A/N: slight mature content.

Harper left me hanging after I'd sent her the visual reminder of how just the thought of her still affected me. While my approach might've seemed forward or lewd to anyone else, I knew the mental reminder planted the seed I needed inside her dirty mind. Unlike Brit, Harper wanted nothing to do with public attention and more likely deleted the picture before she shared it.

One second was all I needed before my mind went straight into my spank bank vault. I gritted my teeth as my hand gripped my beyond painful shaft, groaned at the contact of my palm against the tightly stretched skin and stroked down my pent up frustrations. My eyes slid lazily closed as the image of Harper's body, which I knew every curve and imperfection on, fed my imagination with more than enough inspirational content.

I was for sure a breasts man and my large hands cupped perfectly around Harper's while they filled up my palms with warmth and softness. Her small, dusty pink nipples tightened into hard tips while her areolas pebbled up like goosebumps from just a direct gaze from me. My palms remembered her warm and soft skin and I drew breathy moans from her full lips when I teased and played with her breasts to my fingers' and tongue's content.

Harper was naturally tall and thin, with a slight curve where her lower back met the swell of her ass, the perfect spot when I grasped her against me and yanked her soaking wet pussy down onto my cock. She wasn't ever a girl that I worried that I'd gone too fast or too rough with, even glared at me when I moved too slowly or tenderly.

Fuck, even how those light blue eyes blaze when she glares at me turns me on.

My left hand stroked harder, up and down until beads of precum dripped out my slit like my cock cried with relief. As both my internal heat and a lust-filled pressure built up, my right hand reached down and gently cupped my balls. Brittany's obsession with a manicured appearance applied to me too but I drew the line when she asked me to wax down there. Instead, I regularly shaved my pubic hair short and kneaded my fingers into the warm, soft dimpled skin on my sacs while my other hand tugged out my release.

After I paused, thumbed the head, and smeared the precum like a lubricant, I resumed my pathetic hand job. Other than irritated at Brit's rejection, she was the furthest person in my mind. My eyes slid closed as mentally Harper's body rode me, her bare folds spread open around my cock and slicked up and down where my hand stroked and squeezed.

Once I hit another steady pace, my hips shifted against the frictioned strokes over and over. The sheets warmed under my back, my left arm muscles clenched with tension, and a ragged grunt rumbled the back of my throat as my fist choked down and milked up. Quicker than I comfortably admitted, an internal surge rushed up my length, my balls drew upwards off my lower palm, and I came hard. White cum, slightly clouded from how much time passed since I'd last needed this, jetted out in small streams, puddled right above my navel, and I groaned while my fist squeezed my cock to instant relief.

Afterwards, I laid back with my 'frustrations' spilled out all over my abdomen, bent my elbow over my warm forehead, and panted down the heartbeat that thundered in my chest. After a few slow, deep breaths, I closed my eyes, rested my head back, and my dizzied thoughts went straight back to Harper.

While she wanted nothing to do with romance or relationships, Harper relished being a source of male attention. She was a champion flirt and spoke sexual innuendos like her own second language, but the way her eyes sparkled when she knew someone craved her banging body gave her superficial satisfaction away every time.

Harper enjoyed the chase, the attention, being an object of desire. She let out the primal, caveman side of me, like if I hoisted her over my shoulder and fucked her senseless in my mancave until we were both dirty and smelled like sex then she would've responded with smacks on my ass because I hadn't walked there fast enough.

One of the first times I had seen Harper, truly seen her more than just raw, mind-blowing sex between the two of us, my thoughts were completely jumbled by my sexual attraction for her while I'd dated someone else. The summer before our senior year of high school, irritatingly like Brittany now, my then-girlfriend Camille had also ghosted me into celibacy. After a few weeks where my hand stopped being enough, I'd found my comforts and stress release between Harper's legs.

Unlike our first time, where I came within a few strokes like a two-pump chump, the four rounds of sex were amazing, but my thoughts were conflicted after the first - and only, for the record - time I'd cheated on someone.

