Illegal Contact (The Barons)

by Santino Hassell

  “Are you having some weak-ass book club meeting with him? Because I told you he isn’t allowed anywhere but the driveway.”

  Noah rolled his eyes, and I took that opportunity to push him out of the way. I went through the door, he clamped his hands around one of my biceps and totally failed to drag me to a stop. I entered the pool house with him hot on my heels, and stopped in my tracks. He bumped into me.

  “What the hell?”

  I wasn’t seeing what I’d expected, and I wasn’t even sure what I was seeing. Truth be told, I had no idea what a pool house was for. The exterior was a wet bar slash grilling area, but inside was just fancy white leather furniture, another monstrous television built into the damn wall, and a kitchen. It was open and airy, with wooden scalloped ceilings and big bay windows—probably meant for people who did a lot of entertaining. I’d bought the house with the damn pool house already furnished. But I didn’t use it.

  And now Noah was using it for . . . who the hell knew what. He’d set up tables along the length of the room filled with stacks of food and drinks. Not catered, because Noah was too damn levelheaded and miserly to dole out my money for extra help, but he’d picked up hordes of choice goodies from places all over the island.

  “What the hell is all this?”

  “A surprise?”

  I swung around and wound up way too close to his face. So close that I knocked his glasses off by accident. He scrunched up his face and glared.

  “What kind of surprise?”

  “If you’d wait ten minutes, you’d know,” he griped.

  “I hate surprises. Just tell me what the hell is going on.”

  He gave an extravagant eye roll. “It’s the Barons’ bye week.”

  His use of football terminology gave me a boner. “Your point being?”

  “My point being since they don’t have a game this week, I invited a few guys over.” Noah shifted from foot-to-foot, seeming to lose confidence in his plan as I glared into his face. “Well, technically, I touched base with Simeon and Marcus, and they picked who to invite. About twenty guys? For a scrimmage. Jasmine came over and helped me stripe the lawn like a football field. It took all morning. The fact that you have a football field-sized lawn is pretty ridiculous, just so you know.”

  I blinked.

  “You’ve just been so miserable,” Noah said quickly, nervousness working into his voice. “There’s only been three games, but your mood gets lower every time you watch. And then you work out harder until you’re so sore you have to take those long ice baths, and I feel like you wouldn’t need to do that if only you could play.” He waved at the food. “I was hoping this could help. Well, playing. Not watching your team members gorge themselves on food.”

  When I didn’t say anything, he started to back away. “But it’s not too late to cancel. If you don’t want this—”

  I cut him off by obliterating his personal space and pressing my mouth against his. Just a touch, a taste of coffee and peppermint once his lips parted in surprise, and then I ended it. His eyes had opened wide, looking even bigger without his glasses, and he’d raised a hand to hover near my shoulder.

  “What the hell was that?”

  “Me being grateful.”

  Noah touched his mouth. “You can’t just say ‘thank you’?”

  “Like you said—actions speak louder than words.”

  I licked my lips, attention still focused on his, and goddamn but I wanted to kiss him again. Longer this time. More tongue. My hand cupping his clean-shaven cheek and my thumb stroking his soft skin. Fingers sliding into his thick, dark hair. But I didn’t.

  He was startled, frozen in front of me, and I was struck with the realization that I not only wanted to fuck my hot assistant. I liked him. Sex was the farthest thing from my mind. Right now I just wanted to kiss the hell out of him, and try to get him to like me back.

  Ten years of fucking my way through jersey chasers with fast-and-dirty hookup after fast-and-dirty hookup, and I was reverting to the adolescence I’d never had. One where I wanted to hole up somewhere and make out with the person who made me feel something other than lust.

  “Look, Gavin—”

  Two words and voice full of trepidation was all it took to propel my ass into gear. Not to him, but away from him and his looming rejection. I got tons of letters a week from fans who would screw me in any position I demanded, but of course Noah would turn me away after a single kiss.

  I strode out of the pool house, but he didn’t follow. I didn’t know how to feel about that. Luckily, there was no time to dwell on it. The repeated wailing of a horn blasted through the property.

