Sacked (Gridiron #1)

by Jen Frederick

  If it has to do with football, Knox is on time. Any other obligation, and he’s more interested in keeping me in bed with him.

  “That's so wrong. You should be number one.” I’m upset on his behalf. He’s the best player in college football despite being a junior, and despite not being a quarterback or left tackle.

  He shrugs, clearly not disappointed. “I'm happy. I'm playing with a contender. They have Oliver Graham and he’s got a rocket for an arm. If he can get his interception ratio down, the team will have a real chance at a title.” He rubs his hands together. “Besides, the difference in signing bonus for the first and third picks is barely a million. Seventeen versus sixteen. I'm really not broken up about that.”

  “I don’t care about the money,” I tell him. “I just think you deserve first.”

  “As long as I’m first to you, baby.” He winks. “There's a shit ton of good schools in New York City. Like Columbia. If you move with me, we can set up residency, and you'd get in-state tuition to SUNY if you still insist on paying your own way.”

  This last bit comes out a little disgruntled. We’ve had some arguments about money. Even though we’re married, I want to work and pay my way through college. I only have a year and a half left, and I know I can do it.

  “So I should move with you to New York?” I raise an eyebrow.

  “Yes.”

  “All right.” I pick up my wine glass and take a hefty swallow.

  “But if you don't—wait. What?” He tilts his head as if not quite sure he’s heard me.

  “I'll move.”

  “You will?”

  After we’d gotten married, I told Knox I planned to stay in school, but as the semester wore on, with me waiting tables while Knox cooled his heels in classes and worked out every spare minute, I realized I didn’t want to be separated from him.

  “I don't want to live without you. And I think flying to all your games would be impossible, so I'm willing to move to New York. I’m sure I can get a job somewhere, and I’ll save more money given the higher wages. Granted, that will be easier because I'm living with you.” His mouth hangs slightly open. I frown. “You going to say anything?”

  In a slightly peevish tone he replies, “I've been working on my argument and you've kind of ruined it.”

  Laughing, I lean over and kiss him on the cheek. “You can fill me in later at the hotel room, and I'll be in the proper position to say yes.”

  “What's that position?” His voice deepens.

  “Whichever one you'd like,” I reply saucily and squeeze my legs together at the thought of what positions he likes best.

  “Do we have to finish this dinner?” he whines.

  “Yes.” I smooth my napkin over my lap. “Your agent is coming, along with your parents and Ty.”

  Knox drums his fingers against the white tablecloth. “No, I don't think I can wait.” He takes my hand and places it between his legs. My fingers curl reflexively around the quickly thickening shaft. He groans. "You know what's on my list? Bathroom sex."

  "We've had that,” I respond primly but I don’t remove my hand. It feels too good around his hard length. “We did it in the second floor bathroom in Walker Hall and the basement bathroom in Carter along with the nightclub in Miami that your agent took us to."

  "Mmm." He looks upward. "That was a good night. Real good."

  I blush because it’s actually one of my favorite memories too. Knox and I clung to each other on the dance floor of this incredibly posh nightclub and then found out the bathrooms in the VIP section were individual rooms. Knox made good use of that privacy. He pushed me over the sink, ripped my panties down, and hammered into me so hard I worried the sink would break off. That is, I worried until I couldn't focus on anything but his hard cock driving into my—

  “Stop thinking about that night,” he growls in my ear. I jolt to attention.

  “How do you know what I’m thinking?”

  He grunts. “Your eyes are all glazed and your cheeks flushed. Your hand is glued to my dick. It's like you want me to throw you down on the table.”

  I don't want that…do I? I look at the table and then at the surrounding patrons. It’s very crowded but the pulse between my legs begins to throb uncomfortably.

  “Ahem.”

  Knox and I look up to see Ty rolling his eyes. I pull my hand off Knox’s dick. Knox and I look at Ty and then at each other.

  “Ty, you look very nice in your suit,” I say and pull the napkin off my lap to set it on the table.

  His eyes narrow. “Um, thanks.”

  Knox and I stand as one.

  “So, here's the deal,” Knox says. “I need to go back to the hotel. Ellie's not feeling well.”

  I place a limp, maidenly wrist to my forehead and moan in what I hope is a sickly, not sexy, way.

  “Right,” Ty snorts.

  Knox thrusts his napkin against Ty’s chest. “You’re me tonight. Don't sign anything and text me if the deal gets close.”

  “Bye!” I wave to Ty as Knox drags me away.

  Not even the entrance of his parents or his agent slows him.

  “Knox is back at the table. Ellie's not feeling well, so I, Ty, am taking her home,” he announces to his parents. “Nice to see you again, Randolph.”

  Knox, pretending to be Ty, shakes Randolph’s hand. His agent has no idea that he’s greeting the wrong brother, but Knox’s mom’s eyes drop immediately to his left hand. Knox shoves it into his pants pocket to hide the ring.

  His parents watch with suspicious eyes as Knox drags me outside. They might not tell the twins apart all the time, but they know their boys well enough to recognize shenanigans when they see it.

  Outside Knox throws money at the valet. “We need a cab, please. My wife—” I jab him in the waist—“My brother’s wife,” he inserts awkwardly, “isn't feeling well.”

