Slammed

by Teagan Kade

  His hand works its way between my legs. “How about we hit the showers?”

  CHAPTER TEN

  NATE

  We’re six points down in the third quarter, but it’s far from over.

  I breathe in the atmosphere, filling my lungs with possibility. Lucy’s waving from the front row, Amber beside her, and suddenly everything becomes clear. You’ve got this.

  The opposition starts a fast attack down the right wing. I shrug off my defender and zip across, forcing a turnover. These guys are good, heavy on the D, but I can see the gaps forming, visualize them as I will my legs to pump harder.

  I see the opening and take it, bringing my head in like a battering ram and squeezing past the center and his sticky hands, weaving a bit of razzle-dazzle as I make for the lay-up. The slim dude with the buzz cut is there. He’s seven foot or more, hand the size of a tennis racquet. I twist in mid-air and eye Tyson break for the top of the paint, just managing to unload as I’m brought down by the Human Telegraph Pole.

  I hit the boards and roll as Tyson sinks the three like the ball was born to be in the net. It’s just the break we need. Even Charleston gets in on the action. By the fourth we’re up by ten and not letting a single point slip. When the buzzer goes, the Cat House explodes. There’s not a single person left seated.

  It’s high fives and back slaps all around. For the first time I get it, what it means to be part of a team, a brotherhood where the ball is our god and the boards our church. I head over to Lucy, pulling her into a tight embrace. She doesn’t seem to mind I’m sweating like a Christmas turkey. She grips my arms, her oceanic eyes lingering on my own and the newly discovered sexuality coming off her, animal in its potency.

  My hand slides down to her ass. I fill my hand with one of her cheeks and squeeze until I remember where we are.

  “Get a room already.” Amber points sideways. Thankfully, the Dean is too wrapped up in placating attending board members to watch his daughter.

  I stand back a little. “Right.”

  “You were great.” Lucy’s beaming. “But you’ve got to pick up more rebounds. Tony can’t do it all.”

  I laugh. “Who died and made you coach?”

  “I just want my man to succeed. Is that a crime?”

  “Your man?”

  She looks past me to her dad who’s still engaged. “Yeah, mine. You got a problem with that?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  She brings her hand up to the faint stubble running along my jawline, the side of her thumb running over my lip. I love the way she’s looking at me, like the only thing stopping her ripping my clothes off right here are the fifteen-thousand people around us.

  “I thought you wanted to keep this a secret.”

  “I thought a lot of things.”

  She’s killing me with this whole sex-kitten act. I run my hand up the back of her neck, the hot, hidden skin that lingers there.

  She stands on her tippy toes to whisper in my ear. This is dangerous in the extreme, this PDA, but she doesn’t seem to care. She seems reckless, Amber watching on with disapproval. “I want to celebrate. Take me out.”

  “Where?”

  “Anywhere. I need you inside me again.”

  My cock stiffens at her words, these shorts providing little cover.

  I see Coach approaching. He looks like he’s won the Larry O’Brien.

  Ideas swirl through my head. “Okay, let’s go.”

  As we’re leaving, I see a guy watching me from the crowd. He puts a finger gun to his head, going “boom” as he pulls the trigger. I’m too high on cloud nine to care.

  *

  Lucy seems surprised when I pull the covers off.

  “A motorbike? I should have guessed. Biker bar, sex on the billiard table? Is that what I have to look forward to?”

  I pass her a helmet. “If you play your cards right.”

  She looks down at the bike, hands on her hips. “What is it?”

  “1972 Triumph Bonneville. Real collector’s item. Willy left it to me.”

  “Who?”

  “My last foster parent.”

  “Generous guy.”

  “He was.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t-”

  I wave it off. “Don’t worry about it.”

  She looks at the helmet like it’s a meteorite. “How do you use this thing?”

  I help her put it on. Her face is adorable squished up inside it. She swings in behind me, her thighs high against my hips. God, she’s killing me.

  The bike rud-a-dud-dud-duds to life and we set off out of campus onto the highway.

