Jock: A Secret Baby Sports Romance

by Irons, Aubrey

  My hands slide up to his bare shoulders, my fingertips clutching and digging at his skin there as he holds me tight against him.

  His hand on the small of my back is warm and strong, and I shiver as I feel it start to slide up my spine. My soaking wet shirt comes with it, and I know I should stop him, but I have zero interest in doing so, even as I feel the shirt pull up over my stomach and halt at the underside of my breasts.

  True to his word, Dalton doesn’t stop, and I only moan harder into his mouth as he yanks the soaking cotton higher, slipping it over the swell of my breasts and over my aching hard nipples. They poke and drag against his bare chest, little electric shocks teasing through my body as we press skin-to-skin.

  Dalton pulls away from my mouth then, his teeth pulling gently at my bottom lip. My knees almost give out before he drops to my chest. His lips close around one of my aching nipples, his tongue teasing over the nub as I cry out and rake my fingers through his hair, clutching him to me.

  He keeps one strong hand against my back, holding me tightly as he sucks and licks at my peaks. The other starts to tease over my hip, and I suddenly find myself gasping even louder as I feel his fingers move across the waist of my denim shorts.

  “Dalton-” I gasp, biting my lip, feeling myself melt against him. I know I should stop this, but my traitorous body says “yes” with a roll of my hips, as if urging him on.

  And I do want him to go on.

  I want him to take what he will, damn the consequences. I want him to pull every stitch of wet clothing from my body and warm it with his hands and his lips.

  …With every part of him.

  In this moment I don’t care what this means, or what this makes us. In this moment, I utterly stop giving a shit and completely stop worrying about being a notch on his locker or his bed.

  Because right then, I want him to be a notch on mine.

  His hands and his lips and his body feel like magic as he coaxes the pleasure from me, and I realize then that I’m done being the good one. I’m through withholding things like this from myself because I feel like it’s “not me.”

  Screw that. I want this. I want to experience this, and live the college life of experimenting with sex, and my body, and all the new things I can feel and try.

  And quite frankly, who better to do that with than Dalton Cole?

  So when he pauses, his mouth pulling away from my breasts and hovering by my lips, I hold my breath. He looks deep into my eyes, his own blue ones roaring like liquid fire. He opens his lips to ask me “are you sure about this?” and all I can do is mash my mouth against his.

  And again, it’s the only answer he needs.

  The button of my shorts pops under his fingers, and I moan as I feel him tug the zipper down. He’s sliding them over my ass and hips and they’re catching on my knees, but he leaves them there as his hand slides to the front of my panties.

  I’m moaning wantonly and eagerly as he strokes my slit thought the cotton. I’m soaking through the fabric as he drags his fingers up and bumps them over my aching clit, making me moan loudly into his mouth, his tongue and his lips silencing my cry.

  He’s moving his fingers to the elastic of my panties and slipping them inside, and suddenly his fingers are sliding wetly over my dripping pussy. His finger slides easily inside, and I’m dripping all over his hand as he curls it deep and grinds his palm against my clit.

  He’s still kissing me, pressing me back against the weight machine with my legs spread as much as they can be with my shorts around my knees. His finger strokes me right against that sweet spot just inside, making my heart feel like it’s about to burst out of my chest. I’m rocking my hips against him, feeling him rub his palm against my throbbing clit. His fingers hit that wonderful spot again and again, sending sensation and pleasure rocketing through my body.

  “We- oh fuck, what are- we can’t be doing this!” The words are dripping from my lips as I cling to him, my head falling back, my eyes squeezed shut.

  “You’re welcome to tell me to stop anytime,” he growls into my ear, his fingers stroking deeper and faster and harder, and pushing me right to the edge of my sanity.

  “I- I-” I’m gasping for air and searching for words, but there’s only one thought roaring through my head right then.

  I’m going to come.

  Dalton Cole has his fingers deep inside my pussy with his lips on my neck, and he’s going to make me come.

