The Hook Up (Game On Book 1)

by Kristen Callihan

  The chair creaks beneath him as he slowly lowers the guitar. I can’t move. I can’t catch my breath. I’m so hot my skin hurts. There’s an ache between my legs and in my breasts. A throbbing beat that matches my heart. I can only pant and watch him rise.

  His mouth is hard, his eyes glittering darkly beneath half-lowered lids as he comes for me. I find myself leaning back, like I’m afraid of him, when really it’s all I can do not to beg him to hurry up and touch me. He stops at the foot of the bed and looks me over, an insolent, languid perusal that I should find insulting but only makes me burn hotter.

  When he speaks, his voice is rough, quick, sharp. It scrapes against my heightened nerves, shouts in the quiet room, even though it’s a near murmur. “Lift your top.”

  Oh, God, I’m dizzy. My head goes light and then heavy, my breath chuffing out in strangled half-gasps as I fumble with the bottom of my sweater. Cool air kisses my skin as I expose my belly.

  He merely watches, waiting. My breasts ache so bad that when I ease my sweater over them, I whimper. I’m not wearing a bra. He had to have expected as much; my breasts are too big to hide the fact. Even so, his nostrils flare on a sharp breath.

  And then he’s coming for me, the slow, rolling stride of a lion. He crawls over me, a veritable mountain of testosterone and intent. One thick thigh shoves between my legs, pressing there, giving me sweet relief and soft agony. When his hot, wet mouth closes over my nipple, I groan so loud it scares me a little. Not him. He sucks me harder, and we fall back into the bed. I don’t have another coherent thought.

  ANNA’S TITS, NAKED and in the full light of day, drive me out of my mind. I can barely think, I’m shaking so badly. Her tight nipple fills my mouth, and I flick my tongue over it, loving the way she arches into me, her breath coming in quick pants. I let her go with a loud pop, then lean back to look at her again.

  Holy hell, she’s perfect to me. Firm and teardrop-shaped breasts so full they spill over a bit on the sides of her narrow frame. A smooth, luminous cream color, they quiver with each breath she takes. Her nipples, one of which I’ve sucked to a wet peak, are a dark, rosy-brown. Brown sugar topping vanilla ice cream. I want to eat her up. With a grunt of impatience, I tug off the sweater that’s bunched around her neck, and her wild red curls tumble about her face. Then I tear off my shirt; I’m too hot to breathe with it on.

  She laughs a little, until I sit back on my haunches and pull off her pants and panties in one, swift move. Then she simply watches me with her big, green eyes. But I see the way her fingers curl into the covers and her beautiful tits lift with each breath she takes.

  Lust flares through my veins like fire. It gets worse as my gaze travels over her body.

  Jesus. Her waist is tiny compared to the rounded swells of her hips that ease into full, smooth thighs, and long calves. Freckles cover her shoulders, even a few on her hips. Endless cream sprinkled with sugar, laid out on her bed like an offering of everything I’ve ever wanted.

  My attention settles on the place I need to sink into. That small triangle of curls, so dark red it’s like a valentine between her sweet thighs. Lots of girls wax themselves bare. It’s always creeped me out, like I’m with a preteen. Not Anna. She’s perfect for me.

  Suddenly I can’t breathe right. My voice comes out rough and strangled. “Spread your legs and let me see that gorgeous pussy.”

  Her entire body tightens, her soft mouth parting on an agitated breath. Oh, but her eyes gleam bright. She likes my words raw and unfiltered. I’ve never talked much during sex before, never thought to do it. I don’t know why it’s different with Anna. Maybe it’s because I want her so bad, I don’t think about anything but the blinding, gut-wrenching lust and the need to bring her along for the ride. That she seems to get off on it as much as I do has me shaking again. In this way, at least, she is all mine.

  Her trembling thighs part. She glistens there, her pink lips plump and wet.

  “You’re so beautiful,” I rasp. “So beau—” I can’t talk.

  The air between us goes thick. She spreads wider, without shame, without artifice. She’s not even looking at my face, but at the bulge of my crotch where my hard-on is desperately trying to punch through my jeans. With an unsteady hand, I snap the button and pull down my zipper, the sound loud in the quiet room. I’m so fucking hard, my dick springs straight up, pulsing in time with my heartbeat.

