Life was pretty damn good.
But it was missing something. I didn’t have to be a genius or a psychologist to know that something was Ashley. Ever since she’d come home, I felt better. Lighter, faster, stronger. Like I could take on the world.
Unfortunately, I also felt like a horny teenager again incapable of reining myself in.
God how I wanted her.
We lined up and I risked another glance over at my dad and Ashley. He was clapping and waving; Ashley was watching me intently. Her stare was like a fire burning through me and I couldn’t help but remember the passion we shared the night before.
I’d torn her pantyhose and ripped off her panties. Then I’d made her touch her own body as I pounded into her as hard and fast as I’d always dreamed of doing. And she’d liked it. Hell, she’d all but begged for it.
Shaking my head a little to clear it, I turned away from them and focused on the game. We started and I pushed off with all my might, slamming into a huge player from the other team. He went down and I heard the crowd heave a solid cheer. Our team had made progress and I felt a little better about everything.
My body was still warming with desire and the memories of Ashley as she arched and moaned as I banged her, well, they were still swirling through my mind until I thought I might pass out from dizziness.
We realigned for our next play. I snuck another glance at Ashley. She held a beer in her hand and was watching me intently still. She offered a small smile. I returned it, but of course, she couldn’t see that. Even as close as they were to the field, we were way too far away to notice the smaller features like that with the helmets on.
I thought about how she’d looked beneath me, how desperate I’d been to get her out of that dress. In the end, I’d settled for tearing an opening in the fabric between her legs so that I could get to her sweet core and then I’d pulled down her bra to expose her breasts. They were perfect tits, large and soft with dusty pink nipples and—
The play started and again I focused my pent up energy on the beefy guy in front of me. I slammed into him hard enough to force him to the ground, landing on top of him. The crowd cheered and I thought I could hear Ashley’s voice in the crowd. It was probably just my imagination, but when I glanced over at her, I could see her waving around that damn poster and yelling into the stadium.
We lined up again. I pictured Ashley undulating beneath me, her hips jerking up to press against mine as I dove into her.
I tried to shake off the image. My mother had just died and this was my sister. No, not by blood, but that didn’t matter. We were raised together, at least partially, and her dad was a man that I considered my dad. He didn’t give birth to me, but he treated me like part of the family. How did I repay him? By fucking his daughter.
Shoving down my guilt, I tensed my shoulder and I got ready for the next play. My body hummed with electricity and I could practically feel Ashley’s eyes on me. The look in them told me that she wanted me, a mirror reflection of my own deep, dark desire.
I lunged at the guy in front of me and hit him hard enough that I knocked the wind out of him. The crowd went wild and as I stood up, the guy beneath me groaned. I’d taken him down hard and almost felt a little bad about it. Almost. It was part of the game. Plus, I needed the release.
I did offer him my hand though and he accepted it gladly.
We did this all over again and I slammed my shoulder into the guy in front of me, trying to focus my frustration and my confusion into that hit. It was working and I was feeling better until the damn game was put on pause. Suddenly we were all standing around waiting for them to decide whether or not there was a penalty or if the play was good, and all of my efforts went down the drain.
My shoulder was sore and I pressed my hand against my pads. Like that was going to do anything, but really I wasn’t thinking about my shoulder anyway. I was thinking about Ashley, throwing her golden blonde hair over one shoulder, laughing at something as she sipped at the beer she was holding.
Ashley, who was all grown up and looked like a goddamned goddess.
Ashley, who sent me innocent eyes set over a seductive mouth.
Ashley, my sister.
Ashley, my lover.
A shiver ran through me as I looked at her and remembered how I’d felt when I finally slid inside of her. It had been several kinds of fucked up, but as soon as I was buried between her legs, thrusting into her as deep as I could go, it felt right. It felt right to have her legs wrapped around me and it felt right to feel her wetness coat my length and it felt right to have her kiss me like there was too much passion, like we might burn together.
I was trying desperately not to think of her and everything that she meant to me—both the physical and the emotional stuff—but it was hard. As in, my dick was hard, and that wasn’t very comfortable. There was no way for me to adjust myself discreetly, so I didn’t bother. It wasn’t what I really wanted anyway.
No, what I wanted was a repeat performance of last night.
It was so wrong to want to bang my sister, but I couldn’t help it. Ever since her breasts had started to come in, I had started to fantasize about her. Before that, it had been easier because our connection was just a couple of kids who had bonded, but once she got the curves of a woman, I wanted her as a man wants a woman.
Something that was most definitely strictly off limits. No one had to say so; we knew it in our hearts.
But now that I’d had her, I wasn’t sure that I could let her go. The way she’d felt wrapped around my hard shaft, squeezing at me, tighter than I could have imagined, was something that would stay with me for the rest of my life. If by some miracle I managed to force myself to fuck another girl, I knew that I’d spend the entire time making comparisons.
