by Tara Brown
Andy?
“Dude?” he knocks on the door, making me take a step back.
I hold my breath and try desperately not to make a sound. It feels like one of our sex games, only it’s real.
“Lana!”
How the shit?
The note.
My heart is pounding and my stomach hurts.
“Lana, are you in there?” he pounds on the door. I walk back, pressing my back on the other door.
Do I care that Andy knows I’m here?
“Andy?”
He thumps the door. “Lana, is that you?”
“Yeah. What are you doing here?” I have no idea why I feel so weird. Andy and me have never been anything but bed buddies.
“Open the door.”
I don't want to. I’m still pissed about the whole library thing.
“I’m going to the bathroom.”
“I’ve seen you pee, Lana.”
I grimace, remembering that time and shake my head. “You were drunk as hell and that was you who peed on me. I left pissed off remember?”
He chuckles. “Oh yeah. You mean pissed on!” he laughs too hard at his own joke.
I roll my eyes.
He hits the door again but not as hard. “Just open up. I want to talk to you.”
“No!”
Someone else joins the conversation. “Dude?” James is back and suddenly I feel dirty, really dirty. “What are you doing here?” He sounds annoyed.
Andy hits the door. “Having a chat with Lana. You know, my fuck buddy you stole from me. It’s cool if we share, James, but I want her back. Preferably not too used up too. I don't mind sword fights if you’re interested. In fact, three ways are more fun—“ His words are cut off by the sound of one person punching the shit out of another. I know exactly how this fight will turn out so I open the door as they fall in. Andy lands on me, laughing and bleeding. “I give, Jesus. The slut is yours.”
James’ face is one I don't think I have ever seen on another human being. He pulls back to punch again, but I reach up through Andy’s arms. “PLEASE! DON’T!”
James snaps out of it, staring down on me with hatred in his eyes. They soften and his hand stops shaking. He grabs Andy and pulls him off of me, tossing him into the hall. “I hear you’ve so much as thought about her, you’re a de—“ I jump up onto James’ back and slap my hands around his mouth, waving at Andy with my other hand. “Bye, Andy!”
I jump down and drag him back inside. We’re both shaking.
His eyes are psycho scary but his voice is calm. “Did he touch you?”
I shake my head.
His nostrils flare and I feel sick suddenly. James must think I’m the biggest whore ever. Fuck, I was the biggest whore ever and now it’s coming back full circle. I shake my head, refusing to slut shame myself. I had fun. It was fun. James can hate me for being Andy’s gal pal, but I won’t ever admit it wasn't a complete sexcapade.
His green eyes are clouded over and I imagine he’s judging me for half a second, until he wraps his arms around me and kisses the top of my head. He breathes into my hair, still worked up and puffing from the fight. “I’ll kill anyone who touches you.”
I pull back. “Okay, whoa. Not actually necessary. My dad has produced some badass rappers in his day. He knows some thugs. They actually enjoy jail. They get more material there and street cred, so if I need anyone whacked, you’re not doing it.” I wrap my arms around his neck. “You don't have to protect me from anyone but myself. Andy doesn't scare me. I know allllll his dirty secrets. And honestly, all I have to do is command him as Mistress Lana and he stops, drops, and gives me fifty—naked.”
He cocks an eyebrow and stiffens everywhere.
I chuckle nervously. Apparently, I am less funny than I think I am. “But we don't ever have to talk about it again. Whatever your comfort level with discussing my previous affairs is at, is cool with me.”
His body stays stiff but he cracks a delicious smile. “My comfort level is you being safe and happy and with me.”
I nod. “Then we’re on the same page.” He lowers his face to kiss me, but I pull back, regardless of how badly I want it. “But you still haven’t asked me out on a date.”
He scowls, hovering over my lips. “I asked you to come to my soccer game and watch me kick ass. I will be gracing you with the gift of my mad skills.”
“You call that a date?”