  Her breath hitches, her teeth catching the plump curve of her lip. I hold her gaze as I reach down and give myself a light stroke, enough to make my dick surge, but not nearly enough to satisfy me. She watches the movement, and her breath becomes agitated.

  “Do you want this in you, Anna?”

  Her gaze flicks up to mine. She’s panting now, licking her lips wet in a greedy way. I nearly groan.

  “Do you want me to fuck your pussy?”

  Her abdomen clenches.

  “Tell me, Anna,” I whisper, leaning over so I can run my lips from her bent knee, down her soft thigh. She trembles, her flesh jumping beneath my touch. I smell her musk, the faint scent of shower gel lingering in her soft curls, and feel the heat of her core. Up close, she’s all shades of rose. Beautiful.

  I give the crease at the top of her thigh a slow lick.

  “Drew…”

  God, I love hearing her say my name. I reward her and kiss the pink, wet lips quivering before me. “Or maybe you want me to suck you,” I say before I do just that.

  She arches off the bed, and I have to place a hand on the gentle curve of her belly to hold her still.

  I love doing this to her. Licking, nuzzling, fucking her with my tongue, letting myself take deep tastes of her sex. I feel the heat of my own breath as I manage to ask, “What do you want, baby?”

  And then I hear her. “I want it all.”

  I’m lost. My fingers fumble with the condom, nearly tearing it in my haste to put it on. I surge up, hooking her legs over my arms as I go. My dick sinks into her with one thrust, and she groans so loud and hard that I nearly come right then. But I find her shoulder and hold it steady with my teeth as I pump into her. Her ass clenches against my palms with each thrust.

  Strong legs wrap around me, her heels digging into my back to spur me on. I’m going out of my mind.

  Sliding my hands up to her back, I swing her up into my lap. Her arms come around me as if they belong there. I fill my hands back up with her plump, irresistible ass, squeezing as I find the sweet spot on her neck with my mouth. She’s fragrant here, smelling of spice and Anna.

  “Take me,” I demand against her damp skin, my tongue slicking over the silky surface before I suck. “Take me.”

  Her hands grasp my shoulders, and then she’s riding me, her hot pussy clasping my dick so hard I shake. I clench her ass, trying not to hold her too tightly for fear of hurting her. But it’s a struggle. I want her too much, and my hips surge up to meet her on the down stroke. She makes those noises, those little whimpers that get me so hot I’m sweating, my breath a rasp against her neck. Her full breasts jiggle and slide against my chest with every thrust. I’m in heaven, and I don’t want it to end. It can’t end.

  MAYBE I’VE MADE a mistake letting Baylor into my home. It’s a personal thing, showing that part of myself, exchanging stories about our family. Maybe it was too much for him. Or maybe the novelty has worn off, and he’s come to remember that he dates perfect looking jock groupies. I don’t know. I miss decisive me, when it was easy to walk away. Now I’m stuck in class trying not to look over at Drew Baylor, who has been hunched in his seat for the past forty-five minutes.

  Okay, so I might have been the one to send him packing after we had sex in my bed. But it had been intense, too intense, and I’d needed to collect myself in private. And, yes, I was the one who made it clear that I wouldn’t see him until our next Philosophy class.

  And though it’s probably safer if we don’t look at each other during class, his behavior now is odd. He’s withdrawn, not talking. By the time class is over
, I’m convinced that we are too. It’s shocking how much this hurts.

  Drew leaves first. I find myself following. I might be overreacting. How would I know anymore? My inner radar has gone AWOL. But I buck the fuck up and decide to find out.

  He’s already out of the lecture hall and descending the wide front stairs.

  “Baylor.” I don’t say it loud, but he hears.

  His long stride stutters and then he turns. And because I’m following him down the stairs, we both come to a halt at the same moment, face to face. I’m a step above him, which makes us almost even in height now. I hadn’t noticed it before, being a paranoid freak and all, but now that I get a good look, he’s pale beneath his tan, and his mouth is pinched and white around the edges.

  “Are you okay?” I ask. “You look terrible.”

  His mouth flattens further. “I’m fine.” He glances toward the quad as if to find safety. And I go cold. He’s never looked to get away from me before.

