Romance: Seducing The Quarterback (70 page)

I walked into my mom and stepdad’s house at a time I knew
they were both working. I opened the basement door and called down.

“Austin? Are you there?” He didn’t answer right away, but I
knew he was there; his bike was in the driveway. “Austin!”

“Hey, yeah, I’m here, what?” He came around the basement
stairs wiping his hands on a dirty rag and grinned when he saw me. “Well, hello
there,” he said.

“Can I come down?” I asked.

“Of course!” He stepped back from the stairs and gestured to
the living space. “My home is your home.”

I stomped down the stairs and stood in front of him. We were
only a few inches apart, but, because of our height difference of nearly nine
inches, my face stared at his chest unless I looked up. Which I did. I looked
up into his eyes… and I slapped him. Hard.

“What the fuck!” he swore, rubbing at his cheek. “What’d you
do that for?”

“That’s for coming into my house and toying with my husband
and me.” I reached my hand back to slap him again, about to say that the second
was for suggesting that we should continue our affair, but he caught my hand.

“Don’t slap me again,” he warned. “It hurts.”

“Don’t slap me,” I whined, mimicking him. “It hurrrts.”

He came over to me quickly and, before I could react, he had
pulled my hands behind my back. He pulled them down and I felt my spine arch,
lifting my face to his. He kissed me. His lips were hot, salty, and firm on my
mouth and I, like the times before, lost both my breath and my common sense as
he slid his tongue through my teeth.

“Does this hurt?” he said, referring to his grip on my
wrists. Not only did it not hurt, I noticed; the feeling of being somewhat
trapped, unable to scramble away, was turning me on even more than I could have
ever imagined.

“No,” I said. I lifted my chest into him and slid my breasts
across his stomach.

“That shirt has to go,” he said. He released my arms and I
lifted my shirt off without a thought. I’d worn a bra this time, a red and
black lace demi bra that showed the tops of my breasts down to just above where
my nipples began. He whistled, then began to finger one of the straps, moving
it between his thumb and index finger. “You sure know how to tease a guy.”

I collapsed my chest a bit and rounded my shoulders, so my breasts
would set together and give him an even better view.

“I came here to get really angry at you,” I said. “I did not
come here to have sex with you.” Even I didn’t totally believe that last part,
I realized. Why had I worn the sexiest bra I owned, along with matching
panties? Because I was coming to bitch out Austin, and I knew the heat between
us, especially when we were arguing, would be too much for me.

“You keep thinking that, sweetheart, while I fuck your
brains out, okay? It’ll give you something to do while I ravage you.” He pulled
off his own shirt and I took a deep breath at the sight of his chiseled,
defined chest. He unhooked my bra and pulled me close, my nipples erect against
his hot chest.

He kissed me again and I began to undo his jeans. I yanked
them down and dropped to my knees, taking him in my mouth. I moved my head up
and down, forward and back, as he fucked my mouth. I had never felt more
aroused. I sucked his cock, running my tightly clenched lips, wrapped around my
teeth, up and down his shaft. He groaned loudly and pre-cum appeared,
glistening, on the head of his cock. I lapped it up like it was the ice cream
dessert we’d had the other night. I stopped and looked up at him. He looked
down at me questioningly.

“Just kidding,” I said, grinning up at him.

“You’re such a bitch,” he growled. He grabbed my head and
directed me back to his cock. I took it willingly, twisting my tongue around
the head and using my hands to glide his shaft forward and back as fast as I
could. His breath picked up and he began to moan. “Yes,” he whispered, “Oh,
fuck, yes!” He grabbed my head and spread his legs wider, stabilizing himself.
He pushed my mouth deeper onto his cock and I took his full length into my
mouth, almost deep throating him. I moved my head around enough so I didn’t
gag, and mentally thanked my ancestors for a slow gag reflex.

His cum shot into my mouth, hot and salty, and he thrust as
he groaned, pumping himself into me. I swallowed, then sat back on my knees and
looked up at him.

“Come here, you gorgeous thing,” he said, lifting me up and
smiling. He nuzzled his mouth in my hair and kissed my ear. “Get comfortable on
my bed, baby,” he said. He went to the kitchen and grabbed a beer. “You want
one?” he asked, holding out the bottle.

I hesitated. I’d promised Brady, a promise which seemed
absolutely ludicrous to keep given the set of circumstances I found myself in,
but, at least there was one promise I could keep.

“No,” I said. “But I am going to borrow your toothbrush.”

I met him back in the bedroom. He had actually cleaned it up
a bit since the last time I’d been in there, and he had lit a candle on the
nightstand.

“How romantic,” I said, smiling. “For me?”

“For you, for whoever,” he said, grinning at me. I threw my
pillow at him and he ducked, then grabbed my arm and pulled me into bed with
him. His breath smelled deliciously of beer and I kissed him. I felt for his
cock and noticed it hard, standing away from his body.

“Ready again so soon?” I asked.

“What can I say,” he said, “I’m young.”

“That’s not all you are,” I said and climbed on top of him.
“Whoa, hey there,” he said as I drove myself down onto his cock. I didn’t move,
just stayed and felt the sensation of his fullness inside me.

“Hey yourself,” I said. I put my hands on his chest and I
began to move, rocking forward and back on his cock as I clinched the muscles
of my vaginal wall to squeeze him inside me.

