“No, but who says you’re only having sex once today?”
I fought the urge to fall asleep. My eyes kept closing as I lay on my side with Oliver spooning me, his large arm draped around me. My body was ready for a full eight hours of sleep, even though it was early in the afternoon. I’ve earned some rest, it told me. Let me go to sleep.
I think I managed to stay awake, although every time I looked at the clock by the bed another twenty minutes had passed. We’d have to leave soon to pick up Maisie and Shaun, but the last thing I wanted was to move from this position.
God only knows what Oliver thought of me now. He must think I'm some kind of sex freak. I touched myself on his command and told him how I liked it rough. That wasn’t usually how I had sex.
I’d never been handled roughly before by any lovers. I’d wanted to, but never felt comfortable telling them that. But with Oliver that was all I could ever think about. Even as a naive and innocent sixteen year-old I’d imagined letting him dominate me, although I had no idea what that entailed at the time.
I probably shouldn’t have been quite so honest with him, but the words had come out so easily. I’d sat on his cock, touching myself, and couldn’t hold back. It had been worth it. Oliver wasn’t the type to lay on his back and let the woman do all the work anyway; once I let him take over, he’d responded with a furious passion that still had my sex pulsating and wanting more.
Oliver yawned and pulled the bed sheet down to reveal my naked body and the scar on my arm. I tried to pull the bed sheet back up for cover, but he grabbed my wrist and stopped me.
“It’s too comfortable under there,” he said. “I’m going to fall asleep and we need to leave in about half an hour. Besides I want to look at you.”
I kept my back to him, but I could feel his eyes staring at me. He’d be looking at my arm. Examining the burn marks. It was a bit late to feel self-conscious now I suppose. Oliver’s fingers touched the top of my hand and then started moving slowly up my arm. I froze, every muscle in my body stiff as he reached the burnt skin. His fingers stopped, but just as I started to relax he moved them up my arm and touched me. His fingers were on the layer of scar tissue at the top of my arm.
That part of my arm was numb and there was little sensation on the skin, but I still shook, a shiver running down my spine, as I let Oliver explore the part of me that was untouched by any man.
His fingers moved around the edges of the small crevices that felt like huge craters to my overly paranoid mind. Once he had explored every nook, his palm came to rest on my arm and his lips kissed my neck. I wasn’t quite ready to relax, but it felt a hell of a lot better to know he wasn’t looking at it anymore.
“If we’re going to keep this up,” I said, “we’re going to have to tell Maisie and Shaun.”
“In that case, we’d better tell them soon. Because I don’t have the patience to sneak around any longer.”
“How do you think Shaun will take the news? I haven’t really been able to figure him out.”
“He’ll be happy, I think. I’m more of a brother to him than anything else, so I doubt he’ll give it much thought. I’m more concerned about Maisie.”
“She thinks the world of you,” I said. “But I suppose that could be the problem. You’ve been like family to her. She might think this is weird.”
“We should tell them together,” Oliver said. “Come to think of it, Maisie and Shaun will be relatively straightforward. My mom won’t say much and it’s not like we’re close anyway. I don’t even know my father. It’s your parents that could be the problem.”
“Mom will be fine,” I said. “She’s never met you, so it’s not like she thinks of you as part of the family. Dad on the other hand…”
“Yeah, your Dad’s never really taken to me.”
“He probably noticed the way I used to look at you eight years ago. He’s not really in a position to talk about relationships, given the way he left my mom with nothing, but he’s bound to say that what we have is wrong.”
“It is wrong,” Oliver said, as he resumed kissing my neck. “Very wrong.” He kissed me again. “You might even say it’s naughty.”
I gasped quietly as his hand moved to my breast and a finger began circling my nipple. “Yes,” I said. “It’s wrong. What we’re doing is naughty. Very naughty.”
“Forbidden,” Oliver said, squeezing my breast firmly. His cock stiffened as he pressed it against me. I parted my legs as his hand went down from my breast to my sex, where his fingers felt the dampness between my legs. He suddenly disappeared from behind me, but returned seconds later with his cock sheathed. Oliver wrapped an arm around me as he guided his cock inside me.
I held on to the edge of the bed for support as he rubbed my clit in time with the slow thrusts of his thick cock, which stretched my sex to its limit. It was the kisses and gentle bites on my neck that sent me over the edge.
An awkward conversation with Maisie loomed in the near future, but this made it all worth it. Oliver already knew me better than any other man ever had. He’d explored the two most intimate parts of my body and I’d never felt happier.
I came effortlessly this time, and only the fact that we had to get out of bed stopped it from being the perfect afternoon. There was plenty of time for that. We had the whole summer to enjoy each other, and I had many more fantasies that Oliver could help make a reality.
June 2007
“Congratulations, mate,” Gary said, slamming his hand down on my back. “Youngest player ever to play for England. That’s one hell of an achievement.”
“I’ve not played for England yet,” I replied. “I just got called up to the squad.”
“You’re going to play. I guarantee it. I’m so fucking proud of you man.”
“Thanks Gary.”
A few of my teammates had thrown a surprise party to celebrate the news of my call-up to the England team. We had training tomorrow, so alcohol was supposed to be off limits, but the manager turned a blind eye tonight. It wasn’t every day a player got selected to play for England—certainly not at the age of eighteen—and it reflected well on the club as a whole.
When young players were choosing which club to sign for, West London R.F.C. could say “come and play here like Oliver Cornish did and you can go on to play for England.” For a player with ambition, that would mean more than a fat salary.
Most people at the party had a few drinks in them at this stage, and there was plenty of noise; enough for Gary and I to have a private conversation. I motioned him over to the corner and he reluctantly followed. He always tried to avoid this conversation, but tonight I didn’t give him a choice.
“Have you heard from Carl?” I asked. I hadn’t heard anything from him since I started handing over twenty percent of my salary, but the silence had been far from comforting.
“Yeah,” Gary said quietly. “He’s been in touch.”
“He wants more money?”
“I don’t know what he fucking wants to be honest. He’s just reminding me he’s in control. That he can destroy my life at any minute if I step out of line.”
“If he tries to blackmail you again—”
“I’ll go to the police. I’ve had enough of this shit. I’ll give him my salary, but that’s it. I’m not going to ruin things for you guys by throwing a game.”
“Okay. Just let me know if he—”
“Shit,” Gary said, looking over my shoulder. “Speak of the devil. Look outside.”