Zach's kiss is so passionate and skillful, one of my feet actually lifts from the floor and bends behind me. I've never experienced a foot pop before. I wasn't even sure they were real.
He has to stop this. He has to stop making everything feel like a book, like fiction. Like what I've always wanted and longed for. I'm not supposed to experience this with him. It's supposed to be with someone that fits me like a puzzle piece. Instead, we're two corner pieces who will never match or fit together. Hell, we're two corner pieces from completely different puzzles.
Reality pushes through the haze of lust. This road only leads to heartbreak. We are not right for each other at all. Maybe if I say it to myself enough, I'll finally start believing it and can move on and forget him.
"I can't do this," I gasp into his mouth even as he slides his thumb over my nipple, making me press my tits closer to him. Making me press all of me closer to him.
Zach pulls back a little to peer down into my face as he pinches my nipple making me gasp again. The pinch shoots straight to my core. He smiles at my response, at the small “O” my mouth makes. "Why not? I want this. You want this. We need this, Tara."
He continues to explore me with his hands, with his tongue and lips, cutting off my reply with the heat of his mouth pouring into mine. The haze of lust returns and thickens even more than before, and I completely forget his question. The only thing I know in that moment is pure and unadulterated pleasure and arousal.
He slips a hand between our bodies, fondling my pussy through my clothes, easily finding my clit and rubbing at it furiously. A pathetic squeak escapes from my mouth and my knees actually weaken. Just like in the books.
Again. He is killing me.
After giving my core a gentle pinch that causes me to buck against him, his hand makes its way up to my other tit, making sure that one isn't left out of his ministrations. As he teases me through my shirt and bra, I wish I could disapparate both of our clothes. He seems to realize my thoughts because he soon removes my Hamilton T-shirt and all but rips my sports bra off along with it.
He takes the weight of my breasts back into his hands, thumbs rubbing over my nipples again, this time with nothing between our skin.
I moan and my pussy contracts, my hands slipping under the hem of his shirt to explore him in return. I stroke over now familiar muscles and skin, wishing I didn't remember the paths of his torso so well. He grinds his pelvis against mine, the bulge in his pants rubbing against me through the thin fabric of my purple yoga pants. I widen my stance so he can reach me better, craving more friction. I could come just from this.
He kisses down my neck, nipping at my collarbone before returning to my mouth, his tongue demanding and plundering and possessive. I tremble against him, my nails digging into his chest. He slides his hands around my back and down to cup my ass, lifting me into his arms. I wrap my legs around his waist, gasping as his bulge really begins to rub against me now that I'm open wide and without our disparity in height.
He circles his hips and uses his grip on my ass to bounce me up and down against him. Somehow, even with the pleasure spiraling through me, I remember his question. His question about why we can't do this.
I break away from his lips, panting. "We can't do this because I'm not going to be another conquest for you." No matter how skillful he is with his mouth and hands and hard, sexy body.
I have to make myself clear now. I couldn't stop myself from Googling him. I know his reputation. I've seen the photos of the scores of gorgeous women constantly being paraded around Denver and other cities around the country on his arm. I'm nothing like those women. I'm not interested in fame and money. I'm satisfied with my life.
I've already let all this get way too far. I'm half-naked for crying out loud! I'm not giving up my virginity for a guy who will easily find another woman to fuck next weekend. Or probably even sooner. Possibly as soon as I get him out of here tonight.
"Who the fuck says you're just a conquest?" he asks, scowling at me and shaking his head.
I'm not? Why the hell wouldn't I be? He can't seriously think he wants more with me? That I want more with him? For a moment, I wish I wasn't a virgin and was the sort of woman who could just enjoy a good hookup without wanting anything else. But I know myself, and I'm not that person.
But he smashes my doubts with each stroke of his hands, with each kiss, with each suck, with each brush of bare skin against bare skin. He's cast a version of the Amortentia spell over me. One a little more lustful than in the books, but potent all the same. I know it isn't real, but it doesn't make the effects any less strong.
Zach bounces me up and down against him faster and harder, licking across the top of my chest with the occasional nip and graze of teeth. He carries me over to my kitchen, setting me on the counter. My legs refuse to unwrap themselves from around his waist even though my brain screams at them to. He keeps our pelvises pressed and grinding together as he eases my torso back so he can take a nipple into his mouth, sucking at it with extreme greed. I whimper and bury my hands in his hair, fingering his mahogany strands, my legs tightening around him and my hips rising to meet him.
He starts moving more slowly against me and his grasp on my nipple gentles. He claims my lips again, but this time there is no plunder or demands. It's like he's memorizing me, learning me, reveling in me.
And that gets through to me more than the desperate lust driving us earlier. He traces reverent kisses across my cheeks, almost bringing tears to my eyes because I know this can't be. No matter the chemistry between us, this will never work.
At some point that truth will sink in deep enough for me to end this.
"Even if I'm not just a conquest, this will never work between us." In this moment, I wish I could be satisfied to be another notch on his belt or whatever idiot dude bros call it. But I think way too highly of myself for that. And I better end this now before I lose any more clothes. Before we go even further and I end up in even more pain than I already was.