  “All right.” I move past him. “See you.”

  I don’t get to take another step before he grabs my hand. “Anna…”

  He lets me go when I look down at our hands, and instantly I want his back.

  “I have a headache,” he grumbles.

  My lips twitch, a strange aching relief pushing through my veins. “And big, strong men don’t admit to weakness?”

  The corner of his mouth curls, but he won’t meet my eyes. “Something like that.” Then he goes so pale that I move closer.

  “Hey,” I say softly, as I search his face. “It’s really bad, isn’t it?”

  He gives a bare nod. “Migraines. I get them.”

  “I do too.” And they suck. I touch his arm, and the skin under his forearm is like silk. I have to stop myself from stroking him. “You need to lie down. You shouldn’t have come to class.”

  “I can’t skip class,” he says with a sigh. “And I can’t go home. I’ve got practice in an hour.”

  “Practice? Drew—”

  “It’s what I do.” He presses his fingers to his eyes. “Sometimes it sucks. But that’s part of the job. I’ve downed about ten ibuprofen, I’ll be okay.”

  “You’re going to have guys slamming into you while you have a migraine?” I need to let this go, but my head hurts for him.

  Instead of being annoyed, he gives me weak smile. “Feeling sorry for me yet? Because I think I can manage a tear or two.”

  “Stop trying to deflect.” I take hold of his elbow. “Come with me.”

  “I don’t know, Jones. As much as I want to, I don’t think I can perform at top level—”

  “Drew, shut up.”

  Meekly, he complies.

  I could take him back to my place but there isn’t enough time. So I lead him toward the student union. The sun is high and bright as we walk across the quad.

  “Put your sunglasses on,” I tell him as we walk.

  “You want me incognito?” He’s already pulling them out and putting them on. And looking way too good wearing them.

  “No, it’s for your eyes—” I shut up as I catch his grin. “Stop fucking with me.”

  He laughs. “But fucking with you is fun, Jones.”

  “Did you seriously just double entendre me?”

  Another laugh. “I don’t think that question was grammatically correct, Jones, but yeah.” He slings an arm around my shoulders, hugging me close, and kisses my temple. I’m engulfed in his warmth, feel his affection. Flustered, I pull free to open the door to the dining hall.

  “What are we going to do here?” Drew asks, holding the door for me.

  I don’t even need to duck under his outstretched arm. “Getting supplies.”

  Despite his paleness, he wags his brows. “You’ve got my complete attention now.”

  No. I’m not going to smile. Not even a little.

  I smile. “You have a one track mind.”

  “Not true, Jones,” he says in a voice only for me. “I have a few choice tracks in regards to you. But yeah, they eventually lead to the same place.” The wicked look in his eyes tells me exactly where that place is. Not that I have any doubt.

  Fighting a grin, I roll my eyes and head toward the food court. Only to get inundated by people. That is, people swarm Drew. Honestly, I don’t know how he stands it. Sweat immediately prickles my lower back and my shoulders hunch. I’m jostled about as guys come up to slap Drew on the shoulder or give him a high-five.

  The brush of Drew’s fingers against mine tells me he’s trying to grab my hand. I evade him and step away. He doesn’t look happy about that, and I point toward the salad bar. “I’ll be there.”

  I leave him frowning before he turns and talks to his fans.

  At the salad bar, I find a small condiment container and fill it with olive oil.

  “What’s with the olive oil?”

  I almost drop the container at Drew’s question. “For someone so big, you can sneak up on a person surprisingly well.” Now that he’s here, I feel the warmth and energy of him at my back. I pop on a lid. “And you’ll have to wait and see.”

  He leans his head over my shoulder to peer down at me. “Your protests of innocence are wearing very thin at this point.” He says this lightly, but I hear the strain in his voice. Is he upset that I left him behind?

  Those people didn’t come to see me. So why do I feel guilty for doing it? The back of my neck grows tighter. I force a smile. “All right. I’ve earned your skepticism. But you’ll soon be sorry for it.”

  With slow care, he eases a lock of my hair back from where it dangles over my forehead. “I trust you, Jones.”

  “Come on,” I say a bit too thickly. “We’re headed to the second floor.”

