Tackled: A Sports Romance (18 page)

"
Y
ou need
to focus on studying for your finals," she says, rolling over onto her stomach on the bed.

"How am I supposed to focus when you're lying there naked with that gorgeous ass on display?"

Cassie arches her eyebrow, propping her chin on her elbow as she looks at me. "Because you've had this gorgeous ass already. Several times. You should be worn out."

"Actually, I haven't had that ass yet at all," I correct her, pleased when a flush rises to her cheeks. "And I'm an athlete. I have stamina."

She laughs. "Yes, I'm aware."

She pulls out one of my history books and opens it up. "How did Russia defeat Napoleon's army in 1812?"

Her hair falls down over her forehead, and she pushes it back, then twists it into a messy knot on top of her head, the way she always does, and sticks a pen in it.

Fuck, I love watching her do that.

She catches me looking at her. "What?" she blurts. "Do I have something on my face?"

"No. I just… you're just really pretty, that's all. Not your ass or your body – I mean, those are too. But just… the way you do things sometimes."

She blushes, then clears her throat and looks away before bringing herself up to a sitting position, her legs tucked underneath her. "Since you're obviously not going to study, why don't you teach me about football?" she suggests, changing the subject.

"Lay down and I will."

Cassie raises an eyebrow. "That wasn't a euphemism. I didn't mean
fuck me
," she says. "I meant actually teach me about football."

"That's exactly what I'm going to do," I insist. "Learning is better when it’s a hands-on experience. You should know that, teacher."

"Tutor." She slides down, her head on the pillow, stretching out beside me like a cat, one arm above her with a hand behind her head. "Is this how you always teach football?"

"Never had to teach anyone before," I admit. "In case you hadn't noticed, I'm kind of a big deal. The only women that hang around me are women who know about football."

Cassie snorts. "Your ego is certainly a big deal."

"And this is why it's easy hanging out with you," I say. "Even if you're uptight."

"I am not uptight," she protests. "Anymore."

"You're much less uptight than you were."

"Why is it easy being around me, exactly?"

"Because you know nothing about football. So you knew nothing about me."

She laughs. "You find that easier to be around than your little groupies and football fans?"

"Yeah," I say. "No expectations."

I'm not sure she gets what it's like to be a player at my level, and that's not cockiness talking, that's just a fact. There is more expectation and pressure than I know what to do with sometimes. And being in the public eye means everyone wants a piece of you. It's hard not to feel like every little piece of you is for sale.

And it's only going to get worse.

This year, everything that I've worked for comes to a head.

"You don't even talk that much about football," she says. "I thought it was because you thought I was an idiot when it came to sports."

"Only when it comes to football. But now I'm going to educate you," I smile as I trace my finger across the top of her breasts and down the side of her stomach to her pelvis, then up the other side. "This is a football field."

She pulls the corner of her lower lip between her teeth. "Football field," she says. "Got it."

"The most important part is the end zone," I say.

"I'm not sure where that is," she says, her voice innocent.

I draw a horizontal line with my finger across her lips. "There are two, one at each end of the field. One here, and the other…"

I trail my finger down the middle of her stomach and between her legs. I pause with my finger on her clit, then slide it down lower, pressing against her entrance. "Right here."

"Mmm-hmm. I'm getting more interested in football by the second."

"What do you think the goal of the game is?" I ask, keeping my finger right where it is.

"To get into the end zone," she whispers.

"That's always been my goal," I admit, sliding my finger into her already slick pussy. "Getting the ball into the end zone is how you score points."

"Uh-huh," she murmurs as I stroke her slowly inside. "Points."

"But it's not as easy as that," I say, pulling my finger from her pussy. She whimpers when I trace my wet finger across her clit and over the top of her mound. "If it were easy, it wouldn't be any fun."

"Of course not."

"Both teams try to block each other from scoring," I say, sliding my finger down again. She squeezes her legs together, preventing my hand from moving. "Exactly. You're a quick learner."

"What do you do?" she whispers, her thighs pressed firmly together.

"I try to get my sexy as hell tutor to spread her legs," I say, pushing her thighs apart.

Cassie giggles. "I meant on the field."

