Scoring Off the Field (WAGS series)

by Simone, Naima

  “You,” she accused, shoving her curls out of her face. “What was that at lunch?”

  “What. Was. What?” He grabbed a hold of his rapidly dwindling patience.

  “You turned down the movie premiere without even a second thought.”

  Hold on. She was pissed over that? What the fuck? He shook his head. “I didn’t want to go.”

  “You haven’t had any problem going to those types of events before…before…” She waved a finger between them. “So why now, Dom?”

  “Okay, let me get this straight,” he said slowly, confusion and anger coalescing into a swirling, murky mass in his chest. “You wanted me to go out on a date with another woman.” Even stating it sounded asinine and just fucking weird to his ears.

  “What I wanted or didn’t want shouldn’t have mattered. It never did any other time. And that’s the point,” she retorted in the same I’m Talking to a Crazy Person tone he’d used.

  “Are you— Wait.” Her words penetrated his skull, and full comprehension bloomed. Cocking his head to the side, he studied her, eyes narrowed. A hard pulse of lust and something deeper—scarier—throbbed in his lower stomach. “It mattered to you before that I went with those women?”

  Surprise flashed in her gaze before a shutter seemed to drop over her face and voice. “No,” she said, tone flat. “Why should it?”

  He shook his head slowly. “You’re lying. Again.” He could tell.

  You would be surprised at how good I am at hiding things.

  She’d uttered those words to him yesterday. Then, he’d denied that she would ever be able to keep anything from him. Not with her shitty lying skills.

  Now he was starting to believe her.

  Emitting a sound that could’ve been a groan or strangled scream, she glared at him. “Don’t try to deflect, Dom. Before we had sex, you wouldn’t have thought twice about letting Brian arrange the date and public appearance. Hell, you would’ve probably found a way to scrape up tickets for me.”

  “So you not only want me to go on a date with another woman, you want to go and watch, too.” He nodded as if that shit made sense.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” she snapped.

  “This whole thing is ridiculous,” he snapped back, his temper frayed. “Now why don’t you cut the bullshit and tell me what’s really on your mind.”

  “Football is your top priority. It always has been, always will be. But today, you made a decision that was counteractive to that. And you did it for me. For my feelings,” she almost shouted. She reeled back slightly, her eyes widening as if her outburst had surprised her, too. Yes, too. Because she’d shocked the shit out of him.

  His gut instinct reaction was to deny her accusation. But he paused, and it hit him that she was correct. He had to compartmentalize. If this friends-with-benefits, no-strings-attached arrangement was going to work and their friendship be intact afterward, then he had to remember his priorities. The end game. Which was football. Always football. Security. Legacy. A path to another career after he hung up his jersey. Plus, he just loved the game itself.

  “You’re right. No, don’t look away from me,” he admonished, gently cupping her cheek. He waited until her gaze returned to his. Christ, she was so fucking pretty. “I did make the decision based on your feelings, and yeah, there is a chance I would’ve agreed to go before you and I started having sex. But I also turned it down because I didn’t want to touch another woman while I have you.” This time he not only swept his thumb over her bottom lip, he dipped the tip into her mouth, grazing his skin along the edge of her teeth. The abrasive sensation echoed along his cock, and it didn’t take much imagination to envision her teasing his flesh with that same hint of pleasure/pain. “So I’ll promise not to confuse things again. For both our sakes. But I’m adding another stipulation to our deal. Don’t expect me to fuck another woman when I’m with you.”

  She scoffed, turning away from him. Or trying to. He didn’t allow it. “You can’t possibly know you won’t want someone else. You forget I’ve seen the women you’ve screwed with my own eyes. You don’t make a habit of denying yourself…”

  “I don’t think with my dick. It pisses me off that you believe I’m not capable of saying no. And that once more you’re comparing yourself to other women. Do I have to remind you of our lesson from yesterday?” he pressed, the greedy bastard inside him hoping she’d say yes. Just the memory of how he’d educated her—of how she’d responded—had his balls tightening and dick hardening until it pressed against his zipper.

  “No,” she breathed. “No reminder necessary.”

