Forgetting the Rules: A Second-Chance-Romance Sports Standalone

by Mariah Dietz

  “Feel that?” he says, running his finger over the epicenter of my sensitivity. I’m panting because it feels so good. “That’s me, Rose. I do this to you.” He sweeps his tongue over me, and his relentless fingers swirl and trace until I come apart, his mouth still on me. It feels wrong and so damn right as he licks me clean while I tremble and gasp.

  Slowly, he licks his way back over my torso, giving my nipples another slow, appreciative visit. His tongue dances across my chest, and I squirm, the feeling so gentle and light it has me realizing for the first time I’m ticklish there. A husky laugh escapes his lips, and he does it again, making my own giggle ring out, adding humor and playfulness, two more things that I can add to intimacy that I don’t associate with sex. He sucks at the hollow of my neck and then traces my jaw with his tongue. I kiss him, twining my arms around his neck and pulling him closer to me. I taste myself on his tongue, swallowing the rumble of another moan as his hips settle against mine. His skin is hot, and smooth, and perfect against mine, and for a moment, I want to lie here with him, his weight balancing me so my thoughts can’t travel far enough to worry and kiss him until I can make sense of all of this.

  I run my fingers across his shoulders, feeling the stacks of muscles that contract under my touch. He explores my body with his hands, silencing my thoughts as he awakens that same need he’d sated just moments ago.

  “It’s my turn,” I tell him.

  He shakes his head. “You don’t have to.”

  I grin, feeling almost brazen as desire flows through my body. “I want to.”

  Hesitancy pinches his blue eyes for a moment, and I use that time to reach down and slip my hand over his erection. He draws in a quick breath through his nose and closes his eyes. “Rose,” he groans my name, making me feel more empowered than maybe ever before in my existence. He’s huge. The ache between my legs grows louder and more persistent. I rub over his length, stroking him gently and then softly like he did to me. “Roll over,” I tell him.

  Ian does, his shoulders filling much of my queen-sized mattress. I sit on my knees, appreciating the full view of him, his flawless face, strong jaw, straight nose, stacked shoulders, and defined abs. He’s perfection: strong, solid, and defined. My gaze lowers to his thick erection, and it’s equal parts impressive and slightly intimidating. I slip my fingers into the back of his underwear, using the same gentleness he’d shown me. I pause for a second as his full cock is exposed, realizing it’s even bigger than I’d thought. My heart is beating so fast I’m starting to feel dizzy as I lower the black material past his ankles and toss it to the floor.

  I understand the gist, of course, but as I straddle Ian’s legs, nerves race. “I’m just supposed to bite down, right?” I smile to show I’m teasing, but I’m desperate to break the tension and my nerves. After all, I talk this big tough game about sexuality and openly talking about sex, and clearly, now is a good time to start walking the walk. Ian’s steel eyes widen in alarm. “I’m kidding,” I say. “I’m just a little nervous.”

  Ian chokes out a laugh, his eyes shining with humor and warmth. “Trust me—you don’t have anything to be nervous about. You won’t do anything wrong … unless you bite. Grazing is okay, but no chomping.”

  I bite my teeth, and he releases another laugh, filling me with ease. I draw my hand over his abs. “Walk me through it.”

  His eyebrows rise with question.

  “Tell me how you like it,” I tell him as I slowly lower myself over him. His cock twitches as I get closer, my breath fanning across his sensitive skin.

  “Lick my shaft,” he says, voice hoarse as he tucks his hands behind his head and watches me.

  I lean forward, using the tip of my tongue to draw a wet line up his shaft to his crown. He sucks in a breath, his cock twitching. “Like that?”

  “Just like that.”

  I do it again, and he closes his eyes, his jaw growing hard. I use the flat of my tongue, changing the speed and pressure like he had on me, and then cup his balls with my hand. He groans as he lifts his hips off the bed.

  “Good?”

  Ian’s eyes open, burning with desire. “Put me in your mouth.”

