Chapter Twenty-Eight
“I know we all agreed to come for charity since it’s both your dad and our coach’s team, but could someone please explain why there’s a massive table with fruit lined up over there?” Adhira asks, her brows pinched as she squints over at the white plastic banquet table.
“No idea, but I guess we’ll find out soon enough,” I say, heading toward a white-topped tent covering a table with baskets for auction.
My dad’s team does this event every year, but I’ve never gone.
It always tended to line up with a game or practice of my own, and I don’t have a job or any stable form of income, so I’d just be here for moral support, which no one’s asked for.
I’m not exactly the kind of person anyone would ask for moral support from.
“Ooh, I’ll sign up for this one!” Chelsea chirps, leaning over the table to scribble her name on a ticket and pop it in the corresponding jar.
“What’s it for?” I ask, reading the framed slip that outlines what the company donating the basket is offering.
“Food, duh,” she says with a loud laugh. “It’s for this restaurant downtown that offers private tables in the kitchen where you get to watch the chefs cook, and they give you samples of everything they make the entire night for the rest of the restaurant.”
“Such a bloody foody,” Adhira says, grimacing.
“As if you aren’t? Just because you prefer food from vendors on wheels doesn’t mean you aren’t a foody,” Chelsea chides.
Adhira crosses her arms over her chest, not dignifying Chelsea’s assessment with a response because she’s right .
One of the announcers who works at the Wyvern’s stadium is here for the event, and whatever they’re doing this year to raise donations is starting.
“Come on, children, let’s go,” Chelsea says, ushering us like her little ducklings in the direction of all the people gathering for the first event.
My eyes immediately find Rafael’s through the crowd of people. His are darker than usual, hidden under thick brows and framed by dark circles.
He looks haunted by something.
A chill skates down my spine, and bile rises up my throat, but I swallow it back down, looking over at Letty, whose eyes are glued to Jelani.
“You thirsty?” I ask her, bumping her shoulder with my own. Her large brown eyes cut to me, and she narrows her gaze.
“Ha, ha, very funny,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest, stretching the fabric of her tight white top.
It’s interesting that she’s so defensive . Usually, if she wants something, or someone for that matter, she has no qualms about going out and getting it. So I’m unsure as to why that doesn’t seem to be the case here.
We’re standing on the pitch near the centre line, surrounded by tons of potential donors as we wait for the first activity.
Robert, the announcer from earlier, is standing by the table covered in fruit, wearing a wide grin on his tan, wrinkled face.
“Hello, everyone, and thank you for being here!” he says, projecting his voice across the crowd despite the microphone in his hand.
“As you all know, we’re here today to raise awareness for a cause near and dear to the hearts of the Wyvern Warriors,” he says, pausing for emphasis.
“An estimated twenty-point-six million people worldwide are living with some form of spinal cord injury. The ways this impacts these individuals vary, as everyone’s experience with any condition will be vastly different, but today, we’re here to raise money for those living with paraplegia so that they are able to access life-changing resources that could improve their overall quality of life substantially.
Our hope is to raise one hundred thousand pounds today.
We have all the confidence in the world that this is possible with your help, and we hope you’ll enjoy the day ahead! ”
The crowd claps wildly as the men on the rugby team line up, each standing behind a plate of what looks like papaya sliced in half.
“To get the festivities started, these young men will be entertaining you all with a papaya eating contest!” The players groan, shaking their heads, and the sound is audible even over the crowd.
I can’t believe this was actually chosen as a competition.
“For those who are unfamiliar with the way this works, each player has been assigned a number, which correlates to a percentage of the funds raised during this activity. You all have been sent a link to donate for this contest. The Wyvern Warriors will match the donation of whichever player wins based on the percentage they have been assigned. The players don’t know who has the highest percent, but you all will as it’s included in the link. ”
Everyone fishes their phones out of their pockets and handbags, opening the link they were all sent upon check-in today. The link will update with each event and allow us to keep track of our goal as the day goes on.
Robert allows everyone a few minutes to get their donations in as my dad steps out behind the guys.
He smiles brightly as he gathers their wrists behind their backs, tying them.