He presses his body into mine and lowers his face all the way, scooping me up into him. The kiss is slow and delicate. Not hurried or fervent but passionate and drawn out. His tongue caresses mine as his fingers dig into my shorts, kneading my ass.
The scent of him is intoxicating. It’s sweat and deodorant and him, all mixed to make a musk like no other. It swirls in my nostrils, pushing my body into senses overdrive. He could become my next addiction. His teeth drag down my bottom lip as he settles onto his bed with me in his lap.
I grind into him, hoping the surprise I’m feeling is as awesome as my estimation says it is. He’s rigid and thrusting lightly, massaging his cock against my clit through my clothes.
I pull his shirt off, basking in his manly post-workout aroma. When my teeth bear down on his shoulder, he sucks in sharply, wincing like a little girl.
Uh oh.
Somebody likes to be in charge besides me.
I sit up, licking the salt from my lips and grin. “Do we wrestle for who gets to be in charge or paper-scissors-rock?”
He flips me onto the bed fast, tugging my shorts and underwear down urgently. “Let’s wrestle.” His face brushes against my belly on its way south. He kisses my thighs, inside and out, only ever brushing his face against my pussy. I’m half mad when he finally spreads my thighs, licking my slit and thrusting his long tongue inside of me. Everything he does has a forced feel to it, like he’s making me enjoy it—it being that he’s in charge.
“You like it when I lick you?”
I nod, breathless and unable to decide if the dirty talk is him or my imagination. Nice boys don't talk like that and he seems like a pretty nice boy.
He slides a long finger inside of me, rubbing the right spot instantly and wrapping his lips around my clit. He flicks and sucks, while playing me like his fucking guitar. Literally his FUCKING guitar. “You wanna come for me, Lana? Huh? You want me to make you come all over my hand?”
A sound escapes my lips and I would laugh if I could—but I can’t. I make a mental note for later to remember to laugh because I sound exactly like Andy’s mom.
“You wanna talk about fucking other guys and being Mistress Lana or whatever bullshit? Or do you want me to make you come so hard you forget all about them, Mistress Lana?” His accent is thick and lazy and I want to answer, but I can’t. I’m coming and it won’t stop. My whole body is convulsing. I didn't even know I was climaxing, but I realize I’ve been doing it for minutes.
He flips me over, pressing my face into the bed but still pounding me with his fingers. I hear a condom crinkle, but I can’t get over the wave of pleasure.
He bends forward, pinning me with his huge body, all while somehow still finger fucking me. “You like it in the ass, Lana? You wanna be dirty? I can play dirty.”
I am about to argue the ass question when he pulls his finger from me and his legs kick mine apart as his cock thrusts into my sopping-wet pussy. It takes a second to adjust to the girth—it’s as big as I was praying for, at least. He drags some of the moisture from my pussy up to my ass, sticking his long, thick finger in, slowly. He lets me adjust to the size and then pushes in a little more.
My eyes won’t open and I can’t stop making the sound from the short thrusts of his finger in my ass. He’s pumping both, but not at the same speed. He’s like a fucking magician, and I don't know what’s going on. His finger thrusts in my ass have me, I don't even know—ass coming, which I didn't even know I could. His long thick cock has me drooling out the left side of my face and bleating into the bed.
“You wanna
talk dirty then—I’ll play dirty.” He bites my back softly, thrusting harder into my pussy. His body slapping against mine makes whatever he’s doing to my ass better. I keep moaning and moving against him, breathing in spurts and gasping when it all starts again.
He pins me to him with his hand on my abdomen, pulling me back into him as he jackhammers me. A long, steady moan escapes my lips as he comes with me, shoving his cock in hard and holding for each ejaculation.
He breathes into my back, lifting my ass and slowly removing his finger. I watch him drag a condom off of it and nod.
A pro just fucked me.
It makes me smile. I don't keep track of guys. I stopped counting at about twenty last summer so I’m probably just shy of twenty-three. But I have never been properly fucked—serviced—by a man. He pulls his cock out of me and drags that condom off too, before he lifts me up and carries me to the bathroom.
