Beauty and the Running Back
Page 6
“You like that?” he murmurs, keeping one arm wrapped around my waist to steady me as he trails his fingers along my wetness once more.
“It’s so good,” I groan, “I’ve wanted to feel you there so badly…”
Without ever taking his hands off my body, Dean guides me forward a couple of steps toward the chain link fence that encloses the practice field. I thread my fingers through the cool metal, holding myself up as my knees begin to quake. Dean steps up behind me, kissing along my neck as his hands continue their ardent exploration. I suck in a quick, excited breath as Dean tugs my soaked panties down over my ass, cupping my mound in his expert hand.
“God, I love the feel of you,” Dean murmurs, parting my pink lips with two masterful fingers. With each stroke he delves a little deeper, learning the contours of my sex.
“That feels amazing,” I sigh, leaning my cheek against the fence as he touches me.
“I haven’t even gotten started yet,” he growls.
I gasp as his two fingers slide into my pussy, flexing against the tender flesh inside of me. Dean pulses his fingers as his thumb finds the hard, throbbing button of my clit. I have to bite my lip to keep from screaming as he works me over inside and out. His thumb traces firm circles around the pearl of my clit—not too hard, but not too gentle either. I move my hips against him, urging him on as he brings me closer and closer to orgasm. It occurs to me that I’ve never come like this in front of anyone. Andoni and I always went straight to full-on intercourse—he was way too eager for much foreplay. But the experienced Dean Carter knows what he’s doing. And what’s he’s doing is fucking phenomenal.
“I think I’m gonna come,” I gasp, fucking his hand as it fucks me. Warm bliss is building up in my core, waiting to spill over. Dean rolls his thumb over my clit, his arched fingers sending my g-spot into a frenzy of sensation.
“Do it. Come for me,” Dean growls, “I want to feel you…”
With a soft cry, I let myself go. My body shudders as a sweet, searing orgasm rushes along my nerve endings. Electric sensation dances along my skin, turning me inside out as I come against Dean’s incredible, commanding hand. My eyes grow wide as I feel a small burst of wetness escape between my legs. For a petrified moment, I’m worried that I’ve gone and pissed on Crash Carter. But no, that’s just what it felt like at first… I’ve heard about squirting before, but I sure as hell never figured I was capable of it. Good lord, what else is this man going to bring out in me?
“God, that’s hot…” Dean moans, burying his face in my neck as I turn to face him, leaning back against the chain link. A cool September breeze brushes against my bare ass as I catch my breath, amazed at what just passed between us.
“Was that… OK?” I ask nervously, “I mean… That’s never really happened to me before. I don’t… I haven’t had a lot of experience with, you know, guys.”
Dean pulls back to look me in the eye.
“Are you saying… You’re a virgin, Cahill?” he asks me. His voice is far more surprised than judgmental.
“No, no,” I tell him, “I’ve had sex. Just with one guy, but you know… Plenty of times to get the feel of things. I guess we mostly just, you know, did ‘the deed’. Instead of getting to know the rest of each’s other’s bodies, I mean.”
“Got it,” Dean confirms, brushing a loose lock of hair away from my forehead. “But Jesus. I don’t understand what kind of guy wouldn’t want to get to know you. And your body.”
“You certainly don’t seem to be that kind of guy,” I grin.
“You bet your ass I’m not,” he laughs, as I pull my panties back up. “I want to learn every inch of you, Jessa.”
“Funny,” I say softly, “I was just thinking the same thing about you.”
“But you know it isn’t just your body I want, right?” he goes on, taking my face in his rugged hands.
I look up at the sculpted face that’s graced my dreams nearly every night since we met. The high cheekbones, strong jaw, sandy blonde hair, and Roman nose. For the millionth time I ask myself how the hell I got so lucky as to end up here, with him.
“I know,” I whisper, “But hey… At least now we’ll get to spend all the time we want together, right?”
