Game Changer: #UofJ Book 2- A Second Chance Romantic Comedy Sports Romance (U of J)

by Alley Ciz

I will say this; most of the day has been on an upward swing. One of the other highlights for me was getting to watch Kay help create JT and his partner Rei’s cheerleading routine. Being both a football player since the age of five and having a sister who cheers, one would think I would have spent my fair share of time watching the cheerleaders, but that would be incorrect. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve obviously seen them do their thing on the sidelines during games and have been to a handful of Livi’s bigger competitions through the years, but nothing compares to the up-close-and-personal view I got today.

  With the few tricks Kay and JT did in demonstration, it is undeniable why they were champions. JT lifted Kay with one foot in each hand, only the slightest shake to his arms as he held them fully extended overhead while she explained something to Rei. Then after counting off, Kay flipped backward and landed hand in hand with her legs stretched up in the air in a handstand. Before anyone had time to appreciate the flawlessness of the stunt, JT bent his elbows and Kay popped back around to her original standing position overhead.

  I can’t tell you what’s more impressive, the effortless way JT flipped her over his head and into the air or how Kay landed each trick as steady as if she were landing on the ground and not in his hands.

  Even with all that, nothing compared to watching Kay coach them. With the easy way she commands attention and respect from everyone, it’s no wonder she chose not to cheer in college—coaching is her calling.

  My pint-sized smartass even chose to add Biz Markie’s “Just A Friend” to their practice playlist.

  We had another up in attending JT’s roommate Harry’s soccer game—oh I’m sorry, match—but the celebratory dinner we went to after brought us to our current round of downs.

  It was obvious JT didn’t want to show Kay the posts, and I respect him for actually showing it to me first as a buffer, but it didn’t do much to soften the blow.

  It’s one thing for UofJ411 to use info about Kay and me for the bulk of their content, and it’s another for someone else to be actively tagging them with updates. Now we have to deal with Liam Parker jumping in on the CasanovaWatch and CasanovasGirl hashtags.

  Since handing JT back his phone, Kay hasn’t said a word.

  The door of our hotel room beeps, and the tumble of the locks disengaging is almost deafening in the stilted silence, which has only grown since we left dinner. It now feels like a physical entity, hovering around Kay and me like a fog.

  The top of her ponytail brushes along my inner arm as she moves past me into the room. My feet shuffle as I hesitate to follow, unsure what to say. Kay has enough insecurities of her own; I don’t need her trying to take mine on as well.

  She’s already withdrawn into herself, so now I need to keep her from pulling away from me again.

  As I swallow down the lump of fear in my throat, the soles of my sneakers drag along the carpet until I come to an abrupt halt upon seeing Kay standing in the middle of the small seating area. There’s a steely determination lurking behind those stormy eyes of hers that I wish I could get a bead on.

  “Babe…” My feet melt into the floor as I stand transfixed by the sight of the white of her teeth digging into the red flesh of her plump lower lip. Then…

  She starts to shed her layers.

  Gone is my hoodie.

  Her slim arms cross over her stomach. Slowly, inch by inch, her tank top starts to rise above her toned abdominals, over the swells of her breasts pushing against the material of her sports bra with each rapidly accelerating inhalation.

  Her elbows point toward the ceiling, and in one fluid movement she peels it over her head, the fabric falling to the floor like a leaf from a tree. Eyes, now brimming with confidence, lock on mine again the instant she’s clear of the garment.

  Me? I remain rooted to the spot, my dick hardening, tenting the front of my joggers.

  This woman, whose head doesn’t even reach my shoulders, commands me.

  There’s a rrrrip when her foot skitters over the back of her sneakers as she toes them off, kicking them to the side.

  Less than three feet separate us, but it feels like miles as I wait for her to close the distance. I don’t blink, not willing to miss a step. My lungs scream from holding my breath in anticipation of her next move.

  She doesn’t disappoint…

  One of her tiny hands—the same one with my ring winking at me—presses between my pectoral muscles. The gentle flex of her fingers is like the hardest shove, and I fall into the wingback chair behind me.

