A Deeper Blue

by S. E. Harmon

  He jerked a little when I bit his earlobe. I loved how responsive he was. “Not bad, Blue. Not bad at all.”

  I tugged at his jeans. “Help me take these off.”

  “No.” He smacked at my hand. “Stop it.”

  “I won’t take no for an answer.” I paused. “Wait. That sounds gross and rapey. I will take no for an answer, but please don’t tell me no.”

  I could see the struggle on his face as he tried not to laugh. So I went for his zipper, but he smacked me again. “They’re still out there,” he hissed.

  Sweet Jesus. My hand froze. I’d almost forgotten I had half the goddamned team in the living room. As though to remind me, a cheer sounded, and a lot of whooping followed. “Someone scored,” I said.

  “Well, it ain’t gonna be you.”

  I wanted him so bad my dick was like an iron bar in my pants. I didn’t give a flying fuck if they were holding the presidential address downstairs. “We’ll close the door.”

  “Because my room has suddenly become soundproofed?” He looked flustered. “You know, for someone who freaked out kissing me in a pitch-black parking lot, you’ve certainly done a one-eighty.”

  I made a beeline for the door, shut it quietly, and worked the lock with one hand and my pants with the other. I was only ambidextrous when it counted—on the field and when it came to sex. By the time I turned around to face him again, I had my pants unzipped and my dick in my hand. He swore softly, eyes trained on my movements as I stroked myself up and down.

  I slowed down to give him a good show. I rubbed my thumb across the tip of my dick and sent a full-body shiver down my spine. Kelly made a desperate noise and lunged, and suddenly he was all over me. He kissed me hard even as he pushed me up against the sink. Before I could adjust to our changed situation—from “maybe we’re having sex” to “hell yeah, we’re having sex” in the blink of an eye—he started to ride my thigh, and a groan slipped from my throat. His hands were everywhere—in my hair, at my waist, and sliding inside my loose-fit cargos. There was another muted cheer downstairs, and my eyes popped open. I hadn’t even realized I’d closed them.

  My eyes slid to the door as he gripped my ass firmly and bit down on my lip, hard enough to bruise. “You started this. Having regrets already?”

  “No,” I said reflexively. Maybe a little bit.

  “Fucking liar.” His laugh was a soft and husky sound near my ear. He kissed me softly and made sure to flirt with the piercing in his tongue by sliding it softly against my bottom lip. “Luckily for me I know some surefire ways to get your undivided attention.”

  As he sucked on my tongue, I could only groan in response. How much more undivided did he want? The house could be burning down around our ears, and I’d just suggest we put a damp towel under the door so we’d be able to fuck a little bit longer.

  I unbuckled his belt and pushed his jeans and close-fitting briefs down to his thighs. I took my time and uncovered that bubble butt slowly just to torture myself. I turned him around almost regretfully. I wouldn’t be able to kiss him while I fucked him, but I had to get the full-on view of that ass. He helped me out and leaned down to press both elbows on the bathroom counter. I slid my foot between his and tapped his foot gently so he’d get the picture.

  “You’re a bossy motherfucker,” he informed me. Unapologetically insistent, I tapped his foot again, and he huffed out a laugh. He walked his feet out as far as the pants around his thighs would allow, and I groaned.

  “And you’re a sexy motherfucker,” I said softly. I pressed him down farther to see that ass stick out more. My dick throbbed when he complied with a soft moan. “Please tell me we have lube in here.”

  “Yeah.” His cheeks a little pink—both sets—he gestured at the mirror.

  I opened the mirror, grabbed the bottle, and almost fumbled it in the process. It was some of Kelly’s favorite stuff—thick and silky on my fingers. I kissed the back of his neck as I worked my fingers inside him, and before long, I slid into him with a deep groan that bounced off the bathroom tiles. There was nothing better than that. Nothing. He tightened his muscles around me, and I made an unearthly sound.

  “Fuck,” I hissed, my voice echoing off the tiles.

  “Shhh,” he said, neatly ignoring the fact that his groan was nearly as loud as mine.

