by Lynn Shurr
Alix stepped back and poked Tom’s chest with one strong finger. “Don’t say thanks. Clean that up, and meet me in the bedroom.”
“Yours or mine?” Simple question, stunned expression.
“Mine.” Sometimes, a woman or a football player had to take charge, and she was both.
Alix left Tom picking shards from the area rug. She strode into her bedroom feeling powerful and free of doubt. Kicking off those beautiful heels that were killing her feet, she maneuvered out of the chiffon dress, flung it over the slipper chair, and stretched out full length on her blue and white embroidered bedspread. She’d invested in this fancy underwear, and by damn, someone should appreciate it.
Tom most certainly did. A low whistle escaped his lips as he took in the scene. Little stood between him and Alix except a scrap of peach lace and a front-clasp bra. He toed out of his sneakers. Strangely, he chose to shuck his somewhat baggy Saturday jeans first. Alix enjoyed watching them drop to reveal those lengthy muscular legs with their light coating of russet hair. Long and strong, his erection strained against a pair of red boxer briefs. Pausing for a moment, he opened the three buttons of his dark green polo shirt and slowly drew it over his head.
She loved this slow striptease, but couldn’t hold in a gasp at the end. “You’re naked—I mean hairless—and freckled all over.”
“Yep, all over, everywhere.” Tom shed his briefs as if to make his point. “I had my chest waxed for you—because I sure wouldn’t go through that for anyone else.”
“I’ve had bikini waxes. I appreciate what you suffered for me, but I’m glad you left the fuzz on your balls.”
“I’m not that brave.”
Alix cupped her large hand. “I want them right here, right now.”
“I’m eager to please.” He straddled her body at the waist and gave her maximum exposure. While she fondled, Tom opened her bra and did the same to her breasts. His touch was light and firm, not heavy like Vince. He played with her nipples, thumbing them, as she stroked his shaft.
“Been dreaming of this,” he murmured, eyes closed.
“Me, too.”
His warm brown eyes opened. “I knew we’d like the same things, but give me a minute.”
“Awww!”
He slid down the length of her body, hooked the lace panties on the way, and took them with him. Finding a condom in the pocket of his jeans, he held it up. “Gotta suit up.”
“I’m on the pill, and I trust you.”
“Famous last words. I promised my dad. Besides, if I got you pregnant, Coach would have my furry balls.”
“I wouldn’t want that to happen.”
“Neither would I.” He got the condom on none too deftly in his hurry but very snug and made his way back up her body, kissing her toes, the arch of her foot, the inside of her thighs, the apex of her sex until he seated himself in her cleft and moved slowly against her most sensitive spot. His hands possessed her breasts again and his tongue her mouth. She pressed against him and folded her long legs over his back as she felt the tension building low in her body. Urging him inside, Alix pressed hard with her heels.
“Patience,” he whispered. “Let it come.”
The orgasm came fast and lasted long enough for him to slip in and recreate the sensation again with swift, sure strokes going deep. The second time he joined her.
“Tom!” Alix shouted his name.
****
They snuggled under the covers. Alix’s fair hair fanned across the smooth expanse of his chest. Her blue eyes remained closed, but she stroked his torso. Tom marveled that she’d invited him into her bed without fine words or fancy dates. He still owed her a cruise and wouldn’t renege on that, but they fit so perfectly together. He’d known they would since the moment she’d taken off her helmet on Rookie Day and revealed her sex, the ideal woman for Tom Billodeaux, kicker.
“I kind of miss it.”
“Miss what—because we can do it, whatever you want.”
“Your chest hair. I used to fantasize about licking ebelskiver crumbs from it. Not that this isn’t nice.” She patted one bald pec.
“Hair grows back, and if you tell me I’ll never have to undergo another waxing, I’ll ask you to be mine forever.”
She answered immediately. “Never wax your chest or anywhere else again.”
“Mine forever.” Tom wrapped both arms around her.
