Jockblocked: A Novel (Gridiron Book 2) (19 page)

“Christ, I need you.” I nip at her mouth, kiss her cheek, lick the delicate shell of her ear all the while palming every curve I can get my hands on—her shoulders, her tits, her round, delicious ass. That ass.

I spin her around and drop to my knees. “Bend over.” The command comes out harsher than I intend, but Luce doesn’t hesitate. She turns and bends at the waist, resting her arms on the surface of my desk.

“Tell me your favorite part of what we’ve done so far. Is it the fucking? Or do you like it when I’m going down on you?”

She moans a little, half in embarrassment, half in desire. “Why do you have to talk so much?”

I smile to myself and rub both hands over the plump cheeks, holding them up so I can sink my teeth into one and then the other. This time the sound she makes is definitely a lusty one.

“Because I like it, and I think you do, too. Let me tell you how this is going to work. I’m going to eat you out, then I’m going to slap on a rubber and fuck you until you’re coming so hard you can’t stand up. You let me know if there’s any part of this plan you don’t like.”

She mumbles something and squirms a small amount but doesn’t utter one word of disagreement. I spread her legs farther apart and dive in because I wasn’t lying when I told her I was ravenous. For days now, I’ve been thinking about having this pussy against my mouth again.

She squeaks in surprise and then rises slightly on her tiptoes, as if trying to escape. I clamp an arm around her waist and hold her tight against my onslaught. She trembles like a leaf in an autumn storm, held in place by my arm and tongue.

My cock is hard as a spike, angry at being left out of the party, but the rest of me is enjoying eating her out too much to stop. There’s something addicting about her. Above me, Luce is making a dozen different moans and gasps, pleas to God and for me to
stop
,
no don’t stop
,
there
,
right there
,
Right. There.

I slip my hand around to the front so I can get a thumb on her sensitive clit, making her stiffen and then lose control over her limbs. I catch her before she falls, surging forward to drive into her in one swift, demanding gesture.

The throb of her orgasm feels wild against my dick, her honey coating every inch of my shaft. The soft grip of her pussy is otherworldly. I’d give up everything for this, for her. Football, fame, glory, money. None of it can compare.

Her head falls back, those long, beautiful strands of blond hair sticking to the side of her face, falling over my shoulder. I grip her jaw until we’re kissing. The angle’s awkward, my legs are shaky as fuck, but I want this joining, too.

She wraps an arm around my neck and hangs on, clinging to me as if I’m the only safe thing in a wild and dangerous world. I clutch her just as tight, driving forward with all the power in my legs to make sure she feels it, not just today but for hours, days afterward. When she’s sitting in class or standing in the Brew House serving up coffee, the vibrations will still echo between her legs. She’ll remember my tongue ravaging her mouth, my hands on her boobs, my broad body covering her back.

“This feels good, doesn’t it, Goldie? You shuddering around me. I’m so hard right now. It’s difficult for me not to come. I want to, but I’m not gonna. Not until I feel you cream all over my dick like you came on my tongue.”

She shudders but doesn’t tell me to shut up as she usually does. I sweep my hand up to her neck. She’s delicate under my rough hands, callused from the hours spent lifting, slapping at the tackling dummy, bashing against the offensive line. Delicate, tender, soft. All those things I’m not, and it makes me feel powerful, like the small “g” god I joke to her that I am.

But she’s not weak. She grinds down on me, reminding me how effortlessly she’s captured me and made me hers. No matter that I’m bigger and stronger, I’m putty in her hands. Malleable clay for her to shape in whatever way she desires because I’d do anything for her.

Her body tightens, and the telltale flutters of her pussy signal the arrival of her orgasm. This feels different. Hotter, deeper, more erotic.

I’m five strokes in before I realize why I can feel every tiny flutter and twitch of her pussy. I’m barebacking her. Shit, I haven’t had sex without a condom—ever. I’ve never lost it so much that I’ve forgotten to put one on, no matter how horny or drunk I’ve been in the past.

I freeze and start to pull out, but she moans her unhappiness.

“Goldie, I’m not wearing a rubber.”

She doesn’t push me away, not my cautious sweet girl. Instead she pushes back against me, her plush ass cheeks slamming against my thighs and groin. “Just…just pull out.”

I’m safe,
she told me when I was testing her blood sugars.

“I’m taking care of you. No risk on my end either,” I growl into her ear. She nods faintly and that’s all the permission I need.

