Tackled: A Sports Romance (7 page)

"You're like a preening peacock," I say. "Is this the mating ritual of the college football player? Stand there naked and wait for some girl to jump on your cock?"

He opens the door and follows me out. "It's worked every other time."

"I'm sure it has."

The problem is, all I can think about as I walk back to the tutoring session is jumping on Colton's cock.

S
he ignores
me the whole way to the student center. She might be mad, but the expression on her face when she saw me standing in front of her? That can't be disguised as anger.

That was definite lust.

The locker room thing was juvenile, for sure. But I can't help riling her up. It's so much fun to watch her squirm.

I'd just rather she be naked when she does it.

Inside the room, I toss my bag on the ground and flop down into the seat across from her. She pointedly ignores me for, like, ten minutes straight, and we sit in silence. It's like a game of chicken to see which of us caves first.

I finally do, which is my version of an apology. "If you want to just sit there staring at me, I can undress again."

Cassie rolls her eyes hard, then asks, "How did your English exam go?"

Her voice is crisp and businesslike, as if nothing out of the ordinary has happened between us.

As if I didn't show up to her apartment with a cock bouquet.

As if she didn't totally send me a pussy to jerk off with. Hello, obvious signal there.

As if I didn't just watch her stare at my dick in the locker room.

As if she's not sitting across from me in a sleeveless form-fitting button-down shirt that displays the top of her cleavage. And a skirt that makes her ass look fucking fantastic. I should know, because I watched it enough on the way over here.

"Are we going to keep up this charade?" I ask.

She avoids eye contact, pulling a notebook out of her bag. She already has a notebook on the table. "I thought you didn't use big words."

"You were checking me out in the locker room."

"I don't know what you're talking about," she spits back, opening her laptop. Her fingers are moving, clicking on something, but I don't think she's looking at anything.

"I'm talking about the fact that your eyes were glued to me," I say. "If you want, I can take these pants off and remind you what you were looking at."

"Thanks, but I had a late lunch. I'm hoping not to vomit it up today."

"You should eat something to settle your stomach," I suggest. "I hear candy penises are good for that. The real thing is much better.”

She narrows her eyes as she looks at me. "How did you do on your exam?"

"Why are you avoiding answering my question?" I ask.

"You're avoiding telling me how you did," she answers, her voice professional.

"First, admit you were checking me out, and then I'll tell you how I did on my exam," I say, crossing my arms over my chest.

She rolls her eyes. "You're delusional if you think I was checking you out." But her cheeks flush pink and she bites the corner of her lip, the thing she seems to do when she's uncomfortable. Or turned on, I think. It's her tell. She'd be a terrible poker player.

God, I love watching her try to lie.

"You're the world's worst liar," I say. "Has anyone ever told you that?"

Her cheeks flush a deeper shade of red.

"I'm not lying," she insists.

"Yes you are." I stand up and cross to the side of the table, closer to her.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm coming over here because I want a closer look," I say, my voice thick.

"To see if I'm lying? That's ridiculous."

"Sure, that too."

The flush on her cheeks isn't going away.

She stands up. I think she might be about to kick me out of here for being exceedingly inappropriate. Or kick me right in the balls.

It's worth the risk.

She smooths the part of her skirt that had bunched up when she was sitting down. But I liked it before she started pulling it down, the way it exposed her perfect thighs.

Thighs I'd love to feel squeezing my head.

"Don't do that," I say.

Standing up has the effect of putting her inches away from me, but I don't step back from her. "Don't do what?" she asks.

"Pull down the skirt. I like your legs. I like the skirt. I'd like it even better if it were up around your waist."

"You can't say that," she says, except her gaze doesn't leave mine, and she doesn't move. She could move around me if she wanted to. There's enough space in here for her to simply walk away.

If she wanted to.

What she couldn't hide, even if she'd wanted to, was that sharp intake of breath she took before she spoke.

"I can't say what?" I ask. I can smell her light perfume, something floral and sweet.

My cock twitches at the scent.
Fuck.
My dick doesn't get hard at the smell of some girl's perfume. That's never happened before.

Except with her.

"You can't say... things like that," she says softly. Her voice is nearly a whisper, and she looks at me, her eyes pleading.

