Quarterback: Bad Boy Sport Star Romance. (2 page)

I didn’t even notice what the rest of the guys were doing, barely managed to give Jude my ‘don’t knock on my door tonight’ signal. Kasey had slid her hands down to my hips as well, fingers sliding along the waistband of my jeans until they stopped just above my fly, curling in and tugging me toward the door.

Normally, having a girl this eager to get into my bed would have my ego soaring. Hell, I probably wouldn’t even make it to the bed, just park somewhere quiet and use the back seat of my car. Kasey, though, her green eyes sparkling with mischief, just the slightest bit of hesitation in them…. Kasey had me in awe.

“Your place or mine?” I joked as I held the door open for her.

“Yours,” she answered immediately, slipping into the passenger seat of my Durango with the grace and power of an athlete.

“You got it,” I answered, too excited to finally have her with me to worry about why she chose that. A lot of girls just wanted to say they’d been in my bed. I didn’t think that was Kasey’s style.

I drove as fast as I could manage without getting pulled over, but it was still the longest drive to a hook-up I’d ever had. Kasey didn’t look at me as I drove, her gaze fixed out the passenger window. She didn’t paw at me, didn’t stroke me through my jeans, didn’t try for a blowjob as had once happened and led to a very nearly serious accident.

Still, by the time we got to the apartment I shared with Jude, I was rock hard, dick throbbing in its confinement. I could feel my cheeks flushing, and I looked over at Kasey, relieved to see she was a little pink too. It was a good look on her, and I stole a moment just watching her breathe until she lifted her head, gave me a curious look and shook her head, auburn curls falling free of her bun. “Well, come on, then. If it took you this long to throw every pass, you’d never have gotten to where you are.”

I  laughed, and there was a tight constriction in my chest, like I had a linebacker sitting on my chest, for a moment that I pushed aside as I climbed out of the car. I couldn’t dare imagine that she’d been following my career, but she at least knew who I was, knew I was good. I felt a swell of unexpected pride that was quickly swamped by lust when she climbed out as well, her flannel shirt lifting just enough to reveal a pale strip of skin over her jeans.

I could feel a distinct sense of urgency, a greediness that I wasn’t used to. It was hard to feel greedy when you never wanted for anything. Until now. I
wanted
  to throw her to the bed, and I
wanted
to touch every part of her, and I
wanted
to hear her cries of ecstasy as she tightened around me.

But I found my balance, my breath, and my voice, and spoke without thinking. “Right this way, my lady,” I said offering her my arm.
Honestly, Jackson, who says that?
I hadn’t thought there was enough blood in my body that wasn’t currently rushing to my cock for me to blush, but my cheeks flamed with embarrassment until she responded.

“Why thank you, kind sir.” Jesus ever-loving Christ. Even at my least smooth, she was the perfect complement. How had I waited so long to actually talk to her?

I could only play the gentleman for so long, though, especially with her leaning against me, that faint, clean scent of soap washing over me again. Before they even got to my door, I had her pressed against the wall of the building as I fumbled with my keys to find the one for the lobby door. Her body fit perfectly against mine, her soft curves meeting my muscled planes in a convergence that made me groan softly. There was strength in her too, though, and I felt it as she pushed back, slotting our hips together, her hand curling around my neck as she leaned up to kiss me.

I’d expected something soft and sweet, something more like a girl who might get teary over ancient Rome. Instead, she met me head on, her passion clearly matching my own as she caught my lip in her teeth and tugged hard enough to sting.

“Fuck,” I whispered as I finally found the key, hand shaking as I fit it into the lock.

“If you insist,” she quipped, and I grinned at her, slow and dirty.

“I like to keep the option open,” I said, breath coming out in a rush of relief as the door finally swung open.

The elevator was next, and that was too much time not moving for me to resist pushing her back against the wall again, fingers tugging up the hem of her shirt, sliding across smooth, pale skin. I’d just reached far enough up to cup her breast in my palm--another perfect fit--when the elevator dinged and the doors slid open.

Unwilling to break contact long enough to get to my apartment, I squatted just enough to slide one arm under the tempting curve of her ass and lifted her straight up. She was smart enough to wrap her legs around my waist as I carried her, and her hands were busy tugging my shirt up, cool fingers drawing goosebumps all over his chest until one hand found my left nipple, started in surprise at the metal there, and then gave it an experimental twist.