  Manning’s on the edge of the dust belt, the greenery turning to rock and sand the further we head on.

  I look in the rearview and for once find it filled. Her eyes are wide and clear, honey hair lustrous as it floats behind her. I have to ask myself, how did I get so lucky? What did I do to deserve a girl like her? It doesn’t seem right. It seems fragile, like the smallest flutter will cause everything to fall apart.

  And it always does. Everything around me turns to shit eventually.

  I wonder if she’s getting off on this, the vibrations warming the area between her legs, her pussy forced up against my back. She’s hanging on for dear life, hands tied together in front of me. I could get used to this. I really could.

  I look down at the speedo and realize I’m doing double, maybe triple the posted speed limit. Wind whips at my jacket, the cold bite of night air through it and Lucy snuggled up behind me like an oversized koala.

  I ease off the throttle a little, but it’s too late.

  I watch it all unfold in the side mirror. Blue and red lights swing out from the side of the road. The patrol car starts to gain on us.

  I look back. Lucy’s shaking her head, but I can’t get caught. I twist the throttle and hunker down, a high-speed pursuit the last thing I’d planned on tonight.

  The engine purrs below us. Scenery flashes past so fast the world seems a single, swimming entity. Lucy presses her head against my back probably scared she’s going to be blown clear off the back of the bike.

  The sirens get louder. Fuck.

  But this isn’t my first time on these roads. I check the sign shooting past us and know exactly what to do.

  I can actually hear Lucy screaming as I turn sharp to take a side road. We hit a bump and for one horrifying moment we’re weightless, both of us lifted off the seat before the entire bike crashes down in a cloud of dust. I punch the throttle again, hurtling us forward.

  I see the patrol car swing wide behind us, struggling for traction. This isn’t a well-used road. Hell, it’s barely a road at all.

  The road twists left and right. I struggle to keep us upright, but the road’s narrow. Soon the sirens grow distant, lights fading. Another minute and they’re gone completely.

  I pull us hard into the scrub, swinging the bike around behind a series of bushes and discarded oil drums. I switch off the ignition and lights. We’re plunged into darkness. I turn to Lucy and hold a finger up to the front of my helmet.

  Happy the coast is clear, I take off my helmet, Lucy following my lead.

  She’s panting. “Why didn’t you pull over?”

  “Wouldn’t have gone well considering I don’t have a license.”

  “Nate!”

  I hear the siren again, faint and then growing in intensity. “Down!”

  I pull Lucy down behind the bike, can feel her heart beating beside me. The patrol car drives past our location, slow, but we’re well hidden. We both watch until it continues on, turning back into the highway over the crest, little more than colorful pinpricks in the distance and then gone for good.

  Lucy looks terrified. “That was close.”

  “How do you feel?” I ask, trying to project a picture of calm.

  “I don’t know,” she answers somewhat breathless. “I feel… alive, I guess.”

  “Horny?”

  She laughs. “Matter of fact…”

 
I look around. Who knows what creatures are camped out here. It’s not the most romantic spot around. I pass her helmet back and stand. “Come on. We’re almost there.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  LUCY

  Another thirty minutes and we’re in the middle of nowhere. I’m talking survivalist communes around the corner.

  My panic ratchets up yet again when we leave the road completely and travel down another dirt trail. There’d better not be a creepy cabin at the end of it. I don’t gel well with the great outdoors.

  To my surprise, the scrub either side gives way to expansive, horseshoe-shaped canyon, a waterfall gushing into the air on the right, wind whipping my hair likewise as Nate helps me get the helmet off.

  Hand-in-hand, we approach the edge.

  Nate seems curious. “You’re not scared of heights?”

  “I’m not the girly-girl you think I am, Nate Compton.”

  “No? Sure fooled me with that Disney collection and red ribbon in your hair.”

  I reach up to check it’s still there. “It’s my ‘thing’. I’ve had it since I was little.”

  “Like a comfort blanket.”

  “In a way. Why, what’s your ‘thing’?”