  Hard.

  “Cause I can stop, darlin,” he growls, his drawled voice like tobacco and honey in my ear. His finger slows to a maddeningly teasing stroke, keeping me right on the razor’s edge.

  “I can stop all this right now,” he husks, his finger sliding from my heat and tracing lazy circles around my clit. “Just say the word.”

  “Please,” I beg, my breath coming in gasps as I pathetically try and move my hips against him, desperate to come.

  “Yes?” He growls into my ear. “Something you want to say, darlin?”

  “Please make me come!”

  The words come moaning from my lips, and the second they do, I cry out as I feel him push his finger deep back inside. He starts to finger me quickly with his big, powerful hand, his thick finger stroking me again and again, until the edges of my vision start to fade.

  “Oh….God-”

  The scream freezes in my throat, and suddenly, his lips are right there at my ear again.

  “I want to watch you come, Hailey,” he draws out. “That pussy is going to come all over my hand, and then I’m going to lick it fucking clean.”

  It’s so dirty, and so fucking crude that I’m suddenly crying out as the last shred of my sanity goes shattering away.

  And I’m coming.

  My fingers scratch at his shoulders, and I bury my mouth against his chest as the orgasm tears through me. I’m panting, slumping against him as the silence closes in around us.

  Slowly, he brings his hand out of my panties, and as I look up from his chest, my eyes go wide.

  True to his word, his eyes locked on mine, Dalton brings his glistening fingers to his lips and sucks them inside.

  Oh my God.

  He’s so filthy.

  So dirty.

  And I just want more.

  18

  Dalton

  I’m a drinking man, primarily.

  Drugs - with a few ill-advised forays into cocaine when I was hanging out with all those models - have never really been my thing.

  Except now. Now I’m fucking addicted, and the drug I’m hooked on is Hailey Garrison.

  And like any good after school special will tell you, once you’ve gotten a taste of a drug, you just want more. Actually, no, “want” doesn’t quite cover it. It’s a need, a fucking craving, a Goddamn primal urge.

  And once you’ve gotten your hit, you start chasing that feeling down. Again, I’ve never actually been a “drug guy”, but I’d like to think I’ve seen enough movies to know what comes next. The supplier ducks out, or the heat closes in, and as soon as that first hit has faded, it’s suddenly impossible to get a second one. You’re left stranded, thirsty, craving more.

  And basically, you’re fucked.

  I think that basically surmises my thoughts on Hailey after that night at the gym.

  Because after that night - after that kiss and that sublime fucking perfect moment of watching her come, that supply has shut. The. Fuck. Down.

  By her, of course.

  She clams up immediately after buttoning her shorts back up, her eyes widely avoiding mine as she pushes her hair back behind her face, that lip caught between her teeth.

  And she says nothing.

  Shit.

  In fact, she says nothing the whole three-minute drive back to my mom’s house, to the point where she’s popping the car door open before the Escalade even shuts off.

  “Hey-” I grab her wrist, furrowing my brow at the silent treatment. “We gonna talk about that at all?”

  She bites her lip ag
ain, her eyes darting across my face but at least looking at me this time. “I- We don’t have to.”

  She moves to get out of the SUV again before I roll my eyes and yank her back. “You okay?”

  She takes a deep breath in the dark of the front seat, and this time, she keeps her eyes to herself. “You don’t have to be different with me.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Dalton, I know what you are, and what this is-”

  “Woah, hang on, Hailey-”

  “And that’s why I just allowed that, okay?” She takes a shaky breath and then looks at me, forcing this smile to her face. “You really don’t have to worry, and you really don’t have to treat me any different than any of your other girls.”

  My ‘other girls’. Jesus.

  “Hailey, that’s-”

  “I just wanted to see what the fuss was all about, alright?” She shrugs, tucking a stray lock of half-damp hair behind her ear. “Can we go inside now?”

  I frown, “Uh, yeah, sure.”

  She opens the car door and steps out. “Thanks for the ride.”

