Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
T he late afternoon sun slants low across the practice field, painting the players’ football shirts in a golden glow as I stand near the halfway line with the ball at my feet. My mind, though, is anywhere but on the opposing players lined up in front of me. I mean, for fuck’s sake, I haven’t been able to focus all day because Arkin pops into my head whenever my thoughts wander. Those blue eyes… and the way he licked his hand clean after giving me the strongest orgasm of my life. Forgive me for being distracted.
“Zach!” The snap of the coach’s voice jolts me back. “Keep the ball moving. Don’t get caught in possession!”
“Yeah—yeah, I got it,” I reply, shaking myself out of the daze. “I’ve got this,” I repeat quietly, more for myself than anyone else. It feels like I’m losing grip right now, and I hate fucking up on the field.
The coach’s whistle shrills, and I restart play with a free kick in the opposition’s half of the pitch, passing the ball to Harrison out wide, but my touch is sloppy and slow, and the striker bursts through and intercepts. Fuck me. He’s past me before I can react, and within seconds, I’m on the ground, shoved off balance while trying to recover the ball. The coach blows the whistle, sharp and angry.
Face in the turf, I groan. Before I can push myself up, Harrison leans down with a grin and offers his hand. “Bad day, princess?”
“Fuck off,” I mutter, grabbing his hand. My chuckle turns into a wince as he yanks me upright.
Coach barks across the field, “Beckett! Get your head in the game, or get off my pitch.”
“What’s the matter with you?” Harrison asks as I clench my teeth. “That’s the third time you’ve been distracted.”
“I’m fine,” I grumble, ears burning.
I’m passed the ball, and Harrison jostles my head, making me laugh. But it’s strained, my gut churning while we retake our positions.
Back in the locker room, I’m drying my hair with a towel, my naked ass on full display, when Ryan plops down on the bench, soaking wet and smiling like a goof.
“What’s with the smile?” I ask, tying the towel around my waist and rooting through my bag for my deodorant. It’s in there somewhere. I know I packed it, but I swear my bag turns into Mary Poppins’ the moment I leave the house. I finally find it, stashed beneath my clean boxer briefs. Ryan shakes out his curly, wet hair while I spray my armpits.
“I have a good feeling about this season,” he says, eyeing me as I shove the deodorant into the side pocket so it’s easy to find next time. And besides, the last thing I want is to root through my sweaty underwear and socks to find it.
“Don’t you feel it? We’re on point.” His brows pinch. “Well, everyone but you. What was that out there today?”
Tensing my jaw, I pull a clean T-shirt over my head. Fuck if I know what shit I pulled on the field today. Coach fumed by the end of practice, his hard eyes drilling into me as we took to the showers, dirty and sweaty, with muddy knees and grass-stained shorts
I’d never been happier to walk off that field.
“Just an off day,” I say with a shrug, sliding on a pair of briefs and dropping the towel, adjusting my balls while Ryan runs a hand through his wet hair, brushing it off his forehead. He’s always been a pretty boy with his dirty blond locks and prince-charming smile. Sometimes, his perfect Colgate teeth make me want to ram my fist into his face, but it’s all good fun, of course.
Ryan talks to one of our teammates while I pick up my phone from the bench, unlocking the screen with a slight frown when I notice a new text message from my dick’s latest fixation.
Apparently, the sodden organ in my chest has also taken a special interest in Arkin. My heart beats harder as I sit down and look around to ensure no one is watching me click on the message. What is it about that guy that has me in knots?
My brows crash as I zoom in on the attachment.
Is that? Yup, it fucking is…
A photograph of me asleep in bed. When the fuck did the weirdo take this? My jaw hardens, and I rest my elbows on my thighs, studying the photograph in great detail. Like I’ll somehow find the answers to the universe's origin in the lines of my sleeping face.
Is that a fucking pillow crease? Seriously, is my hair that messy when I sleep? It looks like I put my finger in an electrical socket or, I don’t know, flew around in a twister for an hour with a mooing cow. Perhaps a chicken or two.
Why is he taking pictures of me anyway? What’s his deal? Spying on me when I’m sleeping. And acting creepy. Restless, I jiggle my knee and scratch my sharp stubble before tossing my phone into my bag and rubbing my hands down my face. I breathe a tired sigh, glancing at Ryan and Harrison, who swat each other’s asses with their towels. Real mature but fun if you’re in the mood to act like a clown.
Standing up and shouldering my bag, I tell them I'm heading home, and they ask if I’m coming around later. I wish. But no. I’m heading over to Amy’s for dinner with her parents because she won’t stop harassing me. And believe it or not, she won’t take no for an answer either. So I better head over there, or she’ll be even more of a nightmare later. This mindset might be toxic. Trust me, I know. Fuck if I care though. Truth is, I just want to eat food—and the chef in Amy’s house cooks the best damn recipes—and get laid, so that I can wipe the memory from last night like a hard drive. Forget it ever happened.
That should be easy to do when I stick my dick in Amy. Come to think of it, I’m in the mood for doggy tonight. Seeing Amy’s peachy ass wobble like jelly with every thrust always gets my balls throbbing.