  The guys were here.

  ***

  Jasmine and Noah had outdone themselves, and I was fucking pumped.

  It was a perfect day for football. Crisp autumn air with sunlight streaming through the multicolored leaves, and my lawn transformed into a football field rather than over an acre of pointless grass. The lines were on point, and they’d even done the end zones in different colors. I didn’t even complain that they’d invited both Joe and Mel. Or that Joe had come through with a video camera before instantly dumping it on Jasmine.

  All I cared about was playing a game.

  We didn’t have pads and helmets—just full-on, old-school shirts versus skins. My team went skins, mostly because Jasmine stated it would look better on video if I was half-naked. The team guffawed at that, laughing and flirting with the only female in the vicinity, until Marcus gave them the evil eye and shut them down. She completely ignored him, despite blushing, and it was hilarious.

  The camera turned on, we flipped a coin to see who’d have the ball, and I made sure Noah was watching before launching myself into the game.

  It was the most enjoyment I’d had in weeks. Fuck that, months. Maybe even years. Normally, I played ball to channel my rage into bursts of speed and ferociousness that resulted in me obliterating the defense. It was a release, like the sweetest orgasm ever because it lasted three hours instead of about eight seconds. But today it was more than that.

  It was a release, but also a lot of goddamn fun. I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d had this much fun playing football. Usually I spent the entire game angry as fuck, because aggression was the only way I could railroad the dudes on the other team. The only way I could ignore the pain radiating through my body, and rush yards as if my head wasn’t ringing and my body wasn’t aching. Now, I spun out of the way of guys storming at me, bounced off tackles, and ran across our makeshift field with a grin on my face.

  At one point, I mimicked Marcus’ trademark backflip into the end zone, landed on my feet, and actually laughed when Gerald Mays—our center—yanked me into a hug.

  “It’s good to fucking have you back, Brawley,” he shouted, lifting me off my feet.

  “It’s good to be playing,” I rumbled in his ear. “Thanks for coming, man.”

  Gerald let me down and clapped a large hand against my shoulder. “Any fucking time.”

  We launched ourselves back into the game, and we played hard. Somewhere in the middle of it all, Jasmine had shoved the camera back at Joe so she could watch without holding his multi-thousand-dollar device. She wound up shouting plays at my team while Mel positioned herself on the other side—two makeshift coordinators who were hard-ass enough to give the Barons’ multitude of cranky-old-bastard coaches a run for their money. The thing about coaches was that there were two types of them—the ones who had played professionally and had nothing to prove besides their own focus on winning to the point of driving us into the ground if we fucked up, and the kind that had never played professionally and felt like they had everything to prove so they drove us into the ground regardless.

  Jasmine and Mel were neither of those things. They just very clearly loved the game. And Joe loved capturing highlights so he could put them on the Internet. Noah, on the other hand, had stopped working to stand on the sidelines and track my every movement. I glanced in his direct
ion before each play just to make sure he hadn’t moved. He never did, and I channeled all of my cabin fever and frustration into a spectacular fucking performance. Also known as me showing off for my crush like a varsity player on the high school’s field.

  On our last play before the “clock” ran out, I intercepted the ball and rushed over ninety yards to score our last touchdown. The Barons exploded into cheers and applause, lifting me onto their shoulders. Across the lawn, I met Noah’s eyes. He was grinning big and clapping excitedly. He likely had no idea that I’d just gotten a pretty badass Pick 6—a touchdown scored from an interception—which was rare for a tight end, but he was celebrating hard. The warmth in my chest and butterflies in my gut made it plain as day that my miserable ass really fucking liked him. In the hand-holding kind of way, not just the ass-pounding way. Although I wanted to do that too.

  Twenty-two football players crowded into the pool house to devour the food Noah had set out before dividing into three groups. The guys who wanted to play Madden, the guys who wanted to grill additional food while talking about football, and the few clowns who insisted on drunkenly riding a golf cart around the property. After a while, I banned them from the damn thing because they were being reckless. Getting injured at the start of the season was a bad fucking idea.