  “Can’t help it,” I said. Then I dropped my forehead on his shoulder and picked up the rhythm. My energetic fucking sent him sliding across the counter with every thrust. I was blind with it, drunk with it. “Feels so fuckin’ amazing.”

  I pulled almost all the way out and took my time working my way back in to the sound of his grunts and groans as they blended and mixed with my harsh breathing. After a year and some change of me fucking him every chance I got, I knew exactly how he liked it—slow, deliberate strokes in the beginning and a frenzy of hammering at the end that left him a moaning mess of goo I had to hold up. I hit that spot, that spot that drove him crazy, and he stiffened and gripped the counter’s edge with both hands. I pegged that spot again, and he actually cried out my name. Even though it made me feel about ten feet tall, I shushed him urgently.

  I reached over and turned on the faucet high and hoped the water would cover the noise, because I damn sure wasn’t stopping. I gripped his hips again and went to work, pounding him so hard and thoroughly it forced him up on his tiptoes. He shook soundlessly as he came and spurted all over the bathroom cabinet. I watched him in the mirror as his expression twisted into a grimace, his eyes closed.

  He was so unbelievably beautiful to me. I finally understood why people made videos of themselves having sex, because I wanted to pause him like that—cheeks pink, mouth bruised, pupils blown and unfocused. It was wild and unfettered, open and honest and all too real.

  I could’ve stared at him forever, but sheer need took over my body. I snapped my hips as I picked up speed, my thighs slapped against his ass, and my balls thudded against his. I thrust so hard he slid across the counter a little bit, and I yanked him right back in place. I moved my lips in a silent swear as I came, and my fingers bit into his flesh so hard I left marks. I threaded my fingers through his hair and pulled him back so I could claim his mouth.

  I pushed into him a few more times, less like a wild, possessed animal and more slowly and easily, riding out the last of my orgasm. I stole my hand to his already softening dick and pumped him slowly, just because I liked touching him. I licked and bit at his lips until he groaned into my mouth. When I finally slipped free, we both sighed.

  I didn’t know if we’d been too noisy, and strangely enough, I didn’t care. Maybe my brain had leaked out of my body right along with my orgasm. My legs actually trembled, and I staggered over to the tub and sat down on the edge. Kelly turned off the water and sat down next to me, and suddenly there was nothing but silence in the bathroom.

  I opened my mouth, and he slapped a hand over it. My eyes flew wide in surprise as he shook his head. I could only blink my disapproval.

  “Don’t,” he said.

  “Don’ wha’?” I muttered around his fingers.

  “Are you about to say something stupid?” I shifted my eyes guiltily, and he tightened his grip. “Something that will ruin this sex high that I’m on?”

  I had my protest all ready until he sent me a meaningful “cut the crap” look. I took his hand off my mouth and kissed the inside of his palm. “Probably.”

  “Then let’s not and say we did.”

  He was a beautiful mess—hair everywhere, mouth swollen and bruised, clothes askew. I stared at the red marks near his hips in something like awe and regret. I was sorry I’d bruised his skin, but I couldn’t deny I liked looking at the marks—the proof of exactly how hot things had gotten.

  My staring obviously made him uncomfortable, and he scowled at me. “What?”

  “I’m sorry. I believe I was forbidden to speak.”

  He looked down at himself as though he’d just realized he was still half out of his pants. “I’ve go
t to get in the shower.”

  I looked at him, a little startled. “You’re still going out?”

  “Of course I am.” His mouth twitched. “Was that your attempt at fucking me into submission? Because it was good, but it wasn’t that good.”

  I wanted to laugh and belt him one at the same time. I was jealous, and it wasn’t one bit funny. I righted my clothing as he stripped off the rest of his. He turned on the taps in the shower, and I had another few glimpses of his lean, toned body before he pulled the curtain. It made me wish we were at my place, where I had a glass shower enclosure. Just the thought of watching him shower had me hot and bothered all over again.

  Another cheer went up downstairs, and I jumped a little. Jesus. I forgot they were even down there. Again. Sex with Kelly obviously killed brain cells.

