Just Playin': Romantic Sports Comedy

by Shandi Boyes

  I nod. “What do you feel like? There’s a Vietnamese restaurant not too far from here, or Skylar swears by Chino’s on 42nd Street.”

  My interest piques when he mutters, “I think I can top both Italian and Vietnamese. What are your thoughts on an Elvis special?”

  “Swinging hips and all?”

  He throws his head back and laughs. His deep grumble adds to the sexual energy teeming between us. “If you’re lucky.”

  After saving my lip from my teeth, he throws his gearstick into first, then hightails it out of the parking lot. It doesn’t take me long to gather my bearings. With me house-sitting for Becca and Dalton during her short stay in the hospital, then their trip home to show off their new bundle of joy, the streets surrounding their home are as familiar to me as the ones around my university.

  “Couldn’t wait another hour to get into my panties?” I scan the manly hedges sheltering Elvis’s condo from prying eyes. “Where’s Danny? If he knew you were planning to bring me home, he would have rocked up with bells on.”

  “That’s why I didn’t tell him.” There’s no humor in his voice. He’s being dead serious. . . until he helps me out of his car. “I’m not trying to get into your panties—”

  “Like a dirty old man,” I fill in on his behalf.

  His teeth grit, but he nods all the same. “I just want to spend some time with you—alone. Is that okay?”

  I answer his question by asking one of my own, “Why wouldn’t it be?”

  He waits for me to shimmy my skirt down to a respectable level. “This is new.”

  “Yeah, and…?”

  “You don’t really know me. That might be scary to some women.”

  I quirk my lips. “True, but that doesn’t really apply to me, does it?” When he looks at me in confusion, I add on, “I’m not a woman. I’m only a college girl, remember?”

  His cheeks flame with heat as his pupils dilate. He looks seconds from coronary failure.

  “I’m joking.” I slap him in the chest, my mood extra playful. I love that he wants to spend time alone with me. “I am in college, but I’m one hundred percent legal. Do you want to see my license? I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

  My promise doesn’t ease the worry on his face. It continues to grow every second we spend standing across from each other in silence.

  Fearful he’s minutes from taking me home and tucking me into bed like the good little girl I’m not, I climb the stairs of his condo. “Which rock do you hide your key under? Dalton said it was by the door; he just failed to mentioned there’s over a dozen of them.”

  Grumbling about how he’s going to rearrange Dalton’s face, Elvis takes the stairs two at a time, jabs a key from his pocket into the lock, then swings open the door.

  “Don’t be grumpy. He wasn’t aware of our conflicting schedules when he suggested I surprise you at home by wearing nothing but a bow.” I scrape my recently grown nails across his chest before sauntering into his foyer.

  Wanting to see if my tease had the effect I was aiming for, I spin around to face him. He’s looking at me with so much heat, I miss the first step into his foyer. Lessons from previous incidents save me from doing the flappy-armed chicken dance. I’m going to fall with dignity even if it kills me.

  Thankfully, Elvis isn’t as clumsy as me. He seizes my wrist and tugs me forward with barely a second to spare. My crash into his torso most likely sustains me more injury than my fall would have, but in a good, I can’t wait to recreate it type of way. He’s right there—in front of me: a six-foot-four brick shithouse of muscles with a sexy smirk and an angled head. You can’t get any sexier than what I’m facing right now.

  When he notices me drinking him in, he smiles his crazily gorgeous grin. It’s the catalyst of an avalanche. Lips crash, hands wander, and moans not appropriate for an outdoor environment rip through my lips.

  My moans aren’t the only things being shredded. So is my skirt from Elvis hoisting me up his body so I can curl my legs around his thighs. My god, just stretching to span the width of his hips adds to the exhaustion of my overworked muscles, much less the growth I feel in his pants. His cock is throbbing against his zipper, begging to be released from its tight confines.

  As he starts our climb up the stairwell to his bedroom, I attempt to muffle my giggles with his tongue.

  It does me no good.

  “You better not be laughing, Willow.”

  “Me, laughing? Never.” I snicker over his stern, snapped-shut mouth before lashing his succulent lips with my tongue.