Was she as tight? Was she as slick? Was she as warm? Did she make those little sounds or touch her breasts like I asked or look at me like I was all she wanted?
No, Ashley had ruined it for every woman who dared to walk in her shoes. My bed was now a judges table and I had the feeling that no one would get the top slot besides her.
I was gritting my teeth tightly together, trying to think of other things besides Ashley’s warm body and her tight core and her bouncing breasts, when coach called me over.
“Cassidy!” the coach called and I jogged over to him.
“Yeah, coach?”
The sky was starting to get dark and I could tell that weather was rolling in pretty quickly. Our game was about to get a hell of a lot harder than it already was, but it didn’t worry me. The game was what I was good at; that at least I didn’t have to worry about. But I figured it was what coach wanted to talk about.
“Good energy out there today,” coach told me, his voice gruff but sincere.
I gave him a nod, indicating that I’d heard him and that I appreciated his comment. “Yes, sir,” I said.
He gestured with a jerk of his gray stubble covered chin towards the stands. “Your family in the stands today, Cassidy?”
I froze. Coach wasn’t trying to pry or anything, and I knew that he didn’t mean anything by it, but I suddenly felt prickly about the question. It caught me off guard and I suddenly felt nervous, my palms sweaty, my shoulders tense, and my heard pounding in my chest.
My mind flashed to Ashley beneath me, arching and moaning and doing wonderful things to her own body as I pounded into her warm, wet entrance.
It took everything I had to focus on coach and keep my features neutral.
I knew that he was thinking of my dad and my mom—I tried to keep the sick feeling that came from knowing she was gone at bay—but my mind was so wrapped up in Ashley that she was all I could think about.
Regret filled me; last night had been a mistake. But it was a strange feeling to know that the thing I regretted most about it all was that I had wanted to see all of her. My remorse should have been for who we were and how wrong this all was—not to mention how bad the timing was—but all I could think about was why i
n the hell I’d left her dress on. How did I not manage to tear that damn thing off of her so that I could see all of her smooth, creamy skin?
Swallowing down my conflicted feelings, I forced myself to nod. “Yes, sir,” I said. I jerked my head over to the side where Ashley and dad were seated. “Over there. My dad and my sister.”
Coach’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “I figured your mother would be here. She hasn’t missed a game before.”
My throat closed and for a moment, it was hard to breathe. He was definitely right; she hadn’t missed a single game. Not since I started playing in junior high. Never missed a junior high game, a high school game, a college game, and when I’d finally landed myself in the NFL, she hadn’t missed a single one of those, too. It suddenly all seemed wrong today. How could I play when she wasn’t here cheering me on?
Taking a steadying breath, I managed to get out, “She was supposed to be here today, but she couldn’t make it. We laid her to rest last night.”
I watched as coach frowned before realization sparked behind his brown eyes. Pity suddenly overtook his normally stern features and I resisted the urge to wince. I didn’t like that look or the feelings it caused to surge within me. Moisture began to form behind my eyes and I was startled by it; I couldn’t cry, not now. I’d kept it together up to this point, but seeing even my hard ass of a coach looking at me with sympathy was enough to make me nearly lose my shit.
“Damn, Cassidy,” he said in a voice still gruff but laced with an edge of softness to it. “I didn’t realize. I thought she had more time.”
I nodded. “We all did.”
Letting out a sigh, coach shook his head. “Well, I know she’s still out there watching you, even if she ain’t in the stands.”
I let his words touch my heart and pictured my mother, watching me from a seat in the sky somewhere, lingering in heaven. It brought me comfort for a moment, but only a moment. It should have given me a sense of peace to know she was up there watching me, but it made me think of other things, too. Like how, if she could see me while I was playing the game, couldn’t she see me as I drove my dick into Ashley?
The thought made me sick and I worked hard to shove it from my mind. Offering a quick, single nod to coach, I told him, “Yeah. You’re right. And the rest of my family’s here.”
He placed a hand on my shoulder, though I couldn’t really feel it through the pads, and gave me a tiny smile. Then it was gone and he told me strictly, “I want to see your best out there today. No exceptions.”
This, at least, was easy for me to handle. “You got it, coach.”
I put my helmet back on and determinedly stared forward as we lined up, unwilling to glance over at my dad for fear that I would once again catch Ashley’s gaze and the fire that burned there.
The game goes well. I think we’re gonna win it and it’s in no small part thanks to me. This is what I’ve always been good at and the knowledge leaves me feeling better, more assured in my own abilities. I take comfort in knowing where I belong.
But the thing is, if the game were harder, I would have to focus more and it would keep my mind away from dangerous thoughts. But I feel so comfortable, so assured in my own abilities that I don’t need to focus. My body goes through the motions with little prodding on my part. Which leaves my mind open to other things.
