Page 85 of Winning Match
Taking a risk, I pitch forward on my knees and lower my mouth to him.
“Díos mio,” he grunts as I close my lips around his head and drag my tongue along his shaft.
He pulses in my mouth, hardening even more. I didn’t think it was physically possible and the fact that I’m affecting him fills me with a little thrill. I can do this. We can do this. We’re fine.
We’ll go home and talk and everything will be okay.
I suck his entire length into my mouth until he hits the back of my throat. Slowly, I find a rhythm, my hand squeezing, my mouth working back and forth.
But Ale yanks on my hair, pulling me clear off him.
I fall back on my ass, my eyes flashing to his.
“Fuck. I’m sorry,” he blurts out. His eyes are wild, his mouth twisted. Confusion and desperation war for residence in his expression and he hangs his head as shame explodes around his entire being. “Marlowe, I can’t. We can’t. This is… I’m sorry.” He pushes to stand and reaches down, pulling me to my feet. He wraps me in a lukewarm hug, patting my shoulder awkwardly. “Perdóname.”
Mortification rolls through me as humiliation burns my cheeks. I just… What the fuck was I thinking?
He just lost a game. He’s grappling with his career.
Why did I think I could somehow fix that? That a paltry blow job in a locker room would somehow solve the disconnect between us?
It was a terrible idea. And I’m… I glance down at my trembling fingers and dirty knees… I’m a desperate mess.
“I-I’m sorry,” I blurt out. Jesus, did I…try to make him do something he didn’t want? Disgust slams into me along with acute embarrassment and glaring rejection.
Ale doesn’t want this; he doesn’t want me. He doesn’t feel the same way.
He backs away slowly, his eyes darting from me to the showers.
I wish the floor would open up and fucking bury me. I wish I never stepped foot in this locker room, or put myself so far out on a limb that when the tree branch snapped there was nowhere to go except down. A free fall that slammed me into hard ground. I feel the aftershocks fissure like pain throughout my limbs, in every cell of my being.
“I’ll see you at home,” I manage to say before turning on my heel and fleeing.
Except I don’t go home. I head straight to Corcho.
And just like I did on my first night here, I order a margarita and a shot of tequila.
Still, the taste of shame lingers. The look of horror on Ale’s face remains imprinted on my eyelids.
And no amount of alcohol can dull the pain that wraps around my heart.
Social Media Post
League Valencia Loses Five Games in a Row!
@CallMeMrsGarcia Are we blaming her yet? @AleGarcia9 NEVER made this many mistakes when he was single.
@SoccerSux33 I see bro’s fucked Lambo is now old news…
@CarrieSins12 He’s not focused! Do you think they’re fighting?
@SoccerSux33 Trouble in paradise? Ugh, it’s so cliche.
@CallMeMrsGarcia It’s so unlike him to make *this* many mistakes.
@LeagueValenciaGirlie What happened to “it’s just one game”?
@CallMeMrsGarcia It’s been FIVE!