  He’s not having any of it. He stops our climb halfway up the stairwell before locking his more-blistering-than-the-sun eyes with me. “Why are you laughing? Is it because I’m walking stiffly? I can’t help it. My therapist said it will take years before my spine returns to its normal agility.”

  “What?” I’m more confused now than amused. “I was giggling about your stiffness—it just had nothing to do with your back. When I felt how hard you were, all I could imagine was The Hulk breaking through a brick wall, but since your penis shouldn’t be green— if it is, I suggest you consult your doctor—all I saw when he burst through the wall was one of the snakes on Medusa’s hair. Do you know the ones I’m talking about? The hissing, cute, penis-colored ones?”

  I’m rambling because I’m nervous, and the fact I’m nervous makes me even more nervous. I don’t get nervous. I’m not a cocky person, but I can’t be accused of being shy either.

  “We should have just fucked in the foyer, then I wouldn’t have made an idiot out of myself.”

  When I wiggle my hips, silently demanding for Elvis to put me down, he stays holding on firm. “Look at me.”

  Feeling as deflated as I’m sure his cock is now, I shake my head.

  “Willow. . .” The roll of his hips is more effective than the demand in his voice. The only deflation issue in this stairwell is mine.

  When I lift my eyes to his, he winks. “You think my cock is The Hulk?”

  “Seriously?! That’s all you got from that?”

  He throws his hips forward two times, increasing the dampness in my panties. “I’m a man, Will, so your confession has me wanting to Hulk-smash your ass.”

  “Settle down, big boy. Hulk-smash and ass should never be mentioned in the same sentence. How about we start with my front hole, then, when you’ve aced that test, we’ll discuss the possibilities of extracurricular activities?”

  Now I’m not the only one laughing—thank god. A little bit of playfulness puts our exchange back on the track it was traveling before I stupidly laughed, although it’s a little friskier now. The way he tosses me onto his bed reveals the fun I’m about to have—and then there’s the removal of his shirt.

  “Still not fair,” I murmur to myself. I didn’t think it was possible for his body to get more spectacular than what it was, but if my mental calculations are anything to go by, his body is more rigid now than it was three weeks ago.

  Insecurities plague me when my eyes take in the deep carves of his eight-pack, the indented lines of his formidable V muscle, and the brawny span of his hips. His body isn’t compact, but it’s not squidgy like mine. The bumps in my stomach aren’t muscles. The girth of my arms isn’t from the gym, and my thigh gap isn’t natural. It’s from Elvis’s knee bracing between my legs as he leans over to reacquaint our lips. We couldn’t be any more opposite if we tried. I’m soft and fluffy, and he’s hard and firm, but his mouth tastes really, really good, and I don’t want to give it up for anything.

  Before any of the stupid thoughts in my head can make me pull away, Elvis withdraws his mouth first. He stares down at me with hooded eyes as his hand moves to the hem of my shirt. I love what I’m seeing in his eyes so much, I curl my hand over his to aid in his endeavor to strip me bare.

  The air hissing between his teeth when my breasts fall heavily on my chest tells me I did the right thing, much less the throbbing member I feel tensing on my thigh. He likes the bra I selecte
d with the hope this is how our night would end up, but he’s more interested in what’s happening underneath the velvety red material.

  “I’m like a kid in a candy store. I don’t know which goodie to sample first.”

  I wiggle my breasts in his face. “Go for the gobstoppers. They’re more than a mouthful, but they last the longest since they never tire.”

  His laughing breaths nib my neckline before his lips, then his teeth join the party a few seconds after that. “You don’t need to worry, buttercup. By the time I’m finished with you, it won’t be just your jaw aching.”

  He tugs my earlobe with his teeth before lowering his mouth to suckle on my skin. He bites and kisses my neck, collarbone, and chest. His movements are slow, like he’s cherishing every moment, but fast, like he doesn’t want to lose the chance to sample every inch of me.

  Like that will ever be a possibility.

  When he reaches my panties, which are red and completely soaked through with my desire, he raises his eyes to mine. He stares at me for ages, his breath fanning my panties, his eyes arrested on mine over the globes of flesh on my chest.

