by Sara Ney
I marvel at his body, wishing there was more light, wanting to see the expression on his face when I kiss the bump on the bridge of his nose. The scar on his eyebrow.
He reads my mind.
One of those brawny arms rises, swiping at the light switch in the ceiling. When it goes on, he leans back to study me. I return the favor, learning the contours of his face, just looking, my gaze tracing the arch of his brow. Cheekbones. The lines in his forehead.
He really is pretty darn cute.
I lean in to kiss him again, sweet, passionate open-mouth kisses that light a fire inside my soul—inside my panties—and fog up the windows. I arch so he can see my face.
A tentative finger traces along my jaw, down my neck, down the center of my sternum. I suck in a ragged breath when that finger hits my belly button, fiddling with the hem of my shirt. Taking his hands in mine, I guide them to my waist, under my shirt. Break any invisible boundaries he may have created in his mind, needing to feel his hands on my bare skin.
They skim up my ribcage, slowly, gliding their way to the tender undersides of my breasts.
Feather light, driving me insane.
I sink deeper onto his lap, lining up my pussy with his stiff cock, rotating my hips like a stripper in a nightclub giving a lap dance, head rolling back as his tip finds that sweet spot down below.
His pants are mesh polyester, thin.
My leggings are cotton, thinner.
Our guttural, simultaneous moans fill the cab of my car.
Rhett grips my hips, working me back and forth over his erection; I can feel everything through the threadbare fabric of my pants. Underwear. His pants.
My hands grapple at his waist. Haul his gray compression shirt up and over his head. He gives his hair a shake as I toss the shirt to the side. My hands—my lucky hands—roam his upper torso, greedy for his warm skin.
“Your body is insane. Unbelievable.” I could eat him up.
Rhett’s head sags against the seat when my mouth sucks on the space where his shoulder and neck meet, my tongue gliding. His flesh is smooth. Tight.
Hot.
So hot.
I circle his dusky nipple with the tip of my finger. Pluck it just to hear him gasp.
His paws are back on my body, skimming the sensitive skin near the waistband of my pants. He strokes my flesh but holds back, gripping my ribcage but not touching my boobs.
I bit my lip, debating.
Watch his face as he momentarily closes his eyes, lips parting, lost in the sensation of the gyrating motions in his lap. Over his erection.
Unable to stand it, I grip the hem of my Iowa t-shirt, pulling it off so I’m on his lap in nothing but a wireless bra.
I know what he sees, what my body looks like—he’s not the only one who works out, and my breasts are pretty damn fantastic.
“Shit,” he mutters at the sight of me, gripping my hips tighter.
“Like what you see?”
He swallows, hips rocking beneath me. “Yeah.”
Then look your fill, Rhett Rabideaux.
Rhett
I don’t know where to put my hands after Laurel peels her shirt off and tosses it aside, but I sure as shit know where to look.
I can’t not stare; it’s impossible. Laurel’s perky tits are right fucking there, in my face, an erotic wet dream come to life.
She trails her fingertips along the straps of her lacy, see-through bra, up and down and back again, slowly tracing the edges near her nipples. Wiggles her ass on my lap.
Leans forward, long red hair brushing my chest.
My nerves are going fucking haywire, exploding, every touch shooting off a sensitive spark. My chest, her hair, skin, thighs.
My cock is ready to detonate.
I’m so fucking hard it’s like I can feel the blood draining from my brain and rushing to my throbbing dick.
At the sensation of her fantastic boobs rubbing against my pecs, back and forth and up and down, I swear I almost jizz my fucking pants.
“Touch me,” she whispers near my ear, licking the outer shell. Guides my hands back up her bare torso.
Wordlessly, my palms cover her breasts, over the pale lace, languidly tracing the delicate scraps her hands were covering, the pads of my trembling fingers running up the straps of her bra.
Yeah, that’s right—I’m goddamn trembling.
