Be Mine

by Jen Frederick

  "Turn around then and don't make a sound." I tug her skirt up over that fine ass of hers and slide a hand between her legs. Soaked.

  I push aside her cotton panties and slide two fingers inside her hot, tight channel. “Baby, you are hotter than the Texas sun. You know that right.”

  “I can’t wait any longer. Please,” she whimpers.

  “Shhhh.” I cover her mouth with my hand. “We’re out in public. Someone might here you. Best be quiet.”

  Her cunt convulses around my fingers.

  “Don’t come yet,” I say as I stroke her. “You’re not allowed to come until I’m inside of you.”

  Her wetness drips down between her legs. I coat my dick with her juice. It’d be so easy to slide into her slippery, juicy cunt. I’m aching for it.

  “Nick,” she moans against my hand. “Stop teasing me.”

  I want to tease her more. I want to suck on her tits. I want to shove my face between her legs and eat her until her throat aches from crying my name. I want all of those things but I want inside of her more. I palm my cock and position it at the opening of her pussy.

  “Ready, baby? Because once I’m inside, there’s no going back. You’re mine, now.”

  She jerks her mouth away from my palm. “Maybe I’m the one claiming you,” she retorts.

  Fuck me, but I love this girl. I thrust into her, one swift, hard motion that propels her hard against the metal and glass. She pushes back, her wet channel hugging me tight. The suction of her body, the feel of her warm flesh rubbing up against mine is driving me wild. I hammer into her, hard and fast. Her hands flatten against the side of the vehicle as she tries to brace herself. A high keening noise escapes her lips.

  Swiftly I replace my hand over her mouth. “I told you to be quiet."

  The reminder makes her shudder and tighten around me. She likes the roughness, which is good because right now, I can't be gentle. I shove two fingers into her mouth. "Suck my fingers like it's my cock. Show me how much you want me in your mouth."

  Her mouth closes around my fingers like a vise, and she does exactly as she was ordered. She's too good at it, though. My orgasm is spiraling upward, and I need her to come with me.

  I reach around and find her clit. She moans against my hand when I pinch the little nub between my fingers. The walls of her cunt flutter against my cock, signaling her own impending release.

  Thank Christ.

  I press my thumb against her clit and start fucking her with everything I have—my fingers, my cock, my body, my...heart.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Lainey

  We shouldn’t be here. I’ve lost all my good sense. But I let him take me right here shielded by a few shrubs and Reese’s expensive vehicle. His hand grips my hair. The denim of his jeans rubs against the backs of my thighs. I hear the slap of our bodies, the thin cries that leak out despite all my efforts to stay silent, and the harsh puffs of his breath at my ear.

  He works me relentlessly until my orgasm overtakes me. I sob into his hand as he tries to muffle my sounds. My legs turn into jelly, and if it wasn’t for his iron band of an arm around my waist, I’d collapse. I gasp for air, heartened that the unsteadiness of his breath matches my own.

  “Shit,” he curses as he pulls out.

  A warm trickle of his seed slides down my inner thigh. No condom. “I’m on the pill.” I slump against the car window and silently apologize to Reese for the mess I'm making. “And I’m clean.” I’ve only ever had sex with one man before Nick, and since then I’ve been pregnant and had a baby. “What about you?”

  “Clean. I can bring over a note from the team doc.” He rests his forehead against the back of my head. “You make me crazy, Lainey.”

  I laugh, although it’s with little humor. “Same.”

  He reaches between my legs and wipes me clean. His touch there makes me shiver, but I tell myself to get it together. After another moment to catch my breath, I rearrange my clothes and then bend down to look for my purse. I dropped it at some point. I think about the time he kissed me.

  By the time I locate the thing, halfway under the runner of Reese’s SUV, Nick has cleaned himself up. His jeans are fine, but his shirt looks like it was chewed on by a dog. I’d crumpled it in an effort to touch his skin.

  “Sorry about your shirt,” I say quietly.

  “I’m not.” He smooths a hand over the front, but it doesn’t do any good.

