Quarterback Bait (13 page)
Authors: Celia Loren
Landon
I know this sounds hella stupid, but I actually felt more
awake than usual. It wasn't so different than a runner's high—colors looked sharper,
music sounded better. Shit was broken all over the place—at school, at home, in
all the fibers of our fucked-up family—but I still had this giddy, insane
sensation that everything was going to be okay. And it was all because of her.
“You're going to dig this place,” I said, swinging le Saab
into the last open spot behind the bar. Fucking victory, man. Signs were
sprouting up everywhere.
She reached across the armrest and started to knead my
thigh. With effort, I reached down and swatted her fingers away.
“Lan-don!” she giggled.
“Ash-leigh!” I echoed, mocking her. As I slid the gearshift
into park, I took a second to look at us again. Was it painfully obvious that
we'd just hooked up?
“God, you're beautiful,” I heard myself murmur. I cracked a
smile immediately after. I'd never before found myself in the position of being
surprised by the words tumbling out of my mouth, but there she was. Her pale
face spread out before me like a moon. A few hours ago, she'd been a wreck of a
frown, and here I'd managed to help her forget some of the pain. Her smile was
almost as good as the feel of her deft little fingers on my back, pressing,
pushing...
“Fuck. We have to get out of this car now.”
“Oh, I'm really so irresistible as all that?” Doll wiggled
her eyebrows and bit her lip. I felt my better half quiver, hopeful, in my
jeans. In one fast swoop, I rammed towards her face, dragging her mouth into
mine.
I knew we couldn't get tangled in the kiss (someone give me
a medal, please—I am such a good-fucking-guy), but it was still damn near
impossible to drag myself away. I'd try to make for the door, and she'd throw
her hair back and expose a bare swatch of her neck. I was like a vampire again,
needing to suck. She anticipated my every move and coiled her body accordingly,
foreshadowing a great chemistry in the sack.
“No!” I finally shouted, jerking myself out of the driver's
seat so I was suddenly yelling up at the Austin sky. “No! We are adults. We
have self-control! Time for some
PG
fun!”
“Dork!” she tittered, climbing out of her side of the car. I
stared at the ground while she adjusted her sweater, seductively. We could do
this. I could do this.
“Where are we anyway, Landy?”
At that moment, the bar sounds rose out of the silence to
answer my question. A few theatre-y looking kids pulled the door open, and a
smattering of terrible voices joined the Texas night. Doll took one look at the
neon sign and then turned back to me, shaking her head.
“Oh no. Oh no, no, no.”
“You're not a real UT kid until you've torn it up at
karaoke,” I twinkled. Then I jogged over to her side of the car before she
could protest anymore. I grabbed her wrist and gave it a tug.
Inside, Derby's was mayhem as usual. I hadn't actually come
to the karaoke bar for something like two years—hey, an athlete's social life
had its perks—but I had great memories from freshman year of screaming out
Primus lines with some of my fellow pledges before I'd shirked the whole frat
thing to focus on football. For one thing, Derby's was famous for never carding
anybody. For another, they made a “specialty Hurricane” in a big glass shoe
that could send Andre the Giant down in one, and said cocktail was a shockingly
reasonable six bucks.
We had to thwack our way through a lot of sweaty co-eds, but
I knew I'd picked the right spot when Doll's eyes lit up. Some art-y kid had
taken to the stage with some sad man song.
“The Smiths!” she bellowed into my ear, cutting over the
noise. “I didn't know they'd have, like, actually good music! I love The
Smiths!” Her earnest grin made me mirror her face back to her, and I watched
her wiggle out of the corner of my eye as I ordered our drinks.
“Sterling Silver! Long time no see, my bud!” cried the
bartender. Same guy as it had been for years, apparently—this tall, skinny
raver type named Blaine. I appreciated Blaine. He'd made me feel like a local
celebrity long before I actually was one. I was pretty sure there was still a
humiliating photo of me somewhere over the cash register, a still of me and
Denny singing a Spice Girls song. We'd lost a bet.
“Who's the cutie?” Blaine asked, nodding over my shoulder.
