She looks at me skeptically and quickly shakes her head, “Nope.”
“Liar.”
I see her swallow thickly as her eyes dart to mine, her long lashes blinking quickly behind her glasses. I can see the curve of her breasts against the suit, the hard little buds of her nipples poking through. And when she blushes again and bites her bottom lip between her teeth, I can feel my cock start to lengthen, bare under the towel.
Blood roars in my ears as I imagine those soft, pouty lips of hers opening up and sliding over my cock. I picture kissing them, bruising them with my own. And I picture watching them part in this delicious “O” shape as I make her come with my fingers, my mouth, and my cock.
Fuck.
This is going to be a problem. Because without even looking where I was going, I’ve suddenly moved way past “making her squirm” into outright lust.
And it’s making me very, very hard.
I’m still not thinking as I turn in my chair, sitting casual as I lean towards her.
“You’re not remotely curious about it?”
She blinks quickly, shaking her head. “Not in the slightest.”
I know she’s lying, but she’s doing it better than any “playing hard to get” girl I’ve ever met.
I grin at her, “I call bullshit.”
She bites her bottom lip again, eyes darting across my face as she struggles to maintain that carefree look. “Call it what you want, but I have no interest in your…”
She shakes her head, looking away.
“Cock?” I finish for her, winking as her eyes dart back to mine and her face goes bright red. “You can say it, you know - it’s just a word.”
“Dalton,” she rolls her eyes at me, shaking her head and smiling this patronizing smile at me. “I have no problem saying the word cock.”
Aaaaaand I’m hard.
Rock. Fucking. Hard. It’s like the sound of that word coming from her innocent, pure mouth has the blood flowing directly into my dick.
She smiles at me. “I just have no interest in yours.”
I grin and lean close to her, watching her inhale sharply as I do. I reach my hand out towards her, and she stiffens before I grab the bottle of Fireball out of her hands. The entire time I keep my eyes locked on hers, watching her blush as I take it back and pull a big swig.
“Why, because of our parents?”
Yeah, I am very far past just trying to get under Hailey’s skin. But I don’t care anymore, and I’m not sure I could stop at this point even if I did.
She rolls her eyes and laughs. “Oh my God, for so many reasons, but sure, that’s a big one.”
“We aren’t related, you know.”
“Dalton,” she smiles that fake sweet smile at me. “We could be strangers and I wouldn’t want to know anything about you like that.”
I throw my head back and laugh. “Ouch, baby!”
She just shrugs, still smiling at me in that patronizing way that’s somehow teasing me.
“Because I’m a football guy?”
“One of the reasons.”
I roll my eyes. “Oh, in your very extensive dating life you just prefer to stay away from guys who can actually pick you up and toss you around?”
Hailey goes absolutely crimson, quickly looking away before her eyes dart back to mine. “I actually have a boyfriend, thank you very much.”
I suddenly sit up straight.
Well, shit, that’s news.
I also don’t believe it for a second.
I raise a brow at her. “Oh really?”
“Really,” she says primly, sitting there with her head high as she casually reaches for the bottle.
“Well now, that’s news now isn’t it?”
Her eyes look up and to the side, in that way people do when they’re outright bullshitting you. “Yeah, he’s at Columbia right now, where I should have gone.”
I grin. “Instead of being stuck here with me.”
“Pretty much.”
I chuckle as I lean back in my chair. “Well, he’s a very lucky boy to have such a pistol like you, darlin.” I grin. “And does this mystery man have a name?”
“Paul.”
I nod, like I’m chewing it over, before I lean forward again. “Well, I guess Paul wouldn’t like it very much if he knew we’d been sitting here talking about my cock.”
Hailey goes red again as she rolls her eyes. “We are not talking about your penis-”
“Cock.” I suddenly lean in close to her, loving the way she sucks in her breath sharply and the way her bright blue eyes dart to mine, blinking rapidly.
“My cock, darlin,” I growl.
“Fine,” she spits back. “And no, he wouldn’t - not one bit.”
