Sacked: A Novel (A Gridiron Novel Book 1)

by Jen Frederick

  “Just let you take care of everything?” I ask wryly.

  “Nah, I’m not saying that. I’m saying worry about the things in your control.” His hand keeps sweeping across my forehead and his face lowers until it is only inches away from mine.

  “Are you saying I have other things to worry about?” I ask hoarsely.

  “Yes. Right now you should worry about getting me inside your apartment before we shock everyone in the building.” He smiles, but it’s a dark one full of promise.

  I gulp but grab his hand and pull him inside. We don’t talk. There’s nothing to say, or at least nothing I want to give voice to. Masters must feel the same way. He grips my hand tightly, but stays slightly behind me as if he’s willing to let me lead.

  The apartment is quiet and dark. A slight hum can be heard from Riley’s bedroom. I note the sound and give myself a little reminder to be quiet. These walls are paper thin.

  Masters shuts the front door behind him with one hand and jerks me against him with the other. His mouth is on mine in an instant. It’s wetter and hotter than the bookstore kiss. I fist my hands in his T-shirt, pulling it up and over his head. Our lips separate for a second and then we’re back, fused together with our tongues doing battle. My hands rub themselves all over the ridges and valleys of his tightly defined chest and abs. Holy Jesus, he is ripped. My knees go weak.

  His hands feel just as hungry. They cup my breasts, squeezing them, molding them together, and then releasing them to roam across my back and down to cup my buttocks. He lifts me upward and I jump on him, wrapping my legs around his waist until I’m flush against his hard erection. It feels bigger than it did when he jerked off in the bathroom—and back then, it looked like a monster. God gave with two hands when it came to Masters. His arms are as big as my thighs and they hold me up effortlessly.

  He swings me around and presses me against the door, grinding that big body against mine.

  “My room,” I croak out. I need to be horizontal. I need to have him driving that large powerful frame into mine. I have never felt so alive and full of need as I have in this moment. I’m wet between my legs and feverishly hot. I rub against him and repeat my plea. “My room. The bed.”

  We stumble toward the room still fused together, not wanting to separate for even a second. The door latches shut, but once inside the dark, small space, lit only by a low light on my desk and patches of moonlight streaming between the cheap mini blinds, he doesn’t immediately fling me to the bed.

  Instead, he drops his head to my neck and then my shoulder. He drags his mouth down my shirt and then lowers to his knees. He’s so tall that even in that position, he still seems massive. I rest my hands on his shoulders because I don’t have the strength to stand on my own.

  He tilts his head up and an impish grin appears on his face. “You tell me if you don’t like something. It’s my first time, you know.”

  He lowers himself even more to kiss my thigh. I lock my knees and pray for some strength. His first time? Holy mother, those words are an incredible aphrodisiac. His tongue licks its way up toward my sex and then feathers down the opposite leg. There’s nothing tentative in his touch. No lack of surety when he pulls down my panties and pushes my short knit skirt up to my waist.

  There’s a heavy groan. I look down to see him biting hard on his bottom lip.

  “Sweet Jesus, baby, you are so gorgeous.” He places a big palm over my trimmed hair and rubs. The heel of his hand places exquisite pressure on my clit. I start to shake. “You like this?” He glances up for approval.

  I nod and then nod some more, feeling like a bobble head. I’m only capable of one motion right now.

  “Can you get off with just this?”

  I’m so close I could get off with him holding me.

  “Then how about this?” He replaces his hand with his mouth and the moment his hot breath and wet tongue makes contact with my skin, I go off. I shove my fist into my mouth as he lashes me with his hard tongue. My knees completely give out but his right hand shoots up to brace my butt while the left reaches up to squeeze my breasts. If this is how good he is his first time, I might not survive the second one.

  My heart pounds against the thin wall of my chest and I fear it will burst out. Every surface of my skin feels like it’s on fire, and I’m a hot, needy thing filled with incoherent sounds and pleas for more. He doesn’t relent. He doesn’t ease off as my body trembles from one high into another. He keeps feasting on me as if he’s never had anything better touch his tongue.

  “You taste so fucking good,” he groans. “So wet and tart. I could stay down here all week.”

  I’ve given up stifling my own sounds. I push my hands in his hair, tugging on his short strands while he still holds me up, exposing me to his ravenous mouth. I feel greedy but I want more.

  “Masters,” I whisper. “I need you.”

  He pauses, mid lick, mid suck, and draws back.

  “What’d you say?” His voice is gravelly and rough and rubs across my sensitized skin as surely as his hand.

  “Let’s go to the bed,” I beg. He lets me sink to the ground in front of him. I kiss the side of his neck, salty with his sweat. When his still body doesn’t move, I sense something is wrong.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  He frowns. His face glistens from the moisture of my body and I feel both embarrassed and aroused.

  “Did you just call me Masters?”

  I shake my head, but we both know I did.

  “Shit.” He pushes to his feet.

  I reach for him and reflexively he helps me up, but as soon as my feet are flat on the floor, he turns away. Searching a moment, he finds his T-shirt and rubs it across his face.

  I grab for him again.

  “I’m sorry. It slipped out,” I babble.

