Lila Perkins.

She slaps her palm against her forehead. “Oh, God. I can’t believe I just did that. I came in here to talk to you, not to eat your face off!”

“To be fair, we’ve never done a lot of talking when I’m half-naked.”

Lila growls at me, thrusts an accusatory finger in my chest, and pushes me back a few steps while she stomps her boot against the ground. “Oh, I’m aware. I’m well aware. Ugh, Bristol! Why—do you see what kind of position I’m in right now? We…we can’t…”

Her angry tirade doesn’t last long as distress perforates her well-worn mask, and it’s only then that I realize she’s caught in the push and pull of a tide created by my doing. Guilt plucks at my heartstrings, overwhelming the primal want pulsing low in my abdomen.

Can’t you control yourself for once, Bristol? Can’t you see what you’re doing to her? This isn’t some flirty game anymore. You broke her—you’re still breaking her.

But despite the warning from my subconscious, she’s like a bad habit I can’t quit. A habit that’s eventually going to kill me.

“Why not? Why can’t we?” I argue, my voice shades darker than it was before. My heart’s keyed up with a lot of emotions right now, pushing against my ribs with its newfound size, determined to burst out of my chest just to diffuse the crushing pressure.

Just tell me the truth, Lila. Please. I want to be with you.

You’re asking her to forgive you for something that’s unforgivable. You need to let her go.

I can’t! I can’t let her go. If I could, I would’ve done it a year ago!

“Because…” She trails off, withdraws her arm, and disappears to a place I can’t follow. She’s shutting me out. I’m going to lose her, which is ironic, because she’s right here in front of me.

I don’t know how much time passes. All I know is that each second is more torturous than the last. As much as rejection hurts, it pales in comparison to the pain I’m putting her through. An invisible weight burdens her brows, the corners of her lips sag into a frown, and she makes herself small around me, just like she did when I first hijacked her modeling audition and ruined everything.

“I’m sorry, Lils. I shouldn’t have done that. Fuck, I wasn’t thinking. ”

Her eyes are turned downwards, and it only takes me a few seconds before I realize that she’s not looking at the ground. Something shifts in her micro expression, and the only thing left behind is a hunger forged from the darkest, most deprived parts of her.

She’s staring at my dick which— read the room, buddy —is still as hard as granite. And once her eyes slowly flit back up, she breathes out a low “Fuck it.”

Lila throws herself at me, attacking me with so much strength that I stumble backward from the force, and her hands map the expanse of my bare back while her tongue slips into my mouth. I wrap my arms around her possessively in return, charting over those God-gifted curves hiding underneath my jersey, and our mouths move in a choregraphed, sensual dance.

My tongue caresses hers as saliva builds between us, glazing her bottom lip so I can bite hard on it. And when I do, I coax a moan out of her, the sharpness of her fingernails digging into my skin in some effort to negotiate a reprieve. She’s rolling her hips over my erection, so desperate to find friction that she can’t help but whine against my lips, and this towel won’t need any outside aid in coming off if she keeps grinding into me like this.

“Are you sure?” I whisper between breaths, settling my hands on her waist—though they’re already itching to rove lower.

With a frustrated huff, she grabs one of my hands, places it on her tit, and lets me brush my thumb over the hard bud of her nipple. “Does it feel like I’m sure?”

She’s not wearing a bra.

Dear God.

My throat rumbles with a groan, sounding about as loud as a thunderclap. “I just want to make?—”

“Bristol, either you shut up and fuck me right now, or I’ll go find someone who will,” she threatens .

You know what? Fuck that. I’m done being a gentleman. There’s no way in hell I’d ever let that happen.

“Everything off except for my jersey,” I growl, feeling my cock coat the inside of my towel with another spurt of pre-cum. I don’t help her, even though I’m dying to. I watch with avid eyes as she unbuttons her jeans, shimmies their tight-fitting form down her legs, and simultaneously kicks her boots off at the same time. I was expecting one of her signature thongs, but what she shows me instead is so much better.

Lila is bare, having forgone any underwear, which means that she was sitting in the stands just a few feet away from me with her naked pussy rubbing against the crotch of her pants. Jesus Christ. I’m so glad she didn’t tell me she was going commando before the game. I would’ve cracked my head open on the ice.

I let my towel puddle to the floor, and I give my length a firm rub to stave off some of the budding pain. “Shirt?”

“See for yourself,” she offers, guiding one of my hands up and underneath my jersey, to where all I feel is the smoothness of her warm skin. My fingers crawl up her ribs, enclosing around the mound of her breast, and I pleasure her with a squeeze that makes her head slump back.

