Romance: SPORTS ROMANCE: The First Half (Bad Boy Alpha Male College Football Romance) (New Adult Contemporary Pregnancy Romance)

by Nicole Chance

  Flustered, I shook my head. “No, but... No, that’s beside the point. I’m here to show you how to do your work properly, not to do it for you, or to... Or for anything else...” That last part I added a bit unintentionally, and as I said it the fantasy of being screwed by a football player flashed through my mind.

  I needed to get a damn grip on myself...

  “I don’t know,” he said, breathing heavily, like he was really considering it hard but couldn’t quite manage to see the angle I was coming from. “That seems like it would just complicate things, don’t you think?”

  This only served to piss me off on top of my already raging sexual frustration, and at last I found myself mustering up the courage to put my foot down, and clear the air as to what our tutor-pupil relationship actually consisted of.

  “I think,” I said, practically hissing, “that if we don’t get started soon, we’ll have to end up staying here late and you won’t be able to make it out in time for football practice.”

  He gave me a sort of look, like he was impressed that the dainty little prude he’d first encountered genuinely had some balls about her, and though he kept on smiling at me like a bastard, he slid his feet off the table and leaned forward to attention.

  “Whatever you say, chief,” he said, and I knew that it was a hollow victory. If it had taken threats to get him to even start paying attention, I couldn’t really imagine things getting any easier from this point onward.

  And sure enough, they didn’t...

  I began to look through his mistakes, and it was pretty easy to tell just where he’d gone wrong in almost every instance. This was elementary stuff, honestly, and the fact that he’d still managed to eff it up was staggering to me.

  “Okay, so, the problem here is...” I would begin, and he would lean in close to me, nodding.

  “Mm hmm, mm hmm,” he would say, and puffs of his hot breath would blow up against the back of my neck. My skin seemed to sizzle with his proximity, a warmth radiating from his body that made my flesh crawl all over. I could feel myself beginning to sweat as he held himself in close, and as I continued to speak, my mouth just kept getting drier and drier by the minute. I dabbed at my sweaty forehead with my arm, continuing in spite of myself, dreading the long, agonizing night the two of us still had ahead of ourselves.

  It was an uphill climb, to say the least. Every time I thought I might be getting through to him, I would turn to look at him, to find that he’d been gawking shamelessly at my boobs. His eyes would dart up quickly, and he would smile at me–I would say innocently, but it wasn’t innocent at all. It was more like, pretending to be innocent, but genuinely not giving a damn that he’d been caught, and perhaps being sincerely proud of the fact.

  When I wasn’t being objectified, Blake could typically be found gawking at his smart-phone instead, amused at whatever happened to be on the screen. When I gave him my routine dirty looks, he didn’t even appear to be ashamed of the fact, but brazenly turned the screen to me so that I could see as well.

  “Hey, check this out,” He would say.

  “Dammmmn, Daniel,” said a video playing onscreen, and I stared dumbly at it, my mind a vacuum.

  “What’s funny about that?” I asked, giving him my meanest look.

  He didn’t have an explanation, but just echoed the video, “Dammmmmmn, Daniel,” like his imitation should explain everything.

  I scowled. “Can we get back to work now, please?”

  God… that evening seemed to drone on forever... And all the while, I kept having my dirty, shameful fantasies about him, being ravished by that powerful body, in spite of the empty, mindless noggin attached to it.

  At last, 7:00 rolled around, the time he was supposed to head out, and he was already getting packed up to go the instant the secondhand on his watch hit twelve–I was honestly a little bit surprised that he even knew how to tell time...

  He dashed out of the library like a bat out of hell, and I couldn’t help but gawk at that cute, tight butt of his as it darted away from sight, leaving me with some mighty frustrating inner conflicts to reckon with.

  I was irritated as hell with the bastard and his general demeanor, and yet I couldn’t help but be swept up by him, his appearance, and how easygoing he was, all in such severe contrast to my own uptight personality.

  I did, at least, know one thing for sure... No matter how I felt about Blake as a person, I was going to be having a damn good time with myself and my newfound fantasies in the tub later tonight...