  I scrubbed my hands down my face, left the bathroom, and closed the door behind me. As I passed by the wall mirror in the bedroom, I took a quick peek to make sure I didn’t look like I just had sex good enough to give me jelly knees. Satisfied I looked normal, I headed out the bedroom door and froze.

  I saw Dane at the top of the stairs. It looked like he was heading down, like he’d already been upstairs. I had to blink twice to make sure I was seeing what I was clearly seeing. My heart beat frantically in my chest. “D?”

  He paused and half turned. “Yeah?”

  “Did you need something?”

  “Nope. We’re ordering pizza and wanted to know if you guys wanted any.”

  “I could go for some pepperoni and mushrooms.” The way my stomach was flip-flopping, I’d be lucky to eat ever again. “Did you already order?”

  “Nah. Warner is just about to call.” He gestured toward the bedroom door. “Does Cannon want anything?”

  “He’s going out.”

  “Maybe he wants a couple slices before he leaves?”

  “I don’t know,” I said sharply. “How would I know what Kelly wants?”

  “Dude.” He gave me a surprised look. “Chill. We’re in his crib, eating his food. It’s the least we could do.”

  Right. I had to get it together. I ran a hand through my hair and tried not to grip hard and pull. I wanted to yank it out by the roots. It was just that… we’d been going at it pretty fucking hard in there. I was pretty sure, at one point, we sounded like a couple of wild cats in an alley, and no amount of water running in a goddamn sink could cover that up.

  Had Dane heard anything? How long had he been out there? How loud had we been? Things I hadn’t cared about suddenly were paramount. I forced myself not to shake the answers I wanted out of him like a pair of maracas.

  If you act like it’s a big deal, then so will he.

  “You coming down?” he asked.

  I blinked, almost surprised to still find him there. “Yeah. I’ll be down in a minute.”

  I stood at the top of the stairs and listened to him charge down, graceful as an elephant. How loud had we been that we hadn’t even heard him coming upstairs? The bedroom door opened behind me, and I jumped again. Luckily Kelly was too busy closing the door behind him to notice I was suddenly jumpier than a spooked cat.

  I couldn’t help but look him up and down, because a, he was hot, and b, he was mine. He had a careless, sexy look going on in some soft, faded jeans and a Nirvana T-shirt that was a hair close to being too tight. He’d fixed his hair, but there was only so much he could do about those kiss-swollen lips and the start of beard burn he had on his creamy-skinned neck.

  I rubbed a hand absently over my stubble. “Sorry about that.”

  He looked confused for a second until he got my meaning. He briefly stole a hand to his neck. Damned if he didn’t look a little shy. “I liked it.”

  “So did I. Although like is probably a bit of a mild term for how I felt about it.”

  He grinned and shoved his phone in his back pocket. “I’ll be back probably in a couple hours. If the guys are gone before then, you should come down.”

  I glanced at his beard burn again and then those sexy bee-stung lips. He glanced around and then leaned in and dropped a kiss on my cheek, and my guilt flared anew. We were in his home. He shouldn’t have to look around before he kissed his boyfriend.

  My guilt was briefly surpassed by panic as he passed in front of me, and I grabbed his arm. “Kel—”

  He tilted his head questioningly. “Yeah, baby? What’s wrong?”

  You can’t go down there and pass through the living room. Mostly because you look freshly fucked, and there was no one up here but you and me. You can’t go to the bar because you’re so fucking hot even in a pair of faded old jeans, and no one knows you’re mine.

  “Nothing,” I finally said.

  He furrowed his brow as he stared at me for a minute, his quicksilver eyes searching my face. “Blue.” He leaned in and kissed me again. “Everything is going to be okay.”

  I sighed and watched as he headed downstairs. One would certainly hope so.

  I stood for a few moments as the sounds of Kelly’s loud goodbye and the guys responding filtered upstairs. I took those extra minutes to gather my thoughts and scrub my hands down my face. By the time I strolled into the living room, I felt halfway normal again. Then I sat on the couch and tried to pay attention to the game. At one point I glanced casually over at Dane, only to find him looking back at me, his expression thoughtful.

  My gaze skittered away. Everything was going to be okay. It had to be.