“That’s right Teach,” he grins, his thumb tracing the curve of my cheekbone, “And I have some pretty good ideas about how we can fill that time that have nothing to do with tutoring.”
He brings his mouth to mine, working open my jaw as I melt against him. Our tongues tangle as he pins my hands over my head, holding my wrists firmly as he lets me feel the weight of his cut body against my curvier form. His hips hold me pinned against the fence, and I’m dizzy with wanting more of him. My mind goes to the condom in my back pocket. Are we going to make use of it right here, right now?
“Why don’t I walk you home?” Dean offers, pressing his forehead to mine.
“Already?” I ask, placing my hands on his chest.
“It’s almost two in the morning,” he laughs.
“Seriously?” I ask, straightening up. God, time does fly when you’re hooking up with the sexiest man you’ve ever met.
“I don’t want Coach to find your bed empty in the morning and lock you in a safe room for the rest of the semester,” Dean says, lacing his fingers through mine and leading me around the practice field.
“You know something?” I reply, “I honestly wouldn’t put it past my father to do that.”
Dean and I walk along in happy, dazed silence. The faculty houses that make up my section of the neighborhood are all gorgeous old victorians and colonials—reserved for only the most serious tenured professors, deans, and department heads. And in the case of Rayburn University, the football coach and his family. I loop my arm through Dean’s as we walk along, resting my head on his shoulder. Our time together is such a blissful secret, such a departure from both of our everyday lives. All I want is to keep this private world of two all to ourselves for as long as possible.
“This is me,” I whisper, pausing under an oak tree in my family’s front lawn.
“Damn,” Dean says under his breath, “Coach has it good.”
“Coach is also a heavy sleeper, thank god,” I smile, planting a kiss on Dean’s cheek, “I’ll see you soon. Tutoring starts this week, you hear me?”
“Should I bring an apple along to our session?” he asks, running a hand through my blonde hair. “Or would making you come again be sufficient?”
“If you don’t know which one of those a girl would prefer, you need far more instruction than I can offer,” I smile, turning toward the trellis.
I can feel Dean’s eyes on my body as I climb onto the low roof outside my bedroom door, pushing open the window pane as quietly as possible. I slip inside, turning back to take one last look at him. Every cell in my body is begging for just a few more minutes with him, but I know it isn’t time yet. As much as I would have been down to break out that condom tonight and get down on the practice football field, I want to wait until we get to know each other a little better. Dean isn’t just some one night stand, or clandestine study-abroad lay. He’s someone I could come to care about, I think. Someone who could come to care about me.
Dean and I share a wave goodbye before I close my window at last. I switch on my bedside lamp and flop back onto my twin bed, marveling at everything that just transpired. The second my mind alights on the memory of Dean working over my pussy, I have to reach for the vibrator hidden in a hollowed-out book in my bedside table.
What can I say? This boy has made me insatiable.
Chapter Four
Dean
“Dude, what the fuck is the matter with you?”
“Hmm?” I mutter, dragging my attention back to the moment at hand as Buck and I head for the locker rooms after another grueling practice the following Wednesday.
“Noel has been eye-fucking you from the sidelines for, like, two hours and you haven’t made a move,” my friend says, sounding almost offended.
“Why don’t you go for her if you’re so obsessed?” I ask Buck, giving him a shove with my shoulder.
“I already tried,” Buck grumbles, “But she doesn’t want me. She wants you. And I’m not an asshole who doesn’t know how to take no for an answer like fucking Royce.”
I follow Bryan’s gaze and see our quarterback chatting up Esther, the head cheerleader. Her attitude toward him has cooled and then some. I guess even being the quarterback of a D1 college football team isn’t enough to win over the ladies if you’re still an entitled prick. I try not to feel too smug about watching Royce get ignored by someone he feels like he deserves… but damn, is it satisfying to see him fall on his face.
“Seriously though,” Buck insists, “Do you have something else on the side you haven’t told me about?”