Dragging both straps down, I incline, and when I kiss the swell of her plump flesh, goose bumps form on her skin. Her hair falls over one shoulder, and I move it aside to kiss her neck. Kiss her throat, dragging my lips across her bare shoulder, two bra straps limping lifelessly down her triceps.
Until they fall down her arms.
I tenderly palm her boob, thumbs slowly brushing back and forth across her stiff nipples. Around and around her areola. Her head goes back, a strangled moan escaping her throat, filling the void in the car.
Laurel rotates her hips, grinding down on my dick while I cup her boobs. I can feel the slit inside her black leggings, the head of my dick seeking the heat I know must be primed as fuck. Slick.
“You’re going to make me come—God, you found my clit,” she says as she pants, her words drawn out like a whine. “I’m so close.”
Come. Clit. Close. Those three words, a heady aphrodisiac.
“Fuck, so am I.”
“I want you so bad.” I don’t know if she says it or if I do.
When I suck her tits into my mouth, one stiff nipple at a time, she grabs a fistful of my hair. Tugs. Bears down on my lap, dry humping the shit out of me.
My hands grab her ass cheeks, instinctively dragging her down harder. It feels so fucking good it’s almost agonizing. My brows furrow as if in pain as my arms wrap around her, holding her tight.
Our mouths fuse, one breath.
My balls tighten; her boobs feel like heaven in my mouth and against my bare chest and I want to fuck her, fuck the fucking shit right out of her, so bad my mouth waters at the thought.
Laurel sucks my earlobe when I tip my head back against the headrest, her labored breath fueling me on, hips thrusting upward, wanting to be inside her.
“Oh! Yes, yes, keep doing that…” comes her frantic whisper.
Another set of headlights eases up the rise, but we’re consumed with each other, one thing on our minds—coming.
“Mmm,” she groans into my mouth, riding my lap, mimicking sex I’ve only seen in Tumblr porn. Grabbing my hands and planting them back on her tits. “Mmm, yes.” Laurel hisses through her teeth. “Don’t stop touching me or I’ll die.”
It’s more than I can take.
The slow build inside my balls grows.
“Shit,” I growl. “Shit, shit.” I’m going to come in my shorts, something I’ve never done in my entire fucking life, because I’ve never had a hot girl grind on me, never even been alone in the same room with a hot girl before Laurel.
Ever.
“Are you coming?” she whimpers.
“Are you?”
“Yes, yes, don’t you dare stop.”
I couldn’t even if I wanted to, not for a million fuckin’ bucks, despite the imminent chafing happening inside my boxer briefs.
When we come, we shudder together, her arms sliding around my neck, warm lips finding the pulse in my throat. She nuzzles my shoulder, mouth resting below my ear.
“I like you.” Her fingers reach up, toying with a curl at the back of my head. “A lot.”
“Je vous aussi,” I murmur into her hair, stroking it with my palm, hand gliding down the smooth skin of her back. I like you, too.
And it scares the shit out of me.
Rhett
“Wake up, fuck stick. Coach called an emergency meeting.”
Jesus Christ, does it ever end with this guy?
I crack an eyelid, rolling toward the voice of my roommate, feeling for my phone, wanting to check the time. “How did you get in here? I thought I locked the door.”
“It was easy.” He yanks back
my covers. “Get up. We have to hustle.”
“Why?” My bare feet hit the floor. Legs stand.
“I don’t know, but we have to be at the field house in fifteen minutes. Get your shit on and let’s go. Johnson’s driving.”
A pair of pants and hoodie get tossed on the bed, the sweatshirt nearly hitting my face.
He’s exiting the room when I call him back.
“Hey.”
He turns, hand grabbing the doorframe. “Yeah?”
“Who did it?”
“Did what?”
“Don’t play dumb—who fucking vandalized my car.”
My roommate shuffles on the hardwood floor, eyes trained on the beige wall behind me. “I don’t know.”
“Would you cut the crap?” I pull the black sweatshirt down over my head. Yank on the athletic shorts. “Who fucking was it?”