I push her forward and cover her, plunging so deep and so hard she has to put out a hand to prevent being driven into the wall. The heavy wood desk scrapes against the floor as I power into her, stroke after stroke. She sobs into the desktop, and when my own release threatens to swamp me, I reach around to find her clit, squeezing and rolling that nub between my fingers until she tightens and then explodes around me.

I almost lose it then, almost bust it inside her, but I manage to pull out and spray my come all over her trembling, gorgeous ass. I’ve marked her and now she’s mine. With regret and the exertion of the last bit of energy I have left, I grab my shirt off the floor and wipe her off. She jerks when I dab between her legs, and I may have rubbed some of my spunk into her skin rather than cleaning her entirely.

Tossing the shirt to the side, I gather her into my arms and stumble to the bed.

“What are we doing?” she asks.

I pull a blanket up over our bodies. “We’re enjoying each other.”

“For how long?”

Forever is a good start in my book, but this is my careful girl, and she needs a careful answer. “However long you want it.”

Her answer is a contented sigh that fills me with an inexplicable amount of satisfaction. It occurs to me that I don’t remember being this happy even when I hoisted the championship trophy, and that doesn’t bother me one bit.

“
Y
ou don’t work today
, right?”

“It’s Friday, right?” It’s hard to concentrate these days.

“All day, Goldie.”

I shiver when he uses the nickname. “Then no. Not until tomorrow.”

“And your last class is over at…”

“One,” I fill in.

“I’ll meet you outside your apartment at one-thirty then.”

“For what?”

“It’s a surprise. Wear layers. I have a black Land Rover. See you then.”

He disconnects before I can muster a response. I pull the phone away from my ear. “Sure, I’d love to go to your little surprise. Thanks for asking,” I tell the phone. But was I going to refuse? No, and Matty knew that.

I text Sutton to let her know our walk is off.

Me:
No walk today.

Sutton:
??

Me:
Am going somewhere with Matty.

Sutton:
!!

I can see her high-fiving herself.

Sutton:
Charity and I were on the verge of sending you to 1C for shock therapy.

Me:
Thanks for nothing.

Sutton:
You’re welcome. We’re the best roommates ever.

Me:
You’re my only roommates.

Sutton:
Also best ever.

Me:
If you say so.

But I’m smiling when I pocket my phone because she’s right. I do have the best roommates ever.

Wear layers,
he’d said. Given that it’s still winter, my guess is we’re doing something outside. I find a tight-fitting pair of yoga pants, a long-sleeved thermal shirt and top that with a sweater. My long coat will keep my legs warm, and when I run out of my apartment at 1:30 p.m. Matty’s already there, leaning against his big black SUV, legs and arms crossed, looking delectable. I’m not the only one who thinks so. The girls from 1C are walking home from class and can’t seem to take their eyes off of him.

But Matty doesn’t spare them a glance. When he spots me, he pushes away from the truck and strides over to embrace me. Not just embrace me, but cup my head and plant a deep, hungry kiss against my lips that leaves me breathless and needy.

“Let’s go upstairs and count how many condoms are left,” I tell him when he lets me go.

He grins but shakes his head. “Nope. We’re going sledding. We’ll do the condom thing later.”

“Sledding?”

“Yeah, snow, hill, plastic rectangle.” He makes a downward gesture with his hand that I suppose simulates sledding. “Come on.” He tugs me forward excitedly.

“I haven’t been sledding since I was a kid,” I admit after we’re buckled in. Matty points the SUV toward the east side of town.

“Then this will be fun. I’ll even spring for hot cocoa.”

“You big spender, you.”

He winks. “You know it.”

“Why sledding?”

“It’s less risk—” His voice catches on the word. Our eyes meet, mine filled with humor and his with surprise. He clears his throat. “Less risky than skiing. I don’t want to break a leg and screw up my season.”

I smirk. “So weighing the risks. That’s a sound thing to do. I guess I’m not so weird, after all.”

Matty shakes his head but can’t keep his own smile from breaking through. “Never thought you were weird, Goldie.” He reaches over and grabs my hand and settles it on his thigh.

It takes twenty minutes to arrive at the amusement park.

“I thought this place closed during the winter.” I peer out of the window where I see a hill lit up and a bunch of people who must be riding sleds down a very, very large incline.

“All the rides are, but they’ve got a big hill that’s not high enough for skiing but makes for killer sledding.”

He neatly swings into a parking space near the edge of the lot and hops out. He takes my hand again, and we walk up to the rental booth to pay for admission and our sled.

“Just one,” he tells the attendant. “It’ll be more fun going down together.” The attendant turns to get our sled. “Less risky,” Matty whispers in my ear.

