Eyeful (Gladiators of the Gridiron Book 2)

by C. R. Grissom

  She lies down and I gently draw her nipple into my mouth and suck. She gasps. I’d ask her if it feels good, but I have a feeling I’ll pull her out of the haze. I don’t want Phoebes in her head thinking about anything, I need her to just feel.

  I’m going to take my time. Explore every inch of her with my mouth. Drive her wild while keeping myself in check.

  Shit. Not so easy. She’s sexy as fuck. I move to her other breast. Tasting, licking, and sucking that nipple. I can smell the cinnamon of her shower gel as I skim my nose along her skin. I want to devour her.

  Licking my way down her torso, I stop to nibble along her rib cage. Brushing my lips across her stomach and down closer to her sex. Her stomach tightens and she presses her legs together. I lick her hip bone, and she grips the sheet, crushing the fabric in her palm. Moving lower I brush my lips across her sex.

  She rears up and places her hands on either side of my head. My face rests on her thigh.

  “Whoa.” She takes a breath and lets it out. “That was intense. Shouldn’t I be touching you now?”

  “No.” I press my hand against her shoulder, indicating she should lie back down. “Maybe later. Much later. There’s a couple of interesting new spots that require my attention.”

  “Well.” She sighs. “This is different. I’m supposed to just be still and do nothing while you take charge?”

  She’s in her head again. Damn. “You’re supposed to moan. Maybe pull my hair, do some light bucking when I hit a good spot, and otherwise let me know you’re enjoying yourself.”

  I move my lips across the skin above her sex, and she gasps. “You can offer verbal encouragement or just grunt. Do nothing but think about what I’m doing to your body and how it makes you feel.”

  Cupping her breasts in my hands I use my thumbs to stroke her nipples in circles. I press my mouth against folds. I lick her seam, and I hear her draw in a strangled breath. I tongue her clit and her legs go stiff. In my peripheral vision, I see her head thrash from side to side. I maintain the same kind of pressure and motion. I want Phoebes to come.

  Thinking about her coming has me clamping down on my reaction to her. I try to think about math equations, but math makes me think about Phoebes, my math whiz. Shit. Oh damn.

  Fuck. I’m so close.

  Don’t.

  Don’t.

  Don’t.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Phoebe

  I’m naked and in bed with Tiago. I guess we’ve been headed here since that first day. I didn’t expect to feel so alive. My previous experiences in the bedroom have been nothing to brag about. In fact, they probably did more harm than good.

  Tiago is different.

  From the start his behavior hasn’t followed any pattern. Standoffish, and then charming. I sense emotional extremes with him. Maybe it’s his dad’s health or Avó’s slide into dementia, but I’ve sensed a duality within him. He’s equal parts caring and distant.

  What he’s doing to me has no barrier. He isn’t holding anything back. Being the object of that kind of focus melts me from the inside out.

  “You’re thinking again.”

  “Shut up. You have one job to do.” Damn. I’ve never had anyone go down on me. Pressure builds inside me. He continues to slide his tongue against my clit, and I want to scream.

  He sucks and gently scrapes his teeth, and I rear up. Tiago lifts his head to make eye contact. His eyes are liquid gold. His mouth glistens. It’s so damn sexy I nearly come.

  “Relax, Phoebes. Let me make you feel good.”

  I lie back and he settles between my legs again.

  “Come for me,” he says just before he presses his lips against my core.

  I’m damp and needy. The tension cranking in my body feels so foreign yet exciting. He slips his index finger inside me. I moan. I can’t help it. The sound rolls out from my throat.

  He sucks my clit again, this time using more pressure. He adds another finger inside me and my legs go stiff. My muscles stretch and something pops, spreading light along my nerve endings. My vision goes white behind my closed eyelids. The breath expels from my lungs in a harsh exhalation, and my body goes limp.

  I’ve had my first partner-driven orgasm.

  Freaking fabulous.

  On both sides of my hips, his fists clench. His face rests on my thigh. He moans, and then drops the f-bomb.

  “What is it?” I bite my lip because this is where it’s going to get weird. And I’m crushed, absolutely crushed it’s about to get messy with Tiago. The guy I thought would never act funky on me while naked.

