BENCHED

by Abigail Graham

  Alex rises from the bed and sweeps his hair back. He’s been letting it grow a little longer. Soaked with sweat, it clings to the back of his neck.

  He takes a deep breath, then leans down, and puts his lips on my stomach and begins sucking and licking.

  It tickles. I squirm and kick at him. “What are you doing?”

  “I like the way you taste. All over.” He keeps licking and it keeps tickling.

  “Stop it. Take the cuffs off.”

  He stands again and tugs on them, jerking my wrists. “I’m going to give you a choice.”

  “Oh?”

  “Behind door number one is this. The cuffs stay on, and I keep fucking you until you pass out.” Something twists in my stomach. I like that option. “Behind door number two is this. I give you something, you give me something. Fair exchange.”

  “What exchange?”

  “I take the handcuffs off. Then I lay you on the bed, lick your entire body, and then fuck you in the ass.”

  My eyes shoot open.

  “Alex!”

  He slips his hand under me and his finger goes between my cheeks, tickling my asshole.

  I yelp.

  “Are you nuts? I can’t… you can’t… it’s too big.”

  He cups my cheek with his hand. “I’ll never hurt you. Ever. But I need this.”

  “Why?”

  “I want you to surrender to me. Completely. Every part of you. Every cell of your body belongs to me now.”

  He falls on me and his face fills my vision. “Just like I belong to you, Phoebe Wright.”

  I still giggle at using his last name. “Take off the cuffs. Gentle with me.”

  He produces a key from his bag and unlocks them. They fall away and I rub at my chafed wrists.

  Alex kisses the raw skin. “Sorry.”

  “They make padded ones. For, uh, fun.”

  “Oh, really?”

  I turn even redder than I already am.

  “Y-yeah,” I stammer.

  “Sounds like we need to go shopping. I can think of a few more toys that would be fun to use on you.”

  With my hands freed, I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him. I never want to stop. He lifts me onto the bed and holds me in his arms and we kiss and giggle and whisper to each other until I almost think he’s forgotten what he promised.

  Alex produces a bottle massage oil and sets it on the bed, but first he begins kneading my neck and shoulders. I groan as he works out the tension. His hands are firm and strong.

  He lays me on the bed on my stomach and oils my back, his fingers and hands working and pressing and squeezing and stretching.

  “This is good,” I groan, my words slurred from pleasure.

  “I’ve gotten lots of rubdowns but never given one. How am I?”

  “Good,” I repeat, too relaxed to add anything else.

  “Nice and relaxed for me. That’s good.”

  He continues to work down my legs, kneading my butt muscles, my thighs, my calves. I groan when he rubs my feet.

  “Turn over.”

  I just grunt, so he runs a hot towel over my back to wipe away the oil and does it himself, turning me onto my side, then my back. I flop out on the bed and lie there while he massages my thighs, twitching a little when his hands skim close to my pussy.

  His touch goes softer and his hands skim over my stomach, to my breasts and up to my shoulders, then down my sides. He repeats the motion, changing it when I get used to it. My arousal begins to grow, not a ravenous hunger but a slow burning need, anticipation tingling like electricity passing under my skin.

  “Lie on your side.”

  He turns me and I curl up.

  Alex stands and I watch him slather lube on his cock, stroking it until it’s glistening and dripping with the slippery stuff.

  He climbs over the bed behind me and settles with his chest against my back, grasping his shaft in his hand. He strokes the head of his cock lightly against my ass first, nudging it a little more between the cheeks each time. My mouth falls open, just a hint, and I suck in a breath as I feel him press against my asshole.

  He slips his other arm under me and holds me, his lips light on my neck.

  “Relax. Give yourself to me.”

  I close my eyes as he pushes, the pressure increasing and increasing. It feels weird, my body quivering on the verge of accepting him. When he enters me, the sensation is not unlike gulping down too big a morsel of food, the way it pops down through tightness into my body. Except, it doesn’t stop. I feel the thickness and heat of his rod spreading me, and whimper, clutching the sheets.