Doll was dancing crazy, having apparently taken on a whole new personality.
Whoever these “Smiths” were, it seemed that they got her hot.
“Chick has good taste,” the bartender nodded approvingly. I
made to fake punch him on the arm. If memory served, Blaine was famous for
expressing open dislike of certain people's partners. I suddenly remembered one
ill-fated evening when I'd taken Zora there. She'd pouted in the corner all night
about how Derby's didn't serve white wine.
“Look out!” cried my old friend, and his pointer finger
snapped me out of my reverie—Doll, who hadn't had anything to drink yet, had
somehow wormed her way onstage to finish the rest of the sad man song. She started
bleating into the spare mic, to the visible chagrin of the little singing
hipster dude. Yet no one tried to scoot her offstage.
Her voice was small and nervous at first, but then the pure
joy took over—and it was totally badass. She started tooling around with
harmonies, and then took the mic from its stand and started dancing around,
hopping from foot to foot. The whole bar started hollering. Somebody started a
rhythmic clap.
“
And heaven knows I'm miserable now
!” she sang, all
smiles. It was totally ridiculous to see such a happy girl screaming such sad
lyrics, but no one seemed to care. It all felt weirdly in place with our
emotional rollercoaster of an evening. The little hipster dude even ceded her
the last chorus, joining in the clap parade. Suddenly, Doll shaded her eyes.
She looked around the room for a moment, and then her eyes found my corner of
the bar. She grinned wildly and pointed in my direction.
“Oh, yeah,” Blaine was saying, as he scooted the two
bootfuls of what was basically grain alcohol towards my waiting wallet. “I'd
say this one's a keeper, hoss.”
After taking several bows, Doll raced back over to us and
wrapped her sweaty arms around my middle.
“I thought someone didn't like karaoke,” I teased, prodding two
fingers into her belly. Now, it was her turn to swat me away.
“I shouldn't have judged,” she panted. “I dunno what came
over me! I love that song!” Ashleigh eyed the boot of blue booze and raised an
eyebrow at me before pulling the drink closer. In one highly unladylike move,
she gripped the glass by its heel and tilted a substantial gulp of Hurricane
down her throat. I watched her neck move up and down as she swallowed, and
tried not to get any ideas.
“Woo!” she hollered, after washing down some more of the
blue concoction. “This place RULES! I LOVE COLLEGE! YAY, PG FUN!”
I was yanked up onstage for the following: June and Johnny
Cash's version of “Jackson,” then, “Thriller,” then “Smells Like Teen Spirit.”
Doll wanted to make sure that we covered all the bases. Around us, hours
flicked by and the rest of the bar grew disinterested in us. After the third
pair of blue boots, even Blaine's response time started to lag.
At one point I looked up and we were the only two customers
left. The sour-faced karaoke DJ was putting away his big black binders of song
choices and Blaine was taking out the trash, but Doll was still warbling her
way through a song I didn't recognize by Britney Spears.
“
She's so lucky
,” Ash croaked. “
She's a star, but
she cry-cry-cries...
”
It had been years since I'd unconsciously stayed out so
late. And as much as I didn't want to admit morning (and with it, the fact of
my AWOL Dad, or my beat-up stepmother, or whatever the hooligan Longhorns had
gotten up to last night)...it was totally time. I approached Doll slowly, like
she was a skittish cat. I gently peeled the mic from her hands and led her
towards the parking lot.
“Last two are on me, you party animals!” Blaine called from
the back room. I saluted a thank you. Doll was suddenly so tired it seemed she
couldn't stand—her eyelids fluttered, and she wavered back and forth like she
was threatening to do a trust exercise. Finally, I just bent over and picked
her up. She wrapped her tiny arms around my neck. I could feel the bones in her
rib-cage, the pillows of her breasts, the rhythm of her breath rising and
falling.
“Should I take you to Carson's?” I murmured into the crook
of her ear. I was shockingly upright, given the three gooey cocktails. But then
again, we'd been at Derby's for hours and hours, and had likely danced out some
of the alcohol. And I could probably beat Tiny here in any kind of tolerance
contest.