  I watch as she runs from the garage to the house, holding her books above her head.

  What. The. Fuck.

  Part of me wants to high-five myself, or throw a fist in the air, or whatever to congratulate myself on another successful conquest. The untouchable, off-limits, ice-queen Hailey Garrison just came like a fucking hurricane on my fingers.

  I should go up to my pad and crack a beer, or head out to a party or something to celebrate my victory.

  But I frown, staring out at the rain trickling down the windshield of the dark Escalade.

  So how come it doesn’t feel like a win at all?

  * * *

  Three days later though, I’m out on that field with the bright lights, the feel of the turf under my knee, and the crowd roaring.

  It’s the first game of the season, and here I can fucking win.

  I can taste the energy as we step out of that locker room, the adrenaline pounding through each of us like a diesel engine. We’re ready to own that field, own that glory, and to tear some other motherfuckers limb from limb.

  Ain’t competitive sports grand?

  That right there is energy you don’t get from anything else in the whole damn world. Well, maybe from fucking, but even that’s debatable.

  And when we step foot out the gate onto the field, I’m the fucking king of that stadium. There’s forty-thousand people screaming my Goddamn name, with my damn face up on the jumbo-screens.

  Forget what I said, this might definitely be better than any sex I’ve ever had.

  Of course, out of all forty-thousand people here tonight, there’s really only one I want to hear screaming my name.

  She’s not.

  I catch Hailey’s eye sitting up right behind the bench when we trot out. Her mouth is pointedly shut, and she suddenly appears to be very interested the blank scoreboard when I glance back at her.

  I frown, and I want to go over there, throw her over my damn shoulder, and take her somewhere where I can damn well guarantee she’ll be screaming my name. But I’ve gotta push that out of my mind. There’s no space in my head for anything but owning this moment right now. Not with what this first game means, not with the level of expectation it holds, and sure as shit not with forty-thousand people on their feet chanting my name.

  We line up on the field of battle and glory, and the ball snaps into my hand. I fade back, my eyes on the prize as I wind back and just let go.

  And the crowd goes fucking nuts.

  * * *

  “Hail to the motherfuckin’ King, baby!”

  The room goes fucking bonkers as Evan and Jason hoist me up above the crowd.

  “Cole! Cole! Cole!” The living room of the fraternity house pulses with my name as three-hundred red plastic solo cups sloshing beer rise up as one to cheers me.

  Fuck yeah.

  They drop me to the ground, ruffling my hair and slapping me on the back and a hundred sweaty frat dudes come up to tell me I’m the greatest thing since Jesus Christ.

  Of course, behind them, there’s a hundred sorority girls, ready to worship me.

  Coach pushes his way through the crowd and grabs my hand, raising it up in the air to another round of cheers like I’m the damn champion of the ring.

  And let’s be real, I am.

  I mean, sure, team effort and all that - and it damn well was. But if we’re being honest, that game was mine. I hit every pass, called every play, and dodged every fucking attempt to take me out.

  And now I’m holding court, and I plan on reveling in it.

  “Alright! Alright!” Coach is still wearing his windbreaker, and he holds his hands in the air as the rest of the team shushes the crowd.

  “Y’all have fun tonight, because you damn well earned it.”

  The crowd whoops again as Coach gives a thumbs up, before holding his hands up again. “But not too much fun, gentleman.” He points a finger around the room, grinning. “I’m lookin’ at you, players. Be good, boys, we got practice tomorrow.”

  “Yes, Coach!”

  The cheers turn back to the general madness of a party as someone kicks the music back up.

  Jim turns back to me and drops a hand on my shoulder. “You did real good tonight, son. Own this win, and celebrate it.” He eyes the beer in my hand and gives me a stern look. “I’m going to turn a blind eye to that in the spirit of celebration. Remember what we talked about though, alright?”

  I grin. “You bet, Coach.”

  He gives me another pat on the back before he heads out, shaking hands on his way to the front door.

