by Kim Karr
When I started to slip my fingertips inside his boxer briefs to free his erection, he bucked up and grabbed my wrist to stop me.
I gave him a challenging look. He gave me one right back. I wasn’t strong enough to break free of him, but I kept the pressure of my grasp just enough that he had to make an effort to continue to stop me.
The push and pull only lasted a moment.
“Please,” I whispered.
Lucas bit his lower lip and then repositioned my hand on the thick ridge of his erection.
Hiding my triumphant smile, I moved my palm up and down his boxer briefs. My skin slid so easily over the bright blue fabric of his Pumas, and just this slight touch of him electrified me.
As I continued to move with slow, deliberate strokes, Lucas pushed between my thighs and found my panties again. It took less than a second for him to dip his finger inside the edge and find me even wetter than moments ago, and even less time for him to push his finger inside me.
I bit into my own bottom lip as lust rolled hot through me, leaving me flushed, excited, desperate for more. I pushed myself up a bit to give him more room, and I used this motion to release his erection from the confines of his Pumas. There wasn’t enough room for full access, but for now it would work.
He looked so incredibly sexy on my bed. I leaned down to kiss him again. The bed squeaked as we shifted and moved against each other. Frantic. Needing. Desperate.
The orgasm struck quickly. I closed my eyes and cried out his name as the first wave swept over me. Tumultuous and overwhelming.
The moans and quivers that escaped my throat didn’t sound like me at all. When he reached up to gently cover my mouth, he didn’t stop what he was doing. Not even as I sat back up and arched my body away from his touch because it was all too much. “Don’t move. I want you to feel good,” he whispered, his voice silky smooth.
And so I stayed still and let his touch carry me away. It was as if I had some inner pulse that his touch ruled over because more pleasure cascaded through me. And I lost myself in it. I used him as my anchor as I dug the fingers into the bare skin I found below the hem of his shirt.
He gasped, thrusting harder into my curled fingers that were still on his erection.
Our eyes met, and I had no idea what each of us saw, but it was something that seemed to erase any remaining barriers between us.
I pushed against him. “I want to taste you,” I said, my voice strained and edgy as I stared into those intense blue eyes.
“I’m okay with that,” he breathed out, his own voice husky.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
“Gilly, are you awake?”
My head jerked toward the door and I froze. Utterly horrified.
It was my father.
At first I didn’t move, and I didn’t feel Lucas move an inch from beneath me, either.
“Gilly, you awake,” he said again, knocking lightly once more.
Quickly, I glanced down at Lucas who looked both pained and amused. “Gilly?” he mouthed, “Like a fish’s gill?”
In your teens, twenties, or even thirties, the last thing any girl ever wanted was for her father to catch her…well…in this case, literally with her skirt up. Worried that was just what was going to happen, I slapped my hand over Lucas’s mouth even though he wasn’t actually speaking loud enough for my father to hear and drew in a huge breath. “Yes, Dad,” I answered.
“Do you have a couple of minutes? The decorator sent some paint samples over and I wanted to get your opinion on the wall color.
Lucas moved my hand away and his mouth opened wide in a huge grin. “Nesting?” he mouthed with wide, surprised eyes.
I supposed that for the head coach, who had a reputation of being a hard-ass, this was so out of character. To me, this was who my father was, a big softie on the inside that he only let me see.
With a narrowed stare, I shot Lucas a warning look that I didn’t have to. By the way his brow had creased in less than two seconds, I was certain he was way more worried than I was. Him getting caught with me…well I had no idea what that would do to his position on the team, and I didn’t want to find out.
This team needed Lucas, and I’d already been the cause of one possible setback. I wouldn’t be the cause of another.
“Sure, Dad, give me a few minutes and I’ll head over.”
“Are you okay, honey? You sound out of breath.”
I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment.
No.
No.
No.
How could I even answer that question?
I was more than out of breath. There was slickness between my legs, my core still throbbed, and Lucas’s hard dick was beneath me. “Oh, yeah, I’m fine,” I somehow managed. “Just doing a few sit-ups before bed. I ate way too much at dinner.”
That was a lie, and I tasted the bitterness on my tongue.
I was a bad daughter.
“That’s my girl,” he said, and I cringed. “I’ll be in the room I’ve been using to view play footage. Come over whenever you’re done.”
Done. I wasn’t sure we could be done that quickly. But then again, judging by the pale, nauseated look on Lucas’s face now, I was pretty sure we were done.
The ramifications of what we were doing must have sunken in.
“Okay,” I answered, and waited to make sure he was gone before I dared move from the bed.
As soon as I was sure my father was no longer outside my door, I jumped to my feet. Lucas practically bolted to his.
“Fuck,” he hissed, running a hand through that gorgeous hair of his.
Fuck was right.
“It’s fine. He’s gone. I’ll leave first,” I said. “The room he is in is down the hall, so give me a few minutes and then you can slip out unnoticed.”
He nodded.
While he zipped and tucked, I stripped out of my wet panties and hurriedly pulled on a fresh pair. When I turned, Lucas had pulled himself together, clothing wise, but he looked anything but pulled together.