I had to stop them, trapping her once again between me and the wall as I growled, hips arching forward instinctively, seeking the friction of her body against mine. “If you don’t stop that, we’re going to end up doing this right here in the hall,” I muttered, breath panting out on her lips in soft huffs.

“Oh,” she said, her voice soft, surprised. “Sorry, I just...was curious.”

“You can be curious all you want, darling’,” I rumbled, finding my apartment key this time and lifting her up again to stumble the few feet to his door. “Just do it after we get inside.”

After what seemed like hours, I got the door open, and I let her down only so that she could finish pulling my shirt over my head and I could get started on hers. I didn’t want to wait; I wanted to take her right there, in the entrance hall, in front of the mirror Jude’s mom had put in when she insisted on decorating the place. A glimpse of my own reflection told me that if I started there, we’d still be rutting in the hall by the time Jude got home. My eyes were dark and wide, my skin flushed.

Kasey was not much more composed. Her unruly curls starting to fall from the elastic holding them in place. I couldn’t help myself then. I had to reach out and tug that elastic from her hair, letting it fall in messy curls to her shoulders.

There was hardly time to enjoy the view, though, as Kasey was already pulling me further into the apartment. “Bedroom,” she said, demanded really, and I swallowed and nodded.

“Right through here,” I answered with a gesture, but then I was kissing her again, fingers tangled in her auburn jungle as we stumbled toward his door. Something fell to the floor with a crash, but neither of us stopped. We ran into the actual door, and I let out a grunt, turned and slammed her against the wall, kissing her deeply as I opened it. I stumbled inside without breaking the kiss and kicked the door shut. I threw her onto my king-sized bed, and she laughed in surprise, yanking at the buttons of her own shirt to get it off. As I unbuttoned my jeans he had to stare. She was stunning, so much better than I’d been imagining. My daze lasted no more than a moment, and then I was above her, and she was reaching up, arms winding around my neck, pulling me down so she could press her full lips to the hollow of my throat.

“Oh my god,” I heard myself whisper into her ear as she nibbled at my collarbone. “I want to touch every part of your body.” My voice was husky, low. I could hear her breath catch in her throat.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” she murmured into my skin as she made her way down to my nipples. My own breath caught in anticipation, and as her tongue delicately curled around one of my nipple rings, I let out a deep, rumbling growl. That tiny tug was too much. I had to feel her, had to taste her. I’d wanted this for so long.

She helped me as I stripped off her jeans, and she tossed her panties away quickly after that, though not before I could see just how wet they were. Once again I had to stop, my heart hammering in my chest as I looked her over. She was flushed pink, her nipples tight, dusky peaks to her ample, swelling tits. Her legs spread as I watched, opening in wanton invitation, and that was all it took.

I covered her body with mine, catching her lips in a hungry kiss before sliding down further, feeling her nipples dragging over my skin just moments before I bent my head to capture one, sucking softly, rolling the nub with my tongue. Kasey made a delicious noise as I did, her fingers burying in my hair, tugging in a way that made me think she didn’t really want me to move.

I did, though. I had to. I could feel how wet she was, my abdomen sliding against her wet curls as she arched up, seeking more contact. It was irresistible, and I didn’t even try. In one smooth motion, I was pulling up her legs, hooking them over my shoulders as I dipped low, teasing my tongue over her slick folds before delving between them.

She tasted like everything I’d ever dreamed a woman should taste like, and her murmured, breathless encouragements drove me on as I licked over her, sucking her clit before pressing my tongue against it, eager to see what would make her wild, push her to the edge.

“Ah, yes!” she cried out, and I groaned against her, shifting so I could press his still-trapped erection against the bed, hips rocking forward. “Just like that,” she continued, guiding my head as she moved, showing me just what she wanted. It was such a change from the girls I was usually with, who would let me do whatever I liked and never really let me see what they wanted in return.

I was just about to press further, drag her over the edge, when she tugged harder at my hair, lifting my head.

“Fuck me,” she breathed, her eyes bright and glossy, hair a tangled, red halo around her.

“Christ, yeah,” I answered, surging up, keeping her legs around me.