  Chapter 3

  A football player... I was falling head over heels in love, or lust, with a goddamn football player... It was absurd to me, that a girl as focused on academics and succeeding through knowledge should be so swept under by her own primal sexual urges, unable to separate the animal inside herself from the more rational identity that she tried to uphold under most circumstances.

  But I simply couldn’t help myself...

  That isn’t to say, all the while, that my interactions with Blake became any less unpleasant as the tutoring progressed. They really, really didn’t, and I showed up to our sessions with a mingling cocktail of dread and anticipation. Part of me wished I should never have to lay eyes on him again, and part of me found myself hoping endlessly that he would just start tearing me out of my clothes, and take my virginity right there in the middle of the library.

  On the off chance that he actually decided to show up to our sessions, Blake was almost routinely an even fifteen minutes late- punctual, I supposed, in a very twisted and inaccurate sense. I started just waiting ten minutes later to show up, knowing he would never be on time, and hoping to reduce my frustration with him by cutting down on wait time.

  We met three nights a week, and always it was the same story. He would barely pay attention as I tried to teach him, and would spend the entire sessions either checking out my body, his phone, or flirting with the girls that passed us every now and then through the halls of the library. As far as I was concerned, this entire exercise felt completely pointless...

  I tried to bring up the issues I had with his coach, and with his teachers. I told them he seemed not to be getting it, that my lessons weren’t sinking in, and that he had a real problem focusing. They reassured me though, saying I didn’t need to worry about that. He was actually starting to show signs of improvement, as unlikely as it may have seemed that I’d gotten through to him, and I should just keep continuing with him as I’d done up to this point.

  That was all well and good, except I would have much rather been rid of him, between his many tendencies to irritate in our sessions and the cumbersome burden he was putting on my overstressed mind at nearly all other hours of the day.

  I seriously couldn’t stop thinking about this jackass...

  Walking around campus, I would feel more alone and insecure about myself than ever, Blake’s absence from beside me almost palpable, and the extent to which I stuck out from my peers making my chest hurt. I tried to stay on track, to stop from thinking about him as best I could, but it was just no use. He was dragging me down, making it hard for me to concentrate–sooner than later it began to affect my own grades.

  It was ironic, really... I’d been avoiding falling into the trap of letting a stud like him screw me over by making me fall in love with one. Yet it was trying to avoid letting my heart pursue what it really wanted that was causing me to flounder, and nothing I did seemed capable of pulling me back out of that slump.

  It got worse when, every now and then, the two of us might happen to cross paths on campus. Nearly always when I saw him, he would be surrounded with a gaggle of giggling girls, like his harem or something, all fawning on his every word, laughing at his stupid jokes, and leaving me wondering how many of them had personally experienced the force of his cock inside them.

  Sometimes, when draped in his lovers like this, he would catch sight of me and wave, with that stupid smile on his face, like he knew I wanted him, and he delighted in seeing just how deepl
y I was burning with lust. This was like twisting a knife into my chest, and time after time I found myself running home to sob into my pillow, my emotions getting to me like they never had, under any other circumstances.

  The ground itself seemed to be sinking out from under my feet, and I wondered whether the path I’d been on all my life was one I could possibly continue on? The chastity, the self-denial... I felt like a goddamn monk in exile.

  At one point, my desire just to see Blake, between our sessions, grew so strongly that I forced myself to go to one of his dumb football games. I felt bitter about it all the while, like I thought it was beneath me, and I had a textbook at hand, in order to keep getting work done as I watched. I felt so awkward and out of place, sitting in plain clothes around all the other fans decked out head to toe in team gear, looking a bit stupid as they roared with celebration anytime something favorable happened down there on the field. I had to keep reminding myself that I was doing this for Blake, or for my secretly harbored new love for him, just to be able to tune out the constant distraction of the overzealous lunatics around me.