I'm the worst piece of human shit in the world.

I cheated on my girlfriend Camille.

Correction, I cheated on my girlfriend Camille, with my sister's best friend.

And I don't regret it.

Technically, the last thought was only partially true. The only regret that filled my stomach with nausea was how I left Harper's bed, then her house that morning. The same regret crept back inside me just at the memory of how awful I'd treated Harper.

I slunk out like a coward.

Like an absolute idiot, I went straight to Camille, apologized profusely, and confessed what I'd done. Her reaction surprised me, she was angry that I'd cheated on her but not as angry as I'd expected or thought I deserved. That experience was the only time I'd cheated on anyone after the repercussions when Camille blackmailed me afterwards. Not surprisingly, we broke up but in hindsight that decision was absolutely the best.

I wasn't sure what came over me that morning when I'd woken up but horny hadn't fully described my physical turmoil. I was still in a phase of my life where my anger almost always got the best of me, Camille held out for four weeks on me and I felt physically unhinged and desperate for a release, any release. Otherwise, I probably would've put both fists through someone or something that eventually I regretted.

Two days earlier, Camille and I had gotten into another argument. She'd said some stupid shit like I didn't pay enough attention to her, I hadn't really listened. So Camille did what she did best and punished me. She kissed me, got me all riled up while we made out and groped each other, then closed her legs and left me painfully hard.

After the fourth similar argument in two weeks, a hotass girlfriend who left me with just my hand for four weeks, the pressures of an upcoming football season where I was expected to lead our team to our second consecutive state championship got to me. Since football was the lifeline to a USC scholarship that rested on my shoulders, frustrated was an understatement of how I felt.

Testosterone-driven rage is more like it.

I shook my head at myself while I mopped up the mess on my stomach.

Still doesn't excuse cheating, nothing does.

I knew as soon as I pressed my lips onto Harper's body that I'd fucked up. In blind confusion, my fucked up mind told me I had to see Harper again. We'd hooked up a few random times before that, during the many 'breaks' Camille and I took over the summer, and my body told me I needed Harper's in every dirty position that my nearly eighteen year-old self thought of. My hands around my car keys and feet across the morning dew that blanketed her yard did the rest.

Once I saw Harper in her barely-there pajamas that hid nothing from my desperate eyes, I had to be inside her. My cock in particular accepted no other outcome as a potential possibility and tented embarrassingly in my pants just at the side of her makeup-free, messed hair, and half-asleep state. I would've done anything, begged her, dropped to my knees if needed as long as she let me into her bed.

Harper had been gorgeous ever since I first saw her in the seventh grade. Every day after I kissed her underwater at the neighborhood community pool, she grew taller, curvier, and hotter. I'd felt like a king the day I'd stolen her first kiss, which all my friends high-fived me for because she was the hottest girl in our school and I'd kissed her first. Back then, like a lovesick puppy, I was happy she also was my first kiss.

Harper had blonde hair and striking blue eyes like my girlfriend, but they couldn't have looked more different. Camille spent hours on her hair, perfectly blown out, curled, and plastered with hairspray, even if just pulled back into a ponytail. In high school, Harper dyed the bottom tips of her long, sun-kissed hair in different rainbow-colored streaks like some giant middle finger expression that said she gave zero fucks about what anyone else thought about her appearance. Other than how she rotated the extra color, her hair was always styled naturally.

And fuck, her eyes.

Camille's, and Brittany's, gray-blue eyes always looked like they calculated and schemed while Harper's sky-blue eyes always pierced right inside me. Her eyes mirrored her personality - biting, blunt, and unapologetic. She'd always seen right through my bullshit and called me out on it like no one else in my life. Up close, the light blonde hairs in her eyebrows and lashes were similar in color to her freckles and her eyes were actually sky blue with a few green streaks in them, which looked radiant as a backdrop whenever her black pupils dilated.