“I’m telling you, man, I don’t know!”
“You’ve got the balls to stand there and lie to my face? Nice.”
I gather up my bag, stuffing in an extra pair of shorts.
“This is just a meeting—you won’t have to work out,” he’s quick to point out.
I ignore him, throwing a jock strap, tank, and socks in my duffle.
“Yeah, well, I didn’t take the NCAA championship twice by pissing away my days, did I, Gunderson?” I glance at him hovering in the doorway. “Get the fuck out if you’re not going to give me any information.”
He hesitates. “It was some sorority girls.”
I straighten. “What?”
Gunderson shrugs his scrawny shoulders. “It was some sorority girls. Someone thought if would be funny if you came outside and your Jeep was wrapped in, uh, plastic wrap.”
“Who’s banging sorority girls?”
“I don’t know, everybody?”
I toss a new pair of tennis shoes in with my clothes. “That really narrows it down, doesn’t it?”
“If I knew, I would tell you.”
I laugh cynically. “Yeah right.”
“Look, man, I’ll help you get your Jeep home, okay? We’ll do it after the meeting.”
“Don’t fucking bother.”
“I come to the stadium this morning and what the hell do you think I see in the parking lot? Any of you ladies know the answer I’m looking for?”
Crickets.
“No one has anything to say this morning?”
We all stare dumbly at Coach, who looks like he’s about to pop the straining blood vessel in the center of his forehead. He is fucking pissed.
“I saw Rhett Rabideaux’s Jeep wrapped in fucking plastic. Who here thinks that shit was funny? Who here thinks it was safe? Show of hands.”
His question is met with stillness, silence, so he powers on.
“What the fuck is wrong with you guys?” He paces to the side of the room normally reserved for reviewing tapes, slamming a clipboard onto the table he uses for transcripts.
Coach rakes a weathered hand through his graying hair, hands behind his head, staring at the wall. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do here. I have to hold someone accountable. If no one speaks up, you’re all suspended until we figure it out.”
Still, no one utters a word.
Until, “Coach, I don’t think it’s fair to suspend everyone because of a stupid prank.”
Coach doesn’t even turn around. “Shut the fuck up, Tennyson. Unless you can supply me with a name, consider yourself on probation.”
Someone coughs.
“Come on Coach,” Brandon Tennyson argues. “I’m sure whoever did this”—he glances around the room, eyes narrowed into dangerous slits—“whoever did this was just trying to be funny.”
“I assure you, ladies, the staff didn’t get the joke.” Coach turns toward Iowa’s coaching team, gesturing toward the support staff. “We’ve been here for hours, discussing our options. The way we see it, there aren’t many alternatives. We cannot have a team full of little pricks who think hazing a new teammate is tolerated. You are adults. It’s time to take your punishment like grown men.”
One of the freshman redshirts raises his hand. “But Coach, won’t we have to forfeit the season if you suspend us?”
“BINGO!”
Throughout the room, a ripple of countless murmurs, profanity. Complaining from a few braver souls.
Sebastian Osborne clears his thick throat, speaking up, humor infusing his deep voice. “Coach, come on, isn’t there something we can do so we’re not fucking up the rest of our season? Some of us depend on the scholarship money.”
One of those someones being him.
Coach studies his cuticles. “You boys should have thought of that when you left Rabideaux stranded in the parking lot last night.”
Osborne isn’t giving up. “Isn’t there something we can do? There has to be.”
“Funny you should ask. As a matter of fact, there is.” He motions for Roger Danvers, our conditioning coach, to join him in front. Danvers ambles forward with a scowl, tossing a pair of keys at Coach, who holds them up, jingles them. “See these keys? These are your ticket to freedom.”
Confused glances around the room.
“Danvers is going to list off our suspects. Those people are going to take Rabideaux and these goddamn keys and head up to my lake house for a little team bonding, and I don’t want to see any of your fucking faces back in this room until you figure this shit out. The next little asshole to pull a prank gets suspended from the team, and expelled from school.” His beady eyes scan the room. “Are we clear?”