“Take me to your place,” she whispered. It was barely a
grunt. But I realized that I, too, was exhausted—definitely way too exhausted
to argue. I'd take her to my apartment. It'd felt bigger since Denny had
cleared out, anyway—leaving behind a four bedroom for a mere three guys. With a
thrill mixed with a bit of dread, I realized: I'd be waking up next to her
tight little body tomorrow morning. She'd be all mine.
Ash
My head was pounding, but it wasn't quite a headache yet. It
was the prelude to a headache, one I assumed was coming later. Light pressed
down on me from all sides, and I reached for something soft. Something
familiar.
“OW!”
“Fuck! What?” The world crashed in, a blur. This was not my
bed, or my pillow, or even my dorm. Then the big fat memory strolled in:
karaoke.
Fuck. Me.
“I'm sorry,” I heard Landon say, as he hopped out of bed. “I
was on the floor. My roommate Kyle put a dude on the extra bed. It's just—my
back, and there's this game tomorrow...I didn't think you'd mind.” His sleepy
face was at once contorted with worry. He bit his lip. I realized he'd been
spooning me. A vague, dreamy sensation told me that we'd slept together all
night long.
“Do you feel okay?” my step-brother asked, approaching the
bed slowly. He wasn't wearing a shirt, I noticed. His six pack—which had seemed
almost painted on in the car last night—looked impressively real under the lazy
light of daybreak. I wanted to reach out and press my palm against his abs.
“Yeah,” I said instead, stretching my arms. Then it occurred
to me to be self-conscious—I probably looked like a fucking train wreck. Put a
few cocktails in me and I'm suddenly Girl Gone Wild. I stuck out my tongue, as
an experiment.
Yup. Still blue.
“Landon,” I started. “Look—I'm really sorry about—whatever
it is I did last night. I honestly didn't mean to...”
But he was already shaking his head and bending his knees so
our faces were level again.
“Hush,” he murmured. His eyes were all concern. Shyly, he
reached out and placed a palm on the wild, tangled thatch of my un-brushed
hair. I felt...safe.
“You can stay here as long as you want,” he said. “And like,
no funny business. Obviously.” He cracked a dorky grin. When his body shifted,
I caught a whiff of his smell: sleep, and something muskier—the echo of Old
Spice, applied the night before. His big brown eyes drank me in with
tenderness. Something told me it was now or never.
I raised my chin, just slightly. It was easy. Our mouths fit
together like puzzle pieces. He explored me gently at first, mouth pressing
forward and back. I pictured an undulating jellyfish. I opened my eyes for a
fraction of a second and saw that something like a smile hovered around his
eyebrows.
I leaned back on the twin bed, inviting him forward. This
time there was no hemming and hawing, no need to pretend. I wanted him and he
wanted me and no one else was around this morning—ta-frickin-da. Gently, he
rose above me and pressed his hands forward so he rested against the mattress.
I slithered my fingers out from below the covers and made to tug his boxers
toward me.
Still, he said nothing, even as he obeyed my little commands
and began to climb into bed. His body was warm and hard and heavy on top of me,
even with him bearing most of his weight in his flexed thighs. I let my
exploring fingers dance all over his surface this time; he kissed me, and I
tangled myself in the shaggy tips of his hair. He kissed me, and I dug my
fingertips into the wings of his shoulder blades, the taut expanse of his
middle, then the muscular, pert pans of his ass.
Landon rocked back on his knees once my hands began to
fiddle with his waistband. He straddled my middle, and took a moment to gaze
down at me. I wanted to laugh. We'd been fighting. I'd been hating his guts.
Our family was ruined...yet, look at us now, world.
He started to rock back and forth above me—slowly at first,
but with the muscular pressure of a 170lb football player who was maybe 9/10ths
raw muscle. I was surprised at how hot I found it, his dry-humping me. He
rocked forward on his hands until he was hovering above me, our faces separated
by centimeters. I darted forward and bit his bottom lip, bringing it down
toward mine. In an abrupt change of tempo, Landon brought both hands up to
frame my face. He tilted my head back and kissed me deeply.