She probably thought he was joking, Tom the jester, Tom the funny guy. But he meant those words. She’d lain herself out for him. Her breasts, not large but enough to fill his hands, that patch of pale hair between her legs, soft and inviting, her hips wider than a man’s and so beautifully formed he wanted to enter from the back simply to fondle her cheeks as he did with her urging him on. Alix, Alix, Alix. He hadn’t shouted her name. Now he whispered it and realized she’d drifted to sleep with complete trust in his arms. He wouldn’t have to call her in the morning because he intended to be right here when she woke.
Chapter Twenty
Training camp took up where it left off under a blanket of steaming humidity. Tom would rather have stayed home under his own blanket with Alix by his side and the air-conditioner blasting but nothing he could do about it. He’d sent her for ice from the snow pile, teasing that as senior kicker he got to tell her what to do. “We’ll see about that tonight,” she whispered as she went on her way.
Dean paused for a break and sidled up next to his brother. “You and Alix did the deed, right?”
“How did you know?” Tom watched Alix bend from the waist to fill the cups. So did a few of the other players.
“Your freckles give you away. When you came back from Ilsa’s place they were a deeper orange. Now they practically glow red.”
“Huh?” Tom grabbed the nearest shiny surface, a black Sinners helmet, and tried to catch his reflection in it.
Dean elbowed him. “Gotcha. And they say I don’t have a sense of humor.”
“Never believed it for a minute.” Tom tossed the helmet to the ground.
“You wearing your rubber raincoats?”
“I am. I promised Dad—which is why Ilsa had your baby and not mine. Besides, I don’t want to get in the record books for being the first guy to impregnate an NFL football player.”
The humor of the second statement took the sting out of the first. Dean smiled ruefully, admitting the truth of both. “That would definitely be a new one.”
“I thought Vince might have said something about us. I don’t want Alix’s name spread all over the locker room.” Tom squinted hard at Vince still out on the field. He received a friendly wave in return.
“No, Vince was quite the gentleman. He said he thought you two might get together because neither one of you can sing, dance, or knows shit about art. No hard feeling on his part.”
“Pink,” Tom said.
“Huh?”
“Resilient, able to bounce back.”
“That’s Vince for you. Oooh, did you see that hit he took when he stopped to wave to you just now? He’s getting up, shaking it off.”
Alix arrived with three paper cups full of ice chips. Tom poured a bottle of blue sports drink over them. She held out a snow cone to Dean. “I thought you might like one, too.”
“Thanks. I never turn one down.” Dean grinned at the couple and raised the cup in a toast. “To the future, yours and the Sinners.”
“He knows,” Tom told Alix.
“But how? We’ve been careful to keep it quiet.” She’d pinked up, but not from the extreme heat.
“Because I’ve never seen any two kickers touching fingertips when handing the other a ball from the pile or gazing into each other’s eyes. Just don’t let it get in the way of the game, okay?”
“We won’t,” they both swore.
Having done his duty as team captain, Dean returned to the field and the grueling exercises that would get the team ready for the first pre-season game not all that far away.
“I don’t know why he’s worried,�
� Alix said.
“Sure, we’ll be fine, sweetheart.” Tom let the endearment slip and glanced around to see if anyone heard. Nope, grunts and groans from their fellow players drowned it out.
****
The pre-season games came up fast. Dean played a quarter or two, then let his backup take the field while the rookies strained to prove themselves and avoid last minute cuts from the team. Prince Dobbs ran like he had the devil on his tail, caught balls as if they were live grenades he couldn’t let hit the ground, danced and gave credit to dreadlocked Jesus in the end zone. He was super-hot with the constant threat of a trade to the cold of Cleveland always hanging over his head. Tom and Alix, being the only kickers, played in every game, good experience for her, easy-peasy for him.