His lack of talking suddenly makes his chatty-ho talking awkward as sin. I swallow hard and look up at him as I drag my shirt off. “So—that wasn't what I expected.” It comes out as a laugh as he starts the shower and pulls me in.
“Come on. Let’s get cleaned up.” He’s back to being gruff apparently.
I laugh harder. “I don't think that's actually possible. I don't think I’ll ever be clean again.”
“You weren’t clean to start, Mistress Lana.”
It stuns me. It all stuns me. “You’re really good at that.”
His cheeks flush. “And this is why I don't have sex with college girls, so I can leave without the weird talking afterwards.”
I let myself collapse into his chest as the water runs down on us both. “Can we do that again after I eat a steak or something?”
He squeezes tight. “Next time I wanna see the Mistress Lana side of you.”
I look up to his gleaming green eyes and smile. “I think I might need a couple weeks to come up with a routine that would compare to that performance.”
“That wasn't a performance.”
I roll my eyes. “You weren’t trying to impress me?”
“Hell yes! I’m not coming to the table with Lana Webber, the infamous Lana Webber, with any weak-ass shit.” He bends his face and kisses my like a gentleman, like a gentle man. It warms my heart.
He pulls back and sighs. “Will it ever bother you that I don't really make love? I’ve tried it a few times and it just felt like less. I’m not looking for less ever. I always want more.” He kisses me again before I can answer, and then mutters next to my lips as he kisses my cheeks. “And I know one thing is for sure. I’m always going to want more of you.”
Chapter Sixteen
Yo momma
James
She has a way with my head that I don't think I’ll live through.
I’m still lost in the feel and smell of her when coach slaps me upside the head with the clipboard.
“Holland! Did you bring enough daydream for everyone to share?”
I glance up. “Uhhh, sorry coach.”
He hits me again. “Jackson is going to keep seventy-two busy and I need two goals from you. Yale wins this and I’m buying their coach dinner downtown, along with his five kids.”
“Yes, sir.”
We huddle and Jackson gives me a wicked smile. “Heard you slapped Andy around.”
I don't like to kiss and tell so I keep my mouth shut.
Shane nudges me. “I heard he’s pissed ‘cause you stole Lana from him.”
My eyes dart up to the stands where she’s sitting. She looks insane in her white jacket amongst all the crimson. “Yeah, well I think we all know how easy it is to tell Lana Webber what to do and who to date.”
The circle of guys chuckle and put their hands in.
I nod at Jackson. “He did go down like a sack of potatoes. It was almost unfairly similar to fighting my little sister.”
Shane smacks me in the ass. “Well, I hope you saved some energy for this last five minutes because you’re gonna need it.”
I shake my head, sighing. “I don't know boys, fighting Andy was pretty exhausting.”
Jackson laughs. “He was talking about wrestling Lana.”
We break, laughing whereas the other team breaks strong with pride.
I head down to the middle of the field, waiting for the ball to come in. Jackson stands alongside the big guy from Yale who seems to have the mission of dry humping me up and down the field.
Starkey, our defenseman with the best throw, lobs the ball in, straight to Paganini. He chests it, juggling with his knees and getting it down the line. I run with him, pointing at the spot. He knows to disregard whatever I point at.
I cut into the middle just as he fakes and side passes right to where I am running. They think I’m going to take the shot, but I launch it into the air back at Paganini who heads the ball into the net.
The crowd goes wild. Paganini runs at me, arms out and screaming.
Yale boos in the crowd as a player calls me a lucky twat.
I wink and point at him while running to the middle of the field.
The ref puts the ball down and blows the whistle. Yale’s center forward passes and Starkey runs toward the guy with the ball, putting the pressure on him.
Jackson intercepts the pass but the big guy elbows him hard. Of course the ref doesn't see it, but the crowd goes wild. The big guy turns with the ball, not passing to his mates at all, and instead taking it up the field to our goal.
