Played: A Novel (Gridiron Series Book 4)

by Jen Frederick

  I grab the strap and pull her back. “Right now? What's the rush?”

  “Well, if there is a Sharknado, I don't want to get hit by the debris.” With that, she tugs out of my grip and slips out the door.

  Traitor.

  I pick up the phone and call in my order.

  “Chicken breast. Plain. Cooked with chicken broth, if possible. With a side of steamed veggies. For me, I'll take a bacon cheeseburger with extra fries. And a milkshake.” I tack on the drink for good measure. Who knows what kind of medicating I'll need to do after this talk.

  “You should skip the first order and just serve the cardboard that the hamburger comes in,” snarks the order taker.

  I ignore him. “There's a buzzer on the door. Apartment four-one-three.”

  “Got it. Be around fifteen minutes.”

  I thank the guy, get my cash out, and then sit down to wait. A minute later, I stand. After a few seconds, I start pacing. As each second ticks by, my nerves become increasingly frayed. The firm knock on the door makes me jump two feet straight into the air.

  “Who is it?” My heart beats loudly. The delivery guy is supposed to call from the entry.

  “Ty,” he announces.

  I'm not ready. Too bad I already revealed I'm home or I could go into the bedroom and hide again. Slowly, I force my feet toward the door.

  He knocks again.

  “I’m coming,” I say. Irritated, I whip it open. “I heard you the first time.”

  His arched eyebrow speaks volumes. He pushes inside and takes a quick look around. “Where's Fleur?”

  “Leon's.”

  He nods. “Good. Come on then.” He motions for me to step away from the door.

  I cling to the handle. “I don't want to.”

  “I know you don't, otherwise you wouldn't have kept your mouth shut for the last three weeks, but we're going to have this out anyway.”

  “What if I don't want to?”

  He places his hands on his hips.

  It's inappropriate, but I can't help noticing how perfect his frame is. His proportions are amazing. The leg to torso ratio is flawless. He has the ideal inverted triangle from his shoulders to his waist. His good looks make me angry and hungry at the same time. Hangry.

  “Ara.”

  “Sorry.” I shut the door and go into the kitchen, where I busy myself with the glasses and plates. “Do you want water or milk? I ordered a milkshake, but I know you're on a diet. I think I have skim milk if that's what you want. I guess water's the best, right? I ordered you a chicken breast—”

  “Ara,” he says.

  I stop midpour. “You want something else?”

  “Yes, for you to stop being so nervous.” He pulls the glass out of my hand and sets it on the counter. “Come over here and sit down.” He leads me over to the sofa and sits next to me.

  We've sat on this sofa together a million times, but it's never felt this small. I fidget, trying to figure out the best way to explain my silence and still keep our relationship on the same, even course it was before.

  “Why are you so nervous?” He hasn't let go of my hand. In fact, he's tracing small circles on the back of it, and I can feel the tingles he's creating all the way up to my arm.

  I jerk out of his grip. “Why are you randomly touching me?” I accuse, hiding my hands away underneath my armpits.

  “We're friends, Ara. Friends touch each other.” There's a trace of humor in his voice and I swear he moves closer.

  I slide away. “Yes, we are friends.” I emphasize the F word. “Which is why I don't know why we're even having this talk.”

  “What kind of talk is this?”

  “How's Kathleen?” I try desperately to buy some time.

  “Ara.”

  The way he says my name—softly and without a hint of irritation—makes me feel small and foolish.

  I clear my throat. He waits. I clear it again. My throat feels scratchy when I start to explain. “You're a very important person in my life. Other than my dad, you know me the best. Your friendship means the world to me. I don't want that to change.”

  “And?”

  “And…” I scratch my bare toe against the carpet. “And that's why I think we should just forget what happened. It's why I tried to forget what happened.”

  “What if I don't want to forget? What then?”

  Because I'm too much of a coward to look him in the eye, I stare at his hands. I break out in a light sweat thinking about how his fingers counted every ridge on my spine, how his palms smoothed a path up my legs, how he spread my thighs to make room for his hard, heavy body.

