Team Player 2: A Sports Anthology

by Paige, Rochelle

  Remembering what he told me at the beach, I lower my palm to his balls and gently start to massage them with my fingers.

  “Ahh, fuck,” he growls into my ear, his chest flying forward as he buckles over and then moves his legs farther apart. “Goddamn, Harmony. You’re going to make me embarrass myself.”

  “Good.”

  Determined to see him come before me, I move my palm against the base of his cock while I tease his balls, dragging my finger over the soft surface back and forth, back and forth, working my way back to that special spot that I know will have him flying off this hammock.

  “Fuck, okay. Give me . . . fuck,” he pants in my ear. He slips two fingers inside me while his thumb plays with my clit, quickly rubbing it with just enough pressure that my skins breaks out in goosebumps and the pressure between my legs builds to an apex.

  No, not yet.

  I beg my body to hold off. I try to think of anything else but the pleasure searing through my veins, but it’s next to impossible. He’s too good, and before I can think about bringing my hand back to his cock to really pump it, my hips are bucking against his hand as my free hand grips the hammock mercifully.

  “Oh God,” I moan, pure pleasure ripping through me. I ride his fingers, pulling out every last sensation until I can’t take it anymore and remove his hand. Out of breath, I turn to face him, carefully not swinging us too much, and then I bring my attention to his cock.

  So thick, so ready. Pre-cum coats the tip, so I drag my palm over the top and use it as lubrication to rub him up and down. With my thumb, I drag it along the sensitive vein along the underside of his length, making sure to play with the spot below the head before descending again.

  He isn’t very vocal, but his body speaks for itself in the way his muscles contract, the veins in his neck pop, and the stiffness in his thighs. He’s close.

  “Are you going to come hard?” I ask, squeezing him.

  He lets out a harsh breath as his head falls back.

  “Are you there? Or do you need more of this?” I reach back and take his balls in my palm again. Playing with every sensation, I take great pride in the way he’s breathing erratically, in the unfiltered groans falling past his lips.

  “Fuck, Harmony. Ahhh, fuck, I’m going to come.”

  I pump even harder and just like he said, he comes, his roar echoing over the bricks and dying against the walls, never bouncing farther than the secluded square we’re in.

  My hand slows and when I fully pull away, he lets out a hearty laugh and then opens his eyes to glance at his shirt.

  “I fucking knew it.”

  “What?”

  “You made me come all over my only shirt. Which means one thing. I’m going to need my shirt back.”

  In his dreams.

  Chapter Eleven

  **HOLT**

  Have I ever ejaculated in a hammock before?

  That’s what you’re wondering, right?

  The answer is no. No, I have not. I’ve never ejaculated in public if we’re getting technical. Never in a car either. It’s always been under a roof. Boring, I know, so to say my mind was a little blown just now is an understatement. But not because of the setting, because of the girl sitting next to me in my car.

  I wasn’t planning on getting my hands . . . well, fingers wet. I was hoping for a possible good-night kiss, a hug if anything. But a fucking orgasm in a hammock? Free access to her sweet spot to get her off? Hottest fucking moment of my life. What the hell did I do to deserve that?

  And this wasn’t some ordinary orgasm. This was simply groundbreaking shit.

  Things I’ve never even done with myself. She touched things I wasn’t sure were worth touching, things that have me wondering if I need to bring a mirror between my legs and examine that special button down there she was tapping at.

  “So, uh . . . you’re good at hand jobs,” I say awkwardly as we drive toward her apartment.

  “That’s how you’re going to break the silence?”

  I grip the back of my neck and face her when I stop at a red light. “I might be this smart and refined male, but when it comes down to it, a beautiful girl just played with my ding-dong, and it’s all I can think about, so yeah . . . you’re good at hand jobs.”

  She chuckles, her smile a work of art as it pulls at her full lips. “Cosmopolitan has really good tips. A girl at work always has one with her and when I’m on my break, I read them over.”

  “Well, can you thank her for me, because, Christ, woman, you touched places I wasn’t sure even mattered.”

  “Yeah, really got you going there.”

  Am I blushing? I feel like I’m blushing. I shouldn’t be. I talk about sex all the time, but hearing her boast about making me come, it makes me shy.

  Probably because I came really fucking hard and because of that, I’m now shirtless and driving her home.

  “You did, but I wasn’t the only one with their eyes rolled in the back of their head, crying out like a feral cat in heat.”

  Her head tilts to the side in disagreement. “I was not crying out like a feral cat.”

  “Your pussy sure was.”

  “You know, when you say shit like that, it reminds me that you’re just another idiot jock who thinks with his penis rather than his head.”

  “Right now, the penis is in control. He’s wondering where his new friend just ran off to.” I lean over, eyes still on the road and whisper, “That new friend is your hand.”

  “I got it.” She laughs and shakes her head. “God, why didn’t I tell you to get a life this morning when you first came over?”

  “Because you knew something great was brewing between us and you want to see where it goes.”

  “No, that’s not it.”