  “Why is this so hard for you?” He pulls on his shirt and shoves his big feet into his flips I hadn’t realized he’d even kicked off.

  “I don’t know,” I say miserably. “Why can’t we just sleep together?” I sound like a whiny five-year-old and I kind of feel that way, too—like my favorite toy has been snatched from me.

  “You know why.” He’s irritated. He places his hands on his hips and stares down.

  I run my hand on his biceps and am perversely pleased when he trembles almost imperceptibly under my touch. He’s so, so fine. “You just had your tongue between my legs. I’ve watched you jerk off. Yet this one little thing you can’t let go?”

  Masters rubs the side of his neck, the action shaking off my hand. “If it’s one little thing then it shouldn’t matter if we don’t have sex.”

  “What do you want from me?

  He hauls me up against his body and his unabated need nearly burns a brand against my stomach. “I want you to admit that this is something more than a casual fling. That it means something. I’m not giving it up for a one-night stand or even a one-semester stand. I could’ve done that the minute I walked onto campus. Hell, there were girls available during my recruiting trip. I had a girl ready to ride my jock after the game.”

  My mouth drops open. I don’t like the thought of that at all.

  He smiles grimly at my displeasure. “And not just one. Two, three. Whatever I wanted. And I could have that right now. I could walk out into the hallway of your apartment building and there’s someone out there who will take me up on an offer to fuck me silly. If that’s all I wanted, I wouldn’t need you.”

  His brutal honesty is killing me.

  “I do care about you.”

  He shakes his head and sets me aside. I follow him out of my bedroom and down the hall to the door like a puppy in desperate need of affection. I can still feel him between my legs, his hard jaw working against my thighs, the suck of his mouth. The sounds, oh God, the sounds he made.

  At the door he stops. “I didn’t wait for religious reasons,” he informs me. “I waited because if I wanted a physical release, I had my hand. I waited for the right girl.”

&n
bsp; And I’m…the right girl? I’m too scared to ask the question out loud because I’m afraid of the answer. I know what I want it to be but I’m too chicken to reach out for it. But I want to. Holy hell, do I want to.

  “So are we done?” I ask in a tiny voice.

  “No.” He sighs and then releases a self-deprecating laugh. “I’m not done. Are you?”

  “No.”

  His eyes close in what looks like relief.

  “Okay, then.” He pulls open the door and I still follow him because I’m not prepared for him to go. “I’m not into games between us. I want you. Badly. I know you want me too but it’s more than sex for me. When you work that out, it’ll be amazing. I’m willing to wait. I’m really good at waiting.”

  I shiver at the thought of what all he’s good at. He starts walking away and I hate that he’s leaving without me giving him something.

  “Wait,” I call. He turns back. “Thank you. It was…incredible.”

  The side of his mouth curls up in a half smile. “Yeah?”

  I give him a little more encouragement. “The best ever.”

  He stalks back and presses me against the wall by to the open apartment door.

  “Me, too, baby.” He grips me behind my neck and I’m lost the moment his lips meet mine.

  I hear sounds around us, people coming and going, but neither of us pay any attention to that. There’s only him and me and the vortex of feeling he creates between us with the mere press of his mouth. Okay, and his big body muscling me up against the wall. There’s that, too. I sneak a hand between us and grip him tightly. He freezes and groans into my mouth, and the sound makes me vibrate from the inside out.

  But he doesn’t fall back into the apartment. He collects himself, inch by inch, and then steps away from me.

  “Come inside?” I whisper.

  “Not tonight.” He shakes his head and the sting of rejection is slightly offset by his obvious regret.

  Because I can’t help myself, I ask, “Why not tonight?”

  “You’re not ready.”

  “And when do you think I’ll be ready?” I put my hands on my hips in exasperation.

  He palms my cheek. I swear I can I still feel his mouth between my legs.

  “You can start by calling me Knox.”

  21

  Ellie

  “So that’s Knox Masters.” Riley watches as I slam the door shut.

  “Yes.”

  “Wow. He was all over you. I thought he would unhinge his jaw and swallow you whole in the hall. Half the floor raced to get their cameras to make amateur porn.”

  “I know.” I stomp into my bedroom and throw myself face first on the mattress. I feel like banging my feet and hands against the surface. I keep seeing him and his big hand and his dick. I feel his rough jaw between my legs and the glorious orgasms he drew out of me. I then I hear him say I’m not ready. Where does he get off saying I’m not ready. I’m totally ready. I don’t think I have ever been more ready. My body aches in places I didn’t know could ache.

  I feel empty. Like there is a Knox-shaped void inside of me.

  “Is Masters really a virgin?” Riley asks curiously.

  “He says he is.”

  “He looked like he wanted to lose it to you. What happened?”

  I press a finger against my temple. “I called him by the wrong name.”

  “Like another guy’s name?” she gasps.

  “No, his last name.”

  “Oh.”

  She doesn’t get it. I roll over.

  “He thinks it’s my way of saying that sex between us would be meaningless.”

  “Is he right? Are you using his last name to create emotional distance?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. Yes. He accused me of just wanting sex, as if that’s a bad thing,” I try to joke.