  Ugh. I have to stop thinking that way. Angry with myself, I blurt out, “We got drunk and then horny and because we were the only two people in the room, we took our horniness out on each other. End of story.”

  “So you're saying every time you're drunk and horny, you're making out with someone? Because I've been drunk and horny around my teammates plenty of times and have successfully avoided climbing into bed with any of them.”

  I throw up my hands. “What do you want me to say?”

  “I want you to be honest.” The softness is turning hard and grim.

  “Where's your honesty?” I shoot back. “Why do I feel like I'm the one on trial here? I wasn't the only one in that bed.”

  He reaches out and grabs my chin, forcing me to look at him.

  “I thought I'd give you the chance to address it first, but fine, my honesty is that the night at the Hyatt is one of the hottest experiences I've ever had.”

  I stare at him in shock. “You didn't even remember it until last night.”

  “No, I remembered it.” His beautiful lips press into a flat line. “I thought I'd dreamt it, because you don't like me that way, remember? You've always said we were the best of friends, so yeah, I'd have flashes of what we did, get hard, and tell myself to shut up about it because we were friends and you didn't want that. But now that I've figured out it wasn't a dream and that it all happened, I don't think I can go back.”

  I slap a hand over his mouth. “Don't say anything more. Just don't,” I plead. “I want you in my life as my friend, Ty. That's always been the case. Girlfriends and boyfriends come and go, but we can be friends forever. That's better than anything. If you say what I think you're going to say, you'll break the friendship seal. Can't we just forget about what happened? Pretend it didn't happen and go forward?”

  Above my fingers, his eyes glint dangerously at me. I drop my hand and move to the very end of the sofa.

  He's quiet for a moment and then, “Is that what you really want?”

  It hurts to nod, but I do. A light flickers out in his eyes and guilt and sadness wash over me in a wave.

  To my surprise, Ty gets to his feet. His lips curl into an awkward smile. “If that's what you want, then that's what we'll do. Just like our freshman year. I'll see you around.”

  Those words sound so final. He walks out without a glance behind him, but he doesn't slam the door. He opens it and quietly slips out. I think if he'd had shown some emotion—some anger or frustration—I might have run after him.

  But the total lack of emotion tells me that I was right. We should push that night at the Hyatt into the very back of our memory bank and never take it out again.

  Being right doesn't stop the tears from forming, though. I blink rapidly to keep them from spilling over.

  Then the door flies open, crashing against the wall with a bang. Ty appears in the open doorway. In two strides, he's at the sofa and in another move, he has me in his arms. His mouth latches onto mine. Big hands slide under my ass and position me directly over his very, very hard shaft. I can't prevent a moan from escaping.

  “Fuck the friendship seal,” he growls.

  21

  Ty

  I keep my mouth over hers as I hoof it to her bedroom. My dick rubs against her with every step. This is torture. The best kind, but still excruciating, barely survivable torture.

  In
side Ara’s bedroom, I lower her onto the bed. Or, more accurately, I toss her onto the bed and follow her down, kissing her again until she's breathless.

  Her small hands curl around my neck and her mouth opens beneath mine. I taste her lips, her tongue, the inner recesses of her mouth. I swallow her moans—the tiny, whispering things that rise from her throat whenever I press hard against her sex.

  I want to kiss her everywhere. The curve of her cheek. The fluttering pulse at the base of her neck. The strong thighs. The pert tits. The sweet pussy.

  I keep kissing her, not giving her time to spout off more excuses, not giving her time to bring up some stupid friendship code, not allowing her to say no.

  Hold up. I force my lips off of hers. My heart's racing and my dick is so hard it might break off, but not giving her an out, not allowing her to say no isn't right. I want her with me the whole way. Nothing more than her full agreement is going to be enough for me or we'll be right back where we started—her protesting and me wanting.

  “You with me, Ara?”

