Game Day Box Set: A College Football Romance Page 9

  He groans again, but holds still as I slink around his body, my hands never leaving his skin. “I thought you wanted me inside you.”

  “I do.” In the dark, standing in the center of his naked desire, I feel bold and hungry. “But I want to taste you, too. Do you want that, Riley?”

  His voice is raspy. “I don’t know if I can take it.”

  “Why don’t we find out?” I say as I sink to my knees in front of him.

  When I take his cock in my mouth, he groans low and deep. He is so big, I can’t take him all, but I compensate by wrapping both hands around his length. I use my tongue to stroke his sensitive head and feel him twitch in my hands.

  “Nope, can’t take it,” he says with a gasp, pulling me to my feet. “If I let you do that much longer I’m going to lose control.”

  “We’ll try again later,” I say with a devious smile.

  That’s when I realize—there will be a later. There is no way that once will be enough with him. I won’t be able to walk away.

  Riley sits in a chair, his legs spread wide, and pulls me closer until I’m straddling his hips. “You’re in control,” he says as he rolls the condom over his cock. “Go as slow as you want. I don’t want to hurt you.”

  I look down at him then—his strong body, his serious face, his generous and gentle heart. The sensation that rolls through me is more than desire, more than the helpless yearning I’ve been trying to ignore for weeks. It’s something richer than that, sweeter, and a thousand times more addictive.

  I lean down to kiss him as I settle his cock at the entrance to my pussy. Then I pull back so I can see his eyes as I sink down onto him.

  Our twin moans echo in the dark room. He is big, stretching me wide, but I’m so slick that I welcome him. I slowly pump, my thighs burning as I take inch after inch. Riley buries his face in my breasts, licking and sucking at my nipples and sending jolts of sensation rocketing through me. Then he’s fully inside me, so deep I can barely breathe.

  Slowly, I begin to rock and swirl my hips. Riley gasps, subtly moving his hips so he feels even deeper, even bigger. Slowly, my rocking becomes rising, becomes stroking, as I steadily increase the speed until I’m thrusting against him.

  I kiss him desperately, but we are both so wild by now we can barely breathe. His hands are on my ass, helping me to thrust and also spreading me wide. And he’s thrusting back now, his cock touching places inside me I didn’t even know exist. My thighs are shaking, my nails digging into his shoulders where I hold on for leverage, as the sensations inside me swirl, spin, then roar into a tornado.

  I cry out with orgasm, but Riley won’t let me stop. He braces his feet against the ground, holding me up under my thighs as he pumps into me. I cry out again with each thrust, spiraling ever higher, every part of me trembling and burning and glowing. Words are spilling from my lips, pleas and praise mix with his name, and then he slips one hand between us to rub my clit and I’m gone again, lost in the abyss of pleasure.

  Dimly, I feel Riley shudder beneath me, hear his deep groan. He freezes, gasps, and digs his fingers into my skin as he comes. Then he collapses back in the chair, and I feel absurdly triumphant that I made his strong body weak with satisfaction. I curl into him, resting my head on his shoulder with his hard cock still inside me. Right now, despite everything, I’m exactly where I want to be.

  Chapter Twelve

  Riley

  “LILAH,” I MURMUR. I’M TRACING her tattoos with my fingers, tickling her skin.

  “Hmmm?” she replies, her head still resting on my chest.

  “This feels amazing, but I’m afraid we’re going to break this chair.”

  Her head whips up. “Oh,” she cries, scrambling off of me. “I didn’t—did we—”

  I stand and pull her to me, not wanting to lose the connection. We both look at the chair. It was one of the standard classroom jobs, a plastic bucket seat with a C-shaped metal base. But now, that C-shape has been crushed into a U.

  Lilah gapes at me. “Did we just fuck that chair into a different shape?”

  “Looks like it,” I say, comparing it to another chair that is discernibly less bent.

  “Oh my God,” she says, embarrassment tinging her voice. “What are we going to do?”