But I lose my determination as soon as he speeds back up the thrusts of his hips, my legs falling open even wider without my permission. He kneads my breasts and brings me closer and closer to the brink.
He speaks against my lips in between kisses. "I happen to think we'd make a great pair. The bookseller and the baller."
I want so desperately to agree with him. With my body hovering on the edge of climax and pleasure pounding through me, I almost do agree with him. But I know how this ends. With one or both of us heartbroken.
When we finally leave my bedroom and try to be a real couple. When he realizes I won't come and watch his games and cheer him on from the stands. When we go somewhere and he's recognized and I end up in the tabloids. When he's gone all the time to play in other cities and I'm back here worrying some girl will turn his head. When he realizes I prefer books to people and have no interest in going out with his teammates and their girlfriends and wives. When he gets past finding me so interesting because I'm probably the first person to turn him down. When I bore him with my books and he bores me with talk of sports. What would we even do together other than sex?
He pulls back from me and slips one of his hands under the waistband of my pants and underwear, sliding through my slick folds. After giving me another gentle pinch that makes me gasp and thrash, he pumps his fingers inside me a few times before returning to my clit and circling his fingers over it, around it. And he never stops lavishing attention on my lips, on my breasts. It's like there's two of him touching me. Or it's like he has four hands. He's everywhere. I'm surrounded by his scent, his taste, his hard body traps me against my kitchen counter. I'll never be able to prepare a meal again without remembering this.
Something I was really hoping to avoid. I already think of him every time I look at my door. I remember being pressed against it. I remember him between my legs. I had to wash all my bed linens to rid them of his scent before I could sleep again. Which didn't help much because he smells a lot like clean line
n. He smells like sheets just brought inside from the clothesline.
At least he doesn't smell like new parchment and toothpaste and freshly cut grass. Like Hermione, those smells are a weakness of mine. Well, not really toothpaste. But fresh mint. It's why I always keep some on my windowsill.
As my limbs start to stiffen and my pussy begins to contract, the realization that I've let this go too far hits me. I have to say something before I become too senseless and overloaded and overwhelmed to breathe, much less explain myself. I have to tell him. What did he say? The bookseller and the baller? Yeah, no. Not going to happen.
"I happen to think we aren't a good match. The virgin and the player." My voice is breathless and squeaky and barely audible, but he hears me.
At that one, he stills, his hand pulling out of me and out of my pants, his fingers freezing on my tit, his eyes wide with shock.
At that one, he draws back, releasing me from his arms, withdrawing his touch, his beautiful eyes shocked and shuttered.
He opens his mouth to say something, but snaps it closed and shakes his head. I watch him with narrowed eyes, waiting to see what he'll do.
This time, he's the one that leaves of his own accord. He leaves me half-naked and aching without release on my fucking kitchen counter. Without a word, he's gone, almost like he was never here. He disapparates. Except for the evidence of my hard nipples and wet panties and empty pussy. What's the female version of blue balls? Because I sure as hell have it.
Why do I feel so awful that he's gone? This is what I wanted. This is why I kept objecting and arguing, though clearly not hard enough. This is what my entire internal monologue throughout our sexy encounter kept insisting was how it had to be. It's better this way. We have no future. Football is a waste of time anyways, just a short, injury-filled road to Alzheimer's. No, thank you. Not interested. Not even a little. Brains are too important to me.
I hop from the counter and put my bra and shirt back on with shaking hands, swiping at my eyes and cheeks with frustration, feeling hollow and unfulfilled. I'm not crying, it's just dusty in here. That's all. My loft needs a deep cleaning and I should probably burn a little sage too. That'll help cleanse me and this place. I'm not crying, it's just my allergies acting up. That. Is. All. I shake myself and take a deep and cleansing breath, releasing everything, all my tensions, all my frustrations.
I have a book to finish.
6
Zach
This time, I know the cold shower won't cut it. The humid, summer night air does nothing to bring me back to my senses. I walk like I have something stuck up my ass back to my car.
She gave me a worse case of blue balls tonight than last time. Especially with this new information. Fuck.
Fuck.
It almost kills me to obey the speed limits as I try to hurry back to my house, insane thoughts swirling in my head. Her scent clings to me again. Fuck, she was so damn hot beneath me on her kitchen counter, topless and tits bouncing as I played with her. Her pussy so wet with desire for me. Her hands roving over me, her body opening up to me even as she tried to convince herself and me this won't work between us.
All the blood in my body has rushed to my cock. It makes it hard to drive.
Hearing that Tara has never been with a man before undoes me. I barely make it home before I stumble inside, freeing myself from my jeans as I walk through my darkened home. I jack myself off to the thought of being her first. Of branding myself on her. If I wasn't worried about a photo showing up of me with my cock in my hand, I would have pulled over and relieved myself in some back alley.
I fist my dick and pump hard and fast, imagining it's her tight virgin hole I'm slamming into. I imagine her untried mouth wrapped around me as I teach her how to pleasure a man. Based on how good of a kisser she is, she'll take to it marvelously. I imagine her on her knees in front of me, submissive with her gorgeous hair trailing down her back. I imagine her on her back and legs spread as I pound into her over and over until she screams my name. I imagine getting her on her hands and knees as I take her from behind. I imagine taking her tight ass. I imagine her in my bed. I imagine her bent over for the taking. I imagine her riding me, tits bouncing in my hands. And I imagine burying my face in her legs again, tasting her sweet pussy.