  I take a right and slow the car down, knowing I’m getting close to her place. “Is it on the right or the left.”

  “The right, up past the black Mercedes.”

  What I know of Harmony isn’t much, but I do know she doesn’t seem to like rich people, and yet, she’s living in one of the wealthier parts of town. I park behind the Mercedes and say, “This area is really nice.”

  “Yeah, not my choice of living, but River and I have some friends that we’re sharing a townhome with, and splitting it in half has really cut down on the costs. Plus it’s safe, and I’d rather pay extra to be safe than save money and live in a place where I share a toilet with cockroaches.”

  “Smart. I heard cockroaches can be bossy.” Sighing, she reaches for the hem of my shirt but I still her arms. “Give it to me another day.”

  “Who’s to say I’m going to see you again?”

  “Me.” I take out my phone, unlock it, and hand it to her. “Enter your phone number so I can bug you with texts.”

  “What if I want this to be a one-day thing?”

  “I don’t suggest that.” I wiggle my fingers in front of her face. “Remember how these little fellas made you feel?”

  “I seriously can’t stand you.” She says that as she enters her number into my phone and texts herself, the sound vibrating in her purse. Good, she didn’t fake number me. “Don’t be obnoxious with my number, you hear me?” She points her little finger at me. I lean over and kiss it.

  “I won’t.”

  She reaches for the handle of the car but then turns around to look at me. I still, waiting for her to lean in to me, looking for a kiss. “I might be hard around the edges, but I know a good guy when I see one, and you’re one of them. Thank you for a great day.”

  “You’re welcome.” She opens the door, and I’m desperate, so I’m almost all the way across the console when I say, “No goodbye kiss?”

  She shakes her head, standing from the car but ducking down so I can see her. “I don’t kiss on the first date.”

  “Oh, but you give hand jobs?”

  “Exactly.” She laughs, the sound so goddamn beautiful that I want to leap across the car and pull her back in.

  “I would have rather had
the kiss.”

  “Liar.”

  “One thing you should know about me is that I never lie.”

  “Somehow I believe you.” She gives me a small wave. “Good night, Holt.”

  “Good night, Harmony.”

  She spins on her heel, shuts the door, and jogs up the steps to her apartment. With one last glance, she smiles over her shoulder and then disappears.

  And that’s the last time I ever see her . . .

  Well, that’s being dramatic. It feels like forever after all the unanswered texts, missed calls, and ignoring me on campus.

  It’s the last time I see her . . . for two weeks, until I take matters into my own hands and force the girl to sit down with me again. There is no way I’m letting Harmony slip between my fingers, not when I know she’s meant to be a part of my life.

  Dear readers,

  I know what you’re thinking. “I’m going to KILL Meghan Quinn.” And I get it. If I were a reader reading this highly entertaining, yet sexy novella, I’d want to kill me too with an ending like that. So let’s have a collective second where we spew out all our hate for Meghan Quinn.

  Go . . .

  (Yup, I hear ya. Wicked wench, I know. Devious and unfair, totally. Heartless witch stealing our HEA. Right there with you.)

  Okay . . . you good?

  (Oh, yup, I hope her bra snaps apart in the middle of a store too.)

  Okay, now that we got that off our chests, I’m going to offer you some support to get you through this tough time. Guess what? Knox and Carson both have stories out. Yes, you can read about them in The Locker Room and The Dugout. (Holt is in The Locker Room A LOT. And you can get more insight into his book. Yay.) And then Jason’s story will be coming out November 21st, with Holt following closely behind.

  So maybe I’m not that horrible, after all. Let’s all say it together . . . You’re NOT terrible, Meghan. We just wish your sandal strap snaps in Target while shopping for tampons.

  That’s fair, I accept.

  But in all seriousness, thank you for reading the beginning of Holt’s story. There is so much more to come with these boys—excuse the pun—so stick around.

  And in the meantime, make sure to read:

  The Locker Room: https://amzn.to/2lPO60o

  The Dugout: https://amzn.to/2lOUXXZ

  Much love and boob squeezes,

  B>> Meghan

  About Meghan

  USA Today Bestselling Author, wife, adoptive mother, and peanut butter lover. Author of romantic comedies and contemporary romance, Meghan Quinn brings readers the perfect combination of heart, humor, and heat in every book.

  Check out Meghan’s Amazon page for a full list of her books.

  Dear Ava

  Ilsa Madden-Mills

  Dedication

  For every Ava in the world. Let your fire burn bright.

  Theme song: “Skyscraper” by Demi Lovato

  Special Note From the Author

  Dear Ava takes place in high school, but it’s not suitable for readers under the age of 17 because of language and underage alcohol and drug use. Also, a trigger warning and possible spoiler (if you hate spoilers, stop reading now): sexual assault is referenced, although you will not see it happen on the page.

  All kissing/sexual scenes between the heroine and hero are completely consensual.

  At Camden Prep, the richest and most popular rule the school—the Sharks. Once I wanted to be part of them—until one of them destroyed me. Now, I’m back and ready for vengeance.