  I spot a dozen fingerprints on the window of Reese’s vehicle. Groaning, I try to rub an arm across the side of the glass, but I only serve to make it worse.

  Nick snorts. “Reese would approve. I'll take it to the car wash tomorrow.”

  “All right.” I drop my arm. Now that the rush of passion has passed, the shame washes over me. This is the kind of girl I am. I have sex in parking lots with random guys. No, quarterbacks. Maybe I do have a fetish. I wanted to live my life to make my daughter proud. This isn’t it. This isn’t it at all.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I—this. This whole thing was wrong.” My throat grows tight. What was I thinking?

  “Stop it,” Nick orders. His voice is uncharacteristically sharp. My head jerks up to meet his gaze. “Stop telling yourself that this was wrong. Sex out here in the parking lot is the same as sex in the bedroom. Only sometimes it’s hotter.” He winks.

  A blush floods my entire body. The whole hand over the mouth thing and telling me to be quiet? I will be replaying that on my deathbed.

  Still, I can’t be stupid about this—whatever this is. Being in a relationship with a pro player means being in the public eye and my past can’t stand that type of scrutiny.

  A rock forms in my stomach. At some point, I’m going to have to tell Nick something about Chip and Cass and me. That’s not a talk I ever wanted to have.

  “What’s wrong?” Nick asks.

  “Nothing.” Suddenly, I’m exhausted. “I think I need to go. Dani will want to get home.”

  “You know I’m not in this for a one-time thing. I care about you. I care about Cassidy.”

  I search his eyes and the earnestness there gives me courage. “You’re filling up space in my heart I thought only belonged to my daughter.”

  “That’s enough for me.” He pulls open the passenger door of his Porsche Spyder, a low-slung sports car that he barely fits into, and tucks me inside.

  Nick slides in next to me and guns the engine. The powerful motor sends a vibration through the entire vehicle and my extra-sensitive parts feel it everywhere. I can’t help but squirm in my seat, which prompts Nick to shoot a dark, heated look in my direction.

  Tomorrow I’m going to have to figure out this Chip thing. I need to make peace with him before I can move forward with Nick. “I need…some time to get things squared away. Can we keep this between us? Just for a little while.”

  “Yeah, for a little while,” he says quietly. He reaches a hand across the console and grips mine, and I let out the breath I’d been holding.

  When I’m next to Nick, I believe that everything can all be right.

  Chapter Twenty

  Nick

  "How's the thumb?" Coach Zupp asks as we settle in for our pre-game planning session. I’d fallen at practice trying to get away from a tackler. Our first game is this weekend. I set aside a pair of tickets for Lainey and Cass, but I don’t think she’ll use them. She’s been cagey since our night in the parking lot and I’m worried if I push her too hard, she’ll get scared and run off. I don’t want to lose the progress I’ve made.

  "The offensive line needs to step up,” Chip interjects loudly.

  I toss him a disapproving glare. We stand, or fall, together as a team, which means there's no blame spreading. I’d forgotten that Chip always looked out for his own skin, but that’s not how I run this crew.

  "O-line did a great job. I just need to release the ball faster," I remind him.

  His already thin lips disappear into a flat line. He doesn't like being challenged in fr
ont of a coach. On the flip side, our O-line coach gives a grunt of approval.

  Zupp’s chair scrapes the floor as he leans back and flips on the projector. "Our first game is against the San Francisco Golds, which means we will be facing one of the league’s best pass rushers—Taye Williams. The game plan is going to be quick releases, short passes, and screens to take away some of the speed of the defense." He points a finger at our center. "Double team on the defensive end at all times. and you." Zupp turns to me. "No heroics. Lay down in the backfield if you see him coming. Williams took out two quarterbacks last year. We don't need you to be his third casualty."

  I nod at Zupp, pretending that I'm taking his advice, but there's no way in hell I'm laying down in the backfield to avoid Williams. Yes, he's the best defensive end in the league, but you don't win any kind of respect in this league unless you pass on that sucker's ass.

  On Sunday, we have the opportunity to show that we’re the same bad-ass Championship team we were last year.