“Oh… God .”

I take my thumb and rub circles over the tapered point of her nipple, watching in hazy satisfaction at the way her throat constricts, and I flick it back and forth until a moan comes tumbling out. “You like that, angel?” I taunt.

She only has the power to nod. Seeing her vulnerable like this—wearing nothing but my jersey—compresses the coil in my stomach that begs me to act on every selfish impulse in my addled brain. I massage her boob and lift my jersey at the same time, switching from clumsy grabs to the heat of my mouth, where I hollow my cheeks so I can pull her nipple past my lips .

My other hand—no longer rooted on my cock—flies up to support the small of her back. She’s pushing out her chest, flipping back waves of her now-disheveled locks, and one of her hands enmesh in my hair while the other reaches down to pet my dick. My hips jerk from the contact alone, my mouth faltering sloppily as I cover her tit in spit.

“Bench,” I mumble against her skin.

We both walk blindly until hitting a flat surface—which just so happens to be in front of my cubby—and I immediately sit down, followed closely by her ass lowering onto my lap. She scootches around to find the most forgiving position, and it barely takes a brush for me to feel her arousal leaking out of her cunt.

I switch my attention from her breast to her neglected pussy, slithering my hand between the crux of her thighs and skimming her sopping lips with the pads of my fingers. “Fuck, you’re already so wet. You need me to stretch this pretty little cunt out?”

“Bristol…” Her voice is thinned to a rasp, her legs trembling against mine, and she clings to my shoulders with a grip tight enough to break bone.

I tease her with some swipes back and forth over her coated sex, never fully submerging a finger even though I can feel her cunt trying to clench around nothing. She’s a mewling mess, rutting her hips into my cock, bringing her swollen pussy closer each time. I need to be inside her. Fuck, I can’t…I can’t even think straight right now. I need her drenching my dick.

“Use your words, angel. Tell me what you need.”

“I want you inside me,” she demands, sliding her hands down to my abs and looking up through her lashes with the sexiest half-cast of her eyes. They’re darker than I’ve ever seen them, almost entirely black in the blue mist submerging the locker room like a light installation of water projected onto a blank canvas .

“I don’t have a condom,” I say, sticking my arm behind me and scouring the shelf for a contraceptive that I know I’m not going to find. I don’t usually keep those on me, and the rest of the guys have already taken their things with them.

“We didn’t use one last time.”

“I know, but…”

“Are you clean?” she asks me.

My eyebrow shoots up. “Of course I am. I haven’t been with anyone beside you.”

“So am I. So why are we still talking about this?”

“I just don’t want to put any pressure on yo?—”

Lila looks like she’s about to kill me—and not in some sexy way with her pussy. “I’m on birth control. I have plenty of it. You know what I don’t have plenty of? Patience,” she growls through her teeth.

Shut up, man! What are you doing?

She glances to the side for a split second, but I’m too stunned by the beast I’ve just unleashed to pay much mind to it. She leans past me, grabs something from my cubby, and grips a fistful of skate laces between her fingers.

“Hands behind your back. I’m taking control this time. Do you have a problem with that?”

I gulp and shake my head. “No, ma’am.”

“Good,” she purrs, having me lean forward while she ties the laces around my wrists, pulling hard enough for them to brand an imprint. I wince a little, and once she makes sure they’re tight enough, she rewards me with a kiss to my jaw that travels down, down, down to my clavicle. And then she starts to suck, lifting her hips and spreading her slick around with the blunt tip of my cockhead. My arms strain against the restraints, but she’s knotted those fuckers so tightly that I might never get them off.

“Lila…”

She’s nibbling on my collarbone, bruising the flesh under her teeth, taking full control of the situation with that stubborn princess attitude that always makes my knees buckle.

“I bet you’ve been thinking about when we’d have sex again. I bet you’ve been thinking about fucking my wet pussy. I bet you’ve been dying to fill me up, haven’t you?”

Look, along with my circulation, my senses have fled the building. And if I wasn’t so mesmerized by the feel of her lips on my neck—and her other lips on the tip of my dick—then maybe I would’ve held back a little, but that’s not what happens.

“Lila, the only thing I’ve been thinking about is tearing your fucking clothes off and stretching you out on my cock again, leaving such a deep imprint that you’ll feel me even when you’re empty,” I growl, angling my hips and bucking upwards into her soaked cunt. “You have no idea how much I crave you.”

She freezes for a second, but her dominance never wavers. “Is that so?”

I’m already panting from this never-ending back and forth, needing to thrust into her more than I need my next breath of air. Just the position she’s in right now is enough to make me come.