  He waits and waits and waits until I am at the point of desperation before slipping my panties to the side and slicing through my heat with his tongue. I call out as my back arches. Unlike the kisses he cherished my body with, he consumes my pussy with greedy licks and frantic sucks. He takes me to a place of hysteria within a matter of minutes. It is a beautifully twisted ride that treads the fine line of insanity.

  My ass lifts from the sheets with a groan tearing from my throat. I feel like I’m spiraling out of control, like I’m on the verge of either a panic attack or reaching the highest crest I’ve ever climbed.

  He devours me fast, eating me expertly with grunts as feral as mine. I come undone when his hand slithers up my stomach to cup my still-covered breast. His hand is so large, even my natural DDs pale in comparison.

  I shatter like a glass, my orgasm rushing over me, pulling me into the darkness weighing heavily on my chest. While quivering through the pleasure blasting through every inch of me, my moans ramp up to a never-before-reached level. He should stop now. He should be pulling back. Instead, he circles his lips around my clit before slipping two fingers into my clenching core.

  “Oh God. Oh God. Please, no. Oh god, no.” My orgasm has no end in sight. It keeps pummeling into me, taking every bit of energy I have left. “I can’t do this. . . Holy fucking. . . Christ.”

  I dig my toes into the massive muscles on the top of Elvis’s shoulders and push back. I free my pussy from his mouth for barely a second before he snares my ankle and drags me back. He eats me like the Beast eating porridge, a sloppy, messy consumption that has my second giggle of the night rumbling in my chest cavity. Damn Skylar and her obsession with Disney movie GIFs. I’ve never seen the Beast in the same light since she showed me a GIF last year with comments way too rude for the movie’s PG rating.

  My laughter is pushed aside when Elvis’s growl roars through my pussy. “Willow. . .”

  “I’m not laughing. I swear. I just need a breather. Just for a second.”

  I drag the curls sticking to my face out of the way before crawling across the sticky sheets. After wiping evidence of my arousal off his face with the back of his hand, Elvis watches me span the distance between us. He’s still wearing trousers, but I know he is hard. I can see the massive bulge in his crotch, much less the wetness at one side.

  “How about I return the favor? You’ve eaten, so it’s only fair I get to have a little nibble as well.”

  Little is not the right word for me to use while freeing Elvis’s cock from his trousers. There’s not a single little about him. Not a single fucking thing.

  “Do you hear that? I think I hear my mom calling.”

  I slip off the bed and charge for the stairwell, running away from a penis I have no doubt will snap me in half. My bunged knee gives me enough issues, so I sure as hell ain’t volunteering to become a cripple.

  A panicked moan—or is it a turned on one?—rolls up my chest when Elvis bands his arm around my waist and draws me back. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “I thought I could whip you up a sandwich? Egg and lettuce on rye with a large side of lube coming up!”

  His laugh doubles the wetness between my legs, but I’m still not convinced I can take him. There should be a law against men with penises as large as his—or at least a warning label.

  “What are you looking for?” Elvis asks after dropping his boxer shorts to huddle around his ankles with his pants.

  “They have warnings about small parts being a choke hazard, so where’s the one warning me I risk asphyxiation because a penis is too large to fit down my throat?”

  When Elvis laughs for the second time in under a minute, I raise my eyes to his, taking in his splayed thighs, a cock too perfect to massacre my lady bits, eight rock-hard bumps, and a set of pecs I intend to burrow my face and cry into when he claims a virginity I didn’t realize I still had.

  Faking annoyance at his ruggedly handsome grin and lust-filled gaze, my eyes slit. “Are you laughing at me, Old Man?”

  Ha! Take that.

  “Holy guacamole!” My bra strap rolls up my back when Elvis hooks my ankle, drags me down the bed, then flips me over as if I’m weightless.

  “I’m not smiling. I’m preparing.”

  “To die a death more painful than a thousand if you hurt me?” I question through quirked brows.

  Excited quivers shimmy down my spine when he arches over my back to whisper in my ear, “I’m not going to hurt you, Willow.” His voice is so fucking sexy. “I’m just gonna Hulk-smash your ass.”

