Kicked

by Celia Aaron

  “Trent. Oh my God.” She made a keening sound, low and long when I squeezed her clit between my fingers and rubbed back and forth. Her knees fell open, and a song of triumph played in my heart.

  “That’s it.” I slid my fingers lower and pushed one inside her tight entrance. Her hips bucked, and I covered her exposed nipple with my mouth.

  I pulsed my finger in and out before sliding in a second. She was so tight, and I wanted to be inside her more with each passing second. But this wasn’t about me. It was about her. I wanted to give her something for once, instead of taking.

  She rocked her hips to my rhythm, her pussy hot, wet, and desperate—perfect. Sliding my fingers out, I focused on her clit again, rubbing in a circular motion as I sucked hard enough on her nipple to leave a bruise.

  Her breaths came even quicker as she moaned and dug her nails into my back. I sped my fingers faster, giving her what she needed until her legs began to tremble. Releasing her nipple, I claimed her mouth, fucking her with my tongue as I stroked her sweet spot.

  When she began to seize, I broke the kiss and pressed my forehead to hers. “Look at me. I want to see you when you come.”

  Her eyes flew open, and she moaned long and low as I pressed two fingers inside her, using my thumb to keep the pressure on her clit. Her pussy clamped down on me, clenching my fingers in tighter. She watched me as I thrust in and out of her as she came. Her heartbeat thrummed in her neck, and she pressed her lips together as her body ebbed and flowed with her orgasm. She was beautiful. When I’d wrung the last bit of pleasure from her, she relaxed, and her gorgeous eyes finally closed.

  I eased out of her and drew my hand to my mouth. Her eyes fluttered open as I licked her delectable taste from my fingers.

  “Oh my God.” Her voice was half moan. “That’s so hot. I can’t even—”

  I kissed her, sharing her taste as she melted into my arms. My cock demanded I do more than just kiss her, but he wouldn’t be satisfied tonight. At least not until I got back to my apartment. Cordy deserved more, and she’d already given me so much.

  Breaking the kiss despite the protest in my heart, I leaned back and pulled her bra into place. Her lips were redder, and I’d left a few calling cards along her neck and shoulder.

  She put her hands to her face as I reached back between the seats and grabbed her t-shirt. “That was so… I’ve never done anything like that before.”

  “What?” My brain shorted out at the thought that Cordy was still a virgin. Of course, I hadn’t seen her with anyone except friend-zoned Landon during the two years since we’d parted. It was a good thing, because I may have snapped any guy’s neck who tried to get with her. But I assumed she’d fooled around in high school at some point. I certainly had.

  I pulled her hands from her face and stared into her eyes. “What are you trying to say?”

  She looked away as red rushed into her cheeks. “I didn’t mean to say that out loud. Can we just drop it? I-I should go. I have homework to do and stuff.”

  “No.” I gently grabbed her chin and pulled her face back around to me. “We can’t drop it. Are you saying you’re a virgin?”

  She clenched her eyes shut. “This is up there with the most embarrassing moments of my entire life.”

  “Cordy, look at me. I need to know.” Because I want to fuck the ever-loving shit out of you, but I don’t want to hurt you. “So we’re on the same page.”

  “Yes. Okay?” She covered her face again. “Yes.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CORDY

  “WHAT DOES HE MEAN by the phrase ‘confusions of a wasted youth’?” Professor Crane leaned against her desk at the head of the classroom. “More importantly, who was A.H.H., and why was Tennyson so touched by his passing as to write one of the greatest poems of all time? Ms. Baxter?”

  I snapped my head up and fumbled with my pen. I’d been doodling the number nine all morning. “A.H.H. stands for Arthur Henry Hallam, one of Tennyson’s friends from Cambridge. His untimely death changed Tennyson.”

  “How so?”

  I put my pen down. “He brooded on the past. He complains about his ‘wasted youth’ because he could have spent his time with the man who mattered most to him instead of being engaged in other pursuits or holding onto grudges.”