  “That’s a shame.” Unable to prevent himself any longer, he dipped his head for a quick taste of her lush mouth. He groaned. And returned for another sample. Sweetness of the wine she’d had with lunch. Richness of the creamy dessert. And her. All her. “For now, my dick isn’t getting hard for anyone else. I’m not thinking about tomorrow, or some faceless woman. You. You’re who I see when I fuck my fist. You’re who I want down on her knees, lips stretched wide around my cock.”

  He circled her mouth with his finger, his gut pulling tight with the too-graphic image. “You’re who I want to ride, bareback. Fuck, do you know how it felt to be inside you, with nothing between us? Like goddamn heaven. And hell. Everything beautiful and painful. Pleasure and agony. Yeah, being balls deep in you is like nothing in this fucking world.” He abandoned her cheek and tunneled his fingers into the dark, wild curls that somewhere along the line he’d developed a probably unhealthy fascination with. Gripping her hair, he tugged her head back. Watched her lashes flutter. Heard her soft, hungry gasp. “I want it again,” he growled against her mouth. “Are you going to give it to me?”

  A moan escaped her seconds before she lifted those lashes. “Yes.”

  “For however long I want it?” he demanded.

  The haze that had started to cloud her eyes slowly sharpened. “For however long I want it.”

  A dark, hot lust slid through his veins, slow and heavy, pouring right into his cock. “There she is,” he praised, loosing a low chuckle. “There’s my Tennyson.”

  My Tennyson. A glimmer of panic flickered inside him at the possessiveness in the claim. The claim. That, too, gave him pause. Or should’ve. But lust overrode the warning, and he covered her mouth, his tongue pushing forward, and she met him with an eager parry and thrust. The kiss was a raw, messy, prolonged battle, peppered with groans and her sexy whimpers. Fingers curled into his shirt, she rose on her toes, opening her mouth wider, offering him more. And he wasn’t a fool; he took it. Took it all.

  With another of those greedy sounds, she tore her mouth from his and nipped a stinging path down his chin, jaw, and neck. With movements that spoke of impatience and need, she attacked the buttons on his shirt. Good. He didn’t help her; he loved this side of her—hot, hungry, forceful. It let him know he wasn’t the only one caught up in this crazy, disorienting lust.

  Her soft, wicked tongue licked at his collarbone, tracing it, and he tilted his head back, granting her more access to him. Jesus, her touch. It seared him. Tomorrow, he wouldn’t be surprised if he found scorch marks on his skin. Not when every caress and small bite branded pleasure into him. Her teeth lightly scored his chest, grazed his nipple. He lifted his head, the urge to watch a fevered compulsion.

  “Harder, sweetheart,” he muttered. “Mark me.” He wanted to glance down his body tomorrow and see the proof that she’d had him.

  Sighing, she sucked on him, lapping at the flat, dark brown peak before capturing it between her teeth and tugging. Pleasure rode the edge of pain, and he clenched his jaw, fighting the urge to whip her dress over her head and drive his cock into the heated, giving flesh between her legs. She wasn’t gentle, didn’t go easy on him, just as he’d demanded. When she switched to the other nipple, he almost objected, craving more of her special brand. But then she closed her mouth over him again, teasing the other nub to a hard point that she tortured with lips, tongue, and teeth
.

  Yanking the shirttails from the band of his pants, she glanced up at him, her mouth swollen and damp. The full, plump curves beckoned him, and he lowered his head, drawing her up his body. But she resisted, spreading the sides of his shirt wide and stroking her palms up his abdomen, over his chest, to his shoulders. She stared at him, her gaze almost…reverent. He’d been called hot, gorgeous, eye candy, and all other labels that meant women found him attractive. And he’d smiled and deflected, the compliments rolling off his back. But in this moment, with her eyes gleaming, and her breath breaking on her lips every time she swept her fingertips over his inked skin, he felt…beautiful. Worthy of the appreciation lighting her dark eyes.

  And fuck, didn’t that sound like he’d grown a vagina in the last five-point-two seconds.