  “Tell me to stop if you want,” he whispers in my ear.

  “Don’t stop,” I purr.

  I… I like it. It feels good. It makes me feel invaded and used. The deeper he sinks into my body, the more he owns me, the more I am possessed. I need this. To belong to someone.

  “Alex,” I whisper. “Oh God.”

  Suddenly I realize he’s all the way inside me, that I can feel his balls pressed against me and his stomach against my ass. I shake with an excitement I never knew I’d feel, and a throbbing, shivering urgency. It feels so different this way, but good. It’s like he’s bigger.

  I feel the power in Alex’s body, the control he has. Control of himself, of me. He owns me and I like it.

  His thrusts are so gentle at first I barely realize he’s moving. When he begins to go faster, each one feels so intense, it’s almost unbearable, the sensation expanding from deep within me to fill my whole body.

  His thick finger sinks into my pussy and he pumps it in time with his cock in my ass. The position we’ve chosen lets him curl up, wrap me up in his body. Even though I’m the one taking his hugeness inside me, I feel like he’s swallowing me, consuming me.

  It feels so good.

  Phoebe Maguire, now Wright, unravels in Alexander Wright’s arms, wrapped in his limbs. He goes so slowly, makes it last. His fingers and the thickness inside me bring me to a shivering, shuddering peak that rises and fades even more gradually, then rises again. My existence becomes a gentle ebb and flow of pleasure.

  I end up on my stomach with him on top of me, holding me as he goes faster, the pleasure teetering on the edge of pain. I feel his teeth on the back of my neck, grunting animal power in his body as I submit. I clench and grip him with my body every time he pulls back and relax to openness every time he pushes in, grasping and yielding until he grunts and spasms and has the most intense orgasm I’ve ever shared with him, his cock throbbing deeply inside my body as he spills his seed.

  Gently, he pulls out of me. At the moment his body is separated from mine, I feel a slight sting, the only pain I felt the entire time. He promised me he would be gentle and he was. He runs his hands up my back and says nothing. There are no words.

  I roll on my back and lay there as content as I’ve ever been.

  “I love you, Alex.”

  “I love you, Phoebe,” he whispers.

  Alex lets me lie until I’ve relaxed and my skin begins to cool. I can barely move, but he’s as vigorous as he was when we first came into the hotel room.

  He picks me up, his arms under my knees and shoulders, and lowers me into the soaking tub. The water is too hot, but I bear it anyway as he slips in with me and wraps me in himself, the water up to our chins.

  We lay in it until it starts to lose its heat. By then, I’ve recovered my strength and I can stand in the shower with him. He washes my hair, scrubs my skin with soap, sits me on a bamboo stool and caresses and cleans and worships my body. I do the same and clean him all over, and we end up rubbing our bodies together, all soapy and wet.

  Nothing feels as good as another human’s skin, wet with warm water. Nothing better than my lover’s body against mine.

  Fatigue, jet lag, and exhaustion from the best sex I could ever imagine means about twelve hours of sleep. I wake the next day in Italy with Alex dozing next to me and the sun pouring in to warm my skin.

  This
is good.

  My phone buzzes. I snatch it up. “Hello, honey bun.”

  “Mom!” Carrie says, “Grace’s cat puked in my shoes.”

  I sigh. “Okay, honey. Put her on the phone.”

  My daughter has no idea I’m grinning.

  Afterword

  I started this book on a whim. I was originally planning to write a more serious novel, a continuation of the Paradise Falls world. I’m actually in between drafts on that book now. It’s a new story with fresh characters but also takes up some ideas from His Princess carries the story forward.

  I hope you enjoyed Benched. It was a blast to write something light and funny. I wanted to write something I’d enjoy reading on the beach, since I couldn’t get out of the house to actually enjoy reading on the beach.

  Up next, as a bonus book, is Player’s Princess, another com-com with a football player hero. I hope you enjoy it too.