  “Grudges?” Professor Crane cocked her head to the side.

  Projecting much, Cordy? “I meant that he lamented about not focusing on A.H.H. before he lost him.”

  “Correct…”

  Her voice faded as the class continued, and she called on other students. My thoughts were drawn back to Trent. He invaded every cell of my body, demanding my attention. I closed my eyes at the memory of his hot lips scorching a trail down my neck. He’d kissed me with an urgency that made my mind turn to mush.

  His fingers had been magical, and I squirmed in my seat as heat rushed through me. Pressing my thighs together, I forced myself to open my eyes and focus. But when I remembered the look in his eyes as I came, pressing my legs together wasn’t enough. I crossed my legs, but I’d moved too quickly. My knee hit my book at the edge of my desk and sent the book and my notes onto the floor with a clatter.

  The professor stopped her lecture and gave me a piercing glare.

  Sorry professor, I was daydreaming about being finger-banged in my dorm parking lot by a guy I hate.

  She glanced down to my notes—a sheet of paper covered with various doodles of the number nine. My cheeks were already pink from the memories I couldn’t keep at bay. Interrupting the class and getting stared at by twenty other students plus the professor only added to my mortification.

  I bent over and gathered up my book and notes.

  “Sorry,” I mumbled and hoped my ridiculousness didn’t affect my class participation grade.

  “It’s all right, Ms. Baxter.” The professor gave me an amused smile. “I’m partial to the number seven, myself.”

  Kill me now.

  She turned her attention to another student and continued her lecture. I quietly collected my things and hurried out of the door at the back of the class. There was no point in staying when I couldn’t concentrate. Trent filled every corner of my mind. Lord Tennyson simply couldn’t compete.

  My cell buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out and flicked across the screen. Dad was calling. That was odd. He never called when I was in class.

  I swiped to answer. “Dad?”

  “Hey honey.” His words were barely slurred, which was practically sober for him.

  My concern lessened a little. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

  “Fine, fine. Don’t worry. How are you doing in school?” He went into a coughing fit. Though years of working in the mines had ruined his lungs, he refused to file for black lung benefits. Too proud. Between the stubbornness and the drinking, my dad was a difficult man to love. But he was all I had.

  “Everything is going well. I’m actually between classes right now. So I have to go in a minute.”

  “All right. I just wanted to call and let you know I appreciate the little extra you sent.”

  I cocked my head to the side. “What?”

  “I made an arrangement with Stan’s widow, you know, who lives two houses down and has really big, uh, really big—”

  “Yeah, Dad, I know about Mrs. Trapper’s assets. But what did you mean about extra?”

  “The money.” He coughed again, the sound dry and deep. “The extra money. Anyway, I made a deal with her to where she’s going to fix my supper three nights a week.”

  “That’s—” I shook my head in confusion. “That’s great, actually. I’m glad. But I still don’t know what—”

  “Hang on!” He grumbled and the phone made a series of clicking noises as if he were juggling it. “Got it. Honey, someone’s at the door. Might be the guy from the company. I heard some people were getting late severances or something. We’ll talk later. Love you, honey.”

  “Love you too, Dad, but—”

  The phon
e went silent.

  I pulled it from my ear and stared at it like it was a foreign thing. “What money?”

  I walked across campus to the practice field, taking my time and trying to steel my nerves. A cold front had followed the rain, and wet leaves squished under my cleats as a chill wind blew through the trees. Dread settled in the pit of my stomach as my mind returned, yet again, to last night. Had I really told Trent Carrington that I was a virgin?

  I shivered, embarrassment snaking around my spine and pulling tight until I felt awkward tingles in my brain. I’d kissed guys before, done the usual light petting, and even thought about going further. But that was before Trent. After Trent, I’d gone out a few times. I’d find myself comparing my dates to him. They weren’t as tall, or smart, or didn’t look at me the way he did. A litany of excuses from me would end our night, and then I’d never return their calls. Over the course of a single semester, Trent had managed to ruin other guys for me.