I grin at the way she says it, like I should be worried about her bullshit fake boyfriend.
“Well, in that case, I guess I better leave you alone then.”
“Probably.”
“Because I totally wasn’t just getting under your skin.”
She starts to grin but I watch as she quickly hides it and shakes her head. “Not at all.”
I roll my eyes and get up to walk away towards my guest house with the bottle in my hand. I get about three feet when I grin and call back over my shoulder. “Goodnight.”
She looks up, presumably to say it back, and it’s right then that I let the towel drop as I walk away from her.
“Dalton!”
I let out a hooting laugh. “Sweet dreams, darlin.”
9
Hailey
After that, there is no way I’m staying at that house.
I can feel the flush from my first foray into drinking buzzing through me like a live-wire as I change back into my clothes from earlier. And part of that is the illicit thrill that comes from doing something bad like drinking. But I know - as much as I pretend it’s not - that another part of it comes from him.
The real “something bad”.
We’re basically across the street from campus anyway, so I head back to the dorms on foot, ignoring the sound of music blasting from his guest-house apartment above the garage as I traipse up the driveway.
And it’s not until I get back to my room that I finally meet my own eyes in the mirror above my vanity, rolling them at my flushed face.
God, did I seriously just MAKE UP a boyfriend?
I cringe at my own ridiculousness in the mirror, shaking my head. Yes, yes I did just do that. I mean, Paul is a real boy, who I really did go on two dates with this past summer. But he’s not, nor has he ever been, my boyfriend.
And I’m ninety-nine percent sure Dalton knows that, because I am one-hundred percent sure I’m not nearly as good a liar as I think I am.
I toss my clothes off, knowing I should shower the chlorine off, or brush my teeth for that matter. But I’m still too buzzed and still too embarrassingly wound up to think about anything but curling up in my bed and pretending like I didn’t just horribly embarrass myself in front of Dalton.
I close my eyes, trying to force sleep to happen out of sheer will alone. But I only make it three minutes before I groan and turn over onto my back, knowing it’s just not happening. My thoughts are still going at a million miles an hour, going over every minute of my bizarre night with Dalton Cole.
‘I bet you’re dying to know.’
I feel a warm flush creep up my body at the memory of it - his piercing blue eyes, that cocky, wolf-like grin flashing across his criminally attractive jaw.
…Knowing he’s not wearing anything under that towel that’s hanging precariously off the grooves of his hips, and knowing the pool isn’t the only thing to blame for the wet heat between my legs.
I bite my lip in my bed as the image of that bulge in his jockeys as he pulled himself from the pool comes creeping into my head.
No, no freaking way.
It was a shadow, or…something. I mean it’s a myth, of course. It’s all part of his press image to get him on magazine covers and to make him sexy enou
gh to sell underwear.
…I mean, no one really has a peni- a cock - that big.
I’ve seen all of one, once. That would be the aforementioned Paul - the boy I knew from my model U.N. class. Paul who was always sweet, Paul who was smart and going to Harvard in the fall.
Paul who was the first person I thought of when I decided there was no way I was going to college without ever having had sex. It’s not like I thought I was missing out on anything, or felt any sort of pressure. It’s just that I knew perfectly well that sex was going to be everywhere at school, and I didn’t want to be distracted by it.
Yeah, my decision to lose my virginity really was that clinical.
Paul was sweet, and…awkward, and very apologetic. It didn’t hurt like the movies always said it would, but then it’s not like I saw fireworks or anything either. But, I checked it off the list. Pack clothes, remember to have Dad sign my student insurance papers, enroll for freshman classes, get laid.
I’m not thinking about that right now.
It’s not sweet, apologetic Paul who’s got my body tingling and my pulse beating fast under the sheets of my bed late at night in my dorm.
It’s Dalton Cole.
It’s crude, gross, wildly un-apologetic Dalton. Dalton who’s rough, and arrogant, and who I am quite sure doesn’t have a sweet bone in his whole body.