The fact she was my sister's best friend made my feelings, my attraction to her worse. As Ellie's only friend, she frequently visited our house and had dinners with us after her parents had split up. I was so uncomfortable in her presence and tented at least a semi-hard under the table during the meals she joined us for. Given how riled up she made me feel inside, I resorted to a bullshit method and insulted her whenever I saw her. She was initially surprised but her quick wit caught on and her retorts rose a level above mine.

When I'd told Harper that our first time together meant nothing to me, that lie was the second biggest mistake of my life, still up through today. I regretted it more than when I cheated on Camille with her and definitely more than when I thought about Harper - or worse groaned out her name - when I was with other girls.

By a miracle in timing and probably poor judgment on her part, Harper let me back in between her legs our senior year but her heart was cemented shut. Beyond fucked up in my head, I knew I'd contributed to her detached state but my selfish wants drove my heartless, dick-driven actions. If I'd ever told her how I really felt, how I craved her in a way no other girl ever compared to, then she'd have laughed her ass off and proclaimed she had bigger balls than mine.

She's not wrong.

Harper knew she was sexy, she knew she was hot, and she didn't care if the entire world knew that about her. I didn't know if she realized the full extent of how sexy she was but her bold, provocative statements only made her hotter. Every guy on my football team would've given their left nutsack to be with her but stayed clear because she probably roasted both balls off anyone who hit on her. Her insults and threats against our genitals were enough to keep them from acting on their lustful thoughts about her, but she was definitely at the top of everyone's spank bank list.

Personally, Harper indulged my insults and threw the worst ones back at me, which only fueled my fire for her. I didn't know what was special about me that I deserved such hate-filled statements but that girl got under my skin like no one else... and turned me on like no one else. Just her presence put me on edge and that morning when I woke up with typical morning wood and my girlfriend's vagina had apparently frosted over for the month, my thoughts had shifted for some reason to my sister's snarky and sexy best friend.

Harper only lived a ten minute drive from us and surprisingly, during no second of that drive over feelings of regret passed through me. I was totally gone when I reached her bedroom window like a creepy neighborhood pervert. The sight of her in skin-tight, flimsy white pajamas, and how they perfectly clung to her large round breasts, small waist, and slight curve to her hips strained my cock tight until it throbbed painfully. The way her pajamas stretched over every line of her unapologetically and how her nipples pebbled up against my touch and wet kisses outside that gloriously thin fabric told me everything.

In a haze of lust, all I saw, all I needed was her. Even with months of cold shoulder treatment, restraint and patience weren't my strengths when I wanted something, even though I knew Harper meant I had to take whatever she gave.

It's always been like that, everything follows Harper's rules.

Fortunately, like me, Harper was quite reactive sexually to the point where she often broke her own rules. She also proved to me that morning that she was up for multiple positions, quick fucks, and delayed gratification.

In other words, she's perfect.

An unfamiliar feeling came over me the last time we connected physically. A tightness tugged inside my chest as my eyes roamed over her soft features and fixated on her clear blue eyes. They stared into mine as my arms caged her underneath me, full of the same question marks that fired in my brain at what the fuck I was doing.

For the first time in, well ever, instead of taking what I wanted from a girl, I wanted to give to one. I knew she'd enjoyed the previous three rough, quick releases as much as I had, but the last time I fucked her differently. In gentle, rolling strokes, I slowed down, deeply connected with a girl, shared part of my feelings without a single word expressed. After I realized what I'd done, the reality that I had feeling, honest and genuine feelings for Harper surfaced, scared the shit out of me, and I ran out like a fucking coward.

Our morning together tired Harper out and knowing that she valued her sleep, afterwards I smoothed her hair out of her beautiful face and kissed her gently. Her pink lips, swollen from earlier assaults of mine on them, felt and tasted just as deliriously addictive as the first time I'd kissed them. Pathetically, my lower lip trembled at the feather-like touch as it grazed hers with a whispered promise that I wanted to be better.

That she deserved better.

