Six Summers to Fall

by C.W. Farnsworth

Instead, he exhales. “You want to know some truths, Harper Williams? I’ve never fucked a woman wearing my jersey—never even cared if she wore it. Do you know what else I’ve never done? Never taken a girl to dinner with my parents. Never spent two hours agonizing over a single text. Never slept in the same bed for a week. I’m in this, Harper.” His hips press closer to mine as his cock slides through the wetness, delicious friction mixing with anticipation. “You look incredible in anything you wear, Harper. But in this?” One hand slips back under the polyester shirt, cupping my breast and pulling another moan out of me. “In this, you look like mine.” I whimper, the mixture of his words and touch too much. “Say you’re mine, Harper.” “I’m yours,” I gasp. “I’m yours.”