Dalton who’s got my body buzzing with this sort of nervous, illicit energy.
Dalton with the alleged ten inch cock which I cannot even picture in my head.
A thought hits me, and my eyes dart furtively to the small tool-box my dad packed away into one of my boxes - the one with a few IKEA Allen wrenches, a small hammer-screwdriver combo, and…
…The tape measure.
Hailey Garrison, You are NOT actually going to do that.
Except I am, and I’m blushing even if there’s no one here but me and my dirty, wicked thoughts as I flick on the bedside light, slip from the bed, and pad across the room.
I pull the measuring tape from the box and then roll my eyes. What the hell am I doing? Why am I even thinking about this? And yet as ridiculous as it is, and as insanely out of character as it is, here I am thinking dirty thoughts about the boy I’ve got no business thinking about like this.
I slowly pull the tab of the tape measure, biting my lip, feeling utterly ridiculous. But also feeling that illicit thrill - like I’m doing something deliciously naughty.
I pull it past the five-inch mark, and then six, and then past seven. My eyes go a little wide as I pull it another inch to eight, feeling a shiver run down my naked spine. The tape pulls past nine, and my jaw drops a little.
Holy shit.
At ten, I lock the tape measure in place and just stare at it in my hands, holding it out away from me like it’s some sort of ticking time bomb that might go off at any moment.
There is No. Freaking. Way.
Not a chance. It’s impossible, and absurd, and gross.
So why are you suddenly so warm?
Or wet, for that matter.
It’s horrifyingly embarrassing, but I’m suddenly picturing that the measuring tape in my hand locked at ten inches is Dalton’s legendary, world-famous, impossibly big cock.
I quickly set it down and step away to sit on the edge of my bed.
No way.
I reach for my laptop even as my brain screams at me to let the whole thing go and just go to sleep. But I’m already opening it up, and opening a browser, and searching for the underwear ad.
The underwear ad, the one they shot right after he turned eighteen - the one that scandalized the world, and made him a legend.
I’ve seen it before - I mean, you’d have to be blind, or living on the moon to not see it since it was everywhere at the end of my senior year. And it’s just an underwear ad, but I still blush like I’ve just been caught looking at porn or something as the image blooms big on my screen.
He’s sprawled across a big leather couch, one hand behind his head, a football in the other, and his legs slightly spread. I stare at the photo, letting my eyes move across that smoldering look in his eyes and that token cocky grin. I feel my pulse beat in my ear as my eyes rove lower, down over his chiseled chest muscles, the rippling abs, and then down towards the front of his jockeys.
The famous bulge.
I peer at it, biting my lip.
No way - it’s photoshopped or…something.
It’s not real, that’s for sure. I glance back up to the measuring tape still locked open on my desk and then back to the sprawled out Dalton on my laptop screen.
And then, as much as I’m trying to fight it because I am simply not one of those girls, I’m imagining it.
I’m picturing that cocky face as he hooks his thumbs into the waistband, his muscles rippling as he pulls those crisp, white cotton briefs down lower, past that happy trail of hair over those Hollywood abs. The laptop gets pushed to the end of my bed as I lay back into my sheets, closing my eyes. I’m getting warmer, and wetter as I imagine him pulling them off lower and lower, until suddenly it’s just there.
His cock.
I bite my lip as my fingers slide over my bare torso to my breasts, dancing across my stiff nipples and I let out a sigh.
This is the booze - that’s what this is.
I say it to myself again and again as I pinch my nipples between my fingers, rolling them gently and letting the dirty, illicit thoughts of Dalton Cole and his big cock dance through my head.
I turn back to the laptop, reaching over with one hand to scroll through the images on the screen. There are pictures from other articles - shoots he did for that men’s magazine where he’s dirty and sweaty in a locker room like he’s just finished a game. His pads are half off, his chest slick with sweat - that look in his eye burning a hole in the camera.