I wanted to stay with her, climb into her bed with her gorgeous, naked body tucked into mine, where I buried my face into her stupidly sweet vanilla-scented hair, kicked Camille to her nearest designer store-brand curb, and kept Harper to myself. Then reality that relationships were a two-way street hit me as I glanced at her face. Her long lashes fluttered shadows across her cheeks and her lips were pulled into a soft, peaceful, and content smile.

For one brief thought, I was flashed back to that stupid fourteen year old kid who fumbled around in the dark with her and came within thirty seconds ofmy dick stuck into anyone for the first time. Her soft, sweet voice and hands that held mine reassured me the next time would be better. Those same sky blue eyes looked straight into me, full of adoration and hope, and sparkled like she was truly happy when she said she'd be my first girlfriend.

Until Ryder fucking Stevens assaulted my sister and ruined everything... or I let him ruin everything.

I never forgave myself after I'd put my sister in a situation with someone who tried to abuse her in the worst way. Before that night, I'd actually admired and looked up to Ryder, until he revealed who he really was. Just the memory of what I'd allowed that asshole to do burned anger through the entire core of my body like a flamed, feverish infection.

And stupidly, my freshman year I'd attached that memory, my mistake, to Harper. Once our innocence, our true feelings were exposed, I'd ruined everything. Since her sex drive was as high as mine, after I had horribly guilted her into admitting we weren't together, she closed herself off emotionally but not physically.

Our senior year, Harper had finally let me back into her body because she needed the release as much as me, but we both knew how she'd never have accepted me into her heart again no matter what my feelings for her were.

The loud, frustrated sigh I pushed out of my lungs snapped my reality back to today.

Fuck, get a grip Jake. It's Harper, she doesn't have any feelings for me anyways.

Other than raw hatred, which I totally deserve.

After my sister Ellie, Harper knew me better than anyone else. But I knew her too. Harper loved being pursued, the object of someone's physical desires, the prize at the end of the hunt. She never went past the infatuation stage with anyone, which included me. I wasn't important enough that she harbored feelings towards because the cold, harsh fact was that no one was.

When my genuine feelings for Harper resurfaced ironically at the worst way I'd treated another person by cheating, I'd thought I just appreciated Harper's efforts. The same feelings resurfaced, twice that I distinctly remembered, since then and proved how much of an absolute idiot I was.

And by the time my dumb ass figured it out, Harper had her own mind met up.

So with that sobering reminder in mind, my jaw clenched tightly shut and the cold reality of my blocked off emotions snapped back in place.

I shouldn't think about her like this again. Harper hates me and will just find a way to hurt my feelings.

And I deserve nothing less from her.

My chest tightened as guilt coiled in my stomach that morning, with every step that put more distance between me and Harper. I was an asshole for sure, to her more than anyone else.

That's the beauty of being the star quarterback. I can be the biggest asshole in the world but as long as I win games, no one gives a shit.

I still believed those words today and, other than rejected girls' jaded opinions, my ass was undeservedly worshipped by USC's fans. How I performed onthe field overshadowed what I did in my own time, a responsibility that I took greater than my fucked up personal life.

Probably more than past the time I changed that too.

Saddled with guilt that fueled my quick-action anger, I'd been a generally awful person in high school and no part of me enjoyed remembering how I was an angry, selfish bully. Once on my own at USC, I'd worked hard, harder than I imagined, and made a lot of steps towards changing the parts of me that needed to be changed.

My chest heaved with a sigh as I realized my obvious shortcomings related to how I treated girls.

Still a work in progress.

Like a coward, I tucked my tail between my legs, retreated back to the girlfriend I cheated on with Harper, and confessed what I'd done. Little did I know, Harper planned her own repercussions. While my gut reactions were feeling hurt then sorry for myself, the reality of how my mistakes had hurt her couldn't be ignored..

I have to find her, at least to apologize.

Like every time I thought about Harper, my stubbornness towards what I wanted clashed against my common sense related to what she actually deserved. One corner of my mouth twitched up slightly as another obvious fact filtered through the competing arguments in my mind.

Even at the risk she rips my heart out of my chest, it'll be a wild ride.