  Noah overheard this exchange and grinned. I knew what he was thinking—that I was proving my secret kind side by being concerned about the other guys on the team—so I scowled. When he turned away, I kept staring at his back. Simeon caught me and smirked.

  By the time our reunion ended, the guys were in high spirits as they separated to go visit their families; Jasmine had refused to give Marcus her number; and Joe and Mel were plotting what to do with the footage. I didn’t give a fuck, so I ignored them and helped Noah clean up.

  The sun had already begun to set, but streams of deep golden light penetrated the bay windows as wind whipped off the ocean. The whole thing was way too cozy, and I couldn’t stop glancing at him. The way his hair looked lighter in the sun, and the meticulous way he folded tablecloths and stacked dishes. The way he mouthed lyrics to songs playing from the surround-sound system, and how he looked totally comfortable being here with me.

  We finished cleaning up and went back to the mansion. He walked ahead of me, rushing to say goodbye to Jasmine and touch base with Joe and Mel. I couldn’t stop looking at his long legs and round ass. I was doomed.

  After uttering a low thank-you to Jasmine and a faster farewell, I sprinted to my bedroom and stripped off my filthy clothes. Not only was I anxious to be under the ice-cold spray of water for the dozens of bruises and lacerations I’d picked up during the scrimmage, but I needed to turn off my adrenaline-fueled arousal.

  Cold water should have done the trick, but the more I focused on not wanting to be horny, the hornier I fucking got. Especially now that I knew what Noah’s lips felt like beneath my own. How he tasted. The feel of his breath on me when I’d pulled away.

  I closed my eyes, head pressed against the tile, and grabbed my dick. No amount of cold water was going to soften the length of my cock, and at this point, I didn’t want it to. I wanted to touch myself and pretend it was Noah.

  I jerked off while water beat against my back, stroking with a grip so tight it would have been painful if my meat wasn’t so fucking hard. With a gaping mouth, harsh gasps, and a mind full of filth—Noah on his knees before me, suckling the head while stroking my shaft, or on all fours while slamming back on it—I came fast enough for it to catch me off guard. It rocketed through me and left me panting as my eyes teared and my lungs expanded to bursting. I hadn’t even nutted that hard for Max.

  With sluggish movements, I finished washing up and stumbled out of the shower. My knees were weak, and tiredness from the grueling game was weighing on me. Even if I worked out all day, it was nothing compared to a full three hours of being on the field. The recent orgasm didn’t help my heavy eyelids. It was definitely time for a nap.

  Or it would have been if I hadn’t left the bathroom to find Noah standing next to my bed. He had a first-aid kit in his hand and had likely been intending to drop it off before booking it out the door, but he froze. And those big blue eyes dipped to the tiny scrap of terry cloth currently covering my crotch.

  “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be.” I combed a hand through my wet hair and moved closer. “You don’t get to apologize about anything for at least a couple of weeks.”

  Noah managed to look away from my towel. “Why’s that?”

  “Because you’re VIP status right now. Untouchable. Protected by the football gods.”

  A smile inched up the corner of his mouth. “Because of the scrimmage?”

  “Because you made me fucking happier than I’ve been since I was drafted.”

  “Oh. Wow.” He looked down at the blue box in his hands. “I was hoping it would cheer you up. I know it must be hard for you to be cut off this way.”

  “Yeah. It is. But don’t you think I deserve it?”

  Noah’s lips thinned. “I think you shouldn’t have punched the dude so hard, but I also understand why you did it.”

  My hands balled into fists. “Simeon told you.”

  “Yes. He did.” Noah exhaled slowly. “Anyway, patch yourself up. I didn’t realize how messed up you’d be after playing for fun. There’s a bruise on your back the size of England.”

  I snorted. “This is nothing compared to a real game. We went easy on each other.”

  “Right. Easy.” Noah brandished the first-aid kit. “Are you going to do it, or do I have to do it for you?”

  “We both know I’m not too good at tending to myself.”

  “You’re just trying to get me to patch you up while you lounge around mostly naked,” he accused.

