Chapter 13
Gabe
I have one of the equipment guys help me out of my jersey and shoulder pads before hopping in the shower, taking extra time to scrub my hair and beard and the bottoms of my feet and the undercarriage, making sure I’m smelling as good as possible for my night with Joss.
Not that I walk around stinky usually or anything, but I end up in the pool or the hot tub after a lot of games, so there’s no point in putting a ton of extra work in when I know I’m going to be washing up again later.
I don’t see the text until I’ve returned to my locker, which I’m glad for. I probably would have rushed if I’d seen Cora’s message asking me if I’d mind taking Joss home tonight; Cora’s had something come up, and she won’t be able to go out with us tonight.
I dress as fast as possible, shake my hair out, pack my bags, and run out with a quick “Gotta go!” to the guys. There wasn’t an announcement about a team meeting yet, so it’s on them if I didn’t know about it.
I find Joss waiting at the gate by the employee parking lot, as close as she can get to me without security stopping her. She’s all prettied up with her fancy skirt, an angel’s halo, and her jersey, my number proudly blazoned on her chest. She lights up when she sees me, but I can tell she’s stressing about something. Cora’s waiting with her, but she’s on her phone, her other ear plugged, having what appears to be a heated conversation.
And Joss is tangled up in her thoughts.
“What happened?” I yell as I approach, already plotting the death of whoever upset her.
“It’s not . . . it’s nothing,” Joss protests, only for Cora to yell from behind her, “That cheerleader bitch is a bitch.”
“Fuck.” I pull up Evan’s number on my phone, ready to rip him a new one. If I go directly to Keira, that’ll open up a whole other fight.
Joss yelps and nips the phone out of my hands. “It’s fine.”
It’s not fine. And the more I fight for her — I’ve had to fight all week because everyone knows there’s beef between Allore and me now — the more I absolutely do not care where this is coming from.
It doesn’t fucking matter what happened in the past.
I nearly march right back into the stadium, where I know Evan and Keira both are, and demand an apology, but Joss puts her foot down. “Everyone else was really nice to me, I swear. But can we do something together tonight, just you and me?”
Behind her, Cora shoots two thumbs up and then skitters off as though I might say no and she’s making sure I don’t have the option.
But I could never say no to Joss.
I want a nice, wholesome, relaxing date night that will take some of the pressure off the fact that Joss is sleeping at my place tonight. I thought deciding this in advance would cut down on the stress of guessing at what each other wants, and instead, the anticipation has become a rock in my gut, and I feel like a damn virgin even though we literally had sex already.
Unprotected sex.
That Joss doesn’t realize was unprotected. She might already be pregnant, and I should hate myself for lying about this, but I don’t. The more time I spend with her, the less I want her to make friends with my roommates, all single, all wealthy except Vedder — whose child support payments are astronomical — and all far more attractive than I am.
And the more appealing the idea of getting her pregnant sooner rather than later becomes. Which is despicable, but I’ve lost women to my teammates before, and I don’t want to lose Joss.
So by the time we’ve filled ourselves up on Korean barbecue and groped each other heavily at the movie theater, I’m fighting to focus on anything except filling Joss’s pussy with my cum. But that’s all wrecked when we get back to my place, where Rydell is vomiting in the bushes. Vedder’s launching empty beer cans at him from the balcony off his bedroom.
Joss stares wide-eyed. “Gosh, it’s like a frat house.”
I cringe at that, wondering if it’s too late to ask if we’d be better off at her place, but then Blaise opens the front door and screams at Joss specifically to come do a shot with him because Rydell is a ‘little bitch man.’
Blaise talks her into exactly two shots before I cut them both off, frustrated that now that’s she’s been drinking, I’m going to have to be the good guy and put the brakes on our plans for at least a few more hours.
“I’m fine,” Joss protests, pouting as I toss her shot glass into the sink.
“Ma’am, I will throw you over my shoulder and spank your ass if you don’t walk it down to my bedroom immediately.”
Joss’s cheeks flush at the threat, but her pupils dilate and her lips part, as well. She’s already told me she likes when I call her ma’am, but now I’m intrigued about what else she likes. She pretends to drag her feet like she thinks I’m being ridiculous and has no intention of fucking tonight, but as soon as she starts walking, it’s a race.
I don’t think a lot about my bedroom. It’s a room to sleep in. There’s a TV, but I hardly ever use it when there’s a wall-sized screen and theater seating down the hall. My walls are mostly undecorated aside from a goal tracking calendar that’s three months behind. I never got proper curtains, just the blinds that were already installed. My California King doesn’t have a headboard. The simple blanket covering it is threadbare and in desperate need of retirement. There’s a laundry chute in my bathroom so there aren’t any dirty clothes, but a stack of folded tee-shirts sits on my chair. Too many pairs of sneakers prevent my closet doors from fully closing. I don’t even know why I keep buying them.
