Kicked

by Celia Aaron

  “Yeah.” She faked a confident tone. “I was just testing you, making sure you know the layout of the Bears’ stadium and stuff.”

  “Sure you were.” I laughed and fist bumped a couple of passing players.

  They smiled at Cordy, genuine warmth in their eyes. Something about Ethan’s attack on her had galvanized the entire team. She was one of us, and our team had rallied around her on and off the field. No longer just the Mav, she was welcomed into the men’s locker room during the Coach’s halftime speech and treated like any other teammate. Despite all the acceptance, she still showered and dressed out in the women’s locker room. With me.

  I pushed the locker room door open for her, my pads pressed against hers as she walked ahead of me.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be stationed outside?” Cordy glanced over her shoulder.

  “I feel that, in the interests of your safety, I should stay a little closer.”

  “My safety, huh?”

  “Right. I’m here to protect you. Keep an eye on you. Especially right now, since you need a shower.”

  “You do.” She smiled and loosened the tie at the end of her braid.

  I wholeheartedly agreed. “I was thinking the same thing. Let’s save water and shower together.”

  She walked to the benches and pulled her braid loose. “I don’t think that would be proper. After all, we’re teammates. We should keep things professional.” Gripping the hem of her jersey, she lifted it over her head and tossed it to the bench.

  “Have I ever told you how sexy you look in pads?” I let my gaze slide down her body, and my cock hardened almost instantly.

  “You may have mentioned it.”

  I pulled off my shirt, then lifted my pads from my shoulders. After unlacing my pants and cleats, I stripped down to nothing. She watched every move, and when her eyes focused on my cock, I could almost feel her on it.

  She licked her lips. Jesus.

  “Get naked.” I leaned back against the gray lockers and crossed my arms over my chest. I didn’t want to crowd her, not after what had happened with Ethan.

  She glanced to the door.

  “It’s just you and me. You’re safe.”

  “With you? Always.” She locked eyes with me and unlaced her shoulder pads, then lifted them off. When she peeled her sports bra over her head and her delicious tits popped free, I had to force myself to stay where I was. I needed my mouth on her, but I wanted her naked first.

  “I love the way you react to me. It’s like every time you see me, it’s the very first time.” She finger-combed her braid the rest of the way out and let her silky brown hair fall over her shoulder. I gritted my teeth and stood motionless, my eyes taking in every one of her curves as she slid her pants and pads down her legs. She stepped out of them, then sat and removed her cleats and socks.

  “Panties, too.” I wanted to see her little patch of dark curls, and hoped they were already wet for me. Just me.

  “Give me a minute.” She shot me a playful look through her lashes.

  She stood and slowly stripped her panties off.

  I gripped my shaft, as if that would somehow relieve the pressure already building inside me. “Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?”

  She glanced up to the fluorescents. “In this lighting?”

  “You’d be beautiful in the dark.”

  She laughed, but I meant every word.

  I had to taste her. Covering the distance in a second, I took her in my arms. She melted against me as I held her up. Her soft skin rubbed against mine, her hard nipples begging to be sucked.

  My tongue caressed hers, and she moaned when my fingers tangled in her hair. The scents of grass, dirt, and sweat mingled as we kissed. My fingers roamed her back, all the way down to her toned ass. Then I gripped her hard and ground my cock against her hot pussy. She was wet for me, just like I wanted.

  She moaned into my mouth at the sweet friction. I slanted my mouth over hers, plundering her lips and setting us both alight.

  She pulled back, taking a breath, her eyes half-lidded. “Press conference.”

  “They can wait.” I walked her to the showers and hit the faucet. The water shot out cold.

  She jerked against me, and I bit her shoulder as the shower began to warm. Her sweat tingled on my tongue, and I licked up to her neck.

  Then I turned her so the water poured down her hair.

  “Trent.” She ran her nails down my back as I pushed her against the cool tiles.

  “I’ll make it quick.” I leaned back to gauge her reaction. “It’s okay if you don’t get off, right?”

  She crinkled her nose, and I laughed.