I’m not convinced it’s less risky. Matty’s extra weight in the front makes the sled go faster—something about momentum and acceleration that he swears he learned about in Scouts building soapbox racing vehicles. Plus, he serves as a natural windbreak. Later, we switch up with me positioned between his legs with his arms bracketing my sides. I’m in a Matty-style nest.

And he carries the sled up every time.

We spend two hours on the slope until dusk falls and our stomachs start rumbling. Finally, we decide to call it an afternoon.

“Come on, let’s get something hot inside of you, Goldie,” he says after returning the sled.

At the small concession stand, he buys us hot dogs and hot chocolate. There aren’t any tables, so we wander down toward a wooded area and settle in out of the wind that’s picking up. I watch him gulp down the hotdog in three bites before asking, “What’s with the nicknames?”

“Nicknames are important. Feel free to pick one out for me. I can provide a list of suggestions. Big Guy. God. Master. Awesome Master.”

He finishes the hotdog and goes to pay for another, so he doesn’t see me roll my eyes.

“How about overweening ego?” I offer when he returns.

“Not my favorite. All kidding aside, names reveal a lot. Your first name says something about your parents. How’d they come up with Lucinda?” He squirts ketchup on his hotdog. I take a bite of mine before answering.

“It’s a family name. It was either that or Maude.”

“Same. Matthew’s my grandad’s name.”

You’re more alike than you think,
Sutton had told me.

“Who started calling you Matty?”

“I can’t remember. Probably my mom. Some of the guys on the team call me Ives, but my closest friends call me Matty.”

I want to ask him how he introduces himself to girls he’s just met, but I guess I know. He called himself Matthew. And now…now he’s Matty to me.

“So what else do names reveal?”

“Professors want us to use their last names to create distance and authority. Nicknames imply a certain closeness or familiarity. You can use a person’s first name as a weapon, too, to imply that you’re in a position of power.”

I can feel my mouth open slightly in surprise. “This is pretty interesting stuff. Was this in a class?”

He looks down at his boot and even in the dimming light, I can see a faint hint of pink on the tops of his cheeks that’s not because of the wind.

“I learned it in a book.”

“A Ludlum book?”

He kicks the heel of his boot against the ground as if trying to shake off the snow but I can see he’s faintly embarrassed. “Nah, I read stuff about profiling. When I’m done in the NFL, I’d like to join the Feds.”

“FBI?”

He nods.

“That’s very cool.”

He’s really blushing now, and it’s beyond cute. I don’t know why. Having plans for after football seems smart to me, but maybe this dream is one that he’s uncomfortable talking about. I’m rather touched he’s sharing it with me. “When do you think you’ll be done with football?”

“Ten? Fifteen years if I’m really lucky. I kind of view my life in two stages. Football is stage one. I’ve got to be careful” —we share a smile when he uses that word one of mine—“and watch what I eat, work out a ton, and spend time on the road. Take a lot of physical abuse. Stage two is where I don’t necessarily watch what I eat, work out less, take only a little physical abuse, and use my brain more.”

Oh, Sutton, you were so right. Matt and I aren’t that different, after all
. He does his own risk assessments. He’s careful in his own way. He’s nothing like my mother. He’s his own person. A wonderful, genuine, smart, and sexy as hell person. I smile at him, the edges of that curve so high the corners of my lips feel like they are up to my eyeballs. I like him so much.

“You’re sure you’ll be drafted?”

“Yes.” No false modesty here, only genuine confidence. “Not as high as my friend Masters, but by the second round I think. And once I’m on the team, I’m not giving up my position to anyone.”

“I believe you.”

“Yeah?” He reaches over and grabs my hand.

I squeeze him back. “Yeah.”

“And what about you?”

“Post college?” My hand’s still in his as we sip our drinks. Neither of us is in a hurry to let go.

“I figured you were in pre-law or something and that you wanted to be a lawyer, but you’re doing this public policy thing?”

A little pang plucks at my heart, but I push it aside. What’s done is done. “I thought I wanted to be one, too, but I’m kind of bad at something lawyers need to excel at.”

“What’s that?” He looks confused as if he can’t imagine me being bad at anything.

“I’m not good at thinking on my feet. I tend to freeze up, and that pretty much moves me outside the lawyer framework.”

“You seemed pretty awesome the other night.”

“It’s because all of that was prepared. I have a pretty good memory. I heard it once and I can regurgitate it, but in a competition? No.” Again, the dark cloud creeps in, threatening my good mood. “Anyway, I changed my focus with the help of my advisor. I can still do a lot of reviewing of facts and then rearranging them into consumable bits of information.”