  “Being a bad ass,” comes his lighting reply, his face twisted up trying to hold back a smile. “Like all bad asses I have an ex-con named Bobby I get all my ink work done with. I sit around all day lifting weights and drinking motor oil. My breakfasts consist solely of crushed dreams and a deep-seated loathing for authority.”

  I haven’t really seen this side of him, the prankster. I like it.

  I look to the canyon again, the river running through it a single strand of silver. In the distance cauliflower clouds light up, a dark mass squatted on the horizon.

  A storm’s coming.

  “How’d you find this place?”

  “Google.”

  I roll my eyes. “No, you should say it’s where you used to come as a kid, that your great-great-grandfather lived down there by the river.” It’s only as I finish the sentence I realize the whole family thing probably hits a nerve.

  He’s silent, eyes sweeping over the canyon, wind picking up his tee just enough to show off the hard muscles below. Hard muscles that were all over you last night. Nate ‘King’ Compton all over you—inside you. I try to claw the conversation back. “How long were you at that foster home, the bad one?

  Nate turns. “Too long,” deflecting. “What about you? How old were you when you hit the system?”

  “I was pretty young at the time, maybe four. Dad—the Dean, that is—doesn’t like to talk about it. Says it wasn’t a very nice place.”

  “Few of them are. You don’t remember anything about it, about the other kids?”

  “Just bits and pieces, none of them good. I imagine it was a lot like your situation. How old were you when you put into the system?

  He nods solemnly, hand tighter in my own. “Seven. I wouldn’t wish it upon anyone.”

  “But, I mean you’ve come through okay, right?” I stand back and get a good look at the man candy that is Nate Compton. “I mean, look at you.”

  “Like I said, biceps made of crushed dreams.”

  “And your eyes? What are they made of?”

  He catches me around the waist and pulls me close. His eyes are blue steel in the moonlight. “Ego, mostly. Maybe a drop or two of hard-done-by.”

  “You’re quite the comedian.”

  He draws me to him tighter, his cock an iron bar against my groin. “I’m a lot of things.” He stands back, reaching into his jacket pocket and producing a ring, holding it out to me.

  “What’s this? You’re proposing?”

  He backs up a bit more. “Whoa, no, I-”

  “What? I’m not marriage material.”

  He scratches his head. “I mean, yes, you are, but no, not… I’ve really screwed this up, haven’t I?”

  I punch him lightly on the shoulder. “Oh, fiddlesticks, you’re doing fine. I’m just messing with you.” I take the ring from his hand. “But I am curious about this. Flowers too cliché, thought you had to step it up?” I look down at the ring. It’s silver, a little tarnished, black stone in the center.

  “It was my mother’s—my biological mother’s.”

  “And you’re giving it to me? Why?”

  “Didn’t think you’d need that purity ring anymore.”

  I raise my eyebrows. “What makes you think it’s a purity ring? It could be from my other boyfriend.”

  “It says ‘#waiting’ on it.”

  Damn. “So it does.”

  He takes my hand, so tiny in his own and draws the ring Dad gave me away, replacing it with his mother’s. Incredibly, it’s almost a perfect fit. He slips the purity ring into my pocket.

  I look down at Nate’s ring, this sincere gesture, suddenly struck with an overwhelming horniness.

  I’m about to take off my top when headlights swing through the scrub. We break apart.

  I crouch. “Expecting company?”

  “Probably kids coming out here to bump uglies.”

  I burst out laughing. “Bump uglies? Is that the best you’ve got?”

  Thunder cracks in the distance.

  “Make muffins, park the car, pogo, the horizontal monster mash, fuck. What do you call it?”

  “I don’t know. Making love, perhaps?”

  “Is that what we did last night, ‘make love’? Because it sure felt like something else.”

  We’re both watching a car emerge a bit further up, the lights going off. “Last night was pretty incredible. I will give you that. Honestly, I don’t know what to call it. It was just… new.”

  Teenagers start to spill out of the car, the telltale sound of bottles falling out with them.