I thought of the great Rhett Butler line, from
Gone with
the Wind
: “You should be kissed, and often, and by someone who knows how.”
And then, I stopped thinking. It was happening to me.
Eventually, one skilled hand wound its way to my chest.
Landon slipped himself up underneath my t-shirt—a borrowed t-shirt, I
realized—and covered one swollen breast in warmth. I found myself bucking up
against him, so we fell into humping again. He pinched my nipple between his
thumb and forefinger, and I let out a little coo.
“You like that?” Landon whispered, his voice tickling my
neck. “You like it when I hold your tit like that?”
I almost giggled at the word 'tit,' but something about
Landon's voice made the sound die in my throat. His gruff tone was incredibly
hot. In response, I moaned and pressed my crotch up towards his blooming
erection. He tilted backwards again, affording me an eyeful of the muscular
span of his chest, with its spattering of coiled hairs. He straddled me.
A
man.
And all the while, Landon kept working on my nipple. I began
to feel a wetness spreading between my legs. My body began to ache for
penetration, for the admission of his thick cock. Reading me like a book,
Landon positioned one knee between my thighs and began to nose himself towards
my entrance, his hand still working my
tit
. I wanted it faster, though—I
wanted it
now
. I sat up so quickly we nearly knocked heads, and quickly
reached to my sides and yanked the grey “UT” shirt up over my head. My skin
tingled for a second, exposed against the air conditioning, but I was covered
just as quickly. When he mashed himself against me, I felt our nipples brush
together. Something about all that sensitive flesh made me moan again.
“Fuck, Landon,” I heard myself cry. I was surprised, having
never been a huge fan of the dirty talk before. It was a morning of firsts. His
big head rustled against my neck again, nibbled softly at my collarbone. He
bent lower and took one my breasts fully into his mouth. He began to suck.
I could still feel his hard-on, straining for love. I
reached down and rummaged my way past the slit of his boxers. The girth and
smoothness of his cock was as I had imagined it, as I had felt it the night
before. Perfectly proportioned. I could not wait to have him inside me.
Landon, perhaps sensing my rising heartbeat, narrowed his
mouth to one nipple. He gently took my sensitive flesh between his teeth, and
left me dangling there for a moment, on the precipice between pleasure and
pain. A first, delicious shock shot through my pussy. I was aware of more
wetness, pooling between us. When I glanced down, I saw that the tip of him had
begun to grow moist.
“Baby, will you please suck me?” Landon asked—though he
didn't have to. Although I also hadn't made myself a reputation for being
especially into fellatio, something about his perfect manhood begged my oral
attention. I peeled my glistening chest away from his mouth, reluctantly, and
fixed my attention on his cock. Slowly, I eased the wide head into my mouth.
Landon responded by digging his fingers into the back of my head and shouting
“YES!”
I suddenly felt like I couldn't take it anymore, the
anticipation—so as my mouth fell into a rhythm, sucking up and down along his
shaft, I slid one hand down into the waistband of my panties. I was wetter than
I had ever been, and for a second this shocked me. Then, as I felt Landon's
cock begin to knock against the back of my throat, bulging with want, I pressed
up hard against my clit. The combination of actions almost made me come right
then.
Landon looked down approvingly, nodding as he continued to
thrust inside my mouth. “Yeah. Touch yourself. Touch yourself while you suck my
big hard cock.”
It almost happened again. I felt myself pulsing and pulsing,
desperate for release. But I was determined to hold off—I wanted
him
to
make me come. He had promised, after all.
With effort, Landon pulled himself out of my warm, eager
mouth. He was so hard that his member immediately rose skyward, pointing past
his belly button. He brought my face close to his and kissed me deeply once
more.
“Can I put this inside you?” he asked, as he came up for
air. I nodded furiously. He reached down and began to tug at my panties. He
grew impatient after a moment and dragged them down, fingernails scraping
against the soft flesh of my legs.