  Drew’s expression goes flat and distant. And my heart skips a pained beat, but then I realize it’s not for me. He’s not even looking my way. It’s to get us out of here quickly. Because he simply strides forward, his hand just touching the small of my back, and not a soul comes forward. In truth, they part for him like the Red Sea.

  “How do you do that?” I ask out of the side of my mouth. “It’s like a super power.”

  He snorts. “You learn fairly quickly how to broadcast ‘back off’ when you need to.”

  Unfortunately, some people are always going to be oblivious. And to my horror, a familiar face breaks from the crowd. I haven’t seen Whitney Summers since graduating high school. In truth, I didn’t know she went to this university. Not that I’d have cause to keep track of her whereabouts—we hate each other.

  Thin, toned, and tan, with long blond hair that hangs in a thick sheet down the middle of her back, she’s always reminded me of Barbie. An unfortunate stereotype, but there you go. She beelines straight for Drew.

  Having no option other than walking into her, Drew stops.

  Whitney’s big blue eyes blink up at him. “Drew Baylor. I thought it was you.”

  “You were correct,” Drew says.

  She ignores me completely. Not surprising. She’d been a world-class bitch to me for years. Smiling wide, she offers Drew her hand. “Whitney Summers. I know your friend Thompson.” Her smile grows. “And Rolondo.” A giggle now. “And Simms.”

  Jesus. Is she implying what I think she is? Drew and I exchange a look, and it’s clear he’s wondering the same thing. His mouth twitches. “Um. Yeah. Well, nice to meet you.”

  He moves his weight onto the balls of his feet, as if he intends to walk around her, when she leans closer to him. “I just thought I’d introduce myself,” she says. “You know. Say hi.”

  “Okay. Hi.”

  Whitney flips a long length of her hair behind her shoulder and continues to smile at him. “Maybe we can grab a cup of coffee sometime.”

  Great. Perfect. I get to witness Drew being propositioned in living color. I don’t dare look up at him. I don’t want to see his expression. I just can’t react. Not when Whitney treats me as though I’m not here.

  Looking at her, I feel the same impotent rage as I
did in high school. How was it that someone like this, someone petty, shallow, and boring could hold the student body in the palm of her hand? And what was so lacking in me that I had been shunned? I was never unattractive or a jerk.

  In truth, I don’t understand how the world works the way it does. Grandpa Joe used to tell me that meanness never pays off. But I’m pretty sure whoever made up that saying never went to high school.

  Standing next to Drew, I grit my teeth and fight the urge to run away. Or smash my fist into Whitney’s pug nose. Maybe he’s aware of my annoyance, because he touches the small of my back. I feel it like a brand of heat along my spine. “If you’ll excuse us,” he says to Whitney. “We have somewhere to be.”

  Her smile falls flat. She catches my eyes, and a calculating look twists her face. “I know you.” Her head tilts as she peers at me. “I think.”

  Oh, very nice. “You do. We went to high school together.” And junior high, and grade school, but whatever.

  “Oh. Ann, right?” She laughs a little, like she’s embarrassed by her gaffe, but she isn’t fooling me. And she’s looking up at Drew, not me. “Some people aren’t as memorable as others.”

  I tense, ready to lay into her. But Drew halts my response by laying an arm over my shoulder. The hold is proprietary and clearly marks us as a unit.

  “Well, I don’t think I’ll forget you now,” he tells her, his tone not at all nice.

  Not that Whitney notices his sarcasm. No, she beams.

  And though I know Drew means well, I hate that he has to witness this. That he has to defend me. The way people react to us are as polar as true north and south.

  Heart hurting, I stand rigid in his embrace and stare down Whitney. “Considering you’ve called me Anna Banana-pants since the third grade,” I add coolly, “you’re either extremely dense or a liar.”

  Her mouth falls open as a flush works over her face. She hadn’t expected honesty.

  Drew gives my shoulder a light squeeze as he looks at me. “Weren’t we going somewhere?”

  “Yep.”

  He guides me around Whitney, neither of us saying goodbye to her. A muttered “bitch” follows us as we walk away, and Drew leans close, his breath buffeting my ear. “Kind of the pot calling the kettle, eh?”