"I can't say that I'd like to slide that skirt up your thighs?" I ask, reaching up to tuck a stray hair behind her ear. It's still an innocent gesture, something that can be excused as friendly. I haven't crossed a line with her yet that can't be uncrossed.

When I touch her, her eyes close lightly and her lips fall open. Fuck, she turns into my touch. This girl hasn't been touched in a long time, that much is obvious.

"No," she whispers. "You shouldn't say that."

"I shouldn't do a lot of things." I run my finger lightly across her cheek and down her jawline. "Like say that I'd like to pull that skirt up around your waist and sit you down in that chair and spread your legs."

My thumb reaches her mouth. She doesn't stop me when I touch her bottom lip. "Colton," she whispers.

"I want to spread your legs," I continue as she stands there unmoving, her eyes lightly closed and her face upturned to me. The image of her on her knees, my fantasy the other day, flashes into my head — and I have to shut it down. "I want to pull you down to the edge of the chair and touch my tongue to your wetness — slowly at first, just to taste your sweetness. Then I want to bury my face in you, licking your clit and fucking you with my tongue until you come with my head between your legs. I want to taste you as you come on my face."

"I..." she starts, but then she takes my thumb into her mouth, just the edge of it. Her eyes fly open as if the movement surprised even her — except that she moans.

It's soft, barely audible, but I hear it.

She fucking moaned.

I pull her to me forcefully, one hand at the nape of her neck, the other on the edge of her waist, and kiss her. I kiss the hell out of this girl. I kiss her like I've never kissed a girl before, like I know I'll never kiss a girl again.

Her tongue meets mine like it was made for me, a puzzle that fits. I should be scared as fuck at the thought of that, except I'm not. I'm too on fire to think about anything else except the fact that I'm kissing the hottest girl I've ever met. And she's kissing me back, her body melting against mine, moaning into my mouth. I pull her against my body, her hips grinding into my hardness. She grips me back, her body tightening on me as she feels my cock pressing against her.

When I finally pull my lips away, she doesn't step back. She stays where she is, her body flush against mine. Her breath is short and her lips are swollen red, the mark I've left on her.

"Colton, I... we..." Her voice trails off and she doesn't finish what she's going to say.
We shouldn't do this. We're breaking the rules.

I know that's what she's going to say.

"I don't give a fuck about the rules, Cassie," I growl. "I want you."

"Do you always get everything you want?"

I reach for the first button on her shirt, the one that I've wanted to undo since the first time I saw her in one of these stupid, prim-and-proper shirts. And I really mean to just undo it. Like a civilized person. Except something happens when I touch it and the button just flies off, landing on the floor with a ping.

So I finish it. I pull open her shirt like a goddamn caveman, buttons scattering.

"Always," I answer, my hand cupping her breast. I slide a finger inside her bra, and she grinds her hips against me like a reflex, something she can't control. A whimper escapes her lips as her nipple hardens to my touch.

I want to see her nipples. I don't think I've ever wanted to see anything so bad in my life.

"Colton, this totally against the rules," she whispers as I unhook her bra.

"You sure?" I ask, palming her breast with one hand as I hold her against me with the other. My cock is throbbing its approval.

"No," she confesses, her voice breathy.

I bend down and flick my tongue lightly over her nipple. Her hands come to my head, and she grips me tightly against her breast. I cover her with my mouth, my tongue swirling around in circles as her breath gets shorter and shorter.

Hell, I think she might come just from this.

"No?" I ask, when I come up for breath.

She shakes her head and looks at me, her chest rising and falling quickly. "I could lose everything," she whispers. "I... don't want to lose everything."

I'm not sure whether she's talking about the tutoring position or her virginity. My cock presses against my zipper, so hard that I think it's going to explode, but then I look at her, standing here with her breath short and her shirt torn open, and I think about the fact that she's a virgin. In that split second, guilt washes over me.

I don't fuck virgins. I fuck girls who have lots of experience, girls who are just up for a good time. Casual sex is my game. I've craved Cassie since I first saw her. I already know that if I taste her once, I'm going to want more.

I only hesitate for a second, but she clears her throat, pulling the strap of her bra up onto her shoulder. "I…" she starts, her voice faltering. "This… um. I can't do this."

She hooks her bra and slides back into her shirt, holding the front closed with one hand.