Shane shakes his head, pointing out the holes in the defense, but he’s ready. When the big guy shoots for the right corner, Shane launches himself into the air. I don't even have to look to know. I turn and start running for their end as the crowd goes crazy again. Shane is the best keeper ever.
He catches and kicks down the field. Their defense is smarter than their forwards though. They haven’t come to midfield. They knew Shane would catch it.
Starkey has run hard, staying with the big guy, giving him the unnoticed elbow as Shane’s kick lands right in front of Jackson. Jackson passes fast but because he’s actually hurt, he nearly loses the ball. But Paganini is a star. He leaps and scissors the rogue pass to me, mid-air. I chest it, looking at the two defensemen coming my way, and dribble toward their end. I fake out the first one and run hard for the second one. He doesn't see that he’s blocking the vision of the keeper. I get a blur of crimson in the corner of my eye. I side pass as the last defenseman launches himself at me. I spin, letting him blow by me but not take me down with him. Nick has caught my pass and is taking it to the goal. He fakes a shot, forcing the goal to move but side passes right back to me. I leap into the air, not stopping the ball or controlling the kick, but launching it straight into the goal with a mid-air kick.
The stadium screams in unison as the whistle blows and the game is called.
Nicks runs at me, hugging and lifting. We end up in a swarm of screaming men. Jackson and Shane are crying. It’s their last game at Harvard against Yale and they have won with dignity and ferocity.
My ears ring with the screaming joy bursting in the sea of crimson bodies, but my eyes are drawn to the glimpse of the girl in white. She is jumping up and down and screaming like a savage. She grabs the person next to her, shaking him and screaming some more. Not what I expected, yet again.
We do our victory lap around the field, arms out for the fans and then form the line to shake hands.
The captains and keepers meet at the front of the line. Yale looks smug and actually pretty pissed, but they behave like gentlemen-ish, until they reach us midfielders. The captain grins and shakes my hand, muttering, “How’s Lana? Tell her Danny Anderson says hi.”
I crunch his hand in mine. The next guy does the same thing. On the third guy I wince, “Ohh, she doesn't speak highly of you, sorry about the cock, friend. I heard even young men can take Viagra.”
He tackles me to the grass, punching me in the side of the head.
Instantly the lines mix and the brawl is on.
But it do
esn't matter, they started it.
I’m punched in the stomach by the guy whose dick has been insulted, but I manage to kick him in the chest, and when I get on top of him I punch twice, stopping when I see he’s had enough.
Nick has the Yale captain on the ground and is beating him. I pull him off as a body jumps someone else right in front of us. Shane has two guys down. The stands are filling with fighting and screaming, and our victory is slowly slipping away from us.
I grab the captain of the Yale team, standing him up and wiping him off and look back at Nick. “We have to stop this.” Nick looks at the captain. “He’s an asshole. Why are you helping him?”
The captain, Danny Anderson, shakes his head like he’s saying no, but he’s in fact trying to get steady. He looks up and nods at the stands. “You’re a fucking asshole, and you can lick my balls like your girlfriend already has.”
I wrap an arm around him and smile. “I feel like maybe you’re reading my mind. I was just about to say that very thing to you. But I think you missed one thing while you were rooting around in my head.” I turn and smile as wide as I can. “I fucked your mom last spring, she was at that vacation house your dad hates in Martha’s Vineyard. We went there for a concert, me and a bunch of guys. And I fucked her, nasty too.”
His face turns beet red, but I see something he doesn't.
He turns and punches me hard, but he only gets one hit in before the police grab him and he’s pinned to the ground.
He looks up at me, wild eyed. “I WILL KILL YOU!”
I wave and look up into the stands where the girl in the white jacket is shaking her head at me.
I put my hands up, but I get dragged back into the fight.
In the locker room, coach has a fat lip but he raises a beer to his lips, resting it against the swelling. He gives us a look. “I don't know what started it, but we finished it, lads. Now drink up and get the hell out of here. I have dinner downtown, and I plan on it being a big meal.”
I suck back my beer and give Jackson a grin. “A game to end your years here with pride?”