  Not anymore, it ain’t.

  I crawl across the sheets on my hands and knees, my endeavor to get away only halting when Elvis chuckles, “I’m joking. I’ve heard this angle makes Hulk Junior a little easier to take.”

  It’s not just his words bringing me back. It’s the image of him rolling a condom down his cock. My god, there is nothing sexier than a thick, hot, virile hunk of a man prepping to get down and dirty. I can hear Christina Aguilera’s “Dirty” song in my ear right now. It brings out my naughty side, my filthy side, my I’m so goddamn horny, I’ll take his dick like I was born to ride it side.

  I’ve been wanting to get frisky with Elvis since his Tarzan-ass walked into my life, so why the hell am I cowering away like a baby who can’t handle a big chunk of man meat? I eat my steak practically raw; you can’t get more prepared for battle than that.

  Although I’m ready, willing, and able—finally—I can’t help but ask, “What do you do during a drought?” When Elvis looks at me, confused, I give him a flirty wink. “There’s no need to stock raincoats in a drought, so do you buy condoms in bulk during the wet season, or do you just rinse them out once you’re done and hang them outside to dry?”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Presley

  I f you ever told me you had more gut cramps from laughing during sex than sexual exertion, I would have told you you weren’t doing it right. Now I’m being forced to eat my words.

  Willow.

  Willow.

  Willow.

  What can I say about Willow? Divine body, gorgeous face, and a pussy that drizzles like honey on hot toast when she comes. Fuck me, she’s damn near perfect. . . once I get her mouth occupied with something other than rambling.

  I was right about her lips, soft as a cloud but as greedy as a woman about to be locked in a nunnery. She took my dick like a real pro, her eyes only bulging when I got a little eager with my pumps. I couldn’t help it. Her eyes darken when she’s horny, and her sweet scent intensifies. Add those two factors to the image of her naked body plastered on the mattress as I fed my cock in and out of her mouth. . . sweet lord, that’s what dreams are made from.

  I will never take anything unwillingly given—the last thing I need is a sexual harassment claim—so I had no choice but to tease Willow to the point of begging
before consummating our union in one of the many ways I’ve dreamed about the past six weeks.

  I’m hard now just thinking about the way her lips parted when I notched in the first four inches of my cock. Her pussy sucked at me ravenously, her desire to be claimed overtaking the worry her eyes held when they first landed on my cock. Even with only an hour of sleep, I’m not eager for more—sleep that is. Who needs sleep when you’ve got a woman like Willow warming your sheets?

  Well, she was warming my sheets. Now my hands are coming up empty.

  While scrubbing the sleep from my eyes, I rise to a half-seated position. Unlike the morning she tried to sneak out, her clothes are still spread across the floor, and her shoes are tucked nicely under my drawers. The purse we dumped halfway across the room remains where it fell. Even with all the evidence stacking up in my favor, I didn’t need it to know she is here. I can sense her closeness in my gut. It’s that same tight tension I feel in the seconds leading to me running onto the field, the one a mere nanosecond from my breaking out of the walkway and the crowd spotting me. It’s excitement and anticipation with a dash of fear.

  That’s what I feel every time I think about Willow.

  After tugging on a pair of sleeping pants, I make my way down the stairwell. My muscles are feeling the aftermath of a night of exhausting activities, but my steps are silent. It’s a trick my physical therapist taught me. By lightening the load on my ankles, I lighten the load on my spine.

  With the faint hum of a tune coming out of the living room, I head that direction first instead of toward the kitchen, which has a light on. I recognize the music Willow’s iPhone is playing. Not because I’m a fan, but because Danny forced me to watch all three movies in a movie marathon only last week. This song was featured in the last movie we watched. It was actually my favorite out of all three—not that I’ll ever tell Danny that.

  I spot Willow when I enter my dining room. She standing next to an antique table covered with photos of my family and friends. Her hair is a mess from how tightly I gripped it while fucking, and the stage makeup she had on has all but vanished. She’s wearing the shirt I discarded earlier, and from the lack of panty line, I can assume it is the only article of clothing she is wearing.