I growl. "I try to get right here," I say, sliding down and touching my tongue to her wetness. Her taste is sweet and light and familiar and new every time. I want to bury my face between her legs forever.

She pulls at my head. "I thought you were teaching me football."

"I am," I say. "Don’t question my methods."

She whimpers again. "Your methods are unorthodox."

"They're effective." I explore her with my tongue, lapping her until her breaths become short.

"How do you get a touchdown?" she asks, whimpering at the end of the question.

"I can't tell you that." I slide up her body until we're face to face. My rigid cock presses between her legs. "I'll have to show you."

"That sounds promising," she says, arching her back up and sliding her hands to the back of my neck. My lips press against hers and my tongue finds hers hungrily.

I slide into her, her pussy's slickness making it easy. "This would be a touchdown."

She grasps my ass cheeks, and rocks her hips against mine. "Remind me why I thought football was boring?"

"You just haven't had the right teacher."

"I have to disagree with the touchdown thing," she says.

I thrust inside her, gaining momentum quickly, the way I know she likes it. "Why?"

"I think a touchdown is when you go all the way," she says, locking her ankles and holding me against her. She squeezes her pussy tight around my cock.

"This isn't all the way?" I ask her as I thrust deeper inside her.

"Not yet," she whispers.

I hit the spot that I know makes her toes curl, and she practically purrs as she looks at me. "There?" I ask.

Her breath catches and she lets out a little moan. "Not yet."

I fuck her harder, my cock pushing against that same spot until she's practically breathless. "Almost?" I ask.

Shit, I'm near exploding in her tight little pussy. It's hard not to when she's making the expression she's making right now, the one where her eyeballs are practically rolling back in her head.

"Uh-huh," she moans. "Fuck me harder, Colton."

I fuck her harder, barely hanging on as she whispers in my ear. "He shoots, he scores," she breathes.

Her pussy squeezes tightly around my cock and she comes hard, calling my name loudly. I let go, thrusting inside her as I empty every last drop of my cum into her tight little pussy.

When she opens her eyes, my breath is still ragged, my heart still racing. "That was basketball," I tell her.

"What?"

"'He shoots, he scores'." That's basketball, not football."

"
Touchdown
didn't flow as well," she says. "Not when we're talking about you shooting your load into me."

"Shit, Cassie, your mouth is filthy as hell. What have I done to you?"

"I don't know," she says, bringing her lips to mine. "But whatever you did, you should keep doing it."

"
W
hat would
I do if I didn't play football? That's a weird fucking question, Cassie," he says. We're lying in the back of his truck looking up at the stars like we have nothing better to do even though its finals week and Colton has an exam tomorrow.

I'm a terrible tutor.

"It's not a weird question," I say. "You said you liked hanging out with me because your identity isn't entirely defined by football when you're with me."

Colton laughs. "I definitely didn't say it like that."

"What?"

"You make it sound… smarter."

"That's all you, Colton," I say. "I'm just rephrasing what you said. You're so much smarter than you think you are, you know."

Colton laughs. "Nah. I'm a dumb jock."

I roll over onto my stomach, my arms on his chest. "I hate that I said that," I groan. "It was before I knew you. You're not a dumb jock."

"I know my strengths," Colton says, his hand gripping my ass cheek. "School is not one of them."

"You have an A in English and a B in History."

"That's all
your
doing."

"No. You're doing the work, Colton. I'm hardly helping at all."

"Football is my whole life," he says. "I've always known I was going to be good at it. I'm not saying that just to be an arrogant asshole. It's the truth. You know how you do something sometimes and it just clicks? That's always how football has been for me."

"What did your dad think of it?"

"He was proud of me and Drew," he says. "Drew played it for a while, but baseball ended up being his thing. He's smart, though. He's on a scholarship but he doesn't really care about going pro or not. Money was always tight on the farm, but my dad always made sure we got everything we needed to play. Worked his ass off to make that happen."

"What would he think if he saw you now?"

Colton is silent for a while, his fingers tracing a line up and down my back, and I think I asked the wrong question. Or too many questions. Then he finally speaks. "He'd love where I am with football. He'd be really proud of that. He wanted me to get a college scholarship for it. I don't know if he thought I'd make it to the pros or not. The rest of it, not so much."