  If you’re already read Player’s Princess, this edition contains an new epilogue with Ana and Jason’s wedding and honeymoon. ;)

  -Abby <3

  Newsletter: http://abigailgraham.com/newsletter

  http://www.abigailgraham.com

  abbygrahamromance@gmail.com

  Bonus Book: Player’s Princess

  Chapter One

  Ana

  I draw my hood down to hide deeper within its depths. My nerves are afire. We have never done anything this risky before. Nervously, I scan the crowd, expecting to be recognized.

  A football game.

  My best—that is, only—friend, Deidre, sits beside me on the bleachers. So far, Dee has been the only person to reach out to me despite this being my second year on campus.

  She's the one who talked me into this.

  I have no idea what's going on. As far as I can tell, there's just a group of men standing in the middle of a great rectangular field. I know enough to tell who is on what team. The Honey Badgers wear brown with gold lettering. The Knights, "our" team, wear yellow with blue lettering.

  They flip a coin, then leave.

  I haven't seen a ball yet, much less what this has to do with feet.

  "What's happening?" I whisper to Dee.

  In answer, she passes me a cheese dog. I hold it in both hands in its little paper boat, a greasy sausage covered in alleged cheese on a thick, crusty bun.

  "Where is my fork?"

  Dee snickers. "Your what?"

  "My fork and knife. How can I eat this without utensils?"

  By way of demonstration, she lifts hers and bites off the end, then gulps it down. Despite the roll, she still gets cheese and chili on her hands.

  I glance down at mine and gingerly lift it, flinching when warm, gooey cheese touches my skin.

  When I look up, the players have taken the field. The Knights have placed the ball on a tee. One man holds it while another dashes across the field, ignoring the oncoming rush of opposing players.

  He kicks the ball and it goes soaring away.

  "Why did he kick the ball away? I thought they were supposed to get the ball."

  "They are. They have to get it back from the other team. The Knights lost the coin toss, so the other team got to pick. They want the ball first."

  The ball lands and bounces crazily in different directions before one of the brown-wearing players grabs it and runs hard across the field. My head turns to follow him, until a Knight rams into him and knocks them both off their feet.

  "They're trying to get the ball into the end zone," Dee explains. "The Knights want to get the ball back and run it into the other end zone."

  I take a bite of the cheese dog while the players set up again. It leaves a smear of warm, sticky cheese on my lips. I sink into my seat, growing more anxious by the moment. I'm going to be recognized, I just know it. We pushed it too far this time.

  As I dab "cheese" from my mouth, the next play unfolds. The Honey Badgers push deeper toward the end zone, carrying the ball farther with every play. There was a drizzling rain earlier and the field is slick and slippery, and a wind kicks up, as if it wants to push the ball a little farther.

  The Badgers finally make it to the end zone, and there is much booing and shouting, much of it from my friend Dee.

  "You shitball cocksuckers," she screams, standing in her seat. "Get your ass back to Baltimore!"

  There is a traditional rivalry between the De la Warr Knights and the Rochester State Honey Badgers. I'm not sure what that means, except both teams and fans fervently hate each other for no readily apparent reason. The Honey Badger visiting fans cheer from the far side of the field.

  Dee slumps down next to me. "We're off to a bad start."

  "Why?"

  "They're six points ahead. It'll be seven in a minute. They have to kick an extra point."

  "That doesn't seem very fair," I observe.

  The teams line up again, and the Honey Badger kicker easily sends the ball through the squared posts at the end of the field. I finish my cheese dog and lean back to eat the nachos Dee bought me. This is a lot of cheese. I have to eat everything with my fingers as well. It seems odd.

  The Honey Badgers kick the ball back to the Knights, and it starts again. They make it only to the thirty-five yard line before they're stopped, still having another sixty-five to traverse to reach the goal.

  The Knights line the field on our side of the stadium. One of them turns to face our way and scans the crowd idly. He looks ill at ease but unconcerned with us.

  Until he sees me.

  He's tall, made bulky by the oversized pads that swell his shoulders, but with his helmet off he's quite handsome, with an open, friendly face, bright eyes, and reddish-brown hair.