  The quarterbacks’ meeting goes on for another two hours as we run over the new plays. Later today, we'll run through them on the field with the wide receivers and running backs. But this morning, it's all textbook stuff.

  The one thing no one tells you in college about the pros is how many goddamned plays the NFL coaches think up. The playbook is enormous and every week, they try to think up something new to foil the other side.

  I appreciate the distraction, though, otherwise I’d be brooding about Lainey. Or thinking about the next time I’ll have the privilege of being between her legs.

  "Hey, your ticket for the Golds’ game, you still have that?" Chip asks as we exit the meeting room. It's mid-morning, and I need a snack.

  "No, gave it to a friend. Why?"

  He makes a weird face. "Got an Insta-model on the line for the game, and I already gave my game tickets to Shanna and her mom."

  "Dude, that's a dangerous game." Shanna is a girl he's been seeing the last couple of months. "How're you going to handle both women?"

  Chip laughs. "One at a time. I'd prefer both"—he waggles his eyebrows up and down—"but Shanna's a little uptight. But fuck, what do you expect from a Junior Leaguer, right? Girl's legs are fused together until you pop the question."

  That's info I don't really need about his girlfriend. "Good luck, dude. Maybe try Moxy? He doesn't have any family out in Cali as far as I know."

  "Who you got going to the game? Chick?"

  "Left a ticket for my bro." I’m not bringing Lainey up to him given how he treated her at dinner.

  "Oh right, Navy SEAL dude." Chip winks. "Awesome. I bet he gets so much pussy, huh?"

  It'd probably blow Chip's mind to find out that Nathan has had only one woman in his life. Although, I wonder if he'd even believe me if I told him.

  I settle for, "I haven't heard him complain."

  "Between you and him, who do you think gets more play? NFL quarterback, right? Like I would've beat your brother in that department."

  I start walking because this is such a fucking ridiculous discussion. Chip follows right along, still flapping his jaw. "We should go out Friday, you, me, and your brother. We can hit some of his places. See what kind of talent there is. Is he drawing nines and tens? Let me show you this chick on Instagram. Look at this." He holds his phone an inch away from nose.

  "Not interested," I say and push his hand away. See, if I could be open about Lainey, I’d tell him that I was taken and that would be that.

  "Not interested? She's at least a nine, other than her nose. Maybe her nose drops her down to an eight or so. After I hit that, I might leave some extra cash for her to get her nose done. Anyway, I'm meeting with her Saturday night. Good thing for me, I don't need the extra sleep for Sunday. Sure you don’t have someone else? I can’t imagine a single guy not being interested in this chick."

  An alarm dings in the back of my head. Chip suddenly seems way too interested in my love life. Not keen on carrying on this dumbass conversation, I stop at the training room. "I'm going to get my hand re-taped before the throwing drills. I'll see you out on the field."

  "I thought you wanted to get something to eat?"

  "Nah, lost my appetite." I push open the door and leave him behind.

  The most damning aspect of the Insta-model isn't her nose but that she has any interest in Chip at all. Any chick that'd let that asshole stick his dick in her has a screw, or ten, loose in her head.

  “Nick, how is everything going?" The Mustangs’ owner, Owen Trask, stops me in the hall. He’s seventy but looks about sixty due to some good plastic surgery. His fourth wife hangs on his arm like an expensive decoration. The women get younger every time I see him.

  “Great. Team looks real sharp,” I tell him.

  We shake hands, and he slaps me on the back. “I’m real happy you’re leading the Mustang family this year. Looks like we’re in for a good season. It’s hard to believe we got you in the third round two years ago. You’re turning out to be a real steal.”

  “You picked Leroy Woodley first round. He makes my life easier.” Woodley is a monster defensive end and went number two in the draft to the Mustangs the same year I was drafted. He eats quarterbacks for breakfast and snacks on tight ends after lunch. I’m glad he’s on my team.

  “He’s panning out well,” Trask agrees. “Sounds like the two of you are getting along.”

  “Absolutely.” Although to be honest, Leroy and I haven’t hung out much together.