  I grin at her. “I’m taking it. As a souvenir.”

  She frowns, suddenly professorial even though she’s totally naked. “That’s school property.”

  “Not anymore. This is a piece of history. The chair where Lilah Stone came in my arms. Maybe I’ll have it bronzed.”

  “Riley.”

  “Lilah,” I say, mimicking her hands-on-hips stance. I can’t help feeling goofy—I can’t remember ever being this happy. “Are you going to let some unsuspecting student sit where my naked butt has been?”

  I surprise a laugh out of her, which turns into a long, rolling giggle. I gather her up in my arms, loving the way her smiling face tips up at me. “I need hash browns,” I say, “if I’m going to have the energy to damage more furniture with you later.”

  Her laugh tapers off as she lifts her hands to my chest. “Riley. We should talk.”

  “We will. Over hash browns.”

  She bites her lip, nods. She makes that lip look so soft and plush that I want to kiss her again, so I do—delighted that I can kiss her now, I don’t have to restrict myself or pretend I don’t want her. Her naked body is warm under my hands, so thrillingly close. The scent of her perfume has soaked into my skin, and I know I will still smell her later, when I’m alone. Not that I want to be alone. Not that I ever want to be without her.

  When we have tracked down all of our clothes, I snag the chair with a raised eyebrow. Lilah shakes her head disbelievingly, then shrugs.

  “I’ll get your piece back to you in a few days,” Lilah says, nodding at the wooden arm that still lay on my worktable.

  “Sure. So, tell me teacher, did I earn an A?”

  She pushes her hands into her mohawk, fluffing it up as she gives me a sultry look. “Oh, I don’t know. I’m going to have to see some more of your work.”

  I can’t resist pulling her against me, covering that pouting mouth with mine. “Don’t worry. I’ve still got plenty to show you.”

  Once I’ve ordered—easily three times as much food as Lilah—I sit back in the booth and smile. The last few times we’ve come here, we’ve both been scrupulously polite, carefully keeping our legs from brushing under the table. But now Lilah’s feet are tangled with mine, her knee brushing the inside of my thigh. I no longer have to spend half the meal trying not to fantasize about the tattoo hidden under her top. I know it now; I’ve run my mouth over it, tasted the bright roses and darker thorns she chose to ink on her skin.

  I adjust in my seat. It seems I’m still going to spend half the meal fantasizing about her naked body. Now, at least I don’t have to hide it.

  “So I’m thinking after this, we should go back to your place and try to break your bed.”

  She coughs into her coffee, then looks up at me with merriment in her eyes. “I’m sure my grandmother would love that.”

  “Right, your grandmother. Well, I’m not particularly attached to the bed in my dorm room.”

  She curls her lip. “Like I’m going to break furniture with you with a dozen football players right outside.”

  Valid point. “I’ll put a sock on the door.”

  She takes a deep breath. “Can we be serious for a second?”

  I reach across the table and take her hand. “What’s up?”

  She looks down at our joined hands. “Look, I know there’s a perception that artists are all about free love and open relationships or whatever. But I’m not one of those artists.”

  “Okay.”

  “The past hour aside, I don’t just jump into bed with people. Or onto chairs with people,” she says with a small smile. “And we don’t have to label this or make some sort of weird commitment, but—”

  “Are you saying you want to go steady?�
�� I ask, my voice amused.

  “No. I mean … no. I like you, and I’d like to see you again, but …. God, Riley, I wish you weren’t a football player.”

  Irritation pricks at my happiness. “We’re still stuck on this?”

  “It’s not about Natalie. Or not just about Natalie.” Her hands flutter like birds under mine, but I don’t let go. “I know what the next few months are going to be like for you—what it has to be like for you. If you’re going to get drafted, you have to focus all your energy on being your best. You don’t need the distraction of a … whatever.”

  “See, I look at this another way. There’s no way I could play my best unless you were my … whatever. You make me better. I told you that before.”

  She looks down at the table, embarrassed. “You were talking about class.”