  Nate reaches to the bike and hands me my helmet. “Let’s go and leave them to their ‘love making’.”

  I give him a salute, “Ten-four, big buddy.”

  He just shakes his head in response, but I see the smile there. He’s loving it.

  The journey back to campus seems to take forever, the highway stretching along like a flattened anaconda, all cracks and scales. I see a roadhouse coming up ahead. I’m still wet from before, clit throbbing pressed up against his back on the bike. The vibrations haven’t exactly been helping either.

  I tap Nate on the shoulder and point to the roadhouse. He gets the idea, pulling off the highway and heading up the side road. The roadhouse looks as deserted as its surroundings, a neon sign reading ‘Grill’ buzzing on and off, the harsh fluoros above the pumps making the whole thing look like a UFO crash site.

  Nate goes to pull up to a pump, but I tap him on the shoulder again and direct him to park around back.

  He kicks the stand down, switches off the ignition and pulls his helmet off, his hair somehow even more perfect than before it went on.

  I take my helmet off, pulling out my ribbon and shaking my hair out, watch him dazzled by it. I place the ribbon in his jacket pocket. “See that. The ribbon’s gone.” I flick my head back to where the restrooms are located. “Guess that means the good girl has gone home, too. What to do…” I flick my head back again to make sure he gets the hint, and boy does he get the hint.

  He scoops me up into his arms and runs down to the restroom, kicking the door open and placing me on my feet, driving me up hard against the wall next to the basin.

  I push him back, the vixen taking over. I feel powerful, unhinged.

  I kneel on the floor, tiles cold under my knees. I start taking his pants off, grabbing his jocks and heaving it all down to his knees. His cock pops free, slapping against my chest.

  The light above the sink buzzes, the faucet dripping—tap, tap, tap—as I take hold of his cock, turning my eyes up towards him and licking my lips.

  “Lucy,” he says, holding my head, “you don’t have to.”

  “I want to,” I purr, right before I part my lips and take him into my mouth.

  “Fuck,” he responds
, body hunching over. I let the hot lump of his cockhead slip free before plunging over it again, working him against my tongue until he clutches my shoulders and tries to ram himself down my throat in desperation. He shakes with desire and I cannot help but smile internally at the sudden power my lips and mouth have afforded me.

  He reaches down, takes my fingers and places them one by one into his mouth, teeth sinking into my flesh to stifle his need. I ring his cock with my free hand and draw him deeper, working faster and faster, letting everything grow sloppy and wet. I pull away, jerking him off, a pearly drop of fluid caught in his slit. “Am I doing it right?”

  He smiles. “So fucking right.”

  He pulls me to my feet and presses me against the sink. He thrusts his hand, hard and firm, between my legs, rubbing my already soaking pussy through the tight crotch of my Levis. Even through the thick denim, his touch sets me aflame as my mind considers the minimal barrier between our bare skin.

  You’re not imagining it, Lucy. This is real, all real.

  I whimper as he continues to fondle me. My hands reach back and grip the side of the sink so hard my knuckles turn bone white. I rock against his hand as it see-saws between my legs, the scent of my damp desire rising up between us.

  “Take me,” I huff. “Take me hard.”

  My cheeks flush a deep red from the words. I gasp as he applies more pressure, starting to stroke my sex rhythmically, rubbing the wet spot at my crotch until my clit surges in anticipation.

  It all seems so taboo, but everything in my body as his fingers scissor between my legs suggests otherwise.

  “You want me to fuck you?” he says, growling into my ear, breath hot against my cheek. “You want me to stop rubbing your pussy and fuck you with my big, hard cock.”

  The word starts a fresh deluge from my hole. My legs are weak, but I find myself pushing down into his hand, urgent for more.

  I kiss him deeply, nip at his top lip. He takes a fistful of my hair and turns me around, bending me over the basin so I see myself in the mirror, mouth open with need, eyes glassy. He stands behind me in the shadows, pressing himself into my backside. His hand slides down the back of my panties to find my sex hot and slippery.