  “Calm down. Kidding. Only kidding.” I set her on her feet. “Here. Let me prove it to you.” I dropped to a knee, the warm water spraying onto my back. Lifting one of her legs over my shoulder, I darted my tongue between her folds to find her delicate nub.

  She curled her fingers in my hair as I stared up at her and let my tongue run wild on her pussy. Her trembling thighs sped me along. I wanted her to come all over my mouth. Sliding two fingers inside her, I finger-fucked her until her hips met me stroke for stroke, my mouth sealed around her clit. She squeezed my hair hard enough to hurt, then came on a strangled cry, her pussy pulling my fingers in tighter as I kept licking her.

  When her orgasm was nothing but aftershocks, I stood and lifted her right leg. Pressing into her always felt like coming home. I slid into her tightness and shared her taste with a kiss. She wrapped both legs around me as I seated myself as deeply inside her as I could go.

  The water pelted us, its wet slap onto the tiles weakly disguising the sounds of skin on skin as I fucked her against the wall. She moaned as I lifted her higher and wrapped my lips around her hard, wet nipple. I loved the feel of her nails on my skin, the taste of her in my mouth. She arched her back and spread wider. Each one of my thrusts hit her deep, and my balls ached to release inside her. I switched nipples and gripped her ass, using my arms to move her up and down on my shaft just how I wanted.

  She gasped and pressed herself to me, rubbing her breasts against my chest as I pistoned inside her. I ran my fingers up her neck, her cheek, then pressed my thumb inside her mouth. She closed her eyes and sucked, treating it as if it were my cock.

  “Fuck, that’s going to make me come.” I slipped my thumb out and pressed it to her clit, splaying my fingers along her hip.

  Leaning back, I watched her pretty pussy take every inch of me in each deep stroke. Her upper back rested against the tiles, her eyes on me as I fucked her and swirled my thumb around her clit.

  She ran her nails down my chest, the slight sting making each plunge even more enjoyable. Her breaths became labored, and she closed her eyes.

  “Watch me. You’re so beautiful when you come.”

  “Oh my God.” She bit her lip and dug her heels into the backs of my thighs. “I-I’m there.”

  “Good.” I let myself go, fucking her hard and fast as her hips seized and a low moan rushed from her lips.

  My load shot up my shaft, every nerve ending in my body focused on Cordy as her pussy milked me. I gave her every drop, groaning and thrusting, losing myself completely in her. I leaned in, pinning her with my body as we both took deep breaths and tried to come back down.

  “I love you.” I kissed her before she could start debating with herself on whether she should say it back. I wanted her to say it; my heart was desperate for the words. But I wouldn’t push her. I knew what I felt, and I hoped one day soon she would admit she felt the same.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CORDY

  I STEPPED UP THE familiar front steps to my father’s house, Trent at my elbow. We’d arrived just before noon, and it was Thanksgiving. A Billingsley Bobcats flag, faded but flown with pride, hung beneath the porch awning.

  I’d talked to Dad on the phone only a few times while he was in rehab, and this was my first time seeing him since he got out. My nerves were in knots, and I trie
d to prepare myself for disappointment.

  “It’ll be fine.” Trent’s rich voice gave me a modicum of comfort.

  I wasn’t so sure. “What if he’s drinking again?” The question had been rattling around in my brain for the entire trip here. I’d ignored the rolling hills, not even noticing when the ground became covered in snow. My worry grew with each mile closer to home. What if he’d relapsed?

  “Have faith in him, okay?” Trent knocked on the faded front door, the once-white paint now a dingy gray.

  “I’m trying.”

  “Chin up, kicker.” He smacked my ass.

  I rubbed the sting through my leggings and glared up at him. He winked, and I didn’t know if I wanted to murder him or jump his bones.

  The door swung inward, and a man who looked a lot like my father but with brighter eyes, a clean-shaven face, and a bigger smile welcomed us in.

  “Daddy?” I knew my eyes had become comically wide, but I couldn’t believe the transformation.

  “Come on in out of the cold.” He shooed us in, and the smell of roasted turkey and something sweet filled the air. Mrs. Trapper bustled around the kitchen, a worn calico apron tied around her waist.

