I was never one to not be satisfied with how much or what I got, in any given circumstance. Different people could afford to give you different things – but with him, I was constantly begging for more. Nothing was ever enough, because with more things we did and explored together, the more we craved from one another. Every time felt like the first, and it was magical.
I simply couldn’t wait any longer, and my morals flew out the window, as I glanced at his lips with such desperation in my eyes, I felt like I could break if I let this go on for a second longer.
Without thinking, I pull him by his white t-shirt down to my face and crash my lips against his in an instant. When my tongue darts out between us, something strange happens. Instead of refusing it like Sam would, his lips part and he swallows my low moan of relief when I find that his is in sync with mine. This kiss was filled with hunger – I could feel my tears drying up uncomfortably on my burning cheek, and as if on cue, his hands reach up to cup either sides of my face, their largeness engulfing me with warmth, despite them being absolutely freezing from the weather. His thumbs rub at my cheek as if to erase the memories of the last ten minutes – it was all happening so fast. My hands remained fisting the fabric of his shirt with such aggression, that I could feel the skin on my knuckles stretching out uncomfortably to cover the surface. But I didn’t care. This just felt so good.
His hands then drop from my face, and an embarrassing whimper escapes my lips when he withdraws his own from them, both of us out of breath.
“Have you touched yourself since our little talk on the pitch?”
“W-what?”
“Answer the question.”
“No?”
“You’re lying.”
“I-”
But my protests are cut short when he kisses me once again, after steadying his breathing somewhat, and his hands find their way to my thighs, bringing me up to be level with him as he wrapped them around his waist, and pushed my back firmly against the fencing for added support. He gripped the skin on my upper legs firmly, like he was worried I’d slip away, and my fingers found their way to the back of his head, threading through the messy mop of curls that rested on top of his head, pulling gently. When a barely audible moan escapes his lips I almost lose it – and he pulls my lower lip between his teeth, sucking gently, before his lips move down to my neck, trailing tender kisses up and down, starting with a spot just below my ear.
I never knew a kiss could have me feeling so turned on, so out of breath, and so incredibly confident – but then as his lips continued their decent down to my collarbones, I’m snapped out of it.
“Theo, stop,” I gently say, not wanting to completely ruin the mood, unsure of whether I even wanted him to stop or not. But I had to stop it. This was escalating too quickly, on too short notice.
“Theo!” I manage to snap him out of it, and he pulls back, his eyes almost black, the desire still evident in his eyes just as before, only magnified, to the point where the beautiful green of his eyes was barely noticeable.
I unwrapped my legs from around his waist, and he gently placed me down, smoothing over his now wrinkled shirt and then running his hands through his hair.
“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t know what I was -” he begins, but I place my palm flat on his chest to stop him, and then reply,
“Me too.”
I walk around him, leaving him still panting and trying to regain his composure, or perhaps understand what had just happened, just as I was. But I didn’t have time to talk it through with him. I knew I needed to get home, and I knew I made a mistake coming on to him the way I did. Not that he gave me any sort of indication that he didn’t want this also, but that didn’t ease the guilt it felt. I had just cheated on my boyfriend of three years, with a boy I met only a few weeks ago.
I didn’t regret the feeling the experience gave me as much as I regretted the act of it itself – but it didn’t matter anymore.
I had to move past this, I had to put an end to the tragedy that was Theo, and I had to get home to Sam.
As I ran the entire way back to the apartment, my breath coming out in short, exhausted puffs, I thought up a thousand excuses I could use to justify why I wasn’t already home with my boyfriend. None of them were worthy enough of my situation though – Sam didn’t deserve this. To be lied to, to be kept secrets from, to feel as if he wasn’t trusted anymore; but most importantly, he didn’t deserve to be cheated on.
I pushed open the door to the apartment, and found a similar scene to what I had walked in on the last time. Sam pacing up and down the small living room, his hands rubbing harshly at his face. It became his thing – and I was to blame. I hated seeing him like this.
“I left you at least 30 voicemails,” he begins, sadness washing over his face as he takes in my tired appearance.
I pull the phone out of my back jeans’ pocket, and glance down at the screen, confirming his statement.
“I’m sorry.” I simply say, really meaning it.
“I needed time to think.” He responds, looking down at his feet as I do the same.
“I know.”
“Is it true? What that guy said?
“It is.”
“How do you know him?”
“He’s on the team, and he’s attended practice a few times.” This wasn’t exactly a lie, although it was my private practice sessions after practice he’d attended.
“I’m not mad at you, just disappointed that you kept this from me.”
“Sam, I -”
“Let me finish. I’m disappointed, but I also get what you were trying to do for me, and I understand now that it was never your intention of always keeping this cheerleading business a secret. I forgive you.”
He forgave me.