“Wait,” she added, that little hesitation back. “Do you...have a condom?”

“Yeah, of course,” I said. I hadn’t been using them nearly as often as he used to, but I still had a stash by my bed. I reached for the nightstand, stretching over her to open the drawer. An undignified squeak escaped me when she used the opportunity to catch a nipple ring between her teeth again.

“Sorry,” she murmured as I plucked a condom from the drawer and straightened to open the packet.

“Don’t you dare apologize,” I said, my own voice a breathless rush of words as I struggled with the condom, finally ripping the foil open and rolling it on my thick cock. “You’re perfection.”

She paused again, regarding me carefully. She didn’t stop me, though, and the hesitation soon passed, soon she was tugging me closer with her strong thighs, and I settled myself between them, bracing my weight on my forearms.

“Come on, Action,” she teased, though something darker lurked beneath her words. “Go for the TD.”

And then I was inside her, pushing in with one smooth, hard thrust, and she was groaning, or I was, or someone was, and she was pulling me closer, the tight wet heat of her gripping me tightly as I began to move.

She coached me through it: “faster,” “harder,” “more”.... And I took her direction as I would on the field, letting her call the plays and then executing them.

When I felt her beginning to pulse around me, I was the one crying out, my head thrown back as I slammed my hips hard into her and we both came with a rush of sound and pleasure.

I let myself bathe in the rippling aftershocks for just a moment before shifting off her, gathering her in my arms, for once not wanting a girl to rush out of my bed.

She let me hold her a few minutes and then squirmed out of my arms, turning to face me with a bright, breathless smile.

“Thanks,” she said, and I pushed myself up, watching in astonishment as she slipped from my bed and found her jeans, tugging them on quickly. “I really needed that.”

She stopped by the side of my bed and bent to kiss my cheek, and then she was gone.

I was not one to chase down a girl who clearly wanted to get away, so I had let Kasey go without protest, listening as she moved through the apartment gathering her clothes, but not getting up to help or hinder.

The next day, I tried all the places I’d seen her when we had class together before, but there was no sign of her. It was like she’d just disappeared, leaving him with no idea how to find her. She was an apparition: here one moment, gone the next, and I couldn’t believe I’d let myself think she would be different than my other hook-ups.

The next day at lunch, Jude asked, “Hey, whatever happened to that redhead from the party last night? I figured she’d be stumbling out of your room sometime this morning.”

“Nah,” I said, my brows furrowed, a stormy expression darkening my face. “She didn’t stick around.”

“Just how you like it, huh, Action?” Jude said, smacking my back.

“Yeah,” I said, looking off into the distance. “Just how I like it.”

I tug at the hem of my blazer to pull any creases out. It wouldn’t do to make my big debut looking rumpled. When you make a living telling other people what makes good art, they tend to judge your appearance rather harshly.

Funny how it never seems to work that way for the artists. They can show up to their own shows in grungy, paint-stained overalls, but if I have a flick of acrylic on my skirt, the show gets panned by the critics.

And tonight, I’m determined not to give them anything to be critical of.

The collection,
National Pastime
, is like nothing I’ve ever done before. It’s a collection of photographs of NFL players, naked from the waist up, playing baseball in their football gear. It’s meant to be a commentary on the way our nation clings to outdated ideas of its own identity. I like that about it, and the photographer, Jens Thornton, certainly has a love affair with light and shadow playing off each other.

I pause in front of my favorite: a black and white of a quarterback leaning into a swing, dust kicked up by his cleats, so finely timed that you can practically see the vibration of the bat as it connects with the ball. His torso is twisted, and tiny droplets of sweat slide down the creases formed by the contortion of his muscular form. The light catches the drops flung from his long, thick, blond hair. The curve of a dragon’s tail around his throat is almost hidden in shadow.

It’s easy for me to get lost in this picture, to stop and catalog the way this body has changed since I last saw it naked.

“Kasey?” The voice of my assistant, Genevieve, pulls me from my reverie. “Are you ready to open?” She pauses when she sees what I’m looking at, and I can feel a faint color rising in my cheeks. “Man,” she says with a sigh, “I could eat ice cream off that plate.”

“I think you’re missing the point of the exhibit, Gen.”