  We’ve grabbed a few beers, shared a few team dinners on the road, but he’s been married since college. Going out to bars when he could be seeing his two young kids isn’t real high on his to-do list, which I completely understand these days.

  “Good. Good. There’s nothing on your mind?” Trask is still shaking my hand.

  “Ah, no. Should there be?”

  “Just that we all need to work together to field a winning team,” he reminds me.

  A ping of worry bounces inside my head. This is a strange conversation to be having with Trask. Have I done anything to give him the impression I’m not happy with the Mustangs? “Agree a hundred percent, sir.”

  “If you have a problem, I hope you know my door is open.” He pats me on the shoulder. “I’m basing my franchise on you now.”

  Since I have no idea what this is about, I smile and nod. He finally releases my hand and, with one more pat, ambles down the tunnel.

  Inside the locker room, I see a bunch of commotion over in the corner near my locker. Leroy is standing with a group of the defensive guys to the side watching the equipment staff, who appear to be dismantling a section.

  “What’s up, guys?” I ask, thinking of Trask’s unstated suggestion that I spend more time with Leroy.

  He turns to me with a frown. “You gotta problem with your locker location?”

  “What?”

  He jerks his head toward the corner. “Those guys are moving your locker. Why’s that?”

  I blink in surprise. “Shit, Leroy. I’ve got no fucking clue. I—”

  Before I can find out what’s going on, Chip comes up. “Coach wants to see you.”

  “About what?” I can’t keep the annoyance out of my voice.

  Leroy gives me a hard stare. “Maybe it’s about your locker situation.”

  Chip merely shrugs. “Don’t know. I wouldn’t worry about it.” He leans around. “Shoot, you’re having your locker moved? Was the stench from Leo’s jock too much for you? Suck it up, princess. This is football, not ballet.”

  “Wait a second—” I reach for Chip, but he’s already walking away. With frustration, I turn to Leroy and his guys. “I never asked for the locker to be moved. Why would I do that? It’s fine where it is. Hey,” I yell to the equipment guys. “Leave the locker. I don’t want it moved.”

  Craig, the head equipment guy, swings around. “We already got it dismantled. Now you’re saying you don’t want to move?”

  “I never asked for it to be moved in the first p
lace,” I say between gritted teeth.

  Leroy shakes his head. “QBs. They aren’t happy until everything is done exactly the way they like it,” he mutters, but not so quietly that I, and everyone else, can’t hear him.

  I run my tongue along my teeth in irritation.

  “Coach!” yells Chip from the doorway.

  Fuck. I guess I’ll come back to Leroy after the meeting with Coach.

  Coach’s door is open when I arrive. I knock on it anyway. “You wanted to see me?”

  He gestures for me to come in. “Yeah, take a seat, Nick.”

  He flashes me a smile, and a bit of the tension in my shoulders eases away as I settle into the cheap plastic seat in front of his desk.

  Training camp is a portable thing. We’re only here for a couple of weeks, so everything we have can be dismantled and returned to the rental companies or put back into storage. At the end of camp, the makeshift headquarters will all be torn down—from the locker rooms to the small offices filled with rented metal desks and cheap chairs. Maybe the temporary nature serves as a reminder of how fleeting our time is in the NFL.

  “How's it going?” Coach leans forward, keen to hear my answer.

  “Good. Timing’s a little off on the longer routes, but we’re getting there.” If I've learned anything during my short time in the league, it's that you have to project confidence at all times to those who’d question you.

  “You settling in okay?” He taps the end of his Bic pen, the plastic making an annoying, tinny sound each time it strikes the metal.

  “Anything specific you’re asking about?” I’d like him to cut to the chase.

  “Nah. Just general asking as I do for everyone,” he clarifies. “Everything is going okay in your personal life? Got no problems there?”

  “I'm fine there, too.” I fold my arms and stare him down.

  He makes a face as if talking about this subject is as uncomfortable for him as it is for me. “It’s come to my attention that maybe you're feeling a little uneasy about your position on the team, and I want you to know my door’s open. We all want to be on the same page.”