I bite my tongue, knowing that I need to tread carefully here. Buck and I are used to telling each other everything about our sexual conquests. But we don’t really have a protocol for relationships that aren’t just sexual. Not that Jessa and I are in a relationship or anything, but… You know… We could be, sometime soon. I decide to throw Bryan a bone. Shit, I could use someone to talk to about all this.
“Well. There is someone…” I begin cautiously.
“I knew it!” Buck crows, pounding me on the back, “You’ve been holding out on me, bro! So, what’s the deal?”
“No deal,” I shrug, “We’re just, you know. Hanging out.”
“Yeah? And how is she?” he asks, grinning lasciviously.
“Jesus Christ, Buck. Grow up,” I snap.
“Ohh shit!” he howls, eyes going wide. “You haven’t fucked her yet?”
“That’s none of your—”
“Who is this girl, anyway?” Buck demands, “She must really be something if you’re putting all this time in when she’s not putting out.”
I’m about to tell Buck exactly where he can shove it when I spot a familiar glimmer of blonde hair across the stadium. Jessa has appeared at the locker room entrance, flagging down her father as he exits the field. The untrained eye could never tell, but she looks nervous to be here. Or is it excited? For my part, I’m just stunned to see her and the Coach actually speaking to one another. It’s not exactly a common occurrence, especially in public. Jessa’s handing him a set of house keys—he must have forgotten them at home or something.
“Oh, fuck…” Buck breathes, following my spellbound gaze all the way across the field to where Jessa Cahill is standing. “Are you serious, bro?”
“What?” I ask, playing dumb.
“Don’t ‘what’ me. I know that look anywhere,” he shoots back, “You’re going after Coach Cahill’s daughter?!”
“Say it a little louder, why don’t you?” I growl, looking around to make sure no one’s heard him.
“Do you have a death wish or something, Crash?” Buck goes on, “You think the coach is gonna let this stand?”
“The coach isn’t gonna find out,” I say threateningly.
“Yeah. Sure,” Buck says, rolling his eyes, “It’s not like this entire campus is watching your love life like it’s under a damn microscope, right?”
“You think I don’t know how to cover my tracks, Wallace?” I challenge him.
“Sure you do,” he replies, “But not well enough to stop the Rayburn gossip machine.”
I try to look straight ahead as we come up on Coach Cahill and Jessa. We have to walk right past them to get into the locker room, and now Buck has me all paranoid about it. But the second Coach sees his running back and wide receiver approaching, he turns to face us with as near to a smile as I’ve ever seen him crack.
“There you are, Crash,” Coach Cahill says, beckoning me over, “Have you had a chance to officially meet my daughter yet?”
Oh, I’ve just had my tongue down her throat a few dozen times, I think to myself.
“Jessa, this is Dean Carter. Though around here we call him Crash,” Coach says to his daughter, “He’s the one you’re going to be tutoring.”
“Nice to meet you, Jessa,” I say to her, hoping I’m not laying it on too thick.
“Nice to meet you too,” she says politely, keeping her arms crossed firmly across her chest. I can tell from her body language that she’s not thrilled about even having to spend a few minutes in her dad’s company.
“Why don’t you come on over to the house tomorrow so you two can study?” Coach suggests to me, “My wife Marianne and I have a function at the church, so you two will have the place to yourselves.”
I pray to god that Buck doesn’t burst out laughing beside me.
“Sure,” I say to the Coach, my eyes fixed on Jessa, “That would be great.”
Our bemused, excited gaze lingers for another moment. Neither of us can believe our good luck. We’re going to get an entire house to ourselves not 24 hours for now. And I, for one, am pretty sure what that means…
Jessa
My hands are shaking as I desperately clear my room of anything that’s too girlish or immature. Dean is going to be here any second for our “study session”, which means that before long we’re going to have my entire house to ourselves. For hours. Something tells me that we’re going to end up here, in my bedroom. At least I hope so.