“You’re telling me you wouldn’t say yes to a night with Action Malcolm Jackson?”

“I’m telling you it’s not what the photographer was thinking of,” I quip, dodging the question. “Check in with the caterer and make sure the waiters are ready with the hors d’oeuvres, and then we can open.”

“Sure thing, boss,” she teases, pivoting on her chunky heels and bouncing away to the back. I’m fairly certain I hear, “And that’s exactly what he was thinking,” from under her breath as she goes.

I allow myself another minute to just revel at the beauty of the form in front of me. He had only gotten more attractive with the years that had passed since I had, well, taken advantage of him. It’s strange to say, and maybe a little arrogant, but I always felt his eyes on me in that art history class. At first I thought maybe there was something on my coat, or that my hair had been blown into absurdity by the wind, but once when I looked up from my notes, he had just looked down and he was smiling. He had such a warmth about him that I couldn’t help enjoying his gaze. From then on, I always sat in front of him, so I could feel his eyes all over me. Now my eyes were all over him. He had been drafted by the Seahawks after graduation, and I had come to work as a curator in New York; we never really saw each other again after that one night.

“Kasey?” Genevieve’s voice rings across the empty space of the gallery. “Cater-waiters are good to go.”

I pull my eyes from the picture, and I can feel my cheeks flushing with embarrassment to have been caught there once again. “Great,” I say, forcing a casual smile. “Let Mr. Thornton know we’re ready for him, and then bring on the crowds.”

This is my first solo-curated show, but it’s hardly my first opening. It doesn’t take long for me to settle into the routine of checking on my artist, making sure the hors d’oeuvres keep coming, chatting up potential buyers. There’s hardly a moment to pause and appreciate the work, which is a good thing. At least I won’t get caught staring at Action Jackson again.

The party is just settling into the mid-evening buzz when I feel it.

No one ever looks at the curator during an opening. Why would they? The artist is by far the more interesting person, and the art is by far more attractive. When things are running smoothly, I fade into the background as much as possible, available for questions, but mostly unnoticed.

But tonight, I feel it. Someone is watching me, someone with a warm gaze that still sends a shiver down my spine.

I try to ignore it, focusing instead of checking in with Jens, refilling his wine, and touching base with the caterer.

It’s the caterer who ruins it for me. Lori has been my closest friend since college, and I always use her for openings. This is the first time I’ve ever regretted that decision.

“Damn, Kasey,” she says, sending off an aspiring actor with a tray of mini quiche. “You didn’t tell me some of the models would actually be here. I’m swimming in a sea of man candy.”

“Down girl,” I say, shaking my head in amusement.

“I’m just saying. This room is full of prime cut… Hey!”

“What?” I ask, immediately on red alert for some emergency I didn’t spot.

“Isn’t that Action Jackson?”

I assume she’s referring to the photograph, and that’s where my eyes go, but a moment later, I know the truth. I turn my head toward the warm gaze that’s been following me all night, and now I know who is on the other end. Our eyes meet, and it’s like a shock of cold water washing over me. I suck in a sharp breath, and for a moment, it’s like I’m still back in college, and I remember with perfect recall the warmth of his lips on my throat, his hands on my thighs, his…

He turns away, and I have to clear my throat before I can answer Lori. “I...I think it is. I didn’t think he’d fly out from Seattle for this.”

“Maybe he just really needs the ego boost.”

“Maybe,” I agree, but I don’t think that’s it at all.  From everything I’ve seen about him in the news and on the internet, Action didn’t need any affirmation that he was wanted. Every week, there was another story about him with a supermodel or actress or--once famously--porn star.

Not that I was following news of him, exactly, but I’m a football fan, and that kind of goes with the territory. It’s always surprised me when I see those stories. I’d believe it of some of the guys from college. Jude Harris, for instance. He seemed to enjoy the attention in a way that Mal didn’t. Mal had always struck me as the kind of guy who wanted a quiet place to hide from all of the attention.

Which made it all the more incredible that he’d showed up at the opening. When I dare another glance in his direction, there is a crowd of, mostly women, hanging on his every word. His head turns again in my direction, and I quickly look away. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him moving toward me, and my heart starts to race. This is the one possibility I was not prepared to handle tonight because it seemed so completely impossible.