"Your shirt," I say. "Shit. Hang on." I dig through my bag and grab a spare t-shirt. "I keep a change of clothes just in case."

"Just in case you rip off a girl's shirt?" she asks, taking it from me.

"Funny," I say. "That's the first time I've torn the buttons off a girl's shirt."

"Somehow, I doubt that," she mutters softly. "I'm going to look like I'm doing the walk of shame out of here. This t-shirt is huge."

The t-shirt hangs on her, far too large to fit her. Shit, I like the way she looks wearing it. I can see her lying on my bed in it.

“It fits perfectly,” I say.

She gives me a weird look as she ties the corner of the shirt into a knot, bunching up the material tightly around her waist. "I… should go. I… um, I'll see you later. Or next time. Maybe. I don't know."

Shit.
Now she's talking like she doesn't want to tutor me anymore.
Way to royally fuck things up, Colton.

She pauses with her hand on the doorknob, then turns to look at me. "You didn't tell me what you got on your test," she says.

"I got an A."

Cassie nods, an expression of something I can't place flitting across her face. She opens the door. "I see,” she says. “So you came to collect.”

"No, that's not it at all – " I start, but she holds her hand up.

"I should go."

"
S
hut the fuck up
," Sable says before I even speak, looking up from the sofa. "That's his shirt!"

"Don't say anything," I warn her. "I already had to sneak out of the athletic center wearing it. I'm not at all in the mood."

"Did you do it?" she asks anyway. "Did you lose it? Was it good? You have to tell me, you know."

"I don't want to talk about it." I blow through the living room and down the hallway to my room. I close the door to my room behind me with force, then lock it and sink against it.

A small knock makes the door makes the door vibrate at my back. "Cass," comes Sable soft voice. "Nothing…
bad
happened, did it?"

Bad? Only the fact that Colton King kissed me. And ripped off my shirt.

And made me so horny that I'm still throbbing, even now.

"No," I tell her

"Because if he… you know…
forced
you, or something…"

I sigh loudly. "Oh my God, Colton didn't rape me, Sable," I say firmly.

"Well, that's good."

"But I don't want to talk about it."

"Okay," she adds. "Because if he hurt you in any way, I'll kill him."

I stifle a laugh. I actually kind of believe her.

"I have a concealed carry license," she points out.

"You have a gun? In our apartment?" I ask, my voice rising.

"I said I had a license, not a gun," she calls. "I'll be in front of the television watching a bunch of crazy girls fight over one moderately-attractive man, if you want to join me."

But I don't. I stand there, leaning against the bedroom door, my hand on my chest, feeling my heart beating almost as furiously as it did when I was with Colton in the student center.

What the hell just happened?

One minute I was sitting there across from him, totally normal and about to start the session. The next minute, I was making out with him and shedding my clothes, consequences be damned. Well, technically
he
was ripping off my clothes.

And there would be serious consequences.

I have to remind myself of that, because the throbbing between my legs is so insistent that it threatens to eclipse every rational part of me. Colton King is off-limits for so many reasons, the least of which is the fraternization thing.

He had to have been coming into the session with the expectation that I'd put out because he got an A.
Total pig.
He's a player. Sable's right; he's probably slept with half of the girls on campus. Hooking up with him would be a disaster.

The way he kissed me, though...

It wasn't like anyone else who's ever kissed me. It’s not like I have lots of experience in that department for comparison, but still. Colton kissed me fully, passionately, the kind of kiss where you lose your sense of reason and give in to whatever happens. In that moment, I wasn't thinking about consequences. Which is probably why what happened, happened.

Who rips a girl's shirt right off her body, though? No normal guy does that. That kind of thing only happens in the movies or in romance novels.

The way his lips felt against my skin, the way his tongue felt as he ran it over my nipple again and again... Even now it sends a shiver through me.

But this is the same guy who brought over a dick bouquet to my apartment. He's not an appropriate choice. I shouldn't continue tutoring him. I obviously can't trust myself not to cross that line with him.

I should tell the coach it didn't work out. Or trade players with one of the other tutors at the center.

I should stay away from him.

The thoughts ping-pong back and forth in my head, one right after the other, a war between the rational and irrational parts of my brain.

When I'm lying in bed later, it's impossible to get thoughts of him out of my head. It's impossible to forget the way his hands felt on me, the way his lips felt against mine, his tongue practically warring with mine as he kissed me.