The beef casserole is to die for. I’ve snuck into their kitchen occasionally and sweet-talked their chef, Mrs. Holland—a Dutch middle-aged lady with fiery red hair—to write it down so I can share it with my mum, but she always sends me away with a kiss on the cheek and an, “It’s a family secret.”
Seated around the table in their fancy dining room, conversation flows easily. Amy’s parents ask me about football like they do every time, and I tell them about how well we’re doing this season. Damn, this food is nice. I don’t know how, but I’ll get that recipe some-fucking-how. It’s now a quest, like Frodo and the ring. The beef… it’s so tender it falls apart in my mouth.
Amy nudges me, and I look at her questioningly. She gestures to her chin. Oh, sauce. I wipe it off.
She’s a chameleon in the truest sense, and I sometimes wonder if her ridiculously rich father realizes that this polished, perfect version of his daughter is nothing more than a show. Behind the curtain, she’s kind of mean and insecure, which she hides behind fake smiles and sharp comments. And that’s when she’s not doing the splits in my bed while I’m coming over her pounded pussy.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I discreetly pull it out, drinking water. Beside me, Amy tells her parents that she’s been asked to organize a fundraiser for the homeless shelter. Her mother, a socialite who considers herself a connoisseur, launches into a spiel about food choices and flower arrangements.
Unlocking my phone, I almost choke on my drink.
Arkin:I can still taste your cum.
I’m coughing violently, so Amy pats me on the back and swaps concerned glances with her parents. I wave her off, drinking more water to settle my coughing. But of course, that only makes me choke more.
I can still taste your cum.
Dammit.
Now all I can think about is Arkin tasting me… The way he looked at me as he dragged his tongue through my semen on his hand. I never expected him to message something so…sexual.
Unlike the beef casserole earlier, I could barely taste the Husk Meringue a waiter brought us for dessert.
My mind spins and my hands tremble slightly as I wipe them on a tissue. Glancing around the table, I turn the phone over to read the message again, ready to shut him down with a scathing reply.
How dare he do this to me? I’m at dinner with my girlfriend and trying to act normal. To forget about the shit he pulled and the confusing emotions he has evoked since he entered my home. But no. I can’t even eat a meringue without sprouting a hard-on at the thought of that damn guy. I’m not gay or bi or whatever the fuck else. I’m just…straight.
But even as the word straight bounces around in my brain like a pinball, my stomach tightens uncomfortably. The meringue gets caught in my throat like a jagged rock, and no matter how much I swallow, I can’t dislodge it.
After dinner, we head to Amy’s room, and while her favorite romance movie Dear John plays on the TV, she snuggles up to me amongst her countless pillows. We’ve watched this movie endless times. Amy knows all the lines and she mouths them now as she draws circles on my chest through my T-shirt with her ridiculously long nails.
Staring at the numerous teddies on her dresser, I feel my skin crawl. There’s even a ballerina song box that she’s had since she was five or something. Her parents still treat her like a Disney princess, and her room reflects that, with baby pink walls, soft pastels, and stuffed toys. Needless to say, I always feel like a creep when I’m here. Like I’m a predator with a thing for underage girls, which is ridiculous since Amy is the same age as me. Even so, when she lifts her head off my shoulder and offers me one of her signature I want to fuck smiles, my stomach churns as if the meringue wants to make a reappearance.
Channing Tatum disappears from the screen, replaced by Amy’s lust-filled expression as she straddles me. “Do you know what I thought about during dinner?” she asks, pulling her dress off and unclipping her bra.
Unable to help myself, I cup her breasts, feeling their weight in my hands. I like fucking her, even if I don’t like the décor in her room, and when she dives her hand into my underwear, my body reacts.
“I kept thinking about all the dirty things I want you to do to me.” She strokes my cock, grazing her nipple over my mouth. I capture it between my teeth, trying to be in the here and now with a set of spectacular tits in my face. But it’s hard to concentrate when thoughts of Arkin invade.
I grunt, “Like what?” and then lick a path to her other nipple.
I can still taste your cum.
My eyes squeeze shut as I inwardly curse my damn thoughts. What will it take to stop thinking about him?
“Like how I couldn’t wait to go upstairs and fuck you while Daddy works in his office to avoid being around my mum any more than he has to.”
“That’s disturbing,” I mumble, biting the soft flesh. “But I like these tits.” Squeezing them together, I force down any thoughts that involve muscular, silent guys with big dicks and veiny hands.
Amy frees my hard cock, slides her panties aside, and sinks down. She’s tight, and it takes her a few moments to bottom out, but then she’s bouncing on me while I massage her breasts.
It’s strange… I usually love sex, but my chest feels empty tonight. It's just this big hole with nothing in it, and not even Amy’s bobbing tits can fill the space. It still feels good, though. So I lean into that and let her take her pleasure. It’s weird to be this distanced. Like I don’t really want to be here, with her.
After shifting positions, I shove her face into the fluffy pillows before rooting through the bedside drawer for lube. Amy squeaks as I squirt the cold liquid over her tight exit, and while I prep her with my fingers, my phone vibrates in my pocket with an incoming call.