He’s clearly taking too much enjoyment in this particular part of the event.
I imagine he’s wanted to string each of these men up with that rope on more than one occasion, and definitely not in the way that I’ve been thinking about doing the same to my coach.
“What the bloody hell is going on?” Adhira asks, her voice a whisper.
“I think I’m gonna like it, whatever it is,” Chelsea says, her American Southern twang making another appearance.
I shake my head, directing my attention back to the men, but my eyes can’t help but snag on Rafael. His snap up the moment mine land on him, as if he can feel my stare.
A blush creeps over my cheeks, and I avert my gaze.
“Alright! On your mark, get set, go!” Rob yells.
The players hunch forward over the fruit, each of them with a full papaya cut in half, seeds still intact, and something so strange happens.
My body tingles, my nipples pinching at the sight of these men eating that goddamn fruit! Some of them choose to eat the seeds, and others start by gathering them in their mouths and spitting them out on their plates. The sounds they’re making are fucking erotic, and I feel a little lightheaded.
Chelsea reaches out, gripping my forearm tightly. “Babe,” she whispers, “why the fuck is that so sexy?” she asks, her voice awestruck and hushed.
“I-I’m not sure,” I stammer. My heart is racing though, and I can feel my bounding pulse between my legs.
My traitorous eyes land on Rafael again, and they remain glued there as he slurps and chews, taking large bites of the fruit, the juices coating his face.
He looks up, keeping me in a chokehold as he continues his onslaught, with his eyes remaining on me the entire time.
I feel my neck and ears burning, my throat constricting, and my nipples most definitely have a mind of their own as they peak so tightly I think they’re trying to slice their way through my top.
My mind fills with the thought of me splayed out on that table as he absolutely devours my pussy.
“I’m chalking this up to nearly two years without sex. What’s your excuse?” Letty asks me, chuckling.
Adhira scratches at her throat, her brows twisting, lips pursed. “I don’t get it. This is gross,” she says. Clearly, this event isn’t having the same impact on her as it is on us. “You lot are a bunch of freaks.”
Rob is shouting excitedly into the microphone. “Rafael Romero-Castillo takes the lead, with Jelani Hazzel following quickly behind!”
Letty’s knees practically buckle beneath her, but I’m too focused on Rafael to do anything about it aside from keep tabs on her from my periphery. Adhira wraps an arm around her waist and grits out, “You’re pathetic.”
“And you’re an angel ,” Letty says, her voice dripping in sarcasm, but she allows Adhira to hold up her weight as her legs fail her. The woman needs to get laid, and I’m not sure why she hasn’t in so long. As a group, we’re all very sex-positive, though Adhira tends to be less interested.
The moment Rafael breaks eye contact with me, my shoulders sag, and I take in a desperate gulp of air, filling my deprived lungs.
Several onlookers are shouting, yelling out the names of their favourite players, encouraging them to eat quicker. Among them are several women with drool practically spilling from the sides of their mouths. Guess I can’t fault them, all things considered.
“The pot is up to ten thousand seven hundred pounds already!” Rob screams, his excitement contagious.
Rafael’s dark gaze flicks up, and it’s like I’m locked in again, unable to tear my eyes away from him even if I wanted to.
His jaw works quickly as he takes large bites, swallowing them down.
His Adam's apple bobs with the movement, and I swear to god I feel my thong soaking through. What the fuck is happening to me?
He finishes, standing upright, stomping his foot on the ground. His head rears back as he shouts up to the sky above, “Hell yeah!”
I turn my back to him, needing a moment to look away. I suck a strained breath through my nose, my chest heaving as I replenish the lost oxygen. Chelsea tracks my movements, bringing a hand up in front of me to fan me off. “Down girl, calm down,” she jokes with a giggle.
I roll my eyes at her, swatting her hand away, and spin back around to face Rob, who’s listing off all the stats for the event.
The next couple of hours go exactly as you’d expect for an event like this. Lots of random competitions, raffles, auctions, and finally, the announcement that the event significantly surpassed the goal of one hundred thousand pounds by nearly double.
I watch as Rafael slips past a crowd surrounding some of his teammates and hurries off toward the tunnel for the locker rooms.