  He's also looking right at me.

  I slink down in the seat and tilt my head, trying to hide under my hood. The hoodie I borrowed from Dee makes me into shapeless blob.

  He was looking into my eyes, I swear it. He saw me.

  "Dee, he saw me," I whisper.

  "Stay calm, just act natural. Eat casually. Everything's fine. We're all friends here."

  "If I get caught—"

  "If I get caught, If I get caught," she parrots. "Calm down. What are they going to do, send you to princess jail?"

  I sigh. I like Dee, but she assumes, the same as everyone else, that it's easy.

  Being a princess, I mean.

  Princess Anastasia Carolien Jacobina Katrien de Vries, Princess of Jyvaslka, Duchess of Karin. Foreign exchange student.

  That's me.

  When they take the field, I realize the player that was staring at me is the quarterback. That much I understand. There's a quarterback, who receives the ball from the man in front of him and commands the field by calling the play and either running or throwing the ball.

  I jump when they play starts. I was barely paying attention, but now I watch intently, dread coiling in my stomach as gargantuan Honey Badgers surge toward the quarterback.

  He throws the ball, and I snap my head around to follow it.

  Wait, where did it go?

  He still has it!

  The quarterback weaves through the opposing line, breaking out into the open as the other players swarm another player, who feigns catching the ball. The quarterback runs two-thirds of the remaining distance all in one go, surging down the field so fast I can barely keep track of him.

  It's all over in about fifteen seconds. I bob in my seat and clap as Dee cheers beside me. The shouts and cries of joy and yells of encouragement all around me sweep me up in their tide, and I call out and whistle through my fingers.

  "What's his name?" I bellow at Dee, over the roar.

  "Jason," Dee shouts back. "Jason Powell."

  "Jason," I yell at the top of my lungs, and then, "Woooo!"

  I couldn't think of anything else.

  Standing on the field, he pulls off his helmet and looks right at me again, as if he heard my voice amid all the others. I snap back down into my seat and fold my arms, trying to disappear. I didn't seem to get anyone else
's attention.

  He's still looking at me. I can't shake the feeling that he saw me.

  I should be panicking, but he's so handsome. The swelling in my chest fades when he covers his face with that cumbersome helmet.

  The players line up, and the Knights crunch through the Honey Badger defense and shove their ball into the end zone.

  I leap to my feet and cry out.

  It wasn't the quarterback, Jason, who carried the ball into the end zone, but he ends up there anyway, celebrating with his teammates, but briefly. They are only tied now.

  As he runs to the sidelines and rips off his helmet, he looks up again, scanning the crowd, before he looks straight at me. Again.

  My eyes snap away. I can't have him recognizing me.

  Jason

  It's her. She called my name.

  She called my name.

  I never expected to see the princess at the football stadium. Yet there she is in a sea of people watching the game, though she got good seats, close to the fifty yard line. I've seen her around campus, but I would never in a million years think I would spot her up there, watching me.

  One person out of thousands shouldn't be so easy to spot, but it's like she's the only one with any color to her in a drab world, a single flower painted in watercolors against a gray sketch. Even with her hood up, I can see unruly strands of platinum-blonde hair. I swear she looks right at me with her mismatched eyes, one blue and green, and it's like a spark between us. A static shock, a rope around my chest tugging me a step toward her.

  Fuck, I have to play football.

  I turn away from her and get my head back in the game. This isn't going well. I'm tired and battered and so is the rest of my team. It's a drizzly, dreary day, and the grass is slippery under my feet. My jersey is soaked and weighing me down, and it feels like I've been rolling around in mud all afternoon, which I suppose I have. The field is getting torn up.

  I call the play and the snap comes. I throw but the ball is wet and tumbles badly. Izzy, my wide receiver, makes the catch but is immediately tackled, gaining us only a few yards. He takes a bone-crunching hit and I watch with dread, expecting to see him injured and out of the game, but he gets up and brushes himself off.