  He pounds his fists against the mattress. Not hard. Not aggressively, more like he’s frustrated. And I’m confused. Wasn’t I supposed to come? I ask again, “What?”

  He groans.

  No. No. No. Not again. Please don’t get weird on me.

  “God, I’m sorry.” He groans. “You’re going to think I’m a rank amateur.”

  Oh. I have to reset my thinking when he lifts his head. His cheeks are tinged red. “Phoebes.” He winces. “I came.”

  “Why is that a big deal? Isn’t that the point?” I ask, curious.

  Eyebrows raised, mouth set in a firm line, Tiago gives me a look of pure exasperation. “I can think of three important reasons.”

  “Okay, tell me.” I’m fascinated by his reaction.

  “First.” He closes his eyes. “I haven’t gone off like this since my first time.”

  “That’s what you want to tell me?” I really don’t want to hear about his prior sexual experiences while I’m naked and still reeling from my first orgasm I didn’t have to give myself.

  His eyes pop open. “Ha. No.” He lets out a breath. “Second, I usually show much more restraint, but you were so hot, and it felt so good making you come, that it just happened.”

  He makes eye contact. “Phoebe, I’m sorry. I have no excuse except…fuck it. You were so hot.”

  Huh? Not what I was expecting.

  Tiago reaches for my hand.

  “Damn, girl. That didn’t sound right. For the record, I’m not blaming you because I went off like some horny teenager. The third thing—”

  Bam. Bam. Bam. “Why am I locked out?” asks the voice on the other side of the door.

  “Shit. Damn. Of all days…” Tiago drops his voice to a whisper: “Suck-ass timing,” he tells me. But then he yells, “Yo, give me a minute.”

  “TJ? What the hell?”

  “Check your phone,” Tiago yells at the person on the other side of the door.

  “I can’t. It’s inside the room,” the voice yells. “Which is why I’m thumping on the door.”

  “Okay. Okay. Hang on.” Tiago looks down at himself.

  I see the third problem. There’s a significant wet mark at the crotch of his pants. I’m putting my clothes on fast. Bra, dress, and my heart stops when I can’t immediately find my underpants. But then Tiago inadvertently kicks them as he walks over to the drawers on his side of the room, opening mostly empty drawers.

  I dress quickly. He opens the footlocker at the end of the bed and pulls out a grass skirt. He mumbles something in Portuguese that sounds pretty, but I assume is a string of nasty swear words by his tone and cadence.

  “It’ll have to do,” he says as he twists the ties into a loose knot.

  “You’re not wearing that out of this room, are you?”

  He grimaces. “Better to be caught in last year’s Halloween costume than to be caught with the mark of shame on me.”

  I don’t know why, but I feel a strong urge to laugh. I came, I did nothing reciprocal for him, and it wasn’t a big deal. He’s just all kinds of embarrassed because he shot off early. The laugh I thought I trapped bursts out of me.

  “Phoebes, this isn’t funny.”

  I point to his grass skirt and fold in half with laughter. “Hey,” I say. “How do I sign up for your hula class?”

  “Ha. You’re hilarious.”

  It’s such a delight and surprise to fin
d him human. Flawed. Sexily embarrassed, and I fall a bit harder for him.

  “Come here,” I ask. When he’s within reach, I wrap my arms around him. I plant a kiss where his jaw meets his ear. “I’m sorry we had to stop. You’re unforgettable.”

  He shakes his head. “M-hmm. Sure. I bet you say that to all the guys who fail you.”

  I snort. “Normally I deal with post-coital recrimination and regret, not grass skirts. We’re entering uncharted territory.”

  “Damn it, TJ. I need my phone.” Bam. Bam. Bam. “I’ve got to meet the study group off-campus. I need to schedule Rides.”

  He presses a kiss to my forehead. “I’m taking you up on your rain check. You ready for this?”

  “Sure. But I’m not the one wearing a grass skirt.”

  Tiago unlocks the door, and his teammate on the other side catches himself on the doorframe. He spares a brief glance for Tiago, but smiles wickedly at me. “Hello.” He draws out the vowel at the end. “You must be Phoebe.”

  I nod. “Hi.”

  “I’m Baloo.”