  I take the tip of him, and he threads one hand in my hair. I slowly suck more of him into my mouth, licking him between gentle pulls.

  “Fuuuck,” Ian groans.

  I open my eyes and meet his stare, and his gaze burns into my memories and thoughts. I take more of him in, my jaw already aching due to his girth.

  Ian groans, his hand tightening in my hair, and then he shifts. “I don’t want to come,” he tells me.

  I do. I feel powerful and beautiful and sexy, making him feel so damn good. But before I can argue, he hauls me up his body and claims my mouth again. He rolls us, so he’s over me. “Do you have any condoms?”

  I nod as I open the drawer of my nightstand. Ian reaches inside, grabbing a condom that he rips open with his teeth. He sheaths himself and then lowers his hand to my pussy.

  “You’re so wet,” he says, running his fingers over me, swirling over my clit, then following down to my entrance, where he eases a finger inside me. My breath catches in my throat, and Ian grins, his gaze tracing over my face and body as though he’s trying to memorize this moment as well. He pumps his finger, making my thighs clench, and then in one fluid move, he adds a second finger and places his thumb on my clit, massaging me and finger fucking me all at the same time. I’m panting, desperate for a release, while also wanting to deny it to carry out this incredible feeling that is rippling through my body, making my skin feel like it’s on fire. I can’t stop staring at him, the strength in his shoulders and arms, the width of his chest, the small tattoo along his ribs that I vow to look at more carefully later.

  “I need to feel you.”

  His eyes flash to mine, and he pumps his fingers inside me a couple more times before dragging them over my clit and moving above me so his hips align with mine. His weight is like a blanket, safe and warm and so damn comforting—too comforting. I kiss him again, all desire as my tongue dips into his mouth. He kisses me back, wet and hard, and then he lifts to his elbows, bracing himself as he guides his cock to my entrance. I spread my legs a bit more to accept his size and tense as he presses inside. His size stretches me, pushing me to the precipice of pain and pleasure.

  His steel eyes study me. I nod, encouraging him—wanting him to continue.

  “You’re huge,” I tell him.

  He flashes his cocky grin. “All for you.”

  I close my eyes and force myself to relax as he bottoms out and remains still for a moment, giving me time to adjust to his size. Then his mouth falls against mine, warm and languid as he skirts his hand over my breast and fingers my nipple. I wrap my arms around his shoulders and shift my hips, wanting to feel him move. He kisses me again and then slowly withdraws just to push back inside even slower, allowing me to feel every thick inch of him.

  I moan into his mouth, and he hums in response and deepens our kiss before he pulls back and moves, pulling my hips along with his to the edge of the bed. He props my feet on either side of his chest and eases himself even deeper inside me. I feel so damn good—I had no idea sex could feel like this—be this. I relish in the moment, clutching his hands at my waist. He increases the speed, measured thrusts as he seeks my pleasure. Then his thumb goes to the ball of nerves at the top of my clit, and my nails scrape up the sheets. It feels like every nerve in my body is aware of the pleasure, and then I’m coming undone, and Ian’s thrusts are becoming faster and harder and losing all rhythm and composure as we spiral together.

  19

  Ian

  I study the curve of or Rose’s spine, the gentle cadence of her breaths. I trace over the tattoos that appear like artwork across her flawless skin. I awoke early, unease filling my chest. I’ve been lying here wondering what might happen today, and for the first time in months, I don’t try to cover my thoughts with concerns about football. Will Rose wake up and freak out? Will
she decide that forgetting her rules isn’t worth it? That I’m not worth it?

  I close my eyes, and images of last night flash in my thoughts, the way her eyes shined with fear and nerves and then with confidence and strength. It was perfect—she was perfect. My cock hardens at the memory, and I shift away, so I don’t wake her up.

  Last night has changed everything, and it’s terrifying. I still don’t have the time to dedicate to being a good boyfriend—a boyfriend like what Rose deserves. And we’re still early into the season, leaving months of gym time and practices, games, and analyzing tape.