  For Ava is scrawled across the envelope inside my locker. Nearly a year since I’ve walked the halls of this ivy-covered prestigious school—yet someone remembers me, the girl from the wrong side of town who’s dragged herself back to this hellhole to graduate. I’m here, but I trust no one, not even my so-called secret admirer.

  Dear Ava,

  Your eyes are the color of the Caribbean Sea… Shit. That’s stupid. What I really mean is…you look at me and I feel something REAL. And that never happens.

  It’s been ten months since you were here, but I can’t forget you.

  I’ve missed seeing you walk down the hall.

  I’ve missed you cheering at my football games.

  I’ve missed the secret smile that curls your lips.

  The truth is, I wanted you back then—but you had him.

  And then everything fell apart that night.

  If you need anything, I want to be there for you. Text me. Please. 105-555-9201

  P.S. I’m a Shark, but I’d never hurt you.

  P.P.S. I’ve tried to fight it with everything I have, but I want you. Still.

  Prologue

  Junior year

  Ava

  My long blonde hair covers my face and I shove it away, my heart kicking up and pounding in my chest as I open my eyes. Cicadas sing nearby, their song deafening in the woods. A high keening sound breaks into the night, and I jerk, realizing it’s me making that weird noise. I stop, sucking in air as I attempt to sit up, but decide against it when my arms feel like jelly. I’m lying in tall grass, and I breathe slowly, orienting myself as I stare up at the starry sky. The moon is full and bright, illuminating the wooded area next to me. Twisting my head, I see the embers of a low bonfire glowing several yards away in an open meadow.

  I swallow, my hands clenching the grass and damp leaves underneath me. My head spins in a repeating spiral of pain, and I close my eyes again to try to ward it off.

  Where am I?

  Bonfire party, the Friday night kegger after the football game on a dirt road off Ivy Lane. Right, right.

  But…where is everyone?

  My mind replays the beginning of the evening: Jolena and me getting ready for the party at her place and my nervousness at being surrounded by the opulence of her huge mansion. I remember arriving at the field party in her black Range Rover then walking to the bonfire area and saying hi to everyone, the Fireball we’d taken shots of before we came not yet kicking in to make me brave. These people weren’t like me, didn’t really know me. They’re the Sharks at Camden, the rich and popular kids, a tightknit group who look down their noses at pretty much everyone else.

  My fingers press on my forehead, shifting through the memories of the bonfire. Knox Grayson, the Camden quarterback and the leader of the Sharks, was the first person I saw when we arrived, his arm curled around a pretty girl. Enigmatic and dangerous-looking, he has a long, ugly scar down the right hollow of his cheek, slicing into his upper lip.

  He watched me walk up with Jolena, an intimidating glint in his narrowed gaze. I brushed it off and forgot about him because Chance appeared in front of me. Beautiful, sweet Chance. He’s part of that inner circle too, but he likes me. I recall him twirling me around, kissing me on the cheek, and asking me to sing. After much prompting and cajoling, I stood in the bed of someone’s truck and belted out “Skyscraper” by Demi Lovato. Cheers rang out. I felt…elated.

  And I had another drink.

  And Chance? Did we kiss after all this time of him chasing me? I don’t know.

  Things get even fuzzier after that.

  Someone pushed a new drink into my hands.

  Remorse flies at me, regret tugging. I…I drank too much, something I rarely do.

  Faces from the party zoom in and out of my head, their features vague, funhouse images playing out, a horrible carnival ride that’s supposed to be fun but isn’t.

  I push myself up to sitting and gasp when I look down and see that my denim skirt is bunched up around my legs, and my underwear are missing. I let out a strangled sound and my hands flail uselessly over my skin as if the scrap of white material might magically appear. Craning my neck, I take in small, purple-looking bruises on my inner thighs…and my body throbs…there, in my tender places.

  “Oh, God, oh, God…” I say as I struggle to stand up but immediately plop back down in the grass with my head between my knees, waiting for my stomach to settle.

  More memories—are they real?—slam
into my mind. Me dancing with a guy…guys. Me heading off to the line of trees to go…somewhere…the bathroom? Was Jolena with me? No. I shake my head as an image of someone with dark hair pops up, looming over me, leading me away from the party—

  I touch my swollen mouth.

  He kissed me hard. He yanked my hair and shoved me down to the ground…

  That wailing sound comes from me again and my eyes move wildly to the nearby trees. Clarity and realization take over the cloudy memories, cutting into the alcohol. I don’t remember details, most of it totally blank, but something happened in those woods…something terrible. Chilling.

  Someone took what wasn’t his—and I was helpless.

  I hear my best friend Piper’s voice in my head. Don’t trust them, Ava. You might be a cheerleader today, but no one gets inside their group.

  But…I’d just wanted to be close enough to be with Chance.

  Where is he now?

  Tears fall like raindrops down my face, and I don’t know how long I sit in the grass, my mind playing back the night, grappling with what happened one second then crying again the next as the reality of it settles around me.

  I try to stand but fall back to the ground.

  God, why did I drink so much?