  Still a virgin. Ugh. He’d seemed genuinely shocked when I’d told him, which only added to the awkwardness between us in the car. My humiliation had lit a fire under me, and I’d snatched my shirt and run into my dorm with it pressed against my chest.

  He hadn’t followed. Thank God. But the memory of his lips on mine and his fingers dancing along my skin still had me scissoring my legs at odd times.

  Another cold gust blew by, and I pulled the sleeves of my long-sleeved t-shirt down so they covered my hands. I wanted to turn back to Hope Hall, to avoid practice and Trent altogether. But that would have been dumb. I wasn’t ready to compete. Trent was the only thing that would give me a chance at tryouts the following day. So I soldiered on, passing a few students running along the track or hitting balls in the tennis courts next to the practice field.

  My cheeks warmed as I approached, but my heart stuttered when I noticed Trent wasn’t standing in his usual spot. I peered across the length of the empty field and into the bleachers on either side. No Trent. I stopped next to the goalpost and checked behind me, hoping to see him jogging up with his equipment bag. There was no one.

  He’d ditched me. Every negative emotion converged inside my chest, and I had to lean against the goalpost to stay on my feet. I had never experienced humiliation in its fullest form as I did then. I’d let him back in, given him more of me than I’d ever given anyone, but once again he’d shown his true colors. Trent had walked away.

  I tipped my head back and willed the tears to disappear. I wouldn’t cry over him. I refused. He wasn’t worth another tear or even another thought. I would practice without him. You don’t even have a ball. I ignored that thought and sprinted out to the ten-yard line to start my stretches.

  I bent over at the waist and reached for my toes. I focused on my breathing, keeping it smooth and steady as I tried not to come apart. My hamstrings began to hum as I maintained my stretch. I continued, going through each position until I was loose and ready to kick.

  Straightening my back, I stared toward campus, foolishly hoping that Trent would show up. Nothing. I took a deep breath and let it out before lining up on the left hash and pretending a ball was sitting on the ground.

  Marking off my steps was easy. Keeping my eyes on the imaginary ball wasn’t. Pain warred with humiliation, but I wouldn’t let either of them win. First-string had been my goal all along, not Trent. I let my arms hang loose at my sides and took my steps, ending with a kick that went nowhere.

  “That would have definitely made it.” Trent’s voice made me whirl. He carried the ball bag, but wore street clothes instead of workout gear.

  “Where have you been?” I wanted to hug him, but kicking him in the shin also seemed a decent option.

  “I’m sorry.” His gaze turned dark, and he rolled up the sleeves of his blue button-down. “My mom came into town for a surprise visit.”

  “Is everything okay?” My earlier resentment faded away into concern.

  Something was off. He was tense, and it was as if he’d shuttered his feelings—none of which seemed good.

  He knelt, his jeans sticking to his muscled ass just right, and set up the ball for me. “Line up again. You looked good, but your follow-through was lacking a bit.”

  I stepped to him as he straightened. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  He sighed and met my gaze. Something fleeting passed across his eyes. Maybe reluctance or pain? “We’ll talk about it.” He put a warm palm to my cheek, and he leaned closer, his woodsy scent swirling around me in the cold air.

  I held my breath, suddenly desperate for the indulgent feel of his lips against mine. My eyes fluttered closed.

  He grazed his mouth against mine, and his voice lowered to a whisper. “But not until after practice.” Placing his hands on my shoulders, he spun me around. “Set up.”

  I glared at him as he gave me a sexy smirk. Asshole. How did I manage to go from broken-hearted, to angry, to happy to see him, to wanting to kill him in the space of ten minutes? It was like emotional whiplash, and Trent was the sole cause.

  We spent the next two hours setting up and kicking from various yardages. I made most of the kicks, only missing a couple from the thirty-yard left hash. Trent stalked around me the entire time, making small tweaks in my approach and coming down hard on my follow-through. By the time we were done, I’d run three laps and kicked countless footballs.