  Gradually, though, I won’t lie, I got pretty swept up in the game. Watching Blake from a distance, bolting back and forth along the field, doing the majority of the legwork for the team–and honestly, I could see why his coach had been so adamant about making sure he stayed onboard with his grades. I had a bit of a hard time keeping up with precisely what was going on. As I said, football wasn’t exactly my thing, so I wasn’t all that knowledgeable with regard to what the terminology meant, or how it related to what I saw going on before me down on the field. However, in my current, rather overly sexual mindset, I found myself coming up with my own rather indecent ideas of what specific terms and phrases might mean.

  For example, I kept thinking of “ball handling” as referring to playing with a man’s testicles. An “eligible receiver” translated to a submissive sex partner who was open to being taken. “Man coverage” dredged up images of having every inch of my anatomy draped in warm, male bodies, and “nose tackle” served as a simple innuendo for the act of cunnilingus. And finally, “offensive backfield play,” in my mind, dredged up the thought of unsolicited and unwanted advances toward anal sex.

  And then there was a moment where several of the players from both sides dog-piled one of the players, and I couldn’t help but imagine myself being at the very bottom of the pile, crushed by the weight and the heat of all those men...

  But damn, I just then realized that I seriously needed to get a hold of myself. I hadn’t even had the courage to be with one man, yet alone a whole team of them.

  At any rate, it was a pleasant realization that I could, in fact, derive such unexpected pleasure from attending a school football game–even if for all of the wrong reasons...

  I tried to focus on Blake again, in between bouts of scribbling in my textbook and trying to fight my own worst urges. At one point, I actually stood up cheered for him after scoring a touchdown, and immediately I blushed at the fact, getting a hold of myself, and quickly sitting back down in the hopes that no one had noticed. My things had spilled off of my lap in the process, my pencil rolling down the bleachers, I felt so embarrassed about the fact that I thought I might just collapse. But no one around me seemed to notice, enchanted as they were by the game unfolding before them, and I was left breathing an intense sigh of relief.

  I left before the game was over. Blake had pushed the score so high up that it was inevitable that our team should win, and I didn’t want to have to stick around long enough to see him “celebrating” with any number of the cheerleaders after the fact. I could see them down their, with their tight, sexy bodies hopping through the air any time he did something admirable, and I didn’t want to commit any more thought than I already had to the notion of how many of those fake, smiley girls he’d been in bed with over the course of his football career. The things they might have done to one another...

  I wondered, with a bit more kinkiness than I liked to permit myself, whether Blake secretly happened to be an “eligible receiver” in the bedroom? The thought of it caused a naughty little smile to spread across my lips, but I quickly settled down again as I turned to leave the stadium, and paid a last look to Blake, whooping and celebrating at the end zone, after having just scored a touchdown.

  The thought of the victory celebrations he’d almost certainly be enjoying that night made my skin crawl...

  It was like I was torturing myself on purpose, trying to get as much of what I knew I couldn’t have as possible, and making myself more and more sick about it all the while.

  This good girl was beginning to have some very, very naughty thoughts and feelings, and they seemed unwilling to let up...

  Chapter 4

  Before I knew it, spring break was coming up on the horizon. This, like a lot of things lately, evoked somewhat of a mixed reaction in me. I needed to regain my freedom from Blake’s hold over me, of course, but I dreaded the notion of being away from our sessions for two weeks all the same. I knew he was all I’d be able to think about during that period, and I hated myself so badly for it that my stomach felt all twisted up in knots.

  It was our last session before parting ways, and Blake was later than ever. The library would be closing before too much longer, a lot of the other students gone home given that we were halfway through mid-term week, and I felt especially pessimistic because of it.

  I was just about to call it, thinking that Blake wouldn’t show, when just then the bastard came strutting across the hall, looking especially pleased with himself, and something glowing in his eyes that I couldn’t quite recognize.

  “Blake,” I said curtly, “I didn’t know if you would make it.”

  “I got my math mid-term back today,” he said, and I braced myself for the worst.

  “Oh?” I asked, my tone a skeptical one, certain that our tutoring sessions wouldn’t be drawing to a close anytime soon.