My hand is creeping lower before I can even think about stopping it, brushing against the waistband to my panties. My breath catches as I wonder for the hundredth time what the hell is wrong with me, but I don’t care anymore as my hand slips lower.
I’m soaking wet, and my body shivers as my fingers slide across my aching clit.
God, I am not like those other girls! I’m not some puppy-eyed star-fucker of a groupie getting wet over Dalton’s over-the-top bad boy image, or his status.
Or his cock, for that matter.
Except, I am. As much as I want to deny it, or roll my eyes at how ridiculous it is, here I am with my hand down my panties and my fingers sliding into my pussy as I picture Dalton Cole and his big dick.
I close my eyes and lay back in my bed, letting my fingers find my opening and push slowly inside. I gasp, imagining those smoldering eyes and that lopsided, charming and cocky farm boy grin.
That man’s body.
I moan quietly as I imagine what might’ve happened earlier if I’d said yes. Would he have actually called my bluff and pulled it out? Stroked it maybe?
Would I have?
The thoughts are horrible, and terribly inappropriate and dirty. But I can’t stop them as the feeling comes stronger and stronger and my body clenches and urges for more and more.
My finger slips in and out of my heat, my thumb brushing against my clit as I imagine him taking me. And I don’t imagine sweet, or tender, and certainly not apologetic.
I imagine hard, and fast, and animalistic. I don’t, and can’t imagine him apologizing - I imagine him demanding.
I picture him making me come on his cock.
And when I crash over that edge there in my bed, I bury my screams into the crook of my arm as my hips arch off the sheets. And it’s Dalton’s face - Dalton’s hot, cocky, arrogant, stupid face that I imagine as I go shattering over the edge.
Afterwards, I’m pouting and angry at myself. I yank the sheet up, burying myself beneath them, as if they’ll keep away the traitorous, horribly inappropriate thoughts about Dalton Cole that seem to make me do insane things.
Insane things, and insane thoughts that I just can�
�t get out of my head.
What is wrong with me?
10
Dalton
I don’t see much of Hailey the rest of the weekend after that night by the pool.
Actually, I don’t see her at all. She’s not back at my mom’s place - well, our place I guess it is now - which means she’s probably shut up in her dorm. I grin at the thought of Hailey with her nose in a book, studying even though classes haven’t started yet.
Or playing a damn computer game, I think with another smirk, rolling my eyes at the thought.
Of course, maybe she’s with her imaginary boyfriend. Or, at least, the probably imaginary boyfriend. That thought in particular has me rolling my eyes. There’s also the thought that I maybe pushed things a little far the other night. I mean shit, I kept trying to bring up my dick like some sort of fucking degenerate.
Maybe it’s cause I’m not used to it not coming up in conversation with a girl.
Yeah, again, my dick might actually be more famous than I am, which is something I should work on when I go pro. My cock isn’t going to slay passing records, or sign sneaker endorsements, that’s for damn sure.
I slug the cold beer in my hand and I shake my head - nah, Hailey’s fine.
It’s early in the evening on Sunday, and even if I was pretty good all weekend about partying, it is the first week of school. My reputation demands at least a little craziness before classes and practices start.
I mean, I’m the fucking King, right?
“Ten!”
I jerk from my thoughts to the sound of Evan and Jason and about half a dozen other guys from the team busting out onto the back porch of the football house where I’ve been slumped in a chair.
Evan slaps me on the back. “Dude you’ve been a fucking ghost all weekend.”
I shrug. “Yeah, just getting ready for the season,” I half lie.
Why no, I haven’t been sulking around thinking the world’s most inappropriate thoughts about my stepsister.
“Huh, guess he’s a fucking mortal after all.” I glance past Evan and narrow my eyes at Henderson. Henderson’s slowly getting under my skin with the Hailey comments and the little dings about me being “the star.” I know the power fullback was basically me on this campus before I showed up and stole his thunder. But he’s had a fucking chip on his shoulder about it ever since I met him at pre-orientation.
Jock: A Secret Baby Sports Romance Page 31