  “Sure, no problem. Aren’t you Knox Masters?” the attendant asks.

  “No. His brother. I play at MU.”

  “Tell your brother congrats and that we’re rooting for him to go high.”

  “I will.”

  A cab pulls to a stop and Knox nearly shoves me inside. He clambers in. “The Warwick. At Fifty Fourth and—” He looks at me.

  “Sixth Avenue,” I finish.

  He gives me a grateful wink and then reaches for me. I bat his hand away. “No.”

  “What?” He reaches for me again.

  “You’re Ty,” I hiss in an undertone. I can see the cab driver watching us in the rear view mirror.

  Knox rears back. “I’m who?”

  “I mean you're pretending to be Ty so you can't touch me. What if someone sees us and they think I'm cheating on you?”

  “But you're not,” he argues.

  “You told the valet you were Ty. He could tell some gossip rag that he saw you, Ty, get into a cab with Knox’s wife.”

  “You want me to die don't you?” He runs a hand down the front of his pants.

  I force myself to look out the window.

  The cab ride takes forever.

  I force him to stand at the other side of the elevator. He sticks his hands in his pockets and stares at the ceiling. I shift uncomfortably from one foot to the other, growing wetter by the second.

  We nearly run from the elevator car to our hotel room. Knox must really have been dying because he has me bent over the sofa in the suite before the door behind us fully latches. My panties drop to my ankles before I can take a full breath. Before I can take another, he’s shoving himself inside me. The expensive dress he insisted on buying me gets crumpled between us as he takes me relentlessly, with one merciless thrust after another.

  The wool of his pants abrades the backs of my thighs. He tangles a hand in my hair and roughly pulls my head back so he can kiss me.

  I love it.

  I wouldn’t have it any other way.

  “You feel so fucking good right now.” He bites my ear. “If we’d have stayed in that restaurant, swear to God,
I would have bent you over the table and taken you in front of all those people.”

  “You have untreated exhibitionist fantasies,” I gasp.

  He shifts his hips and effortlessly lifts me higher so he can drive into me even harder. “No, I just want you 24/7.”

  His fingers dig into my butt and I know I’ll have bruises there tomorrow. Bruises that he’ll kiss and smile evilly about later when we’re waiting for his name to be called by the commissioner.

  And then he shuts up, because neither of us is in any condition to talk. I plead for him to take me harder and he tells me he’s going to fuck me into the next room.

  I come so hard I see stars.

  “You have to carry me,” I tell him when I come down off my high.

  “Yes, ma'am.”

  He picks me up as if I weigh nothing and carts me over to the bed. His erection brushes against my butt.

  “Already?” I ask.

  “I know. Even I’m amazed at my greatness sometimes,” he says smugly. Then he throws me on the bed for round two.

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  Acknowledgments

  When I was growing up, I watched football every Sunday with my dad and brothers. I was raised on the Green Bay Packers, the wisdom of Vince Lombardi and the hallowedness of “frozen tundra.” (Yes, I know that’s redundant but everyone calls it that!) My paternal grandmother watched the team religiously until her death at the ripe age of 101. Football has been a constant in my family and for all it’s scandals and problems, it’s a game that brings us together every fall. For that reason, I will always love the game and this is my ode to it.

  Thank you to my sweet daughter who is growing up too fast and my wonderful husband who is a true life romance hero.

  Thank you to my editor who went through this book countless times and pushed me hard to make this story the very best that I could produce.

  Thank you to my beta readers: Elle Kennedy (I love your brutal and straight forward critiques. I know I can trust you to tell me that my underwear is showing or that I have toilet paper on my shoe!), Kristen Callihan (You write the best sexual tension!), Elyssa Patrick (Your input is incredibly valuable.), Lou (Your emails make me smile.) Meljean Brook, Jessica Clare (the best and prettiest writing partner in existence), and Michelle Kannan (can you believe we met through someone else’s dating story!!), and Lisa Schilling Hintz.

  Special thanks to the world’s okayest bloggers but best friends: Melissa King and Lea Robinson and the world’s okayest friends: Jessica Rupp and Jeannette Mancine. You four made my birthday in 2015 one I will never forget.

  Thanks to Robin and Sunita for your endless email support. I would not be able to go from one week to the next without you.

  Go Pack Go!

  About the Author

  Jen Frederick lives with her husband, child, and one rambunctious dog. She's been reading stories all her life but never imagined writing one of her own. Jen loves to hear from readers so drop her a line!

  jensfrederick@gmail.com

  Also by Jen Frederick

  Undeclared (Woodlands #1)

  Undressed (Woodlands #1.5)

  Unspoken (Woodlands #3)

  Unraveled (Woodlands #4)

  Unrequited (Woodlands #5)

  Losing Control (Kerr Chronicles #1)

  Taking Control (Kerr Chronicles #2)

  Revealed to Him

  Last Hit (Hitman #1)

  Last Breath (Hitman #2)

  Last Hit: Reloaded (Hitman #2.5)

  Last Kiss (Hitman #3)

  Last Hope (Hitman #4)

  Copyright © 2015 by Jen Frederick

  Cover Photo © valuavitaly

  Cover Design by Meljean Brook

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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