  CHAPTER 9

  Blue

  THERE WERE two schools of thought when it came to away games. Some players liked being the underdogs—to come into another team’s stadium, their own fucking house, and take the win. It fired them up to not be the favorite, and the boos only gave them fuel to play harder. Then there were the rest of us, who thought away games were a giant pain in the ass and an exercise of patience.

  As we landed in Houston for our first away game of the season, I had to admit I was definitely in the latter camp. I hadn’t minded the travel all that much when I had nothing better to do and nothing to come home to, but that wasn’t the case anymore.

  The team managers and staff made the experience as smooth as possible. We even went through airport security at the facility, not at the airport. The charter bus we took from the airport to the stadium was well-appointed and comfortable. They took care of our gear, our food, and everything else we might need. But there was only so much they could do. It was still a lot of travel, and travel sucked. As the bus pulled into the underground garage, I could see fans and haters alike already there, ready to greet us.

  It was a fucking madhouse.

  I pushed my headphones down around my neck. Some of the die-hard fans cheered, and most of them were decked out in team gear. They called out things I couldn’t decipher as they waved our team flags. Blue-and-silver fabric flew jauntily through the air, a frenzy of color as they whipped in the breeze. The cheers meshed and comingled with the boos from fans of the Houston Steers, although why they’d chosen to wait in front of our entrance rather than that of the team they obviously worshipped, I had no idea.

  The noise increased as we ambled off the bus and headed for the visitors’ locker room. Some of the players ducked, either too low-key or too focused to court fans. Some, like that media whore Rashod, all but had a fucking photo op. As I passed, he grinned and waved to invite me to join a selfie with a group of fans. I pretended not to notice and kept my head down and my hands in my pockets.

  I shouldn’t be annoyed. I’d been in the public eye so long that all the hoopla should have been old hat by then. But I was only human. I also had something to hide—a secret that had changed me so thoroughly inside that I felt like light should be emanating from me like a goddamned beacon. I was in love. I was in love with a guy, and that was a secret I didn’t want any of those paparazzi near.

  I probably shouldn’t even worry. It wasn’t as though they saw me as a person. I was a cog in the machine, one part of the Outlaws’ offensive line. They wante
d me on the field to run the ball and throw my body in front of linebackers who easily had a hundred pounds on me. The same people who cheered for us on the way in would leave early if we lost.

  I eased my face out of the disgruntled lines it had settled into.

  This is what you signed up for. I knew that. It just seemed less important day by day.

  A reporter with an ESPN press tag stepped up and stuck a mic in my face. “How does it feel to be back, Blue? Does this season feel different than last year’s let down? Do you—”

  I sent him a smile as I stuck my headphones back on and cranked up the music. Nothing else mattered but the game. As I entered the cool of the visitors’ locker room, I wondered when my father’s voice had taken up permanent residence inside my head.

  THE HOUSTON Steers weren’t in a losing kind of mood.

  Within the first five minutes of the game, they turned a simple return into a seventy-five-yard touchdown and made that perfectly clear. They spent most of the first half keeping our quarterback under pressure and hitting hard enough to keep the refs busy. Somehow they kept breaking through our line to get to Vaughn, who got more and more flustered the less time he had to set up in the pocket.

  Even with all the energy we brought to the field, we were still behind by seven by the third quarter. Hell, we’d spent most of the game behind, and I didn’t see that changing any time soon. Determined to get some yardage one way or another, Vaughn called a combination play that had me run a seam route. After the ball snap, I took off down the field. I might as well have saved my energy. Their safety was all over me like a bad rash.

  Vaughn pulled back and looked for his first read, but a defender had Warner covered. They were double-teaming Diesel, and I had the safety from hell, a guy named Bausch, on my ass. Bausch grabbed at my jersey as we jockeyed for position, and I jerked away. He was too small and short to really cover me, and we both knew it, so he used any method he could to guard me, legal or no.

  His hand slipped on my facemask as he grabbed me again. I twisted away with a growl and wondered what the hell was wrong with the refs’ eyes. Maybe holding had a different definition in Houston.