"What do you mean?"

"The partying, the drinking, the girls," Colton says. "My parents were high school sweethearts. My dad didn't exactly play the field. My mom always says he looked at her the same way after twenty years of marriage as he did when they first started dating. They used to dance in the kitchen after dinner, every night, without fail. Not to any music. When we were kids, Drew and I would make vomiting sounds and my dad would send us to our rooms. I think that was more so he could have time to make out with my mom than because he was mad."

I don't say anything, because I don't know what to say. It's the first time Colton has really talked about his dad.

"Drew is the same way," Colton goes on. "He's been with his girl since eighth grade. We all grew up together. It was never a question, who he was going to be with."

"That's a lot of pressure."

He pushes my hair back from my face when it falls over my forehead. "Yeah, exactly," he says. "My parents were blissfully happy. Drew has had his love life mapped out since we were kids and is totally content. There's no way to live up to that shit."

"So why even try, right?" I ask softly. I blurt it out without thinking, finishing what he leaves unspoken, and immediately regret it. I probably went too far.

"Yeah," he says, his eyes on mine. "Never had a reason to."

He looks at me intently, and I sit up, pulling my knees to my chest and looking away. This conversation got too intimate, too quickly.

I'm surprised by the way that scares me.

"
Y
our parents have been together
a long time, too, yeah?" he asks.

"
Yeah
, but mine aren't at all like yours," I say, laughing bitterly. "I mean, maybe they're happy in their own way, I guess. Or maybe they're just resigned to being together. They'll never leave each other, that's for sure. They fight all the damn time, though. Always have. Knockdown, drag-out screaming matches. Throwing plates, that kind of thing. They would never actually hurt each other, not physically, but their arguments have always been insane."

"Is that why you never really dated?" Colton asks.

I shrug. "I don't know," I say, thinking. "I never really thought about it that way. But I mean, it didn't really make me want to be with someone, I guess. If that's what I had to look forward to, I'd rather be alone, you know?"

"What would you do if you didn't become a professor?" Colton asks, and I'm grateful for the change of subject.

"Not sure," I admit as he sits up behind me, sliding his arms down mine. Heat radiates from him, sending a shiver up my spine.

"Are you cold?" he murmurs into my ear.

"Not anymore."

"You shivered."

"Not because I'm cold."

Colton makes a sound that's somewhere between a growl and a grunt.

"A bar on the beach," I say.

"Come again?"

"That's what I'd do." I dream of it. "Mix margaritas and listen to tourists complain about how they don't want to go back home to their shitty lives."

Colton laughs. "You could probably have done that without getting a Ph.D."

"True," I say. "But then I wouldn't be here in Texas getting some of the best dick of my life."

"Some of the best dick of your life?" he asks, his hands on my shoulders as he turns me to look at him. "Honey, I'm going to absolutely be the best dick you ever had. There's no topping this shit. The rest of your life, it's all downhill from here."

I laugh as he lays back and pulls me on top of him, my hands on his chest. "You think so? I was hoping the next guy would be an improvement."

He growls. "I don't want to hear anything about a next guy ever again," he says, sitting up and flipping me over onto my stomach before I can even register what he's doing. He brings his palm down hard on my ass, the blow stinging.

"Or what?" I ask, my throat tight.

He smacks my ass again. "I already told you I'm going to ruin you for other men," he reminds me, slapping me again. "I don't even want to think about you with other men. Maybe I'm not doing a good enough job of ruining you."

"You should probably try harder," I agree, my voice thick.

He slides his fingers between my legs. "Your smart ass little mouth is going to get you in trouble."

"You should probably fix that."

“You’re not going to look so smug with my cock in your mouth.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that. I think I’d look pretty self-satisfied with my lips wrapped around you.”

He grabs a handful of my hair and pulls me up to face him, sending a shock of pain through me, then lets go immediately like he's afraid of losing control. "Cassie, you fucking kill me, you know that?" I rise up on my knees, guiding his cock toward my entrance because I'm greedy and I don't want to wait. I want him inside me.

I slide onto him, groaning in satisfaction at the more-than-welcome intrusion. Rocking against him, I look into his eyes. "Why do I kill you?" I whisper.

"I think
you
might be ruining
me
."