  Emotion doesn’t have a place here. He grasped onto the reminder like it was a lifeline in a shark-infested ocean. Submerging the tenderness beneath the lust, he gripped her hips and hauled her forward, grinding his throbbing cock into the soft plane of her belly. She was so petite, sometimes he wanted to be gentler, more careful. But he couldn’t. She…incited something primal, raw, almost crude inside him. He wanted—needed—to get dirty with her. Get covered in her. Sink inside her…go down and never come back up for air. Who the fuck needed air when he could drown in her scent, her taste, her?

  Not that she seemed to desire gentle or careful. No, the harder he tugged on her hair…the firmer he held her…the faster and more powerful his thrusts into her body, the wetter, hotter, wilder she became. This woman didn’t mind how deep or dark he got; she craved it.

  Craved him.

  Eyes on his, she slowly unbuckled his belt and undid his pants. His lungs stuttered, then pumped faster, working overtime as she slid her hand inside and cupped him over his boxer briefs.

  “Damn it, Tenny,” he growled, bucking into her grip. Lust slammed into him, a sledgehammer rocking him back on his heels. He braced himself, spreading his thighs wider. Hell, just one squeeze, and she had him ready to blow like a preteen watching his first porno. Her fist stroked him, going up his length and pausing on the head, then retreating. Air rushed from him, and he forced himself to remain still under her unhurried exploration.

  “I’ve never had any desire to take a man in my mouth. But with you, it’s all I’ve been thinking about,” she murmured with another glide of her fist. “How you’ll taste. How you’ll feel. If I’ll be able to take all of you.”

  What? He could barely hear over the rushing of blood in his ears and the pleasure singing a goddamn aria in his veins. But when her words penetrated, shock and a primitive Me-Tarzan-You-Jane satisfaction and possessiveness swelled inside him, almost shoving aside the lust. Almost.

  “You going to let me be the first to fuck this pretty mouth?” he rasped, tracing her lips with a fingertip. She nodded, and he groaned, slipping three fingers past her teeth. Immediately, her tongue greeted him, curling around him. “So pretty,” he whispered as she licked at his fingers as if she were already on her knees swallowing his dick. In her fist, his flesh pounded like an anvil. His gut clenched, desire rushing so hot and hard, it was almost punishing.

  She gave his fingers one last lick, then, bending her knees, trailed her lips down his chest and abs.

  “Wait.” The order was harsher than he intended, but she straightened, her attention fixed solely on him. He shrugged out of his jacket and open shirt, nearly tearing the items off him and tossing them to the floor. The woman who’d helped him choose the $300 sports coat would probably stroke out to see him throw it at his feet for Tenny to kneel on. But he couldn’t think of a better use.

  As she sank to her knees in front of him, he once more tangled his hands in her gorgeous, untamable curls. Jesus, he might have developed an obsession with them. Their wildness that reflected the passion he’d been blind to until recently. The soft and coarse texture that reflected her delicacy and strength. Their beauty that others might find unconventional but he found to be just…her.

  He sucked in a breath as she tugged down the front of his boxer briefs and, closing her fist around his dick, pulled him free. Her sigh along his sensitive, taut flesh had him choking back a groan. The way she stared at him—as if his cock were one of those shiny, new culinary gadgets that excited her but she had yet to figure out how to use… His stomach muscles contracted, his abs in stark relief as he waited for her to figure him out. He didn’t rush her, exerting a control that would’ve made his performance on the football field laughable. The need to push his hips forward, part her lips, and sink into her mouth clawed at him. But he fought the urge, letting her take the lead, have him at her own speed and pleasure.

  He was a goddamn saint.

  His cock appeared almost brutish in her small hand, but she could take him. Just like she had last night. He stared, every bit of him concentrated on her lips drawing closer and closer to his throbbing flesh. Take it, sweetheart. Take it. The plea looped in his head like a desperate chant. In this moment, he longed to be inside her mouth more than he coveted any winning season, award, or trophy.

  Finally, fucking finally, she opened for him, took him inside, her heated warmth surrounding the swollen head. With a hum that vibrated around his dick, she swirled her tongue around the tip, lapping up the cum already easing out of him. Her lashes drifted down, hiding her gaze from him, but for once, he didn’t demand she look at him. The slashes of red over her cheekbones, the hungry sounds she probably wasn’t even aware of making telegraphed everything he needed to know. She loved this as much as he did. Yeah, maybe not as much. Her sweet mouth suctioning his cock, her tongue sliding along his length—it was a purgatory he never wanted to escape.