  We’re both armed with a dozen valid reasons that make our situation seem impossible, difficult at best.

  Beside me, Rose stirs, and I open my eyes. She snuggles into the blankets and then rolls over to face me. Her green eyes dance with unspoken words as she looks at me. “Hey,” she says softly.

  I reach forward, tracing the side of her face with my thumb. “How’d you sleep?”

  “Like a baby,” she admits. “You?”

  I grin. “Like a brick.”

  She smiles smugly, her foot brushing my leg. “You have a game today.”

  I nod.

  “What’s your game-day routine?”

  “I carb load in the morning, and then I study tape and hydrate.”

  “I’ll warn you, Arlo usually gets up around nine, so if you want to…” Her words trail off, but I hear her intention: if I want to change my mind and leave.

  I place my hand on the curve of her hip and pull her close. “If I want to, what?”

  She runs her tongue over her lips. “This. Us. I just don’t want you to feel obligated to offer more. I know you have a lot riding on this year and this season.”

  I silence her with my mouth, her lips warm from sleeping. “The only thing I regret is that it took us this long to finally start sorting out all of this shit between us. It’s going to be difficult,” I tell her. “I want to tell you that it’s not, but it’s going to be hard, and we have some things to hash out and discuss, but I have absolutely no doubt that if we’re both invested, we will make this work.”

  She tucks her bottom lip between her teeth, her eyes dancing between mine. “I kind of have some trust issues,” she says. She flashes another forced grin and shrugs playfully. “You might have noticed.”

  I splay my hand over her skin, refusing to smile and play along, knowing that humor is her fastest way to veer off topics that make her feel uncomfortable. “Why did you make the rules?” I ask.

  Her lips teeter with a frown. “Inspiration for them happened when I was a senior in high school.” She swallows. “This is going to sound so stupid and childish.” Her gaze drops, and she starts to roll to her back, but I anchor her in place, forcing her to look at me.

  “Try me.”

  She blows out a long breath. “I used to date. In fact, I dated the same guy for three years. He was a year older, popular, cute, driven…” She shakes her head, and for a moment, I think she’s stopped because my jaw is clenched from hearing her describe him. It’s stupid to feel jealous over something that happened four years ago, yet I’ll be damned if jealousy isn’t seeping into my body, wondering why she was willing to invest so much time into him.

  “We’d made the promise to stay virgins until we got married like good girls and boys do.” She makes a face, and when I don’t react, she swallows again and releases another sigh, this one heavier. “Then, my mom got sick.” Her eyes jog to the side, and she presses her lips together as the delicate skin under her eyes reddens. She bites her bottom lip and then releases it along with another long breath. “She got sick, and I started spending all my free time with her, trying to make up for the nights I’d spent sneaking out and going to parties and not realizing she was the coolest person I’d always known.” She rolls her lips together, and her chin quivers. Aside from last night, this is the closest I’ve ever been to her past. It feels momentous and cruel to encourage her to continue as the pain in her expression causes a physical ache in my chest.

  I tighten my grip on her, and she takes a couple of deep breaths before meeting my gaze. The agony in her eyes sits heavily on my shoulders. “I was admittedly a terrible girlfriend during those months. I didn’t want to leave her side, and as she got worse, so did I. I was obsessive, worried if I left, I might not see her again.” A tear slips over her lower lid, and she moves to brush it away, but it’s quickly replaced by another and then another. “I found out he’d been sleeping around all year.”

  Anger hits like adrenaline, considering everything she’d already endured. “What a stupid son of a bitch.”

  She shakes her head and wipes at her face again as she smiles. “I’m glad it happened,” she says, sniffing. “It took losing my mom to realize I didn’t love him. Not like I thought I did, not like I should have to be promising things like marriage and celibacy. I realized I’d always held this belief in my head that sex equated to love, and I learned those two are rarely mutually exclusive. So, with a chip on my shoulder from being cheated on and the fear of losing someone else … capped with my parents’ divorce,” she shrugs.