With swift fingers, I twisted my hair into a semblance of a knot instead of the sex-tangled mess I was sure it was, and then I shifted my dress back into its proper place.
I walked toward Lucas, who hadn’t moved. “Everything is fine.”
He said nothing.
I popped up on my toes and placed a chaste kiss on his lips.
He didn’t kiss me back.
The sullen look he wore told me not to ask what he was thinking. I didn’t want to know right then. I was certain I would later, though.
“See you in the morning,” I whispered, but I knew I wouldn’t. I could see it on his face, in his eyes, the sag of his shoulders, and my heart fell.
There was no time to discuss it now. Curfew wasn’t far off, and my father would be back if I didn’t show up soon, so I had no choice but to turn and walk toward the door.
Still, I couldn’t just leave.
With my hand on the doorknob, I looked back over my shoulder to say something, but was struck mute. It hit me then that although I had thought I had it all, I really didn’t. That there was a huge part of life missing—someone to share it with.
At the same time, I also realized why I stayed away from men like Lucas—they were my kryptonite.
Or at least he was.
12
Interception
Lucas
The time was now.
Somehow Coach had gotten pads and helmets sanctioned for one scrimmage before the two week lift.
The practice game was about to start.
It would be the first of the year in full pads. Something I had been looking forward to, and dreading, at the same time.
I’d skipped out on Gillian the past few mornings. I’d seen her throughout the practices, but hadn’t acknowledged her.
I was being an asshole, but I didn’t know what else to be. I didn’t want to ruin her reputation. I didn’t want to get caught. The only solution was to s
tay away from her.
Deep in thought, I was gripping a football with my right hand and standing on a perfectly manicured grass field in my cleats, contemplating what I’d done. This object in my hand was my world. This oval shaped ball made of leather, sewn together by white strings had been my dream since I was ten years old.
There was no way I could let anything get in the way of achieving it.
My entire life I had longed to be better. Faster, rougher, tougher. What I was, what I had become, it was never enough.
I was never enough.
Not enough for my mother to stick around, and not enough for my father to snap out of his depression and participate in my life. If it weren’t for my brother, I had no idea where I would have ended up.
In a gutter.
In jail.
In a coffin.
Who the fuck knew.
But being here, right now, in this moment, I felt I was finally enough for the first time in my life.
A million guys would give their nuts to be me, and although I hadn’t been thrilled about it at first, I certainly had come around after I thought I might lose it all.
That’s why the thought of risking it all for a girl who would be out of my life in five more weeks didn’t make much sense. It would be a stupid move.
Right?
A hand hit my shoulder. “Hey, man. How’s it going?” the player said as he paused to stand beside me. It was Greg Wilkinson, linebacker and team captain.
That question deserved a sly grin. “Fucking fantastic.”
He nodded. “I feel you, man. You ready to do this?”
“Sure, it sounds like fun.”
That gave him cause to raise a brow. “Fun,” he laughed. “I’m not sure about that. Coach will be on anyone’s ass who doesn’t know their shit.”
I pulled out my playbook, the one I’d flipped through more than a dozen times, and that was just this morning. “Sounds like even more fun,” I joked.
“I hope you still think that when it’s over,” he laughed, but then turned serious. “Hey man, the first week is the most brutal, and that’s behind us, but cuts start today and I’m going to be honest, they suck. Suck for everyone.”
I glanced across the field. “Yeah, the mood is pretty somber around here.”
Greg clapped me on the shoulder again. “Get used to it, and don’t dwell. It will only bring you down.”
I nodded. “Appreciate the advice.”
“Anytime, man,” he called as he ran toward the center of the field with his helmet in his hand.
Cuts were going to suck, no doubt about it. Then again, just about everything sucked in my life right now.
Greg started yelling, “It’s fucking go time.”
The laugh I had was one I needed, but it was time to get real. I flipped open the playbook in my hand and did some last-minute studying. I didn’t want Coach on my ass…for any reason.
Kick-off came fast.
There were no warm ups outside of our earlier practice. Coach decided the teams. I was orange. Among those on my team were Thor, Preacher, and Kutch, who I was keeping my eye on since he was keeping his eye on Gillian, who was on the sidelines.
The blue team roster had way more vets than ours, and I wasn’t sure if that was good or bad, but I was about to find out.
Coin toss went to blue. They elected to receive. I was on the sidelines, watching. On the third play of the game, our defensive end picked off Swann, blue’s quarterback, and returned the ball for a touchdown.
Unfucking believable!
We were ahead.
When it was time for me to hit the field, I was nervous. I called the plays in the huddle, yelled the signals at the line of scrimmage, and then received the ball from the center.
The play was textbook all the way.
When I handed the ball off to the running back, he ran with it until he was tackled. Three plays later I huddled the offense and told them we were going to score. And then we were going to score again. And again. And fucking again.
Hey, I could build confidence.
Scoring didn’t happen quite that easy, but sure as shit, by the fifth play, I knew I had it. Dropping back, I was ready to throw the ball, but veteran player Dion Reynolds wasn’t in position, and in a matter of seconds, I had to change the game plan.