  “That’s enough for the day.” He snagged the kicking holder from the ground as a particularly bitter blast of wind blew by. “I want you rested for tomorrow.”

  “All right.” I watched as he tucked the last ball into his equipment bag.

  I nibbled my lip, wishing I felt relieved that our time was over. Instead, disappointment pulsed through my veins.

  “Come on. You need to eat a good dinner and sleep well tonight. Tryouts start at eight.” He took my elbow and led me away from campus, toward the back of the practice field where his white car waited.

  “I should probably just eat at the caf.” Even as I spoke, I kept walking with him.

  “Nah, I’ve got something better.”

  “What?”

  He smiled and slid his hand across my lower back. Goosebumps broke out along my skin, and I couldn’t pretend it was from the cold.

  “You’ll see.”

  The car chirped as we approached, and he strode ahead of me and opened my door.

  A thump sounded from the trunk as he shoved the ball bag inside. After a few more moments, we were driving toward the center of town.

  “Do you think I’m ready?” I rubbed my right thigh.

  “As ready as you can be.” He reached over and grabbed my hand. “And I’ll be there the whole time.”

  My stomach swirled. Trent had me spinning again. He kept driving away from school, and I began to recognize the route we were taking. The architecture turned older and stuffier as we skirted the business district.

  “Wait.” I turned to him. “Are we going to La Café Blanc?”

  “Yes.” He squeezed my hand.

  Panic rose inside me. My last visit was one of the worst nights of my life. “I’m not dressed for it. They won’t let me in the door.”

  “They will.” Certainty rang through his deep voice. “Don’t worry.”

  “I need to shower. Can we just go somewhere else?”

  “No.” He took the final turn and eased into a parking spot alongside the ornate restaurant. Giving me just a glance from his sparkling eyes, he added, “I have a reservation.”

  “But—” Before I could make any more protests, he climbed out of the car and walked around to my side.

  He opened the door, and I stepped out, my nerves balling into a knot in my stomach. The air grew colder by the minute as the sun set. I shivered, though I wasn’t sure if it was because of the chill or the memories the restaurant evoked.

  “Come on.” He took my damp palm and walked me around to the front of the restaurant and up to the heavy wooden doors. A server swung them open and ushered us inside with a smile.


  As Trent led me into what I thought was familiar territory, I gasped and squeezed his hand. He leaned down and whispered in my ear, “I told you I had a reservation.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  TRENT

  Two years earlier

  DID SHE JUST SAY that she was happy whenever she was with me? The rest of the world continued around us, people eating and drinking as the servers bustled here and there. All I could hear was Cordy’s voice. The only thing I could see, her amber eyes.

  “Trent?” She smiled and took a sip of her water.

  “Sorry.” I shook myself inwardly. “But could you maybe say it again?”

  She laughed and set her glass down. “I’m happy when I’m with you.”

  I let out a deep breath and locked her words deep inside me somewhere, like precious jewels. I’d take them out and inspect them later, turn them over in my hands again and again when I was alone. The pure emotion that radiated from her warmed me and had me smiling. I was buzzing as if I’d just shot-gunned two beers.

  Our food arrived, and we chatted about classes as we ate. A normal conversation between two college students. But I couldn’t keep my gaze from her lips. My heart kept galloping ahead, rushing too fast and falling too far. Each smile, each witty comment or intelligent thought only ensnared me more until I was hers. She kept talking, as if she hadn’t noticed my heart in her hands.

  When we were finished with our meal, the server cleared our plates and brought a chocolate lava cake with a scoop of vanilla ice cream. I got bold enough to where I changed seats so that I was sitting at her elbow.

  We shared, each of us tasting the too-sweet dessert and moving closer and closer as we did so.

  By the time only one bite remained, my left arm rested against hers, our shoulders almost touching. I scooped up the delectable bite and poised it in front of her lush lips. She opened them, and I slid the spoon inside. The quiet moan she let out had my cock locked in a desperate battle with my zipper.