  “No, I was talking about everything. Lilah, I don’t think you understand. At the end of the spring semester, I was ready to go home. I was committed to playing my last year at MSU, but I didn’t have any love for the game, any heart. But over the past few weeks, I feel like I’ve woken up again. On the field, and in the rest of my life. And you are a big part of that.”

  “Is football really what you want, though?” she asks, gripping my hand. “I mean, Riley, you are so talented. The piece you created today is one thing, but all your little carvings are wonderful as well. You could sell them. You could have a career as an artist.”

  “Nah,” I say, sitting back awkwardly. “That’s just for fun.”

  “I know you think football is your future, but just consider it a second. I am certain that you could make a living off of your carvings. You don’t have to go to the NFL—there’s another option.”

  The concept is so foreign I immediately reject it. “No way. It’s just something I do. If I told my dad I was going to carve wood for a living instead of play football, he’d laugh his ass off right before he kicked mine.”

  “That’s how I make my living,” Lilah says, going a little huffy.

  “Yeah, but you’re ….”

  Her eyes become sharp in an instant. “I’m what?”

  I stare at her for a long moment. “There is literally no way I can end that sentence without putting my foot in my mouth.”

  She tugs her hands from mine. “I’m what?”

  I purse my lips, then decide to wing it. “You are a creative juggernaut with years of experience and a Pitkin Prize under her belt. And I’m just a country boy who whittles.”

  She looks at me narrowly. “You are much more than that. For example, you are an accomplished bullshitter.”

  I grin at her, knowing my dimple is winking. “Why, thank you.”

  “You know what I’m saying. The piece you carved for your final project is wonderful. That could be the start of a whole new world for you.”

  The project is still clear in my mind’s eye. It’s not so different from the hundreds of other carvings I’ve done over the years—it isn’t the biggest, or the most difficult, or the most beautiful. But it was certainly the hardest to create. I feel like I’ve removed a piece of myself in its creation. I’m not sure I want to experience something that intense again. I mean what I said earlier—I never would have been able to create that piece without Lilah. “You can have it.”

  “Riley. No. You should keep it.”

  “I want it to be yours,” I say, all joking gone from my voice. “You’re the one who helped me see what I’m capable of.”

  She would have replied, but the waitress arrives with the food. Ahh, hash browns. There is no situation that can’t be improved by fried potatoes. I dig in happily, then notice that Lilah is poking at her club sandwich. “What?”

  She looks up at me, regret and sorrow clear in her face. “I like you, Riley. But my position hasn’t changed. I don’t want to be in a relationship with a football player.”

  I chew slowly, giving myself time to think. “Well, your position will have to change, because you’re in a relationship with me, and I’m a football player. And, just to be clear, if I weren’t playing football, I wouldn’t be here. I have a scholarship to play, and I can’t afford school without it.”

  “I’m not asking you to quit. Look, it’s me, okay? I’m not sure I can deal with it.”

  “With what?”

  “With being ‘Lotto’ Brulotte’s girlfriend … or whatever,” she adds quickly. “I’m not going to make you banners or go to pep rallies or cheer for you on the sidelines.”

  “That’s fine,” I say with a shrug. “We have cheerleaders for that.”

  “I don’t even go to football games.”

  “You don’t have to,” I say, though it gives me a pang to think of playing without her there.

  Clearly she notices, because she asks, “Isn’t that going to bother you?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know. What I do know is that your fries are getting cold.”

  She looks down at her plate, then back up at me. “Is that some sort of existential commentary on how I should live in the moment instead of worrying about the future?”

  “No. It’s a fact,” I say, proving it by stealing a fry off her plate. “Lilah, let me make it easy for you: I’m not going to let you talk your way out of my life. If you really don’t want to be my … whatever, then you should tell me now.”

  She says nothing.

  “So, should I take that to mean that you want to … whatever with me?”

  “Define ‘whatever.’”