I was quivering with lust by this point. He let me wait
there, dangling himself in front of me like the proverbial carrot. Finally,
Landon grinned and bent low, sliding himself inside me in one fluid, perfect
motion. I felt myself widen as his shaft pressed inside. It hurt for a moment,
but seconds later I was swallowed by pleasure. He fit perfectly.
Off my nod, Landon began to push slowly deeper. It was like
my whole body was melting—I might have been made of butter. I took his ass in
my hands and began to draw him in deeper; I widened my legs so he could move
with more ease.
“Yes,” he cried, rocking faster now. “Oh, God. Oh, God,
Ashleigh—your pussy is so tight and wet!”
Once again, I was shocked at my visceral reaction to his
dirty talk—seemingly of their own accord, my hands had flown over my head to
grip the headboard. Perhaps it was just the fact that he sounded so honest, so
plaintive, when he spoke. Or
perhaps
it was just the fact that he was
super fucking hot and I'd been wanting him for months.
I took moments to drink in the contours of his body. He
moved with an athlete's grace, no matter how hard he was pounding me. Every
muscle, every straining sinew, seemed artfully placed.
Yes,
every cell
in my body seemed to insist.
Yes! Take me. Fuck me so hard I forget my own
name.
Landon dug his fingers into the meat of my hips, and began
urging my body into the same quick time that he kept. The base of my skull
thudded against the pine headboard, but I didn't mind the pain. I let my eyes
flutter open and closed. I reached down and dug my fingers into my own breast,
began massaging myself in time with his thrusts. I looked down and watched his
mammoth dick entering me, sliding in and out, sticky and perfect and vast—then
I looked up and saw his tender eyes scrunched up with concentration and lust. I
tilted my body upward, wrapped my legs around him, and kissed him. I clung to
the back of his neck.
“Oh, God!” Landon cried, his breath collapsing against my
sweaty neck. His fingers dug into my back, so hard I felt the half-moons of his
nails again. Then, I was filled with a sweet warmth. His member seemed to pulse
inside me, in one last gasp.
I exhaled, victorious that I'd managed to make him come—but
I took one look into my stepbrother's eyes and realized we weren't quite
finished yet. He was still panting from release, but with the arch of an impish
eyebrow, Landon scurried one muscular hand down the heaving expanse of my body,
until two strong fingers had landed on the base of my clit. I shuddered with
pleasure on the contact. To my shock, he was still rigid in my pussy.
“I want to make you squirt,” he murmured, voice husky and
raw. A spasm of pleasure coursed through me—half the product of his words, half
the product of his touch. Slowly but surely, Landon began to rock back and
forth again. I felt him stiffening. The concert of movement his whirling
fingers made, paired with the thrusting, was nearly too much to bear.
“Jesus,” I murmured, head falling back against the pillows
again. I was sweating hard and fast from my temples. Landon reached his free
hand across the expanse of my naked chest and began manipulating my other
breast with the slow, loping motion he rubbed out on my mound.
“Just like that,” I heard myself say, and soon my hips were
bucking, accomplices to the rhythm. Landon sped up. His thumb gently spread my
folds, granting him deeper purchase into my wet heat. He rubbed and rubbed,
faster and faster. I clawed at the bed below me like someone possessed.
“Yes,” Landon said, his voice firm, all command. As if by
his own instruction, his cock began to push deeper and deeper. I was hovering on
the tip, in a way I never had before. No boy, no vibrator, no memory had ever
made me feel this good.
“Oh, FUCK!” I cried, pressing my shoulder blades into the
damp bedspread. In one swift arc, my breasts tumbled forward—all the better for
Landon's grip. I felt my legs part of their own accord—wider, I figured, than
they ever had before. His fingers were racing one another now, roving in faster
and faster circles. I opened my eyes for a split second to drink in his
gyrating, taut body. The muscular span of his arms, hovering over me. The
threads of chest hair spiraling down his perfect abs into the thatch of his
magnificent cock.
I felt my legs tense, my eyes bulge. With a screech and a
shiver, I came, clenching and releasing all at once—and yet again, we were
flooded with the sweetness of our mingled juices.