  She stares numbly up at me. Her lips are wet, plump, and cherry red. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from attacking her mouth again.

  “Ara,” I repeat, my voice unintentionally harsh.

  The sharp tone wakes her up, though.

  “I'm with you.”

  I drag a shaky hand over my mouth, almost weak with relief. “All right. All right.”

  Those are the only two words I can form. I slide off the bed and kneel on the ground. She sits up uncertainly. Her dark hair falls over one shoulder. I brush it aside.

  The sweatshirt she has on is mine. I pull the fabric down far enough to expose her golden skin. “You're wearing my clothes.”

  “Is that a crime?” Her voice is as scratchy as my own.

  “Yep. Thievery.” I press my lips against the apple of her shoulder. I lay small kisses along her collarbone, stopping when I reach the hollow of her throat. “I'll let it go if you return my stuff.”

  “What happens if I don't?” she says.

  I rub a hand over the side of her ass. “Then you get punished.”

  She shudders beneath my grip. I nearly come in my jeans. My fingers tighten around her hip and pull her to the edge of the bed. “Is that what you need? A good spanking? Because I can do that for you. I can do anything you want,” I whisper darkly.

  “You're a lot of talk right now,” she gasps out.

  “Is that right?” I grab the neck of the sweatshirt and rip it in two. She falls silent and I take the moment to drink in her bare tits. I have a brief flashback of this scene and curse myself for being so drunk that I can't remember exactly what she looked like the first time.

  I know now and I won't forget.

  She's perfectly shaped. Her tits are round and perky topped with pert, pointed nipples. I don't need a second invitation. I dive in, mouthing one and pinching the other between a thumb and forefinger.

  Ara moans a sweet sound of encouragement. I lavish her breasts with attention until she's writhing under me. Everything in me screams for release, but I have so many places on her body that I want to explore. Somehow I find my self-control.

  I let go of her tits and move south. She makes a protesting sound.

  “No, baby, I'm not leaving you,” I soothe. “I'm visiting new places.”

  “Ty,” she whines, tugging at my hair. “I want to kiss you.”

  “Patience, sweet thing. Patience.” It's as much advice to me as it is to her.

  I peel off her thin, stretchy pants and her equally thin, barely there panties. Her body heaves with want, and I clench my muscles tight in response.

  “Look at how pretty you are,” I whisper, dragging my fingers down a bare patch of skin to delve between her legs. Her arousal slicks my fingers. I ease two fingers inside her tight channel. “There you are. So good.”

  “Sooo good,” she echoes.

  “Just like I remember.”

  Her breath catches at my words. I wonder how much she recalls. The vague memories of that night have screwed with my mind for weeks. Touching her like this brings everything into sharp focus. Her sounds, her feel, her scents all come flooding back, filling in those black and white memories with vivid, bright color.

  I fuck her with my fingers, long and deep thrusts. My cock aches and twitches, wanting desperately to feel the hot, wet clutch of her body. But I want to make her come with just my hand. I want to feel her nerves quiver with excitement. I want the flood of her release to cover my palm.

  I want to taste her. I spread her thighs and muscle my shoulders between her legs. Her pussy is pretty, pink, and flushed, all primed and ready for me.

  I lay my tongue flat, not rushing. Not this time. This memory will be etched in the part of my brain that remembers the first quarterback I sacked, the first touchdown I scored, the first championship I won.

  I let the flavor of her seep onto my tongue.

  Her fingers dig into my scalp and hold me tight against her. Yeah, she's with me. One hundred percent with me.

  She tastes like heaven. I simultaneously want to stay down here, drinking at the well of her desire, and pound into her until my aching dick falls off.

  She takes the decision out of my hands. A quick jerk on my hair has me looking up.

  “I want that.” She points between my legs. “Inside me. Now.”

  I swipe the back of my hand across my mouth. She doesn't like the hesitation.

  “Now,” she repeats.

  I have my clothes off in a nanosecond. Dick in hand, I ready myself for the first plunge when I realize I'm going in raw. I roll off, cursing. “Fuck. Condom,” I explain.