“Want me to fuck you here?” I ask her, knuckle deep in her ass.
“Yes. God, yes.” She moans, squirming.
I stretch her with a second finger, working them in and out of her before adding a third. Luckily, Amy is no stranger to anal.
Moments later, my phone stops vibrating but starts back up, so I take it out of my back pocket and pause.
Arkin.
He’s phoning me? Now? Seriously??
With my fingers in Amy’s ass, I accept the call and press the phone to my ear, his breathing audible on the other end.
I don’t speak, wondering why the hell he’s called me when he doesn’t talk. Well, if he wants to listen, I’ll let him listen.
Maybe it’s wrong, but as I shove my jeans further down my legs with one hand, anticipation curls around my heart. I’m aroused like never before and my breathing is labored. I know he can hear it.
My heart is pounding hard as I replace my fingers with my cock, watching the weeping crown press into Amy’s ass. It takes a few seconds for her to relax, but then it finally pops in, and she whines.
Arkin goes silent… so silent I wonder if he’s even breathing. I check the screen, and the call is still connected. I wet my lips, feeling shaky, and balance the phone between my ear and shoulder as I push deeper into Amy. She has the sweetest fucking ass.
Giving it a hard whack, I massage the blossoming handprint on her pale cheek before sliding my dick out until the crown is right at her stretched entrance.
And the low growl that reaches my ear when I thrust back in makes my dick twitch in Amy’s ass.
“You like it, don’t you?” I ask Amy huskily, and she moans in response, her face buried in the pillows as I begin fucking her into the mattress. Arkin huffs a breath. Is he in our room? On his bed? Is he touching himself? Stroking that big cock of his? Why is that thought arousing me so much?
“Fuck…” I pant, clutching the phone, fingers leaving an imprint on Amy’s skin. “You have such a sweet ass.”
“Baby,” she whines. “I’m so full.”
“You like my cock in your ass, don’t you?” I bite my lip as a surge of pleasure causes my heart to thunder.
Arkin is breathing harder now. And I think he’s mad.
That or horny.
Maybe even both.
“Such a good girl,” I praise Amy, though my imagination is elsewhere, picturing Arkin in her place, his toned ass stretched by my cock.
She looks over her shoulder and sees me on the phone.
Her eyes widen, but I know her; she’s always liked an audience.
“Who are you talking to?” she asks.
I trail my tongue over my lip, enraptured by the sight of my cock pounding her ass. “No one important. Want to play?”
A sly grin. “As long as my face isn’t on camera.”
“Deal.”
Amy hides her face in the pillows and I’m so damn nervous and aroused that my hands tremble as I change to video call.
My dick pops out as I watch the screen, nudging her soaking pussy. Her ass is right there, stretched and used, and I finger it with my thumb, getting off on knowing Arkin is watching.
When I finally press my cock back into her exit, Amy moans into the pillows.
“She feels good,” I tell Arkin on a forward thrust. “So damn good.”
I order Amy to touch yourself, and she shifts slightly to rub her clit while I pick up the pace. A tingle starts up in my balls, the sound of skin on skin filling the room as my hips slap against Amy’s ass. Turned on by the thought of Arkin seeing this, I watch the screen.
None of this is even about Amy or her tight ass. It’s about Arkin and his harsh breaths in my ear. I’m crossing lines, but he crossed them first. For that reason alone, if he wants to play—we’ll play.
I’m not an opponent he should wish for, which he’ll learn the hard way. I’m ruthless and competitive when I want to win, and that’s why I’m one of the best strikers in the league—a beast on the football field.
“Fuck, that’s it, baby.” I hiss a breath through my clenched teeth. “Show him how good you are for me and what a slut you are for a fat dick.”
“Zach,” she whimpers, squeezing her thighs together. “God, you feel so good.”
“Are you close?”
“So close.” A bead of sweat slides down her spine, and when she finally falls apart, quivering and moaning, I pull my dick out and jack it over her ass.
Seconds later, my release coats her sweaty skin, squirting from my dick in quick succession, and she arches farther to really show me how sexy her back is when she’s in the throes of passion.
As I end the call, a smirk touches my lips because, hopefully, I pissed him off and got under his skin like he gets under mine.
Sweaty and exhausted, I climb off the bed to take a piss, though that’s a nightmare with a semi. Minutes later, I return from the bathroom with a wet cloth, which I use to wipe Amy’s back. Satisfied, she rolls over, tits bobbing on her chest. She smiles, looking freshly fucked with a blotchy red blush on her chest. “Who was on the phone, babe?”
“No one.”
“It was someone.”
“No one important.” I zip my jeans.
“A friend of yours?”
I snort. “Not even close.”
She watches me a moment before she pushes up onto her elbows. “Come back to bed, babe.”
“I should go,” I reply, struck with the sudden urge to escape.
The walls are closing in.
She reaches for my hand and gives me her puppy eyes. “Please, Zach. I let you fuck me in the ass. The least you can do is watch the rest of the movie with me.” She bats her lashes for effect, and I lie down beside her.
I guess I could stay another hour.