  Dad shook hands with Trent. “Cordy told me what you did for me. I thank you, and I’ll pay you back just as soon as the coal company comes through with my severance.”

  “Please don’t.” He ran a hand through my hair and rested his palm at the small of my back. “If it makes Cordy happy, then it’s money well spent as far as I’m concerned.”

  “That’s mighty kind of you, son.” Dad clapped him on the arm. “I can at least offer you some good vittles. Mrs. Trapper is cooking up a storm, and we’re in for some tasty eats.”

  My vision blurred as I stared at my dad. He looked like he did in old pictures I’d seen of him. Like the ones of him in the shotgun wedding ceremony with my mother. My grandfather—literally—had been holding a shotgun in the photo.

  “Is something on my face?” He rubbed his smooth cheek, and I was certain he knew what a big change this was.

  “You look so good.” I hugged him and sniffled as tears tried to overtake me. The soft flannel of his shirt brought back so many warm memories that I squeezed him even harder.

  He patted my back. “It’s okay. Don’t cry. I was afraid of this. Don’t be upset.”

  I pulled back and stared into his clear, light brown eyes. “You’re back. You’re really here.”

  “It hasn’t been easy.” He shook his head. “Sometimes I want a drink so bad it hurts, but then I kept thinking about this.” He patted my cheek. “About making you proud of me. That’s the only thing that kept me away from a bottle. You.” He turned to Trent. “And now you. The both of you.”

  Trent smiled, genuine pleasure showing in his eyes. “Thanks for having me. I was afraid I’d miss turkey this year since I didn’t really have any Thanksgiving invites. Mom decided to spend the holiday in the Bahamas.”

  Trent looked like a giant in the small two-bedroom, one-bath home. The ceilings were only seven feet high, so Trent was in grave danger of knocking his head on the light fixtures if he wasn’t careful.

  Dad scratched his temple. “Cordy mentioned your mom’s a tough nut to crack.”

  “She is.” Trent’s smile faded. “Things are difficult at the moment.”

  “Going to get better.” I may have said it a little too brightly.

  Trent raised an eyebrow but nodded. “Right. They will. In any case, I can’t wait to try Mrs. Trapper’s cooking. Thanks again for the invite, Mr. Baxter.”

  “Oh, don’t call me that. Nobody calls me that except the cops when I’m in the drunk tank.”

  Oh my God. I put my hands to my face, but the embarrassment didn’t abate.

  “Kick your shoes off and stay a while.” Dad motioned at us, and we handed him our coats. The house didn’t have a coat closet, so he just draped them over the back of his worn recliner.

  “And just call me Clarence or Dad if you want. No formalities needed around these parts.”

  Trent nodded in thanks. “That’s very kind of you.”

  My dad cleared his throat and glanced to the kitchen. “Well, that’s enough nonsense. You two have a seat at the table. I think the food’s almost ready.”

  We walked the few steps through the door into the kitchen and dining area. Mrs. Trapper had laid out a beautiful turkey, stuffing, and plates of vegetables.

  She hugged me, pressing me to her with her wrists since her hands still had flour on them. “Welcome home. Sweet tea’s already on the table. I’m just waiting on the pumpkin pie to come out of the oven.” Trent got the same treatment, with an added kiss on the cheek.

  We edged around the table, skirting the window that looked out onto the small side yard, and took our seats. Dad didn’t sit at the head of the table. He never had, as far back as I could remember. He’d always sat across from me and asked about my day, what was going on in school, what my dreams were.

  Today was no different.

  “So, are we going to bring home the championship?” He sipped his tea and looked at Trent with hopeful eyes.

  “Well, it’s hard to say.” Trent leaned back, the antique spindle chair creaking under his weight. “Unless the Gators have a particularly strong showing in their division championship, we’ll likely be ranked at number four and have a playoff berth.”

  “Them Eagles are going to be number one. I can feel it.” Dad scowled.

  “Good. I want to play them.” I grabbed the roll of paper towels and handed them out as Mrs. Trapper sat down next to my father. “Sooner rather than later.”