  “Hurry,” she begs. Her fingers slip inside herself and my head nearly blows off.

  I dive for my jeans and fumble around for the condom. I haven't felt this inept since my first day of camp at SU when I realized that every single guy on my team was better than the best guy I played against in high school.

  I roll the condom on and crawl over her body.

  The first slide inside her has my eyes rolling into the back of my head. She convulses and I nearly come.

  “Fuck, hold on,” I gasp. I press a hand on her pelvis. “Don't move.” She squirms under my grip. I bite my tongue. “Shit. Shit. Shit.”

  This is scary good.

  I inhale a shallow, shaky breath. I can't get any more oxygen in my lungs. I can barely function. I'm reduced to one motion and one motion only. Sliding in and out of Ara’s body.

  Her skin is smooth and supple and soft. Different from me in every way. I rough her up with my teeth, the hair on my legs, the calluses on my palms. She shivers, writhes, shudders with each movement.

  We find a rhythm, hot and hard. I don't know if it's because we've been friends for so long, but we're in perfect sync, moving together as if we've done this a thousand times before.

  Her thighs tighten around my hips. I can feel myself coming apart, splintering into tiny shards as she groans and stiffens beneath me. She cries out, tips her neck back and freezes. The tight clutch of her grows even firmer and I can't hold out any longer. I shout out my release, shooting so hard into the rubber that I fear I'm breaking it. I come down off the mountain slowly, blind and shaking from the power of my orgasm.

  Holy holy holy Christ. Is this what I've been missing for four years?

  I collapse, angling my body slightly to the left so I don't crush her. She's still mostly squashed beneath me. I wish I had the energy to move, but I don't.

  “Push me off,” I mumble into the mattress. “Because I can't move.”

  “I don't want to,” she replies. I feel the light weight of a blanket being thrown over my back.

  I turn my head to see a sliver of skin behind a curtain of hair. I manage to summon up the energy to sweep it aside, exposing her small ear and the curve of her cheek. Both spots beg for me to come and explore.

  I get up, take care of the condom, and climb back into bed with her.

  “How can
you move?” she asks. Her arms are flung above her head.

  “How can I not?” I counter. “I think I missed this spot the first time.” I taste the tender space behind her ear. “And this one.” I flick my tongue against the underside of her jawline.

  She trembles lightly. My dick stirs in response. I sweep a hand down her side, pausing to cradle her breast and then moving lower to mark the indent at her waist and still lower to feel the jut of her hipbones. “And all of these.”

  A bold hand curls around my cock. “What about me? I didn't get a chance at this.”

  I pause in my exploration. “You didn't?”

  “Not this time or last time.” She flips me over onto my back. “I think it's my turn now.”

  I fold my arms behind my head and pretend to be at ease, despite every muscle in my body quivering in anticipation. “Do your worst, baby.”

  An evil smile crosses her face. “You're in trouble now, boy.”

  She moves backward, ass up, elbows down until her face is level with my crotch. I sweep the blanket off so I can look at her body. Her ass sways as she gets into position.

  I don't know that I'm going to survive this.

  “Tell my family I loved them,” I say as her mouth descends. “I had a good life.”

  She laughs. Small puffs of air breeze across my stiff shaft.

  “Don't laugh. It's never good to laugh when you're this close to a man's cock.”

  “I don't see you deflating at all,” she teases.

  I form a joke about footballs, but it never makes it past my lips because Ara takes me in her mouth. The minute her tongue touches my cock, I'm dead.

  She brings me to life with another lick and then kills me with the next. The deadly process repeats itself until I'm a babbling, mindless idiot who can't say anything more than, “yes, please, faster, there. Oh, fuck, yes.”

  I manage to gain some semblance of control and tap her on the side of her head when I'm about to come. She doubles down, opening her throat to swallow me whole. God must love me, I think as I empty myself into her mouth. It's the only explanation for why I'm here in Ara's bed with her hot mouth covering my cock.