My cock swells and I groan.
I shudder and hunch over, grabbing at the bathroom sink, whispering her name like a pathetic fucking pussy as I come, catching my release with a wadded up tissue. Like a fucking teenaged boy. She keeps turning me into a teenager. At least I made it into the bathroom instead of spurting all over the middle of my living room floor.
I blow out a ragged breath, staring at my flushed face in the mirror. What has that damn sorceress turned me into? What the fuck have I gotten myself into? I'm half-mad with desire for her. I can't stop thinking of being the one to take her virginity. I've never been with a virgin before. I've never wanted to. Too much pressure and awkwardness and attachment.
I want to be remembered, of course, but not in that way.
But a primitive part of me loves the idea she is untouched. Guess I'm not as liberal as I thought. The thought of another man getting to be the one makes me irrationally furious. I hate the idea of someone else touching her or tasting her.
I'm definitely never going to be able to focus on football now. Not with this newfound knowledge and without having fully claimed her.
I can't believe she's a fucking virgin. How? She's gorgeous and smart and obviously isn't some prude, considering she brought me back to her place after meeting me the same night. Not that she's a slut or anything, and I'm the last person to ever judge her for that, but she doesn't act like the usual virgin. She's burning with sensuality and sexual freedom. She just doesn't want to do it with me. She's old enough to own a damn business, so how has she gone so long without giving it up? Again, she brought me home and I did filthy things to her, so it must not be a religious thing either. I don't understand.
She's a fucking unicorn. Some mythical and magical creature everyone thinks is extinct or doesn't exist.
Was she planning on me being the one before she found out I'm a pro football player? Was it because of the connection between us? I knew she felt it too. Why is she fighting against it so fucking hard? Just because of what I do for a living?
Is she right? Are we horrible for each other? Would she fit in my world? She obviously has no interest in coming to my games or hanging out with my friends. I highly doubt she'll want to curl up in bed with me and watch Sports Center.
Would I fit in her world? I'd done just fine the other night at the party, and I love reading and books, so we'd at least have that to talk about. But would we work long-term? Did I want anything long term? Before now, I had absolutely zero interest in anything other than a night of fun. But this woman has gotten to me, affected my game, my job, my focus.
And just getting between her legs won't be enough. Not this time. Not this girl.
I'm also not so much of a douchebag that I would take her virginity and ghost on her.
There's something else, though, the main and real reason I walked out. If I do this, if I get the thing I crave, I have to keep her. I can't just walk away after one glorious night. Am I ready for that? To give up the casual sex with experienced women who actually love football? To start a relationship with a woman who hates my job and who I couldn't have less in common with?
Am I really ready to do this?
Yes. I am.
We'll figure it out.
I grab my keys, barely remembering to clean myself off and zip my pants back up before running back to my car. I break every speed limit this time to get there fast, and almost run over a dude and his briefcase who stepped out onto the crosswalk, assuming everyone would stop for him, looking incredibly offended that I didn't.
Jackass.
I find a parking space right by her store, and throw all the change in my pockets in the meter, putting in enough to last days. Hopefully, I'll be there for days
. Between her gorgeous fucking legs.
I slip through the side door of the store and back up the steps to her loft, not bothering to knock this time. Instead, I throw open the door. She leaps to her feet, her face frozen in shock at the sight of me, traces of sadness in her swollen eyes.
It slays me.
After slamming her door behind me, I cross the room to her, my chest pounding, and pick her up, carrying her back to her bed.
I whisper in her ear, "I will earn it. The only thing I'm going to play is your body, until you know for sure that I'm the only one who can ever make you feel this way."
I mean every single fucking word. I'm all in. I've always loved a good gamble. And this is one I'm sure I'll win.
She doesn't protest this time, she clutches me back, kissing me with the same passion I pour into her. She's mine. I won't let her go without a fight. Even if it's her I have to fight.
Her fingers dig into my shoulders as I cover her body with mine, pressing her deep into the mattress. I kiss her softly, sealing my promise to her. This woman is under my skin in a way I've never experienced before. Or allowed.
She lets out a little whimper into my mouth, driving me wild. I kiss her harder, plunging my tongue into her gorgeous mouth, rubbing my rock-hard cock against her center. Her legs open wider, her fingers dig harder, her nails scraping through my shirt and slicing into my skin. She lifts her pelvis to grind it against mine. She is so fucking responsive and hot.
I want to sink my dick deep into her, pounding hard. But I have to take this slow. I have to treat her with care. I have to show her what we have, what I can do to her body. How I can make her feel. I have to make her so overwhelmed with lust she can't think straight.
I'm going to earn being her first.
My cock hardens even more at the thought of sliding into her virgin pussy. I bet she'll grip me like a vise once I'm inside of her.
First Down: A Nerdy Virgin Meets a Badboy Football Player Romance Page 5