  He’s massive. Black and drop-dead gorgeous. Another male who can be on the cover of Sports Illustrated wearing game pants and slicked-up muscles sporting the same wicked grin he shoots at me right now. Are they all overconfident and full of themselves?

  “Nice skirt, TJ. How far do you think you’ll get before someone puts a pic up of you two on KickBack?”

  “Shit. Damn. Fuck.” Tiago bangs his head lightly on the free-standing closet.

  Baloo throws a pair of track pants at Tiago’s head. “Lose the skirt. Wash ’em before you return ’em.”

  “Thanks, man. I owe you.”

  Tiago unties the skirt and strips off his pants and boxers. I turn away before he reveals the good stuff because I haven’t actually seen his junk. Somehow it seems wrong to look now while Baloo is in the room.

  “Phoebes, you can turn around now. Baloo, do you have a bag or something I can borrow?”

  Baloo points at a black mesh laundry sack hanging off the end of his bed. “Take it. Bring it back clean along with the pants.”

  “Got you. Thanks.”

  “I see why he’s kept you away from me. When I’m in the room, all the ladies push this pint-sized punter out of the way. They fall in love with Baloo.” He winks at me.

  I grin. “Too bad I fell in love with the punter first.” I give him my best eye roll.

  Tiago’s jaw damn near hits his chest. I was teasing, but I’m guessing from his reaction he thought I’m telling God’s own truth. Shit!

  I wink at him, but his face only registers shock.

  Damn. Sweat pops at my hairline. I need to fix this fast. I’m not the kind of person who throws out the L-word. I said it ironically, and he believed me. For fox sake.

  Baloo laughs in three distinct syllables. Ah. Ah. Ah. “I wish I had more time to cause trouble, but I’m going take off before my study group kicks me out.”

  “I’m beginning to see why the ladies pass this one by.” I jerk my thumb toward Tiago.

  Tiago does a complicated handshake with Baloo. “I’ll see you later.”

  “I like you, Phoebe. Don’t be a stranger.”

  He takes off, leaving me with Tiago and the absolute awkwardness that crashed into the room because he took my joke seriously.

  “I was joking about…” I won’t repeat the L-word again. “Stop being weird.”

  “Yeah, about that…” His words trail off, and he wipes his hand across his mouth. “Um. You know…that I like you.”

  This is not happening right now. My face flames. “Uh-huh, what’s not to like?” Spinning away from him, mortally embarrassed, I grab my pack. “We’ll have to do that again sometime. Gotta work now.” Swinging my bag onto my back, I slink from the room.

  “Phoebe, wait.” He runs his fingers through his hair like some kind of angsty Portuguese god. “You caught me off guard.”

  “No worries. Let’s talk later,” I manage to say without making eye contact.

  He catches up with me. “Wait. Let me finish.”

  “No need.” I rub at the piercing throb that’s burst front and center in the middle of my forehead. “Let’s stick to friendship…”

  “Stop.” He steps in front of me. Not in a threatening way, but just to slow me down. “Please listen.”

  “Sure, say what you need to say.” Dropping my hand from my face, I move around him to call the elevator. “But walk and talk. I’ve got a shift coming up.” I add a small smile.

  “Okay. I get that you were joking, and I handled it like a moron.”

  His reaction hurt. I’m good enough to fuck, but not to fall in love with? He—insert awkward pause—likes me. Terrific. Can this moment get any worse? My thoughts queue like a deck of flashcards, expecting wicked-fast answers as each new notion presents itself.

  I don’t want Tiago to believe for one moment that I’m in love with him. It would be like Mom all over again. My heart squeezes, and my brain—the logical part of me, the part that’s used to not being loved—kicks in and all those flashing thoughts stop flipping. I’m dangerously close to tipping over into that dark place where I love someone who doesn’t love me back.

  “Let’s talk later,” I say punching the button for the first floor. The doors close between us. I take a deep breath and will myself not to cry. Nothing to see here, folks. No one’s heart got broken just now. Maybe mine feels somewhat mauled, but that’s to be expected when you fight with a friend, right? Hey, he likes me. No reason to be upset. Don’t need these boo fucking hoo emotions. I squeeze my eyes shut tight to stop any wetness, then open them wide as I take a deep breath.