  “Mm-hm,” he said, and he set the paper down on the table, sliding it toward me. “A-”, it said in red, with a hastily scribbled “Good job!” beside it. This wasn’t something I imagined many of Blake’s teachers had the occasion to write very often, and they’d even gone so far as to embellish their congratulatory remarks with a childish little smiley face in the “0” of his “90%.”

  My eyes went wide, and I couldn’t help but break into a wide, gratified smile. “Blake, that’s- God that’s great! Congratulations!”

  He smiled at me, his chest puffing up with pride. “I know I’ve been kind of a dick to you, but I really am grateful for you putting up with me... I really needed this to keep my scholarship, and honestly I couldn’t have done it without you...”

  Suffice it to say, I hadn’t at all been expecting my last meeting with Blake before the break to result in his revelation of a passing grade on his mid-term. Much less did I expect him to express gratitude for what I’d done for him. And least of all, did I expect what happened next to occur as it did.

  Before I could begin to process what was happening, he was leaning in toward me, opening his arms, and wrapping them up around me, giving me a giant, constrictive bear hug. In spite of all the advances he’d made to me up to that point, I could tell this wasn’t intended as anything but a grateful gesture. There was nothing improper about his intentions, he simply needed to express to me his immense thankfulness for all that I’d done for him. I felt awkward and tense at first, but then slackened in his grip, surrendering–in more ways than one...

  He felt wonderful around me, his body hard and warm, his huge penis lightly pushing up against me through my skirt and the tight denim of his jeans. And the longer he held me, the less this became a friendly hug to me, and the more and more it became something that I’d been trying to resist for weeks and weeks up to this point.

  I couldn’t stop myself any longer...

  His embrace having diminished my defenses, it was impossible to contain myself. I leaned in up to him, and though I could tell
I surprised him, he accepted me graciously enough. Our lips collided, and he kissed me on the mouth, long, hot and deep. It was my first kiss, ever, and it made my head spin like wild, my ears ringing, my body shaking with anxiety and anticipation. Stars flashed in my eyes, I began to feel dizzy, and he tightened his grip around me.

  He got harder and harder and harder up against my soft body, and I felt as though I didn’t ever want it to end.

  At last, though, the two of us were forced to come up for breath. We pulled apart, our chests beating like wild, our eyes wide, both of us a bit disbelieving at what we’d just done–perhaps myself more than him, though I was confident he’d never believed he would get quite that far with me. He was smiling, that old cocky smile, but I could tell he was trying to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating all of this, or overstepping his boundaries.

  “You sure about this?” he said, but by that point the genie was out of the bottle. Even if I’d wanted to, I could no longer resist the sway he held over me, and honestly I was fairly certain he was well aware of this fact.

  With my nostrils flaring, my chest heaving, and a crazed look almost certainly beaming in my eyes, I didn’t answer him verbally. Instead, I let it suffice to lean in once more and latch onto his mouth more intensely than ever, as though sucking out his soul, and bringing him down, down, down onto the floor.

  So many years of pent up sexual frustration were promptly unleashed... All of my prudishness, all my propriety, all gone up in smoke, as the star football player and I proceeded to fornicate right there in the middle of the library.

  The two of us quickly became ravenous, tearing at one another like animals, pawing and scratching and biting, unable to get enough of one another. He peeled out of his shirt, and I was wrapped up tightly against him, his broad pectorals, his rippling six-pack, and the deeply entrenched v-lines of his Adonis muscles. He put his hands on my breasts, squeezing them through my blouse, filling them with sensations, and causing me to gasp, wild and wet as hell with delight. I slid my hand down into his underwear, and wrapped my hands around his cock, my very first contact with the organ in my life. I squeezed onto him for dear life, pushing the skin along, experiencing him for the first time, loving the sliding of his flesh through the stronghold of my grip. Streams of pre-ejaculate began to moisten my palms, and he sighed with pleasure, clearly happy with the service I was providing him. I savored the sound of his wet shaft as it squelched in my grip, and I continued to squeeze harder and harder, to pump faster and faster, thinking I might never let go of him.