There’s a treadmill I got because even in the weight room here, Blaise is a dick about my pace, but the jacket I wore last weekend still hangs from it.
It’s not much different from my bedroom in college; Joss was married and probably dates men who have corporate jobs and thought-out condos. This is embarrassing.
I’m about to apologize when Joss silences me with a single flourish of movement that has her jersey vanishing. I was worried about her being timid without the adrenaline from high emotions running through us like they did last week, but she stands proudly before me in a bra with a cute blueberry print on it that’s cut low enough that it shows ample flesh. Her frilly, colorful skirt goes next, and beneath it is matching panties in that cut that sits low on the hips but covers enough that she could almost get away with wearing them in the gym if she was feeling particularly brazen.
The set isn’t sexy, not in the classic Victoria Secrets barely-there lace style, but she’s cute as fuck in it. Immediately, my cock stirs. Any concerns about the room or those two shots of vodka vanish as quickly as the vodka did.
“Did you know my favorite fruit is blueberries?”
I step up to her. Considering the fact that Joss is the one who undressed, I’m more than a little surprised that she places her palm on my chest to hold me back. It’s not a caress; it’s a push. An adorably weak, dainty push, but she’s keeping me away. She’s also touching me and leaving space between us for me to admire the jiggle of her boobs, the gentle curves of her hips, the soft pooch of her tummy, so I’m not complaining. Her hand is nice and warm, and I can’t wait to be all over her.
She more effectively stops me with her words than her hand. “Nope, your turn.”
I furrow my brow. My turn. For my turn, I choose to wrap one hand around her leg to lift her thigh and widen her stance.
She sidesteps me, but seriously, it’s only my manners that keep me from grabbing her anyway. She is tiny. My reach is vast. “No, no, no. This.” She gestures to my clothes. “You’ve seen me naked. Now it’s your turn.”
Because she’s being sassy, I have no qualms sassing right back. “Technically, I’ve never seen you completely naked.”
“You have seen every single part of me.”
“And I’m sure I’ve seen every single second of Frozen, but I’ve never seen it from front to back, and honestly, I couldn’t tell you what the plot is.”
Her jaw drops, fully affronted. Before I can stop her, she launches herself over my bed, belly-flopping across it to grab my TV remote. “Well then, we have to watch it! Right now!”
I know she’s joking. She better be joking. But she rolls onto her side and actually turns the TV on, and seeing her there? Propped up on one elbow, her legs crooked just right into a casually seductive pose, all long lines and cheeky lingerie?
No fucking way we’re watching Disney princess shit right now. I lived that my entire childhood.
I’m not gentle, but I’m careful not to be too rough with her when I grab her by the ankles and slide her on her belly toward the edge of the bed. I smack her ass firmly enough the sound echoes through my room.
She shrieks and flips over, again propping herself up on her elbows. The soft of her stomach gathers a little, in a way I’m sure she’d think terribly unflattering, but it’s sweet and makes me think of how much better she’d look with even more.
Like, if there wasn’t any folding there because there’s a baby taking up all the space.
I spent the week obsessing about this.
And it turns out that sometimes vasectomies fail. It’s not like I would know if it did until it was too late.
Joss bites her lip playfully and lifts her foot to rub it up and down my thigh, hugging along the bulge of my throbbing cock.
I groan and rip my tee-shirt off without any more hesitation. But I have to pause there, give her time to accept who I am. I know she won’t reject me; I would never be plotting what I’m plotting if I was concerned she would run off because I don’t have the physique most of my friends do.
But I don’t. My friends get panties thrown at them. I get cookies. Women don’t like me because I’m sexy, they like me because I’m friendly and safe and food-motivated.
So I give Joss a moment to see what she’s getting from me, see my soft bits and the chest I don’t get professionally waxed because I’m not Merrick and my utter lack of visible abs because I don’t dehydrate myself before photoshoots like Blaise does. I’ve got a weird scar from falling off my bike when I was seven and my chest is just as freckled as my face is, and I’m just big ole me.
Joss does take me in. She’s not subtle about it. She studies me with heavily lashed eyes that glitter like sapphires. Her lips part, and my nerves are soothed by the way her tongue daintily swipes over her bottom lip.
She uses her toes to tug my pants down an inch, but I finish the job. Her grin is enough to prove she’s plenty satisfied with the rest of me.
And then the clever little minx drags those toes down my stiff, sensitive cock. I in no way have a foot fetish, but I nearly lose it at that alone.
I need to take control of the situation. I gave her what she wanted, and now it really is my turn. I take hold of her panties and tug them off. She does me a solid and shimmies out of her bra.