  The hesitancy from earlier is gone, replaced by a satisfied smirk that has my balls tingling.

  Hands braced on the arms of the chair, her mouth presses to mine, my tongue parting her lips to tangle with hers. I’m rock hard in an instant.

  “Baby…”

  She kisses across my jaw, the scrape of her teeth audible along my stubble. Warm suction envelops my earlobe and pre-come leaks onto my boxer briefs.

  Her pulling away has me emitting a groan of frustration, though it’s quickly replaced by one of pleasure when her hand snakes underneath the hem of my shirt and hoodie, her fingertips skimming along the grooves of my abs, the muscles twitching in the wake of her touch.

  Her torso pushes my knees apart as she bends and lowers herself between my now spread legs.

  Fuck me she’s a vision kneeling before me.

  Her lashes fall to her cheeks as she focuses on slipping beneath the waistband of my joggers and briefs, tugging them down only enough for my dick to pop out like a motherfucking goalpost.

  Down, down, down her hands continue to travel until they curve around my knees, anchoring us together as her eyes take in my cock from root to tip. She accuses me of being the possessive one, but this? The intensity in the way she studies every inch of me? It’s like a goddamn tangible caress of ownership. It’s so fucking hot it almost has me coming on the spot.

  Her palms spread on top of my thighs, the heels of her hands digging into the tight muscles. Her lips part, warm breath puffing across my sensitive head, sending shivers skittering up my spine.

  She continues her upward trajectory, slipping back under the hem of my shirts and shoving them as high as her arms can reach. With each inch they rise, Kay’s head lowers until, without warning, she takes my cock in her mouth.

  “Fuck, babe…” I push through gritted teeth at the feel of her throat contracting around me. “Don’t you have a gag reflex?”

  My life before Kay entered it was filled with more blowjobs than I could probably count, but this? This is head unlike any other.

  It’s been only seconds, but already my balls draw up tight, readying for release.

  “Skit—” Doesn’t she need to breathe? I think as she maintains her position for one last swallow, the walls of her throat constricting around my length and making the edges of my vision blurry.

  Finally, finally, she starts to move.

  Up and down her head bobs. Her cheeks hollow with suction, lips flaring out with each drag back up my length, tongue tracing every vein and ridge. There is nothing teasing in the way she works me over; she’s pure intent.

  “Babe…fuck.” My hands spear into her hair, the tie holding her curls snapping as I fist the strands tightly. I worry I’m being too rough, but her hum of approval tells me it’s for naught.

  Her hands search for purchase on my eight-pack, pushing down for stability as my hips drive upward. Cum boils deep in my balls and I warn, “I’m gonna come.”

  Instead of heeding the warning, Kay redoubles her efforts, pushing in closer, deep-throating my dick until the soft petals of her lips make contact with the skin at the base. She swallows—I explode. Ropes of cum shoot from my dick and coat the back of her throat.

  She doesn’t release me until she has taken every last drop I have to give. Only then does she settle back, her ass resting on her heels and one hell of a self-satisfied expression on her gorgeous face.

  “Damn, baby.” I’m pretty sure the top of my head is somewhere
across the room.

  I’m not sure how long we sit here—me with my heart pounding against my ribcage, breaths sawing in and out of my lungs, and her with lips swollen, pink flush covering her from face to chest—before I move. First I toss my hat to the ground, and I quickly follow it with my sweatshirt and Henley. Tucking myself back into my joggers, I shift forward, hooking my hands under Kay’s armpits, and reverse our positions.

  Her skin is hot to the touch as I skim along the dip in her waist up to her sports bra, my gaze automatically falling to the pink tips topping her now freed and bouncing breasts. I rid myself of the distraction with a shake of my head, divesting her of her leggings and draping her legs over the armrests. Perfection. That’s what she is. Completely naked, spread out like my own personal buffet ready to be devoured.

  Except…

  That’s not what I do.

  Kay squirms as much as the position allows—which isn’t much—as I ghost my fingers up the length of her leg, starting at her ankle and ending in the crease where her thigh meets her groin.

