Hockey Romance: Falling For My Best Friend's Brother

RONALD The party around us faded to the back of my mind as Cynthia kissed me with the vigor and expertise of a pornstar. She made all those sounds, ones designed to send a man to an early grave, those perfect sultry sounds as she rubbed herself against me on the lounger, and her palms glided over my toned chest and stomach before disappearing into my briefs. When her hand wrapped around my d**k, I tore my mouth from her and let out a deep guttural groan as I threw my head back against the lounger. She took it as an invitation to do a proper job. To rub faster and harder till stars exploded behind my eyelids while she had a manicured finger in between her teeth, and her eyes basically f****d me too. “Yes, Cynthia,” I groaned, half eyes closed, “just right there. You're doing a good job, baby.” The movements stopped, and my eyes flew open at the sudden lack of contact. Cynthia had moved a bit away from me, and the sultry look in her eyes was gone. Instead, she looked like a wounded lion. “What did you just call me?” “What?” For f***s sake, who stops a hand job just to ask their partner what they just called them? I shifted, my c**k still hard and throbbing and desperate for that last bit of friction for it to c*m. “What's my name?” “For goodness sake, Cynthia, why do you want me to repeat your name?” She chuckled. No, actually, she scoffed as she pushed herself further away from me. “You think my name is Cynthia? We were together the whole of last week and even now, and you still don't have the decency to know my name?” Ohhh. My d**k partially deflated as I realized what she was fuming about. I put on my best remorseful expression as I planned how to goad her into saying her name by herself. I needed her to finish what she had started. After the hand job and probably a quickie behind the pool, she could go back to being mad that I didn't know her name. “I'm so so sorry, baby. I just mixed them up.” I employed the tactics of touching her skin, which was fully exposed because she was dressed in a bikini. I've been told my hands were magical, and all the girls I've been with have testified that they lose their minds whenever I touch their skin. I started to trail a line behind her boobs, but I barely started when she slapped my hand away. “So what's my name?” She crossed her hands under her boobs, pushing them up and distracting me in the process. “What?” “My name? What's it?” “Uhmm,” there was no escaping this. She was looking at me expectantly with a quiet anger of someone ready to get up and leave if I should get her name wrong. There goes my opportunity to bury myself in a tight, warm hole tonight. I mourned regretfully, but I still tried to think of her name. If I've been calling her Cynthia all this time, then it must be something close to Cynthia. “Of course, I know your name. It’s Sandra.” She scoffed. “Cyndi, right? Of course. It’s Cyndi.” She scoffed again, and this time, she stood up from beside me, “You're such a jerk, aren't you? You don't even have the decency to learn my name. I'm Rue, you idiot.” She snapped before she walked away, while I chastised myself mentally. I didn't try at all. How could I call her Cynthia when her name was Rue? But still, I mourned the opportunity to f**k her tonight. She was a good one. A good moaner, a good screamer with an insanely flexible body that she wasn't shy to use. And I've lost her. My eyes followed her as she moved fully into the party, where tens of people were in the swimming pool, and others were by the bar. With how wounded she looked when she left me, I expected her to leave or just find a bottle of alcohol to drown herself. But instead, she found a guy, a familiar-looking one. They conversed for what wasn't up to a minute before she shoved her tongue down his throat. That deflated my d**k faster than anything. I couldn't believe that just a couple of minutes ago, she had her tongue in my mouth and her hand wrapped around my d**k, and now she was kissing another guy. They were making out heavily and backing away to that same corner where I had planned on f*****g her against the wall. It left a bitter taste in my mouth. But that was the normalcy. For me. For the rest of the Hockey team and the girls who floated to us. I was the center player for Enigma College’s hockey team, a fourth-year student once school resumes in three weeks, and, of course, girls floated to me as ants would to sugar. But it was never anything serious. Most of the girls just wanted to tick me, Ronald Fred, off their bucket list. They wanted to know what it feels like to be with one of the most popular faces in school. They wanted something to brag to their friends about. I was more than happy to oblige. It meant having more than one girl to sleep with. It meant gaining more expertise and experience. But it was all fluffy. All fleeting and probably nothing interesting. There was no new dynamics to the girls I've f****d. Even the process of getting them was boring. I've also never been anybody's first, I realized, with another bout of bitter taste in my mouth. None of the girls I've slept with had their first with me. Not even the first girl back in the first year of high school. I was always the second or third. And now, I decided I was going to be somebody's first. The next girl I was going to sleep with must be a virgin—one who was equally into the game and doesn't want any emotional attachment apart from pleasure. Yes, that would do. It was a conquest, and I'd be sure to get it off my bucket list. I picked up my bottle of alcohol, drained the whole contents, before I opened another bottle. It was my party. A pre-resumption party that also doubles as a pre-vacation party for my family and our main family friends, the Daltons. It was an annual tradition for us to travel to different resorts for two weeks during the summer before the next trimester started. We leave in three days, and since I resumed Uni, I've been hosting a pre-vacation pool party while our parents go for a pre-vacation dinner and an overnight staycation. Thinking about the Daltons, my eyes caught sight of their only daughter and my sister's best friend, who practically grew up in our house, too. She was standing in a lone corner of the bar, dressed in a bikini that exposed her body but wasn't as bare as the other girls’. But it was unusual to see Lily Dalton that way. I've only ever seen her in baggy wears and long trousers, but here she was, showing legs that go on for days and a cleavage that could drive a man to an early grave. It made me chuckle when I realized what she was doing. Of course, a prude and prim and proper girl like her, who did her first year without having a boyfriend, must be eager and desperate to get anyone at this party tonight. That must be the reason. I was still contemplating going over to tease her like I normally do when I saw a guy join her. I recognized him as a member of the football team. I watched him strike up a conversation with her, and instead of relaxing into it, she withdrew and gave nods and tight smiles to whatever the f**k he was telling her. Still, the boy didn't get the drift, and he attempted to put his hand on her shoulder. I was upon them in less than a nanosecond. “Hey,” the baritone voice drowned out the music and made the guy withdraw his hand, “get lost.” He obliged. He gave me a tight apologetic smile before he disappeared into the crowd of dancers, loungers, and swimmers. I turned back to the Lily and my eyes mentally swept over her body, which made my d**k twitch before I looked her in the eyes again. “Thank you,” she told me as she raised a bottle of beer to her lips, “he was being a nuisance. I told him I didn't want his company.” “Why not, though?” I took a swig of my drink too, and when I continued, I couldn't help but tease her, “With the way you're dressed, it's obvious you're looking for a boyfriend and someone to lose your virginity to?”