A collective nods waves through the group.
“I didn’t hear you: are we clear?”
“Yes.”
“Not one goddamn prank or I will make sure your time at Iowa is over.”
Silence.
“Gunderson. Johnson. Ryder. Tennyson…” Coach rattles off the ten names he suspects of guilt. “That’s it. Now get the fuck out. You have one hour to hightail it out of here and get your asses to the cottage before I have them in a sling.” He raises his voice a notch, pointing to the team captains. “Zeke and Oz? Congratulations, you’re playing chaperone. My office, now.”
Well shit.
Laurel
The last person I expect to bump into at the campus coffee shop is Rex Gunderson, the wrestling team’s manager and Rhett’s roommate. He spots Alex and me in a corner booth, smiles wide, ambles over when I catch his eye.
“Mind if I sit for a second?” He takes the seat next to Alex without waiting for a reply.
“Uh, sure.” My cousin rolls her eyes. “Be my guest.”
“Thanks.” He wastes no time eyeing up my blueberry muffin. “Mind if I…”
No manners, I swear. “Yes, I kind of mind.”
Rhett’s roommate ignores me, splits the top off my muffin, breaks in it half, and shoves my fluffy, berry-filled pastry down his gullet. Swallows. Eats the other half. “You talk to Rhett yet?”
“Not today.” I swear this guy always has an agenda. “Why?”
“Just wondering.”
When he moves for the bottom half of my muffin, I slap his hand away, irritated.
“Not to be rude, but want to tell us what you want?” Leave it to Alexandra to cut to the chase. For once, I’m grateful for her rude demeanor. “We were in the middle of a conversation.”
This doesn’t seem to faze Rex Gunderson. “So we had an emergency team meeting this morning. I don’t know if Rabideaux told you about it, but since I walked in and here you were, I might as well give you the good news.”
“What news? Is he getting an award for something?”
“Uh, no. A few members of the team are being sent on a retreat this weekend.”
My brows rise. “Oh?”
“It’s at a cabin in Big Bear. Hour from here, know where that is? Google it.”
I peel the paper liner off my muffin. “Uh huh.”
“You wanna come?”
I raise my eyebrows again. “Me?”
�
�Yeah. All the girlfriends are going along. I figured Rhett would want you along too, but he’s such a damn pussy.”
“You really think he’d want me to go?” It’s still early in the day; surely he’ll mention it if he wants me there.
“Of course. You’re hot.” I do a mental hair flip. “Plus, don’t you think he’d feel like an asshole if he was the only guy there without his girlfriend?”
That’s the second time Rex has used the word girlfriend, and I wonder if he’s daring me to contradict him.
I don’t.
“I don’t know Rex, I think that’s something he should ask me himself.”
He laughs. “We both know he doesn’t have the guts.”
True. Rhett is a tad insecure about our budding relationship; the last thing he’d want is to leave himself open to rejection.
Still. “Are you sure it would be okay? Other girls are coming?”
“Oh yeah, I’m totally sure. You can even ride with me and surprise him when you get there. He will piss himself.”
I nibble my lip. “I know, but I really don’t want to have any secrets from him.” Not after lying to him in the past. “You understand that, right?”
“I get that, and I respect that.” When he goes to pat me on the hand, I pull it away. “But! Don’t you think surprising him will be way more fun?”
He has a point: surprising Rhett at the wrestling retreat would be fun. Spending the night with him in a secluded cabin in the woods? With possible naked body parts? Yes please. Who knows what would happen between us in that kind of secluded setting…
Although, the thought of keeping the secret from him already plants a small seed of guilt inside my belly, given the rocky way we started our relationship. Lie after lie.
Would not telling him be a betrayal?
Rex stands, grabbing the last bite of muffin off my plate. “Just think about it. Take my number and text me if you change your mind.”
He rattles off his cell, and I program it into mine—just in case.
“Okay, I will. Thanks.”