  I want to say spend every moment together and grow so close that we can’t imagine a life apart, but I figure that would freak her out. “For now … hang out. Make art. Break furniture. Eat hash browns.”

  She smiles, and it’s so beautiful it hurts.

  “I think I can agree to those terms,” she says, finally picking up her sandwich. Simultaneously, I feel her foot rubbing my leg. “To be honest, I can’t stop thinking about how flimsy all the furniture in this diner is.”

  I look around, my imagination suddenly vivid. Erotic images pop into my head: propping Lilah on a stool and burying my face between her legs; laying her out on a booth and fucking her glorious tits; leaning her against the cold case so her hard nipples scrape the glass as I pound into her. When I look back at Lilah, my cock already hard, a sly smile curls on her face.

  “Let’s get out of here,” she says, signaling the waitress. “We can pack this up to-go. We’ll probably need the energy later.”

  “But where are we going to go?” I ask. “Your place is out, my place is out.”

  She chews on her lip for a moment, which is doing nothing to relax my erection.

  I try to force some blood back into my brain. “My dorm room is out? I don’t have a roommate.”

  She shakes her head. “I can’t …. Don’t ask me to walk through all of those guys.” She looks away. “I’m just getting used to the idea of being with you. I don’t think I can handle being around the whole team.”

  “Okay, that makes sense. Um ….” I think back to what I did when I was a randy high schooler. “I have a truck.”

  She tilts her head, her foot tracking up to my inner thigh. “We could probably make that work.”

  My cock grows even harder at the words. It’s going to be difficult to get out of here without making a scene. But it’s not just my cock that is swelling. Looking at her, I can feel something expanding in my chest that’s part pleasure, part desire. Something is happening to my heart that neither Lilah nor I are prepared for. If I’m honest, I think I’m ready for it, ready to feel this way. I just have to convince her to feel the same.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Riley

  AS THE SUMMER WINDS DOWN, the MSU campus fills with students moving in for the fall semester.

  But I barely notice the crowd. It feels like all that exists in this world, besides football, is this thing growing between me and Lilah. My body and Lilah’s body. My heart and Lilah’s heart.

  I walk around in a haze, intoxicated by her even when she’s
not around. She’s infused my entire life, making everything better. I swear, she’s even affecting the team. In practice, we are finally starting to come together. West is throwing the ball well, and the team is acting like a team once again.

  And me? I’m faster and stronger than I’ve ever been. I’ve been bulking up, building muscle mass for years, honing my skills and working myself to the bone, but something is different now. Something has clicked, and I can’t help but think that thing is Lilah. I know it’s silly, but it’s like she’s given me super strength.

  And it couldn’t come at a better time. We’re just minutes away from our first game of the season. All eyes are on us, watching to see if we’ll choke or survive. There are still those who want Coach MoFo reinstated, who can’t stop focusing on the past. But walking toward the stadium this morning, surrounded by classmates proudly sporting the Mustang blue and silver, I am so damn excited for the future.

  Today should be a cake walk. Literally, that’s what these games are called—cupcake games—because the athletic department purposely chooses an out-of-conference team with lesser ability to come and make us start the season with confidence. Lobbing up a nice and easy first game to kick the season off right. Sometimes I wonder about how those teams feel. Flying all the way in to be sacrificial lambs. Today, for instance, we’re playing the University of Hawaii, the Rainbow Warriors. I guess with a mascot like that, they’ve got bigger problems than knowing they’re going to lose a game.

  In the locker room, Reggie sits next to me with his leg bouncing up and down. He punches a fist into his hand repeatedly, his energy spilling out of him anyway it can. As I pad up, I can’t help but notice that some of the guys are holding my figurines, rubbing them like mini-Buddhas for good luck. As soon as Reggie showed off the one he found in my room, all the guys wanted one. Over the past couple of weeks, it seems like every guy on the team has come by my room and casually poked through my collection of wooden figurines. I don’t believe in good luck charms, but if the other guys do, who am I to talk them out of it?