I looked across the field, but another one of the wide receivers was also covered. I pump-faked to him as I scanned down the middle, but found no one. With only seconds to spare, I looked right, where fuck, I saw Gillian on the sidelines.
After losing focus for a moment, or maybe gained it, I bounced back on my toes and let the ball fly right to Kutch. He caught it in stride and raced to the end zone, where he fucking did a little dance and then looked toward Gillian. I knew he winked at her, even if I couldn’t see it.
This made my blood boil. She was fucking mine, and he better stay away.
Wait!
What?
She wasn’t mine. I’d decided it was best to end things before they started, hadn’t I?
Fueled by this demon inside me, I played the rest of the game like a man on one hell of a mission.
The fourth quarter blew by in a flash. We were up 22-14, and with one minute remaining, all I had to do was run the clock out, and that’s what I did.
Game over.
I fist pumped the air and caught Gillian’s gaze. She was staring at me, and she had the most genuine happiness over the win written all over her face. That’s when I started to second-guess my decision.
She was on my team. My side. And it felt good to have someone in my corner.
Maybe I shouldn’t stay away.
Maybe I couldn’t.
“Don’t start celebrating,” Coach yelled, and we gathered for our usual end-of-practice midfield verbal haranguing.
Coach expected mathematic perfection from his players. We’d learned over the past week that most often, whatever the players did wasn’t quite right. Looked like today wasn’t going to be an exception.
There was always something to improve, even when you got the job done. Don’t make a mistake, and you won’t get yelled at…that was the Holy Grail.
Every play of this practice would be watched on film by the whole team tonight after dinner. Whoever made mistakes, they would be pointed out and discussed. And discussed, and discussed even more.
Nothing slipped through the cracks. Depending on the severity of the mistake, and the frequency of the mistake, the reaction from Coach would vary.
Didn’t matter, the feeling for the player up front and center was always horrible. Being called out in meetings and having everyone in the room watching you fail in slow motion was demoralizing. Then again, it worked. Most of us never made the same mistake twice.
Coach looked especially pissed off today. “This afternoon was a complete failure,” he yelled. “You guys get the opportunity to show me what you got, and you shit all over it. I can’t even watch another minute. I’m calling this practice over.”
After that he walked away in disgust. Guess a, “Great game, boys,” would be too much to ask for.
Whatever.
“That second touchdown should have been mine.”
I whipped my head around to see Reynolds marching toward me. Dion Reynolds was probably the biggest name left on the team. Uncuttable was how the vets referred to him. Arrogant prick was what I called him. At six-foot four, and two hundred and forty pounds, sure he had some meat on me, I’d give him that. But like I cared. “You weren’t in position,” I responded, void of any emotion.
“The fuck I wasn’t,” he yelled.
At first, I was just going to ignore him. It took too much energy to fight, and who the hell had any left.
“You might look like Tom Brady, but you’re no Brady, kid, and you better learn that real fast.”
Okay, there was no way I was going to let that comment pass. Lean wasn’t skinny. Besides, the whole you’re the next Tom thing was getting old. Already irritated, I
leaned in close. “That play was by the book. You might want to open it.”
He got up in my face and bared his teeth. “You. Did. It. Wrong. You’re the one who needs to study the fucking book.”
Deadpan, I repeated. “You weren’t in position.”
By now, this had become a scene.
“Say it again, rookie, and you won’t have to worry about saying another thing,” he hissed.
I stood there, looking him straight in the eye, and then folded my arms. “You. Weren’t. In. Position.”
The look he gave me told me we were about to settle this a different way.
“Cut the shit,” Preacher shouted as he shimmied his way between the both of us and pushed Reynolds out of my space.
A few guys started laughing. Others were already stomping off the fields. Some weren’t even paying attention.
Surprisingly, Reynolds turned around and stomped off, muttering to himself. “Whatever. You’re not worth it. You’ll be gone soon enough.”
Preacher put a hand on my shoulder. “Want some advice?”
This guy was cool, and I had respect for him, so I said, “Sure.”
“Don’t fuck with the unfuckable. Reynolds is a diva and we all know it’s better to just walk away. He gets off on provoking whoever he can. Don’t feed into it.”
I kicked my toes in the grass. “Good to know.”
He slapped me on the back. “That was the right play.”
Okay, so I felt a little full of myself, I’ll admit.
Just then two guys started going at it. This time it turned into an actual fist fight. It was Reynolds and Kutch. Fuck, of course it was.
Preacher hauled ass over there. There were a few shoves and a couple of punches, but as soon as Preacher tore them apart, they backed away from each other.
“You catch like a bitch,” Reynolds spat at Kutch.
“Reynolds, fucking shut up!” Preacher said, and Reynolds shut the fuck up.
Incredible.
It was noted, Preacher was a good friend to have.
Just as I turned to march off the field myself, I spotted Dallas and Gillian with Swann, my backup, and he was shuffling off the field. He didn’t look good. In fact, he looked a little stiff. Injured even? I wasn’t sure.