  “That’s my girl.” Dad tucked his paper towel into his shirt.

  Mrs. Trapper laughed.

  “Oh, you love it.”

  She shook her head, then jumped, her cheeks turning red. I suspected Dad had goosed her under the table, but I didn’t want to go anywhere near that thought.

  Dad said a brief, and only slightly profane, prayer, and we all dug in.

  “So, Trent, tell me about your family.” Mrs. Trapper heaped a second helping of potatoes onto his plate.

  I marveled at his ability to put away food and turn it into muscle. Jealousy was far too mild a word.

  “We’re originally from New York State, but there’s a family tradition of going to school at Billingsley. My dad loved it so much, he built a home only about an hour away from campus. That’s where I spent my summers when I was growing up.”

  “I thought your accent was a little too clipped to be from the south.” She poured a healthy serving of gravy on top of his potatoes.

  “Right. Anyway, my father played for the Bobcats, so I was raised a Bobcat through and through.”

  “I can’t tell you how proud I was when my Cordy told me she was going to college, and Billingsley at that.” Dad beamed, and my heart melted even more. “I’m sure your dad feels the same.”

  I almost choked on my roll. “Dad, let’s not talk about—”

  “No, it’s okay.” Trent set his fork down. “My dad passed in July.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” Dad bowed his head.

  “It’s fine. I had so many great years with him. He had a rare form of leukemia. And you’re right. He was extremely proud when I chose Billingsley, and even prouder when I became the starting quarterback last year.”

  “He should be.” Dad recovered. “Any talk about the NFL?”

  “Some.” Trent began to eat again. “Nothing for certain yet.”

  “I hear those scouts go to practices almost constantly. Is that right?”

  “I’ve seen quite a few.” I glanced at Trent. We hadn’t really discussed what would happen after the spring. He’d graduate, of course, but what then? I supposed I couldn’t make any demands on him, especially considering I was too chicken to tell him I loved him. Even so, the thought of him leaving spoiled my appetite.

  “Well, I’ve seen you and Cordy play every game. They even let me hog the TV at the facility, so
I got to watch every weekend. I don’t know much about the draft, but the announcers seem to. They think you’ll go in the first two rounds.” Dad raised his glass and tipped it toward Trent. “Good Lord willing and the creek don’t rise.”

  My unease at the thought of being separated from Trent grew. Mrs. Trapper seemed to notice, because she changed the subject to the upcoming winter festival.

  After we each had a slice of her pumpkin pie, we settled into the living room and caught up some more. Dad was full of coal mine gossip, and Mrs. Trapper seemed content to just listen to his stories. They were a handsome couple, and I was happy that Dad had finally found someone to spend time with. That she was someone I trusted to take care of him and keep him on the straight and narrow? Even better.

  The day eventually waned, and Trent and I said our goodbyes. Mrs. Trapper loaded us down with leftovers, and we hugged our way out the door.

  “Keep it up, Dad.” I kissed his wrinkled cheek. “I’ve never been more proud.”

  “Thanks, honey. I’ll be watching for that playoff spot.”

  “I hope we get it.”

  “You will, and you’ll show them Eagles a thing or two about heart.” He kissed my hair and I stepped back, the frigid, smoke-scented air swirling around us as the sun set behind the hills.

  “We’ll be seeing you at Christmas, right?” Mrs. Trapper drew her white shawl closer around her shoulders as she stood in the doorway.

  “Of course.” Trent placed his hand on my waist. “My dad always loved Christmas, so I want to celebrate it big for him this year.”

  His certainty, the ease with which he spoke to my dad, the way he complimented Mrs. Trapper’s cooking—everything about him made the words “I love you” dance along the tip of my tongue. But it remained trapped there instead of awkwardly blurted.

  Dad smiled and hustled Mrs. Trapper back into the cozy house. “Looking forward to seeing you in a few weeks. Now get on in the car before you two catch your deaths of cold.” He waved as we walked down the front steps. Trent opened my door for me, as always. We drove down the pothole-filled road that led out of our small hollow and back onto the main highway.