  Her head bobbed up and down, her cheeks hollow from the strong suck she gifted him with. One hand fisted the bottom half of his cock, pumping and covering what her mouth couldn’t take. Each wet glide, each earthy moan, each ravenous sweep of her tongue… Shit. She’d claimed to never have given head before. Any more “inexperienced,” and she would kill him.

  With a sigh, she lifted her head from him, licking him like one of her cake batter–covered spoons. And when she dipped her head lower, dragging a long, luxurious stroke over one of his balls before capturing it and drawing hard, he couldn’t contain the animalistic growl that tore from him. His fingers dug into her scalp, and a part of him repudiated himself for being too rough, but that caveman part only she seemed to provoke in him had broken free, and there was no wrestling him back into his civilized cage. Not with his balls in her mouth.

  She trailed her lips back up his dick, pausing to brush a kiss over the tip. But he was far past that. Grip firm and unyielding, he held her steady as he pushed between her puffy, abused lips. Pleasure—ripping, ruthless, relentless pleasure—surged through him, setting every nerve ending on fire. A live wire. He’d turned into a live wire, and she was the conduit.

  “Suck me, sweetheart. Pull me inside, and suck me like you mean it.” The words, thick and running on top of one another, were little more than an unintelligible rumble in his throat.

  But she must’ve understood because, lifting a hand to his balls and massaging the tight sac, she drew him farther into her, pushing forward on him until her lips bumped her pumping fist. Then she removed her hand, and Christ, she took more. The head nudged the back of her throat, and he forced himself not to jerk her forward that precious inch that would slip him into that narrow passage.

  First time. First time. The reminder whispered through the frenzied, excited din in his head like a silvery vein of reason. As close to the edge she shoved him, as surely as she stripped him of the veneer of civility, he could never forget who knelt before him, torturing him with a mouth that should have a Surgeon General warning slapped on it.

  Tennyson.

  Tenny.

  With the question of his sanity ringing in his ears, he slowly pulled free of her, and gently guided her to her feet.

  “Why didn’t you finish?” she objected, and th
e hoarse quality to her voice that was a result of his cock in her mouth almost had him pushing her back to her knees. “Didn’t you…?”

  She didn’t complete the question, but she didn’t need to. Crushing his mouth to hers, he plunged his tongue in the mouth that had just damn near driven him mad. “If I’d liked it any more, I might be brain dead,” he muttered against her lips. “But I want to come inside you. Deep inside.” With her convulsing around him.

  He glanced at the stairs, then down the hall. His room on the first level was too far; even those few moments of descending the staircase seemed too long to wait. Engulfing her hand in his, he led her down the hall to her room. In seconds, he had her stripped, on the bed, and his head buried between her thighs. Not until her thighs shook around his shoulders and her screams bounced off the walls did he stand and remove the rest of his clothes.

  Stroking his cock, he climbed back on the mattress and studied the bare, glistening, swollen folds and the tiny entrance that would soon stretch around him. Damn, she was lovely. Though his flesh ached and throbbed, he couldn’t help stroking his hands up her soft, silken body. The contrast between his golden skin and her coffee-and-cream complexion struck him as lovely. Sensual.

  Fascinated, he couldn’t drag his gaze from his long fingers sweeping over her belly, up her heaving chest and trembling breasts. In all the years Tenny and he had been friends, he’d never really seen the two of them as different. They’d had too many similarities—foster children, broken but strong, fighters, survivors. But now, with them naked and vulnerable, he viewed their diversity as if through newly opened eyes. And she’d—they’d—never been more beautiful. More…perfect.

  He trailed a hand over her shoulder, throat, and cupped her cheek while he slowly, deliberately thrust into her. Unlike last night, he didn’t ease into her. His free hand cradled her hip, holding her steady as he disappeared inside her. And her snug, silken, drenched flesh gloved him, embraced him. The urge to close his eyes and just savor the tight clasp and welcoming ripple of her pussy sang through him like an erotic melody. But he battled it, the need to keep his stare on the stretched entrance and folds taking him, accepting him even stronger. More vital.