  My hands curl around her hips, my thumbs meeting at the top of her pubic bone and dragging through her slit from top to bottom. Holy fuck, she’s soaked. Feeling how turned on she is from giving me pleasure has my dick stirring to life again.

  Her swollen clit is on full display with her pussy lips spread open, begging for my attention.

  “Eyes on me,” I instruct, leaning forward, holding my position just over the bundle of nerves until those graphite irises reveal themselves to me. The second they do, my lips surround her clit, teeth scraping along the oversensitive tissue as I tug it into my mouth.

  Ambrosia. Sweet, addicting, tempting ambrosia is what she tastes like.

  “Mase,” she pleads, back arching, shoulders pushing into the chair, searching for enough leverage to lift her center closer to my mouth.

  I use my tongue to draw figure eights, lapping up every bit of her until I find her weeping center and thrust inside, mimicking what I plan to do after I have her coming all over my face.

  My scalp burns as she yanks and twists my hair, her nails raking across the skin at the back of my neck.

  “Come for me, baby,” I command when I feel the walls of her pussy flutter around my tongue. It takes considerable effort not to plunge my fingers inside her to push her over the edge, but if she’s going to be sore again tomorrow, it’s going to be from my cock.

  The sound of her pleasure bounces off the walls when I bite down on her clit one more time and she tumbles into orgasm.

  Her body doesn’t even get the chance to go limp before I’m shedding my pants and reclaiming the chair with her straddling my lap.

  I cup her at the nape and pull her in for a crushing kiss, entering her at the same time our lips touch. The sound she makes as I bury myself inside her to the hilt is almost carnal enough to make me come.

  “God, baby.” I pump my hips relentlessly, spurred on by each audible proof of her pleasure. “You feel so good.” She’s not the first to tell me she’s on the pill, but she’s the only woman I’ve actually taken bareback. Every time I get to have her without a barrier between us is better than the last.

  “Mase.” Her voice hitches.

  We pick up the pace, both chasing our oncoming orgasms. With a final slam of my hips, I come with a roar as she soaks me to the balls.

  “I love you.” I breathe the words into the curve of Kay’s neck as she slumps forward, completely spent.

  “I love you, too.”

  I take heart in the fact that she didn’t hesitate in the least to return the sentiment. There’s still much to discuss to keep this—the Mase and Kay we are in private—safe from the outside world, but we can worry about that tomorrow. Tonight is for us.

  #Chapter40

  Leaving Kentucky is going to be difficult for me for a handful of reasons. For starters, I’m going to miss JT terribly. No amount of video-chatting can truly recreate what it’s like to hang out together in person. Also, it means returning to the place where the attention on Mase and me is a bajillion times greater.

  God! I can’t even imagine what things are going to be like around campus tomorrow.

  You know what? That’s a problem for future Kay. For now, present Kay is going to enjoy being wrapped up in the drool-worthy arms of her hunky boyfriend.

  Enjoy? Guurrrlll…I don’t know about you, but that feels like too tame a word to describe what this feels like.

  It’s not often my inner cheerleader and I are on the same page prior to coffee consumption, but she might be onto something this time. The way Mase holds me makes my heart flipping sing. It’s like even in sleep, he needs to assert his dominance. All his long, sinewy limbs coil around me like he never plans on letting me go.

  Will he always feel this way? I squeeze my eyes shut against the negative thought hard enough to have spots dancing behind my eyelids. I can’t think like that. Mason said he doesn’t care what others have to say—we are the only two people in this relationship.

  I want to believe him. I need to believe him. These last few weeks without him, I wasn’t living; I was merely existing. It was damn close to being a repeat of four years ago, and that is unacceptable. It may have been a silent one, but I made a promise to never put E and Bette through that again, and dammit, I intend to keep my word.

  Not running away from Mase and what we share is the first step.

  The obsidian ink of the tribal tattoo decorating the arm under me stands out in stark contrast against my paler skin. My fingers start to trace the lines and swirls down to his wrist.

  “Mmm.” The contented sound rumbles in my ear. “I love when you do that, babe.”