And it's impossible to forget how much I wanted him to do what he promised, to bury his face between my legs and lick me until I could only cry out his name.

I
skip
the next session with Colton. I tell myself it's a completely reasonable decision, considering what happened. Except I feel like trash for skipping it. Colton shouldn't be punished for my inability to control myself around him. Especially not when he's been doing so well.

To make matters worse, I work on my thesis during our session time. That just makes me feel doubly guilty, like I’m somehow using Colton as a research subject without his knowledge. I’m not writing about Colton, though – I’m just reviewing the literature on sports and masculinity. I tell myself that it has absolutely nothing to do with Colton. If he knew what my thesis was on, he probably wouldn’t even care.

That doesn’t make me feel any better.

When Sable comes home and sees I’m in the apartment writing, instead of tutoring Colton, she gives me the stinkiest of stink eyes ever, her arms crossed over her chest. "You're supposed to be tutoring right now," she says, her voice accusing.

"Thanks, mom, I wasn't aware of my
schedule
," I snip at her.

"Did you quit?"

I exhale heavily. "I didn't quit. I took a day off."

"Oh?" she asks. "Does Colton know you took a day off?"

"Lay off with the guilt trip already, Sable. I'm a grownup. I think I can manage my own schedule."

Except that even as I protest her nagging me for not being at the tutoring session, I feel guiltier.

"Are you going to tell me what happened with him?" she asks.

"Nothing happened," I lie. "I already told you that."

Sable clucks her tongue and looks at me with narrowed eyes. "Yes," she says. "I heard what you told me. But remember, Cassie, I've lived with you for a year now."

"So?" I hear the question, my abrasive tone, and I know I sound like a petulant child. But I can't stop myself.

"So, I know that something happened with you and Colton, and whatever happened freaked you out. That's why you're sitting here pouting instead of tutoring him."

"First of all, I'm sitting here working. I’m not sitting here pouting because there’s nothing to pout about. There’s nothing to be upset about.”

Certainly not the fact that Colton King made out with me and whispered the filthy things he wanted to do to me, an expression of my unspoken fantasies, because he was trying to get me to put out as a reward for his A.

I don't want to tell Sable that. It's humiliating.

“Right,” she says. “You’re working on a thesis about sports.”

“Masculine identity.”

Sable sighs. “You like him. He likes you. The two of you just need to bone already.”

"He does not like me," I protest.

Sable rolls her eyes. "If you are too dense to see that, there's something wrong with you. That boy has shown up here twice now like a lost little puppy dog."

I can't help but laugh. "Colton King did not show up here like a lost puppy," I say. "He showed up here like a horny football player looking to get laid. And gave me cock lollipops."

Sable grins. "That was funny. And the lollipops were pretty good."

"I'm his tutor. There are rules. Even if I wanted to hook up with him – which I most emphatically
do not
— I can't. I'd get fired, I could get in trouble with our department."

Sable rolls her eyes. "Oh, please. Professor Richards is the department chair. You really think he's going to get his panties in a wad over something like that? I heard that in the seventies, he was sleeping with half of the female grad students that came through the Sociology department."

"Why did you tell me that?" I ask, grimacing. "Now the next time I see him, I won't be able to get that horrifying image out of my head."

Sable shrugs. "I bet he was pretty hot back in the day, actually. Like a young Robert Redford. I might have done him back then."

"That's not making it any better," I say, laughing. "Besides, that was the seventies."

"You're really going to tell me you have no interest in Colton King?"

"None at all." I force my expression to remain blank. Nonchalant. Totally disinterested. I pop a pretzel into my mouth.

"Then you won't mind if I hook up with him," Sable says. "I mean, I've been wanting to fuck a football player, and I hear Colton is great in the sack."

Yep, I'm totally casual. That's me. I'm not at all seething at the mere idea of Sable hooking up with Colton.

I call her bluff. "Nope, wouldn't mind," I say, popping another pretzel into my mouth. "I think it's a great idea."

"Argh. You're such a liar! Obviously I'm not going to screw him. Why can't you just admit you want him?"

"I do not want to fuck Colton King."

"You should practice saying that a thousand more times," Sable suggests. "Then maybe it'll sound more convincing."