  “You created your rules.”

  She presses her lips together and nods. “You scare me, Ian. You scare me down to my core.” Her eyes glisten with fresh tears as she bites her bottom lip again.

  I shake my head, ready to make pledges and promises and vows about how I won’t—can’t—cause her harm because as much as she thinks I’m under her skin, she’s a thousand times deeper beneath mine. “I know that fear. I felt it all summer,” I admit. “I’ve wanted you since I first saw you. And while it began with curiosity and attraction, those feelings have grown to be so much more—so much greater than fascination and lust. When Isla kissed me, I wanted to like it. I wanted to want her in the same way I want you, and yet, all I felt was anger and disgust with myself for allowing it because I knew she wasn’t the one I wanted—will never be the one I want. You are.”

  Rose’s green eyes flair with emotions: compassion, relief, regret, trust, patience—I see them all and understand them like she’s saying the words. “I might be a really crappy girlfriend,” she says. “I’m impatient, and forgetful, and stubborn, and—” Before she can list another thing she perceives as a negative trait, I bring my hand to cup the side of her face and kiss her. She pulls back, laughing gently, the smile rounding her cheeks. “This is important pillow talk. You need to listen. These are vital things to know, so you’re not blindsided and realize lust prevented you from seeing the real me.”

  It’s my turn to laugh. “Then you should probably know that I’m stubborn as well, and marginally OCD, and occasionally withdrawn.”

  “I hate movie previews.”

  “Doesn’t everyone hate movie previews?” I ask.

  She laughs again, the sound so pure and joyful that it’s contagious. “Olivia makes pancakes or waffles every Saturday,” she tells me.

  “Is that an invitation?”

  “It might be.”

  I’ve been mindlessly rubbing the length of her arm, and I’m not even sure how long I’ve been doing it, tracing over the tattooed words that encircle her forearm. I’ve only caught glimpses of it, realizing it’s like a puzzle that starts and ends in multiple spots. With the blankets lowered, I see her full clavicle and see the same delicate script: “perfection is found in imperfection.” I brush over the ink with my fingers. I’d asked about her tattoos before, and a few, she’d give me a story, and for others, she fell back on snark and sarcasm that left me with a smile and often forgetting my initial question. I gently turn her arm around so I can see the inside where “Love, Mom” is written along the inside of her wrist—the only script that’s in a different font.

  “How many tattoos do you have?”

  She folds her bottom lip over like she’s forgotten. “Ten? Maybe fifteen?” She looks down at herself, though she’s still mostly covered with blankets. “Oof. I still smell like beer.” She lifts her hair to her nose an
d smells it, her nose wrinkling. “I can’t believe you spooned me while I smelled like stale beer all night.”

  “It was a chore.”

  She laughs again as I slip my hand under the blankets and find her bare skin. Images of last night begin to flash through my thoughts again, but before they can become a reality, a fist bangs against the door.

  “Is that Ian’s truck in my parking spot?” Arlo yells through the door.

  Rose grabs for her phone to check the time, the swell of her breast becoming visible. “Oh, shit,” she says. “It’s already past ten.”

  “It’s Saturday.”

  “I know, but I’m supposed to meet Anna, and I’m going to be late. And not just Anna-late but late late.”

  “There’s a difference?”

  “If you’re not fifteen minutes early, she thinks you’re late,” Rose says, flipping off the covers.

  “I hear voices,” Arlo says from the other side of the door.

  “You should probably see someone about that issue,” Rose yells back as she stands, fully in the nude, revealing the intricate paths of her tattoos and every single inch of her perfection. Holy hell, do I want to drag her back into bed and watch her come again. I think of her admission, of all the things she hasn’t done that I want to experience with her.

  “Is Forrest here? You couldn’t wait one more day?”

  “Arlo, go away!”

  “We had bets. Mine starts tomorrow.”

  Rose’s attention snaps to me, accusation and alarm flashing bright like warning signs.