  I sip my beer as another couple of frat guys come up to tell me how cool I am. I spot Jen - the Kappa house girl - across the room, wearing the world’s all-time sluttiest tank-top that shows more cleavage than most bras. She smirks at me, pulling her shoulders back and pushing her tits out as if my eyes needed any extra encouragement to spot them.

  She’s got one of the other blondes from the drinking game in the basement with her - Cassie or Sarah, or whoever - and some vampy-looking black-haired girl wearing a skirt the size of a washcloth. Jen smirks at me from across the room, nodding her head at the two girls with her and wagging her brows suggestively.

  Jesus, tact and subtlety are not in this girl’s vocabulary.

  I hold up a finger to her as a few more fraternity brothers swarm over me. I’m turning away as someone presses a fresh beer into my hand when suddenly my eyes lock on the front door.

  And right there, I’m not thinking about the game, or the beer, or the slutty sorority sisters that want to triple-team me.

  Because right then, the rest of the people, the music, and pretty much everything else fades away as the world tilts off its axis for a second.

  Because Hailey-fucking-Garrison is at a football party at a damn frat house.

  And she looks fucking good.

  There’s a heavy hand on my shoulder. “You got that thousand bucks together for me yet, Cole?”

  I narrow my eyes as I glance back at fucking Henderson. He’s looking right past me, his eyes locked on Hailey and this evil little grin on his face.

  “Fuck off, Henderson.”

  He laughs. “Hey man, I’m just sayin. You might be this big rock-star, but you ain’t gonna be hitting that and you damn well know it. Might as well let me break ‘er in, right?”

  I want to destroy him.

  Not fight him, or even beat the shit out of him - I want to destroy him. And for a moment, as the red rage rushes up inside of me like this unstoppable wave, I think I might, right there in the damn frat house.

  Breathe, man. Fucking breathe.

  My blood boils like molten steel, and my hands clench into rock-hard fists. But Coach’s words from the other day rattle through my head.

  ‘You’re gonna have a lot of eyes on you.’

  He’s right, of course. I’m under the damn microscope right now, and the last thing I need is
to be beating the hell out of teammates - even pieces of trash like Henderson, and even when they say crude shit about Hailey.

  I take another solid breath before I force the smile to my face. I pat Henderson on the back, resisting the urge to throw him bodily through the closest window. “Dream on, buddy,” I say with a fake grin on my face, shrugging easily. “Besides, it was just a joke bet, man.”

  “Not gonna be a joke bet when I come to collect, pal.”

  I smile once more at Henderson and pat him on the back, walking away before I do lose the last hold on my temper. I scan the room, and my eyes catch Hailey again.

  Damn, she does look good.

  She looks too good.

  19

  Hailey

  “This is stupid,” I yell, not even really hearing myself.

  “WHAT?” Roxie screams back at me as we shoulder our way through the crowd towards the kitchen.

  Aggressively loud rap music blares from the frat-house living-room stereo as a swath of sweaty, drunk college jocks and frat boys push, shove, and drunkenly cavort around us.

  “THIS IS STUPID,” I yell again, this time directly into the ear of a girl I vaguely recall seeing in my government class. She winces at my yelling and gives me a stink-look.

  “Sorry,” I mouth, as Roxie pulls on my arm and drags me through the crowd.

  “I know, I know,” she says as we move out of the packed living room and into the somewhat quieter kitchen.

  “Remind me why we’re here again?” I say with scowl.

  Roxie makes a face. “Which one do you want? Because your dad just won his first college football game, and even though I don’t really get that, it seems like it’s a big deal?” She grins, “Or that your hot, soon-to-be stepbrother is the biggest name in college sports right now and was a big part of that win?”

  Roxie smiles at me, wagging her eyebrows. “Or that we get to drink free beer all night? Pick one, but whichever one it is, keep in mind that I’m a pretty awesome friend for coming along to this debacle.”

  I make a face. “Thanks for that, actually.”