He watched my breasts, swaying as I moved, and he put his
hands on my hips. I arched my back again and put my hands on his thighs, locked
my knees down, and rode him. I closed my eyes, thrusting and pulsing against
him, feeling him groan with each move.

“Fuck,” he said. “Fuck that feels so fucking good!”

The attention to my clit was under my control, and I dropped
myself forward onto him and began to rub my clit against him as we continued to
fuck. I began to feel the signs of my own orgasm in the periphery of my sights.
It was only a few more moments before the heat overwhelmed me and I felt myself
dropping into the feeling of flying, of total weightlessness and ecstasy, that
signified my climax. I cried out and continued to move, my orgasm growing in
intensity until he grabbed my hips hard and stopped my motion. He jerked his
hips up and came hard, yelling as he did so, another energy release.

His grip on my hips was so tight I thought I might have
bruises, but it all felt so good I couldn’t stop.

When we were finished, I rolled off of him, sweating and
breathless.

“This is so wrong,” I said. “It’s so very, very wrong.”

“Can’t be wrong when it feels so fucking amazing,” he said.

I put my hands over my eyes. “So wrong.”

He rolled over and pulled one of my hands away. “Hey,” he
said. “We’ve got an attraction to each other. We’re not related by blood. It’s
okay.” He laid back. “Actually, it’s more than okay; it’s fucking incredible.”

I laid there for a while and then knew I needed to get home.

“I’ve gotta go,” I said, standing up and picking up my
close.

“Shucks,” he said. “I was hoping I could get you to come.”
He leaned up on one elbow and grinned at me. His tattooed bicep was still slick
with sweat.

“Shut the fuck up,” I said, grinning at him. “Those lines
might work on your other girlfriends, but they won’t work on me.”

“Already did, babe; they already did.”

It was a few weeks later that I took the pregnancy test. I
had been feeling queasy and I was over a week late, but it still took me
another full week before I was willing to actually take the test. I did it by
myself, when Brady was at work.

On TV, women leave the stick turned over or whatever and
don’t look at it, too afraid or too emotional. The other thing that happens on
TV is that the stick actually takes the full three minutes or whatever to turn.
I peed on the stick and looked at it; the plus sign was already forming, a
bright pink crisscross on the white spongy backdrop.

A smile spread across my face.
Pregnant
, I thought.
Cancun did it! I stared at the stick in wonder. Then, my math started to kick
in. Cancun was three weeks earlier. I’d been with two men in that time. While
it was certainly possible that I had gotten pregnant in Cancun, it was unlikely
that my husband and I, who had been trying unsuccessfully for going on three
years, had suddenly made magic in Mexico.

The far more likely scenario was the other man.

My stepbrother.

I was carrying my stepbrother’s baby.

I set the stick on the bathroom counter and went down to the
kitchen. Pregnancy or no pregnancy, I officially needed a glass of wine. I
poured a half a glass from an open bottle of white in the fridge and sat at the
kitchen table. I thought for a few minutes, and then I did the only thing I
could do: I called Angela.

“Can you take the rest of the afternoon off?” I asked. It
was a Friday, so it was a possibility.

“I would love to take the rest of the afternoon off,” she
said, and I could hear her already beginning to shuffle papers and gather her
things. “I just need to fire off a few emails for next week and then I can blow
this place. What’s the occasion?”

“I’ll tell you when you get here. Come to my house. I have
wine waiting.”

There was a long pause. “Is it what I think it is?” she
asked.

“Just come over as soon as you can.” I hung up the phone and
sat back down at the kitchen table.

I’ll give my best friend credit, when she wants to know
what’s going on, she doesn’t waste any time. She must have floored it all the
way to my house because she got there in less than twenty minutes. She looked a
little disheveled, but she was there.

“Okay, girlie, let me see that stick!” she said, taking her
coat off and dropping it on the chair.

I smiled and let her upstairs to the bathroom. I pointed out
the stick on the bathroom counter. She took one look at it and began to scream.
She hugged me and I jumped around with her as we giggled just like we had when
she had found out she was pregnant.

Then, after a moment, I stopped. She stopped too, and looked
at me. “What’s going on?” she asked, her hands on my forearms. “Why aren’t you
over the moon over this?”

“Let’s go back downstairs,” I said. “That’s where the wine
is.”

“Okay,” she said slowly, and we walked back to the kitchen;
I brought the pregnancy test with me. I poured her a glass of wine and we sat
in silence. I knew she wouldn’t ask again until I was ready to talk.

After a few minutes, I finally forced the words out of my
mouth.

“I don’t think it’s Brady’s,” I said.

Angela looked at me like I was crazy, then started to laugh.
“What do you mean you don’t think it’s Brady’s? Of course it’s Brady’s… whose
else would it be?” She looked at me and noticed I wasn’t laughing. “Oh.
Oh
!
Oh, you’re not kidding. Oh, Gabi.” She put her hand on my arm.

I just shook my head. “It’s no one you know, and it’s done.
It was a stupid mistake. The question is, what do I do about it?”

Angela took a sip of her wine and sat back. “That’s a really
great question,” she said. “What are you going to do?”

I stared at my wine and shrugged. “I wanted a baby—
we
,
Brady and I, wanted a baby.” I looked up at Angela. “And, now, we’ll have one.”
I lifted my glass to hers.

“Cheers!” I said.

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