  Riley doesn’t laugh. “He obviously thinks you’re special if he wants to sleep with you.”

  I swallow. “Yeah.”

  “Is all you feel for him physical? Like you want to nail him and be done. Or I guess be nailed by him.”

  “No.” My gut clenches at the thought of him taking up any number of the offers available to him. I’m not stupid. I know what it’s like for these players. Even at the junior college, when it became apparent that Jack would move to a bigger, better program, the girls flocked to him. Masters could have anyone on campus by snapping his fingers. I don’t want him with anyone else. “I like him,” I admit. “He’s a terrific person and—” I choke. “I don’t want to get hurt.”

  “No one does,” she says softly.

  “Riley, I can’t replay this with you right now, because I’m so damned confused. Could we possibly table this discussion until tomorrow when I’m cogent and not completely flustered from what happened outside our apartment door?”

  “We can. We absolutely can.”

  “Bless you.”

  The rest of the night is terrible. I don't spend even one solid minute sleeping. Every time close my eyes I see him, dick in hand. I hear the thud as his knees hit the floor and then the cool air followed by his hot breath when he pulls down my panties. My entire body is one big throbbing ache.

  The three guys I've had sex with have been okay, but I have never, ever been so turned on. And what does Masters do? He walks away.

  I don’t even care that I’m witnessing some extraordinary discipline and what it could mean in the sack. I’m wired and pissed off.

  I rub myself, but the relief I get is fleeting. My only solace—and it’s a small one—is that he has to be in as much pain as I am.

  “Didn’t sleep well,” Riley notes in the morning. I’m eating her chocolate-covered cereal. It seemed like the right thing to do when I got up frustrated, horny, and upset.

  “No. I wish you actually had a high-powered vibrator in your room instead of the sewing machine. I can’t hump that, can I?”

  She stares at me wide-eyed and a little fearful. “Um, no. Please don’t do that to my sewing machine.”

  I close my eyes and try to gather a little patience. “I’m not, but God, I’d like to punch him in the nuts.”

  “I thought you wanted those nuts to do something to you.”

  I wave my hand. “I can't even with him.”

  “Or odd?” she jokes.

  “This is how terrible he is,” I huff. “He’s driven me to using Tumblr words in real life.”

  “You should seduce him. He's clearly interested. Put on a sexy dress and make sure he can’t say no.”

  I set down my fork. “Riley, you are a fucking genius. I’ll do it after the game on Sunday.”

  “Why wait?”

  “He’ll be more susceptible after the game. They have so much adrenaline from a win and they need to expend it somewhere.” I grin wickedly at her.

  She laughs. “And that somewhere is all over you?”

  “Exactly.”

  Masters wants me. That much I do know. I need to convince him to let go. And remember to call him Knox.

  Masters—I mean Knox—texts me during the sociology class.

  Knox: You mad at me?

  Me: Why would I be mad?

  Knox: So, really mad.

  Me: No idea what you’re talking about. Good luck on the game this weekend.

  Knox: Is this your way of saying I’m not seeing you this week?

  Me: You’re so bright.

  Knox: I do have your schedule now…

  Me: I can report you to campus police.

  Knox: I’ll see you next week.

  Me: Or after the game.

  Knox: Keep talking.

  Me: After you win this week. Maybe I’ll see you around.

  Knox: All right.

  22

  Knox

  Post Game: Warriors 2-0

  It's standing room only at The Gas Station by the time Matty, Hammer, and I roll in. Two games down and ten to go. We cheerfully accept the back slaps and high fives as we navigate our way to the bar. This time we deserve the
congratulations. The team fired on all cylinders. We played fantastic defense, getting four sacks, generating two fumbles. Campbell caught two touchdown passes. Ace threw the ball like Peyton Manning.

  More importantly, we played with intensity. Today everyone was hungry—and not just Ace and I showed it on the field. After the game, when game balls got handed out to the players, Coach talked about building off this win and making sure that our best games were ahead of us. This second game was just the start. Then he told us that we had no curfew, but he didn’t want to read about our names in the papers tomorrow unless it had something to do with scoring on the field or saving a busload of old ladies on their way to bingo. Then we were excused.

  Now we’re here, basking in the praise and adulation of our classmates.

  Or some of us are. Hammer heads straight for the bar to do shots. He doesn’t have his name just because of the hits on the field. Matty already has some Alpha Phi hooked to his hip. She has half her body pressed against his arm while he gestures for the bartender for another drink. I think she’s either trying to assimilate into Matty’s body or absorb him. Later tonight I’ll find some half man, half sorority sister passed out on my living room floor.

  Someone presses a bottle into my hands. What the hell? But I might need to get lit tonight if Ellie doesn’t show up. I find a place off the edge of the bar where I can see the door.

  I’m not certain she’ll be here. According to Jack, she doesn’t go to the games. The starting whistle blew before I had time to question him further. Post-game, I asked again. He gave me a look that said I was being obvious, but what did I care? The punk. If I wasn’t so fucking happy at his play, I might have punched him in the mouth.

  But if she didn’t show up to the post game celebration, it wouldn’t be because she hated football. Just one player. Me.