Like Ashley’s tits. How large they are, but perky. They are the perfect kind of round, full on the bottom with a gentle slope on the top that forms into the perfect little nipples. She has pale flesh, skin so smooth that it’s like butter and it might melt beneath my hands if I warm her too much—and she was burning up last night. Her areolas were the same dusky pink as her nipples and the size of quarters, perfectly round but crinkly because her nipples had hardened into points.
I’d commanded her last night to touch those perfect tits and she’d done so, my tie stuffed between two full, perfect lips. There had been no hesitation. I’d told her what I’d wanted and she had complied. So pliant, so willing… I thought of every fantasy I’d ever had of her—and there had been a lot over the years. In my mind, she’d accepted my every will and whim, like the mere act of doing what I told her to had turned her on. But that had only been in my head; I never imagined she would be like that in real life.
But she was. Or it had, at least, seemed that way last night. I suddenly wished that I could just have a night with her where I could tell her what to do. I could see it now. I would strip and sit naked in a plush chair as she stood before me. My hand would go to my cock, probably already hard because Ashley was there in the room and I knew what I was about to tell her to do. Dirty, dirty things.
I’d start with telling her to fondle herself over her clothes. Massage her full breasts through her shirt—maybe a tank top, or even the one she was wearing now, an old worn Packers shirt—and tug at them or rub them. Then I’d tell her to push her hands down and shove them into her jeans so that she could stroke herself. I’d tell her to think of me and how hard my cock was and the kinds of things I wanted to do to her. I’d tell her that I wanted her to think it was my own fingers buried between her legs. The entire time I’d pump my dick and watch her. When her head would fall back—and I knew it would, because her fingers had to know what she liked—I would tell her to take her pants off. When she would slide them off, I’d sneak a peek at those beautiful legs that seemed to go on for miles and see her panties already wet.
I’d sit back in my chair, settling in, my cock jutting out proudly between my legs and tell her to keep going. I’d tell her to take her shirt off next. Her bra was an unknown—she’d had a black lacy thing to hide beneath her dress last night, but maybe this one would be a spicy red, lacy or see through even—but I’d tell her to tug it off. And when she’d slip the fabric off of her perfect body, letting the material drop to the floor, my eyes would devour her perfect tits. I’d trace the line of her body with my eyes, lingering on her full chest and her dusky nipples and that perfectly trim waist. I’d wander downward to her flared hips where she still wore her panties.
The only article of clothing left.
Fuck, I’d tell her in a low, heated voice. You’re fucking perfect. Take your panties off, I want to see your pussy.
Maybe her cheeks would redden when I said pussy or maybe she’d suck her lower lip into her mouth and worry at it with her teeth in that sexy way that sometimes she does. But she’d do as I said. Her thumbs would hook on her panties and she’d pull them down, but before she would get them off, I’d tell her to turn around.
I wanna see your ass, I’d say and she’d do it, because she wanted me. Bad.
And all this time I would stroke my own dick, watching her do whatever I asked her to, and when she bent over, I’d see that perfect ass and probably lose my mind. I’d watch her slip her panties off and think that that was one of the best positions to take her in. Bent over, ass pointed up, back sloped towards the ground, tits hanging free.
But I wouldn’t take her yet. No, I wanted her to do more than strip for me. I wanted her to spread her legs and fondle her own wet core, dipping her fingers inside, between her lips. Or, even better, maybe I’d tell her to use something else.
I didn’t know if she had a dildo or toy or whatever, but if she did I’d tell her to use that. If she didn’t, I’d find something else. Maybe a vegetable—a cucumber or something—or maybe I’d find a brush handle or something. Anything that she could use to shove up into herself. I’d make her pump it in and out and match her pace with my hand.
I’d tell her to do it in different positions, too. Bent over like she was after taking off her panties, but then also lying down with her legs spread as wide as they would go facing me so that I could see her sweet, slick opening.
Yeah, that would probably be where I would break. I’d have to have her then. There would be only one last thing I’d tell her to do before I fucked her with passion and abandon; I’d tell her to beg for me.
Danny, she’d plead, her eyes half closed a
nd her lips pouty. Danny, please. I need you. I need you inside me.
And that would be it. I’d have to have her.
I thought of her the other night, lying beneath me, her panty hose torn and her pussy full of my cock. It was enough that I felt like I might lose it right there on the field.
And that was when I came back. I realized where I was. That this was a game. My eyes shifted on their own accord to Ashley, her golden blonde hair framing her face like a halo and her chest looking perky even beneath the old shirt she wore. Her eyes were brilliant, practically glowing in the overhead lights that lit up the stadium in the night. And her lips.
I thought of all those things I wanted from her lips. How I wanted them to be pressed against mine. How I wanted them to be formed in an O that would be wrapped around my dick, her mouth full of my length.
Crush Page 10