  A pleased smile curves my lips. “Good.” It is by far one of my favorite things to do. “Because I don’t think I could resist even if you didn’t.” I twist to place a kiss on the bicep under my head, the muscle jumping at my touch.

  “You’ll get no complaints from me.” He squeezes his arms tighter around me, the scuff on his jaw setting off familiar sparks between my shoulder blades as he starts his own series of kisses. “Shower with me?”

  How can I say no to that?

  It is morning though…

  As if hearing my internal thought, he shifts, slipping an arm under my knees and another behind my back, lifting me from the bed bridal style and carrying me to the bathroom.

  I’d be annoyed if I wasn’t so damn happy. That’s why, instead of getting an eye roll, a sleepy smile is all he sees as he stretches to turn on the taps, waiting for the water to warm before stepping inside the shower with me still in his arms.

  He lets my body glide down his as he lowers me to my feet, the warm spray covering us both from the rain shower head above.

  One of the best perks of having a hairstylist for a sister-in-law is getting to use the shampoo station installed in her home when I’m down for a visit, but none of those washings have anything on when almost six and a half feet of naked Adonis perfection is the one doing it, though. Sorry, not sorry, Bette.

  The feel of Mase’s fingers working my hair into a lather is blissful. “You are so hired,” I moan.

  His deep chuckle surrounds me as he hooks a finger under my chin to tilt my head back, rinsing the suds from my curls. “You’re saying if football doesn’t work out, I can have a career as a shampoo boy?”

  My spine stiffens. I know it’s a joke but, fuck, I don’t like it.

  “Babe,” he soothes, placing a gentle kiss on my forehead. “Stop worrying.”

  I wish I could.

  “I’ll never be able to smell peppermint without thinking about you,” he says, popping the top on my conditioner bottle. “Christmas should be interesting this year.”

  We’re still two weeks out from Thanksgiving—why is he bringing up Christmas?

  “Why’s that?” I ask as his deft fingers work to untangle knots as he encounters them.

  “I’m afraid I’ll get a semi any time I come across a candy cane.”


  “You’re ridiculous.” I giggle.

  “You know you love me.”

  “I do.” Really, I do—even more so because he knows exactly how to distract me and get me out of my head.

  Since Mase is too tall for me to successfully wash his hair, I grab the loofah and get to work washing his body instead.

  And what a body it is. My inner cheerleader scans Mase from head to toe. She’s not wrong; it’s like a freaking work of art. The pop of his traps, the round balls of his shoulders, biceps as large as my head, corded forearms, strong wrists, and all that dark ink decorating it.

  Give me a Y. Give me a U. Give me an M, M, Y. YUMMY!!

  Mentally, I roll my eyes at myself. Only Mason is able to make my inner cheerleader forget the fact that we were never the type to actually cheer like non-club teams. Though, she’s not wrong.

  I watch the soap suds wash down his body, following their path along the cuts and ridges of his washboard abs, into the V at his hips.

  “Careful, baby,” he cautions when I kneel down to soap up the tree trunks he calls legs. “Don’t start something you don’t plan on finishing.”

  My teeth bite down on my bottom lip at the sight of his manhood at eye level. It starts to lengthen under my attention, but he’s right—I’m sore once again.

  I nod, rise from my crouch, and poke him in the side. “Turn around so I can do your back.”

  He does as I ask, and I make sure to give it the same proper attention I gave his front. The magnificent bubble of his ass is even better to look at naked than it is in his tight football pants. He twerks it at me when I squeeze it before turning around to face me.

  The loofah is snatched from my hands, the purple puff looking comically small inside his massive hand. The flashing of his delectable dimples is all the warning I get before he sets to work turning the tables on me.

  Brushing a few errant curls over my shoulder, he starts at the curve of my neck then drags the puff down my arm.

  Water droplets cling to the dark fringe of lashes surrounding his eyes, and like every other time, I can’t look away from the captivating seafoam color. My skin feels alive under both the exfoliating weave of the loofah and the warmth of his stare following in its wake.