My brain breaks for a second. I’ve only gotten to see her tits in a half-second flash and from the aerial view in her bra and that top she had at the gala. They’re barely a handful for me, but her nipples are taut, begging for my attention. Then the scent of her arousal hits me, and when I look down to the apex of her slightly parted thighs and see the blonde curls, glossy in the lamplight, tidily trimmed now but every bit as shameless as in the truck, I know where I have to go.
She’s close enough to the edge of my bed that I could drop to my knees, but I want to watch her. I want to touch her everywhere, I want to lock her down. So I once again grab her by the ankles, this time forcing her knees back to her shoulders and her spine to curl. Her slick, reddened pussy unfolds beneath me as my hands grip her hips and her heels naturally fall on my shoulders, holding her in place as I swipe my tongue up the distance from her pussy to her clit.
She shivers in response.
I groan quietly against her core and dive in again, lazily lapping at her, making her go soft and breathy beneath me. I tease at her, nipping at her labia, prodding her clit with the tip of my tongue. I know she won’t come like this, and that’s not my goal. I haven’t had the opportunity to take my time with her.
She frustrates quickly, and no wonder. She was already soaked when I took those panties off her. She hid it well, but she must have been thinking about this all night, too. I bet she had to keep herself from squirming in her seat the whole drive home. So I’m only a couple minutes into my feast when she starts rubbing one of her breasts.
It’s a pretty sight, I won’t lie. And I know they’ll be tiny in my palms, but they more than fill hers. She spreads her fingers wide and gives it a squeeze, and the flesh bubbles up, begging me to lick there, too. I’m going to lick every inch of her tonight.
I let go of her hip, using my arm to brace her as I slide my hand under hers, knocking it away so I can play with that pretty tit. She may think I’m messing with her, but I’ve planned this night for a week. I engulf the impossibly soft flesh in my palm, curling my fingers to pinch her nipple between my thumb and forefinger just enough that I can tug it up and up.
And up.
Pinching hard to stretch it even further.
Until I hit the snapping point, timing it just right as I spear my tongue into her tight, hot pussy.
Joss cries out, her spine attempting to flex in all directions, her fleshy inner walls pushing in on my tongue. She covers her mouth, muffling her sounds, so I pin that hand and lash her clit.
She has the audacity to tug some of my blanket over her face.
I pull it out of her grip, struggling to bring both her wrists together so I can hold them in one hand. This time, it’s two fingers I stab into her pussy as I continue the assault on her clit. I’ve already figured out where her most sensitive spot inside her is, and I go right for that. She twists and turns beneath me, pushing with all the tiny might she has with her feet on my shoulders, and I can tell I’ve got the spot right and she’s going to come undone at any moment, but she’s fighting me.
She’s a screamer. I know this. She probably doesn’t even realize she practically deafened me in the truck as she rode my cock. I don’t know why she’s suddenly holding back.
To finish her off, I wiggle my fingers, double-tapping inside her as I twist my wrist to dig at her rim. She tips her chin to her shoulder to bury her face against her delicate arm. I can barely hear anything.
“Why are you fighting me?”
She scowls. “Why are you not fucking me?”
I slam my mouth against hers, kissing that tasty little profanity right out of it. “You gonna scream for me when I pump my cock into you?”
She shakes her head with a teasing pout.
I scrape my teeth down her jaw and then dip my head enough to swipe my tongue over her nipple. “No? What about when I bite this little titty of yours?”
Another quick shake of her head, but she’s got her lips turned in between her teeth now to mute herself.
I do bite, not too hard, just enough for her to blow out a gust of air and wail a quick, laughing, “Stop!”
I grin and kiss her nipple better. “Never. I’m going to fuck you until you can’t do anything but scream.”
She’s so fucking beautiful, her body flushed and dewy all over, her hair mussed beneath her, her lips already kiss swollen. The way she slithers beneath me proves how needy and unabashed she is. But she screws on a serious face and shakes her head. The sincerity when she whispers, “Please don’t,” gives me pause.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes, of course.” An enthusiastic nod to assure me. “I just don’t want everyone hearing us.”
My stupid lizard brain has me glaring right at the wall dividing mine and Blaise’s room. I’ve heard him fuck dozens of chicks. Merrick? He makes it a point to fuck in common rooms, like he’s establishing his dominance over the rest of us.
This is my chance to prove myself.
I look back down at Joss, at her pleading eyes and faint frown, at the flush in her cheeks that might not be purely pleasure.
This is my chance to prove myself, but not to my teammates. To her.
I kiss her gently as I slide into her, my mouth absorbing her quiet whimper. If this is what she wants, this is what I’ll gladly give her. I’ll give her the entire world.
On the other side of the wall, Blaise yells, “You guys want gyros? I’m ordering gyros!”