  The elevator dings at the first floor. The doors whoosh open and I’ve got my poker face on. Tiago stands in front of the doors like it’s no big deal he ran down four flights of stairs. Not out of breath either. Looking like he was patiently awaiting the elevator’s arrival.

  Laundry bag in hand he asks, “Phoebes, can I walk you to work today?”

  “Sure, TJ.” I manage to speak calmly.

  “Do you realize you only call me TJ when you’re upset or we’re around other people?”

  Okay, he pays attention. Whatever. I shrug.

  Walking four blocks with him at my side sounds like pure freaking torture. I need a quiet place to fall apart and accept the fact we can’t be more than friends. And no more bennies, because I do have feelings for him. I’m bluffing through this bad hand, but I need to fold.

  We go through the front doors in silence. A one-eighty reversal from the mood we shared when we first walked in the building. The lack of words between us weighs heavy. I try to trick my brain to focus on anything else except the fact deep down—with full certainty—I’m completely unlovable.

  “You’re right. For a minute I thought you weren’t joking. But I realized you didn’t mean it.”

  “I’m glad to hear that. Do you know what’s ironic? I believe love isn’t an emotion, it’s manipulation.” I’m proud of how neutral my tone sounds.

  “Wait. You believe that?”

  “Yeah, it’s fairly simple. I mean, I love Grams. I know my feelings for her have nothing to do with control or deception. But people hurt each other for so-called love. In my opinion, the L-word is overused and under-applied.”

  “Someone did a number on you,” he says, his expression full of concern.

  Thanks, Mom. I learned what exploitation looks like from the best. “Not really, I’m observant.”

  “I’ve been hurt, too,” he says softly.

  “Aubrey?” I ask, even though I know the answer.

  “We spent the better part of two years together. I knew she wouldn’t stick around, but there’s been zero contact since she left.” He blows out a breath. “I didn’t expect that.”

  “That sucks. I’m sorry.” But consoling Tiago for Aubrey leaving him sucks for me, too. “We’re friends.” That pang hits again, threatening to squeeze the breath from my lungs. “That’s more importa
nt to me than anything else.”

  “Phoebes, I get what you’re saying, but still disagree in principle. Plenty of people know how to love without making a game of it.” He reaches for my hand, raises it to his lips, and presses a kiss between my second and third knuckles. “Yes, we’re friends, but we’re a lot more, too. I’m sorry for not making that clear.”

  Making eye contact was a bad idea. Those golden eyes of his draw me in. Make me believe in impossibilities. This will be the point I’ll look on someday with regret. I’ll think I should have jumped the other way. But right now I can’t think my way straight. I’m all in, for pity’s sake.

  Resting my head against his shoulder I say, “Do me a favor, Tiago. Don’t ever lie to me. My mom…” spitting the words out I admit, “…she acts that way. She manipulates people and situations to win no matter the cost. I had to leave Las Vegas. I can’t be friends with someone who does that to people. Do you understand?”

  “I’m sorry you have a rocky relationship with your mom,” he offers, wrapping his arms around me, and holding me tight.

  Pressing my lips against his neck, I say, “So am I.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Tiago

  I wait until Phoebe steps inside Goose’s place. Making sure she’s safe from other people, just not from myself. I’m such an idiot. I went from the end zone to barely escaping the friend zone. What a freaking mess I’ve made of everything. When she casually said she’d fallen in love with me I froze. I know I did. I felt every muscle, tendon, every vein in my body turn to ice. Not because I don’t want her to love me.

  Just the opposite.

  She thinks I don’t care. What a joke. I care so much I’m lost. I mean, I got here because I wanted to find out more about Phoebe’s mom. Little things. Small clues, like admitting she left her mom back in Las Vegas, put the checkmark in that column. All her admissions add up. Did I expect to see proof? An affidavit from the police stating Phoebe did nothing wrong?

  I’ve wasted so much time with her. I could have cleared the air and put this behind us long before today. If I’m being honest with myself, our kiss in the Safeway parking lot sealed the deal. Instead of telling her about Aubrey, I should have told her about our struggles with the house. I could have smiled instead of clutching when she joked about love.