  Not denying this obvious truth, I sprawled on the bed and folded my hands behind my head. “Is there a massage included in this?”

  “You wish, Gavin.”

  He had no idea.

  For the most part, it was impersonal. Sitting alongside me on the bed, he cleaned the worst of the cuts, like my raw knees and the various gashes that had come from being slammed into the ground, and dabbed them with ointment. I was bandaged and given a couple of pain relievers within fifteen minutes, the most unsexy nurse routine I’d ever witnessed, but it didn’t stop the series of mental images from floating through my mind. It didn’t help that his hands were lingering on my skin long after he’d finished. The tips of his fingers dragged over a raspberry colored bruise stretching along my side—by-product of being rammed by a two-hundred-and-fifty-pound linebacker.

  “Let me kiss you again.”

  “As a thank you for having a good day?”

  “Yeah.” I sat up, causing his hand to fall away. “And because I liked it.”

  He didn’t say anything at first. Just looked at me with his fingers curling in the fabric of my sheets.

  “Did you like it?”

  “Yes,” he admitted. “That’s why it’s probably not a good idea.”

  “Fuck good ideas. I’m tired of imagining how your tongue would feel in my mouth.” I moved closer, breath coming faster. “Please? Just one more time. Then I’ll fuck off.”

  “Would you really fuck off?”

  “Yes. I’ll fuck off now if you don’t want this.” I searched his face. “Just say the word.”

  Noah nodded slowly, analyzing me with narrowed eyes and pursed lips, probably going through dozens of bad scenarios and awful outcomes. Psyching himself out. Comparing me to his old boss. Comparing himself to the old Noah. Letting the worries get in his head the way Phil Stokes did before each game. Which meant, I was about to get rejected.

  Except I didn’t.

  Noah put his hands on me. Fingers sliding into the wet hair at the nape of my neck and his other hand gripping my shoulder as he drew me in to swipe his tongue across my mouth. I shuddered. He felt it and smiled as I released a husky groan. And that was fine. He could be as calm as he wanted whil
e I gripped him hard enough to break capillaries and drowned in the cool taste of his mouth. His talented tongue and sensual kisses made me question whether I could woo this fucking kid when he was a way better kisser.

  It was supposed to have been one kiss, but Noah wasn’t moving. He gripped me tighter the longer it lasted, and his coolness faded one low moan at a time.

  “Move back,” he rasped against my lips.

  I complied, shifting against the headboard, and didn’t try to muffle my husky gasp when he straddled me. His round ass pressed against my throbbing dick. Fuck yes. Now we were talking.

  With both hands cupping his ass cheeks, the tips of my fingers pressing into the crease of his jeans, I was on a different planet. The scrimmage had resulted in my best day ever, but this moment was lifting me into the goddamn heavens.

  “Take your shirt off,” I said against his lips.

  Noah hesitated briefly before whipping off his T-shirt. It was more of him than I’d ever seen, and it made me grabby. I roughly jerked him forward, bucking my hips up, and enjoyed his answering restless grind once I latched onto his nipple. I liked how sensitive he was, and how low his voice got when he was turned on. How he grabbed a fistful of my hair to yank me back into another sensual kiss, all the while grinding on me until my body was hot and aching.

  I heard the second hand ticking on the clock and paid it no mind. Time meant nothing when it was spent making out with Noah, but he ended the blissful moment by pulling away. I automatically leaned in to kiss him again and made a low sound of protest when he turned his face. I panted against his cheek, fingers digging in tighter.

  “I’m gonna leave before this gets out of hand.”

  “It’s already out of hand,” I said, voice scraping out in a husky rumble. “But yeah.”

  Noah shuddered when I traced openmouthed kisses down the side of his face. “Okay, I’m going now.”

  “Okay,” I said, nipping at his jaw.

  “Gavin, stop,” he breathed. “You’re making this impossible.”

  I pulled away with difficulty and winced when the delicious pressure of his body against my dick disappeared. I bit my lip and wasn’t even discreet about the way I adjusted myself beneath the towel. And he wasn’t discreet about staring at the motion with parted, wet lips and dilated eyes.