Life at the condo couldn’t be better. Tom took her on that moonlight cruise, free of paparazzi on the water. Alix wore the lacy white dress because he’d asked her to. They danced close in the lounge as a band played slow, moody jazz. Tom sprang for a bottle of champagne and cracked crab, but he had the feeling Alix would have been just as happy with a cold beer and a platter of chicken wings at Mariah’s. Seeking out a dark corner, they made out so hard, both prayed for the boat to return to the dock where they could make a dash for home and the bedroom.
Dutifully, they hung out with the team, mostly sitting with Dean and Stacy who imbibed only ginger ale. They did what Dean still called their whooping crane dance, but Alix went out on the floor with other guys as they’d agreed to keep a low profile about their relationship, not that Tom liked it much. He sometimes steered Stacy around, but he didn’t hold her close enough to feel her little baby bump because that would be weird. He had no desire for anyone else but Alix.
One morning, Alix greeted him wearing a brand new full-length apron and a wide grin. When she turned back to the stove to pour the pancake batter, Tom noticed she wore only a pair of tiny, black bikini panties beneath it. He came close behind her, his robe parting over his erection, and found her breasts naked under the bib. As he massaged, he said in her ear, “I’m testing your ability to overcome distraction and concentrate on getting the job done.”
“Which job?” she answered, as he slid down the scrap of panties, and she stepped out of them.
“Cooking breakfast, of course.” The crinkle of the condom wrapper being opened betrayed his true intent.
He slid his penis between her thighs and worked it back and forth as Alix flipped the pancakes and moved with him. With Tom’s hands on her breasts and his lips nibbling down her neck, she removed the flapjacks from the plates and poured two more. She let them sizzle as he entered her, pressed her hard against the stove, and worked up a rhythm that had her buckling over the burner in record time. Breathing hard, she turned the pancakes to keep them from blackening. As Tom shuddered against her rear, she lifted their breakfast to the plates, turned off the heat, and said, “Now!”
He moved his fingers between her legs to provide an assist and bring her over the top. Alix finished with a great spasm and slid bonelessly to the floor. Lying against the cool tile, she gazed up at Tom with shining blue eyes. “Did I pass the test?”
“Absolutely. And what’s this?” He examined the plates and found each one topped with a heart-shaped pancake. “Honey, I think you are more than ready for your first real NFL game.”
Chapter Twenty-One
The League liked to start the season off with a bang, the Sinners against their arch division rivals in Atlanta. Alix found she enjoyed doing the same in Tom’s bed just before they left for the game. The sex released her tension and helped her relax. Not so much for Tom who appeared to be nervous for her. No worries with her first punt of the season to be delivered in a domed stadium without wind and foul weather to send it astray, and no blazing heat and high humidity either—a real blessing.
Tom with his mild jitters on her behalf didn’t execute his best kickoff. Instead of going into the end zone or even better, landing on the ten-yard line, it came down shorter than usual around the twenty and was run back for another ten yards. Not a big deal in the end as their opponents failed to keep the ball very long, but Alix could tell his performance bothered Tom. She gave him a back pat he didn’t get from other team members and subtly slid her hand down his side to squeeze his fingers before she went back to keeping her leg warm for a punt.
With Dean being a Super Bowl winning quarterback, he generally needed only three or four punts per game rather than the usual six or more. Alix’s skills weren’t called upon until midway through the second quarter. With the Sinners up by fourteen points, not a lot of weight rode on her shoulders. As she walked onto the field, the Georgia fans roared to unnerve her while the announcer hyped the fact that the first woman punter in the NFL, Alix Lindstrom, was about to make her inaugural regular season kick. From patches of red and black in the stands denoting Sinners fans a chant of “Legs, Legs, Legs” started. She acknowledged their support with a slight wave as she swung her foot a few times, and Beef Bolivar readied for the snap. The ball sped into her hands, hard but accurate. Alix dropped it into the air and booted the pigskin to the ten-yard line where the length and accuracy of her kick slanting to the right seemed to catch the return team off guard. Hitting a potential receiver square in the chest, it bounced hard away from him. Free ball! “It’s a muff,” the announcer declared. Chaos ensued for possession as Alix jogged a few yards forward sure to stay behind her personal protector as other Sinners scrambled to regain the football. Her team did around the thirty-yard line setting them up for another easy touchdown.