“So you can’t go to law school anymore?”

“Oh no, I could. Pre-law is just a track. You could have any major—even sociology.”

“Law school doesn’t interest me, and if it doesn’t interest you anymore, that’s cool. But for the record, I think you’re pretty damned amazing in your mock trial thingy.”

My cheeks heat up under his praise.

He scoots closer, until one long leg is pressed against mine. I can’t feel the cold anymore. “It occurs to me that I used your risk assessments more often than I realized in the past.”

“How so?”

“I used to think dating was a risk. That it’d either take away from football or I’d end up treating someone badly.”

“What made you change your mind?”

“You. I think the reward of you is worth the risk.”

My heart flips over and then cheers as his mouth descends on mine. We kiss leisurely, as if it’s summer and we’re on the beach and the sun is baking us into the sand. It’s a hot and lazy kiss and heats us better than any summer sun. When we finally part, I’m surprised to see that the snow hasn’t utterly melted around us.

“I’m ready to count the condoms in that box now,” he says huskily.

“Me, too.” Then I jump up and run for the Rover with Matty hot on my heels.

He starts the engine, and then we have to sit for a minute for the car to warm up. His cheeks are flushed, and his hair looks wild and messy—not dissimilar to how he looks when he first wakes up in the morning.

I unbuckle my seatbelt and lean across the center console. “Why are you so goddamned attractive?”

“I’m sorry?” He smiles, clearly not one bit apologetic.

“Shut up and kiss me.”

He’s still smiling when he cups his hand around my skull and pulls me against him. I can feel of the curve of his lips as they soften, part, and then open for me.

This time I’m the one devouring him. He tastes fresh and clean, like freshly fallen snow. His hand drops to my ass and drags me onto his seat so we can get a better, deeper angle for kissing. His tongue and lips force me to open wider for him. He kisses me deep and hard until I feel it everywhere. His kiss is in the throb between my legs, in the tingle on my fingertips, in the tightness of my skin.

I rip at his T-shirt, pulling it up out of his jeans. His skin is warm against the cold of my palms. His little nipples tighten up when I pass over them. I give them a little tweak like he does to me. He chuckles and then his hands glide under my sweater and tank to release my bra strap and grip my aching breasts in his hands.

Straddling him, I grind down to find the right pressure to alleviate the ache between my legs, but it’s difficult because we have so many layers between us. It doesn’t stop me from trying to find relief against his body.

I whimper because my need is so strong.

Matty shushes me. “It’s okay, Goldie, I’ve got you.”

With the hand at my back, he slips under my leggings, my thermals. His callused palm sweeps over the curve of my butt, and his long fingers pierce my aching sex in one driving, satisfying motion. The cold is a shock to my system. I can’t help from crying out.

Matty dips his head and latches on to a nipple. I clutch his head to my chest and ride his fingers. Thank God he has big hands because those thick fingers inside of me are almost as good as his big hot cock.

And if it isn’t enough, this illicit car sex in the darkened corner of the amusement parking lot, he starts talking.

“You are so wet and juicy.” His fingers stab at me. My toes curl. It’s a toss up whether I want to ride them or just sit and enjoy the fullness of it. “I love being inside of you. It’s so good, Goldie. You feel so good.” He moves to the other nipple, leaving the abandoned one wet and sensitive. “One of these days, we’re fucking in front of mirror because you need to see how gorgeous you look right now.”

He tugs on one lock of my hair. “Lean down and give me your mouth. I need to taste you.”

I drop forward and claim his mouth, sucking in his tongue as if it were his shaft.

He ravages me. There’s no other word for it. His mouth lays waste to mine. I can’t breathe. I can’t think. I forget where I am. There’s only Matty and the feel of his fingers working my sex, his hand gripping my waist too tight, his big body surrounding me and keeping me safe.

“I want you to come so hard you’re shaking. That you can’t even breathe.” he tells me, pushing me back again. “I love the feel of you gripping my fingers. Your pussy is so tight. Do you know that? Do you have any idea of how good that feels?”

“It’s good,” I pant. “So good.”

“I wish we had class together. We’d sit in the back, and I’d pull up your skirt and play around a little until your panties were soaked. I’d take my index finger and slowly rub your lips until they were nice and plump.” He pulls out and demonstrates. “I wouldn’t hurry it along.”
God, why not
, I think. I can’t be any more on edge than I am now.

“Back inside.” I gasp out the order. “I need your fingers back inside of me.”