I throw my head back against the wall, adjusting my hips to alleviate some of the tension mounting in my balls. “Look at what you’re doing to me, Lils.”

Lila doesn’t say anything else before she lowers herself onto my dick, going slowly at first to brace for the sudden change in pressure, then exhaling sharply as she stretches around my girth. Her face scrunches the moment I breach that tight ring of muscle, but her expression softens in pure bliss the further she descends.

“Show me. Show me just how much you missed me,” she instructs, gravity helping me sheathe my cock inside her, her lubricated cunt swallowing me to the hilt. Knowing that I can’t exactly show her, she begins to ride me at a consistent pace, hands anchored against my chest. I keep my pelvis in a constant undulating motion to meet her each time, and we create an easy, slippery suction that has her bouncing on my legs. She’s milking my cock in stomach-clenching pulses, wringing pleasure from my body effortlessly, and I’m the one who’s tumbling headfirst this time, hoping that she’ll be there at the bottom to catch me.

My dick pummels her walls, my arousal mingling with hers in a squelch that echoes around the empty space. She’s slipping up and down my shaft greedily—no longer hindered by the size—and each time she bears down, I catch the tail end of her stomach filling out with the thickness of my cock. Seeing her like this is even sexier than if I were the one in charge. She’s using me just like she should.

I jack my pelvis into her rather harshly, and her fingernails claw into my chest, our moans synchronizing in the silence of the night.

“My hands may be tied behind my back, but I don’t need to touch you to make you come,” I drawl, doing right by my promise and pumping into her cunt with a molar-cracking upstroke. “And you’re gonna keep that cunt real nice and wet for me while I fuck you rotten.”

A handicap doesn’t prevent me from satisfying my girl, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do. Moan after moan falls from her lips—a testament to my skill—and I can feel that coil inside me begin to stretch in preparation for the final snap. I’m hot and cold all at once, sweat’s taking up every inch of my forehead, and the muscles of my stomach crunch with a fiery burn.

I want these damn laces off. I want to feel her skin beneath my hands. I want to grab her ass. I want to push her hair back and tell her how good she’s doing.

“I don’t have to do shit,” she snaps, impatience bleeding into her movements while she attempts to uphold a steady tempo.

“You don’t have to, but you will. I own your pussy, angel. You can flip the script however you like, but it doesn’t change the fact that you’re the one gushing onto me.”

I can tell she’s almost there. She just needs one last push.

I bring her to the brink before her orgasm can cleave through her, and even when she’s exhausted, she looks sexy as all hell. “Just because I’m wearing your jersey doesn’t mean I’m yours.”

“Fuck yeah it does,” I growl, bottoming deep in her cunt, an overflow of her arousal leaking around the plug of my dick. “And I’ll prove it to you when I watch my cum drip out of that spoiled little pussy—gonna lick it off your damn thighs.”

Lila’s hands come up to fondle her polyester-clad tits, and what a fucking sight she is—a goddess with her golden hair flowing behind her, backdropped by an oceanic blue that outlines her body in an ethereal glow. Her lithe fingers play with her nipples, torturing me with the loud moans that follow, and her eyelids flutter closed.

“Eyes on me, angel. You’re gonna look at me when you come on my dick.”

“It’s too much. It’s too much, Bristol,” she whimpers, tears ribboning down her face and messing up her makeup.

“I know, but you’re almost there. I want to watch you fall apart,” I coo, and with one last slam of her hips, she cries out my name, gushing profusely over my length. She leans into me with her nose against my neck, and watching her lose control like that is enough to tip me over the same ledge. An inkwell of darkness infiltrates my vision as I squirt long, plentiful streams against her walls.

I’ve got her crumpled on top of me, our sweaty bodies rubbing together, and the labored strain of our breath blends into gentle susurrations. My stamina’s completely gone now. I’m pretty much as solid as a dome of Jell-O, but she doesn’t let me pull out—she keeps her arms wrapped around me, trickles of cum seeping out of her and onto my lap.

“You’re so fucking beautiful like this,” I whisper against the crown of her head, kissing her frizzled mess of flyaways.

Maybe it’s because she didn’t hear me, but she doesn’t acknowledge my compliment. “I’m scared, Bristol,” she murmurs quietly, fatigue an arm’s length away as the cadence of her breathing slows.

My heart—which was happily taking a back seat this entire time—pangs with paralyzing worry. “Why?”

It takes her a moment to respond, but when she does, my whole world crumbles into dust.

“Because I don’t want you to leave again.”