She’d done her job and done it well. Beaming, Alix trotted off the field to where Tom stood waiting to congratulate her. Beef Bolivar, newly released from his part in the dog pile, stood nearby, hands on hips. “I guess it takes a muff to kick a muff,” the long snapper said with a strange mixture of admiration and belligerence in his heavy voice.
Tom’s face flamed. “You can’t say that to her! Muff is on the list of forbidden words—at least used that way.”
Dean strode by on his way to back to the field. “I heard it, too. Thousand dollar fine, Beef.” He paused to point a finger at Bolivar. “I wouldn’t make it worse by adding on the F-word either.”
Their quarterback didn’t stick around to find out what would come out of Beef’s mouth next, but Tom glanced a blow off the long snapper’s shoulder that didn’t cause the man to move an inch. “Apologize to her.”
Beef folded his hefty arms across a chest twice the size of the lanky kicker’s. “I said what I said. I’ll pay the fricking fine, but I ain’t taking it back. So what you gonna do about it, Tommy boy?”
Alix squeezed between them. “He isn’t going to do anything. Believe it or not, my ears aren’t all that delicate. I’ll ask Dean to forgo the fine since I believe you meant that as a compliment, Barton, but try to call me Alix in the future.”
“Huh?” Bolivar’s dark, hostile gaze shifted downward in his broad, ox-like face. He studied his cleats for a moment. “You’d do that?”
“Sure, for a teammate. I know you’re on my side.”
“Maybe—I mean yes.”
“Just make sure your snaps are good, and we’re even.”
“Yeah, sure.” As if stunned by a cattle prod, Beef moved to drop on the bench.
“You shouldn’t let him off. He won’t respect you,” Tom fumed. “And what’s all this Barton stuff like he’s your brother.”
“Maybe I’m a little more sensitive than your average Sinner. Can’t you tell he hates being called Beef like he’s a side of meat?” Alix removed her helmet and shook out her blonde hair.
“It’s a fun tradition to give a newbie a nickname. He’s tough enough to handle it.” Tom wrinkled his freckled forehead. “Do you hate being called Legs?”
“No, because I’ve got great ones.”
“You sure do.”
The majority of the crowd groaned as Dean threw a short pass into the end zone for a third touchdown. “I think they need you for
the PAT, Tom,” Alix said as he didn’t seem to be paying attention to the game.
“Right.” He snapped on his helmet and loped toward the end zone. Alix did the same, following to hold the ball for him. In training, she’d learned exactly what angle he preferred. In the bedroom, she knew his preferences as well.
****
Tom sighted the way the ball should go by extending his arm toward the goalposts. He took a few practice swings of the leg, gave the indication he was ready, and sent the ball soaring between the uprights, another point scored for the Sinners. His last view before his foot hit the pigskin was of Alix’s tender nape as she knelt before him. Then, his eyes followed the trajectory of his kick to its destination. He rarely missed, but perhaps he didn’t understand Alix as well as he did field goal kicking. Offering her a hand up, she didn’t allow her fingers to linger in his grip. Other team members gave him the usual pat on the back and helmet bumps for a job nicely done, and he returned to the sidelines until his services were needed again.
In the second half, Alix executed three more punts since the Sinners tired. All of them stretched for more than fifty yards, slightly over sixty on the last, but the game had become a little chippy toward the end, tempers high, egos bruised with the Atlanta team taking a drubbing. Alix let that last ball sail, but the Sinners line broke down, and one tackle charged her. Vince hit him square in the shoulder, but instead of going down, the guy toppled over on Alix, setting her down hard on her backside. Penalty flags flew like yellow birds loose in the stadium.
“Roughing the punter, five yards.”