The doorbell sends a shudder of anticipation down my spine, and I all but sprint out of my room to answer it. But my mom is one step ahead of me. I watch from the second story landing as she opens the door and welcomes Dean inside. My fingers close tightly around the banister as he steps in and takes a look around, his eyes finally swinging up to meet mine. I’m surprised I don’t topple right down the stairs in my eagerness to be back in his arms.
“There he is,” I hear my dad say from the kitchen. He appears in the foyer beside my mom and Dean. Each of my parents is wearing their Sunday best for this church thing, even if it’s only Thursday.
“Hey Coach,” Dean offers, “Mrs. Cahill.”
“What’re you still doing up there, Jessa?” Dad asks, spotting me on the landing. “Come on down here! You have some tutoring to do.”
I come down the stairs and join the party. It’s so strange to see this man who I’ve been sneaking off to run my hands all over standing in the middle of my house. And to have my parents be none the wiser.
“There’s some iced tea and leftover baked ziti in the fridge if you kids get hungry,” Mom says, her hands clasped together in front of her. This is the first time we’ve had anyone over since we moved in, and she’s super excited to bestow some Southern hospitality.
“I’m sure we’ll be fine,” I tell her, “You guys are only going to be out for a couple of hours, right?”
“Yeah, but studying is hungry work,” Dad says, “And we’ve got to make sure our running back stays well-fed, don’t we?”
I try not to scowl at my dad. At least not overtly. It’s just that his Affable Gentleman act grates at my nerves, especially since I know first hand how quickly that act can fade away when he’s angry. I just wish he was on as good behavior around his family as he is with his favorite football players, is all.
“Thanks again for setting this up, Coach,” Dean says as my parents head for the door, “I really appreciate it.”
“Not at all,” Dad replies, waving goodbye, “Anything you need, Crash.”
Even if anything includes your youngest daughter? I think to myself. You have no idea just how generous you’re being, Dad.”
And just like that, Crash and I are alone in my house. Together. It’s only been a handful of w
eeks since we even first spoke, but I feel like I’ve been waiting for this moment forever. We listen as my parents drive away, though I can barely hear their car engine over the sound of my own rapidly beating heart.
“So…” I begin, shifting back and forth on my feet, “Would you… Uh… Like a tour of the house?”
“Yeah. I would like that,” Dean smiles, his eyes hard on my face.
I turn and begin to lead him through the ground floor, starting in our old-fashioned kitchen, where he stumbles upon an old picture of me and my sister hanging on the fridge. I’m four years old in the snap shot, with platinum blonde hair and an oversized tee shirt. Allison is six, her chestnut hair hanging in loose curls. We’re standing knee-deep in the ocean, holding up a starfish we’ve stumbled upon. It’s amazing how misleading pictures can be. What you don’t see in this shot is the fight Mom and Dad had later that night that cut our beach vacation short. The sleepless nights Allison and I would spend huddled in our room, listening to the sounds of their arguing. Maybe someday I’ll tell Dean all about this, too. But not yet. Not today.
Dean studies the photograph, letting a smile spread across his face.
“Is that you and your sister?” he asks.
“Yep. I’m the littler one,” I tell him, leaning against the fridge.
“You were a cute kid,” he observes, shooting me a grin.
“All kids are cute,” I shrug.
“I wasn’t,” he replies, “I was the chubbiest little dude you’ve ever see in your life.”
“I don’t believe you,” I smile, “Besides, who says chubby kids aren't cute?”
“Fair point,” he says, holding up his hands, “But I’m just telling you straight. I was a real motherfucking chubster.”
“Well. You sure grew into that body of yours,” I smile, walking past him into the living room to continue the tour.
As we walk through the ground floor, Dean takes note of every little detail in the house. Every childhood knick knack, every book, every picture. It’s like he’s some kind of detective, looking for clues about me that he can string together to form a clearer picture. I’m not used to this kind of intense interest from a guy. Again, I find myself wondering what I did to catch Dean’s interest. Something tells me that it isn’t every one of his lady friends who gets this kind of treatment.