My sister is doing the bare minimum, as per usual. Mike is picking up her slack willingly, the poor guy. She is messing around on her phone unless Mom or Dad come in. Then she’s barking orders at me to give the appearance of involvement. She might have a future in supervising, who knows. She might be capable of a lot of things once she gets her act together.
At least she has a good heart. That’s always been her strong suit. Seeing her gentleness with Bree reminded me that no matter how irritating I can find her, she truly cares for others. That includes me.
“How are you holding up?” She asks, looking at my bruised hands.
“Better than him today, that’s for sure,” I say without stopping my work.
“No question about that. You were scary!” She says with a laugh, and I can tell that she is a little impressed.
“Is Bree okay?”
“Yeah, she's just feeling really guilty. She felt bad about Mom screaming at you.” She explains.
“Well, that’s nothing new. Did you tell her not to worry about it?” I ask as I place a snowman on the edge of the mantle.
“That doesn’t go there,” she says with knitted eyebrows. “And of course I did. Hey, have you been on social media today?”
“No. I haven’t even checked my phone. What’s up?” I move the snowman to an end table.
“Ugh, don’t even bother. You’re getting tagged in a bunch of shit, though,” she says as she glares at her phone.
“About last night?”
She nods. My stomach feels like it hit the floor. Why didn’t I think about social media? All someone had to do was tag my school and there would be questions.
Within seconds, I’m in my room rummaging through my clothes in an attempt to find my phone. The light is blinking, telling me I have notifications. Taking a deep breath, I put in my swipe code. No use hiding from things.
17 text messages. The notifications on social media posts are too numerous to bother counting. I put my head in my hands, overwhelmed by the amount of damage control needed.
The phone is lifted from my hand and Sophie examines it. I watch helplessly as she reads the texts silently, moving from notification to notification. Her mouth is twisted in a severe frown, and I don’t say anything. I just wait to hear her verdict.
“Okay, so it’s bad, but not as bad as it could be. Mostly it is just texts from Vince’s besties promising to kick your ass. If they were going to, they would have last night. No worries there. A few are from guys who saw the posts online and want to know what happened, and they want to hear it from you. Most of them are from Tiffany. ”.
She hands me back the phone. A message from Tiffany is displayed on the screen.
Wow, didn’t realize you had a thing for the ugly bitch across the street. How long has that been going on? Way to downgrade...
I'm about to turn my phone off when Sophie starts giving me directions.
“Give your coach a call to give him a heads up,” she says as she pulls her hair back.
“Soph, I don’t want to bug him on Christmas Eve,” I practically whine.
She takes my arm and looks at me sternly, and for a moment I see a flash of our mother. “Sean, this shit is going to blow up. Someone said they have a video, but I haven’t seen it posted yet. Your coach is going to hear about it today, one way or another. Better to hear your side . . . "
She’s right. So I listen to my little sister and press his number, though I can’t stand the satisfied look on her face.
Explaining the situation to Coach helped ease my mind. At first, he sounded skeptical that the fight was justified, but once he heard there was no report filed, he calmed down. As long as police aren't involved, they aren't overly concerned. He’d call me if they need anything. I feel guilty causing him work over the holiday, but I'd do it a hundred times over if it meant keeping Bree safe.
I steal a glance at her as she sits in front of the fireplace next to her dad. She’s more beautiful than ever. Her black curls are glossy, reflecting the warmth from the fire at her back. Her clingy red dress highlights every perfect curve. I drag my eyes away, but I take the image with me.
She had no idea what she was doing to me. She was all laughs and smiles, lighting up like a Christmas tree anytime someone talked to her. In fact, she looked more at ease at this party than I’d ever seen her. Sophie mentioned that she was trying really hard to pretend that last night didn't happen, but she looked genuinely happy.
Bree catches my eyes and she gives me a warm smile. Her dad beckons me over, and I shake his hand.
“You ready to kick some ass?” He asks, and it takes me a minute to realize he’s talking about the upcoming game. Bree notices my expression and looks away uncomfortably.
“Yes, sir,” I say with confidence. It would have been my answer either way.
“What kind of offense is your coach planning on running?” He asks, handing Bree his cup to get a refill of eggnog for him. I try not to stare at his daughter's perfect ass as she walks away.
Usually I am all about talking football, but tonight it’s farthest from my thoughts. My mind is filled with Bree. The light fragrance of her perfume, the sweetness in her voice, the realness in her eyes. She’s the kind of girl who can anchor you, yet take you to new heights.
She’s standing next to the backdoor whispering something to Soph, and I can’t stand not being with her for another second. I wrap up my conversation with Mr. Braverman politely, but it’s noticeably abrupt.
I place my hand on the curve of Bree’s waist, and I don’t even care if he’s watching. We’re all adults, now.
“Soph, can you take the eggnog to Mr. Braverman?” I ask, taking the glass from Bree’s hand. She raises her eyebrows and opens her mouth to protest out of habit, but then looks between us. She closes her mouth and smiles, walking away with the glass.
“Can I talk to you?” I say in a low voice. Her hands move across her chest to her throat, like she’s guarding against a wound.
“Yeah. Want to go on the patio?” She says, her voice higher than usual.
“It’s cold,” I say, as if she doesn’t know.
“It will be okay,” she says, but I pull my sweater off for her to wear, leaving on just my button up.
She smiles and pulls the sweater over her dress. Somehow she looks even better. My hand is on the small of her back, and I swallow hard. I've never touched her so intimately.
She looks out at the snow, and I wish she’d stop looking anywhere but me. As if reading my mind, she turns her gaze to me. Her dark eyes hold me like molasses.
“God, you’re beautiful,” I say, the words tumbling out before I can stop them. Her eyes dart away again. Her chest is rising and falling heavily, and I realize that I'm barely breathing.
“I have so many regrets, Breezy,” I continue, despite the thickness in my throat. “I should have asked you out when we were in school. I’ve wasted so much time on shallow people who only want me for what I might become. Not you. You've been there from the start.”
She holds up her hands to stop me from speaking. She says nothing, and the silence hangs between us like the fog of our breath.
“It’s okay,” She finally says as she pushes the snow around with her foot. She isn't interested. I should have said this shit years ago, and now I'm too late. I've missed the fucking snap.
“I know it’s probably too late, but if I don't tell you everything, I'm going to hate myself." I take a deep breath, forcing the words out. "I want you to know that I see you, Breezy. I've always seen you. I see the way you care for your parents. The way you support my sister. I see the weird way you pour your milk before adding cereal. I saw you when you were in the stands at my games. I'm just such an idiot sometimes, but you already know that. I just want you to know that is you I want. It’s always been you.”
My hand is on the door, and I’m ready to turn away, but she’s shifting slowly towards me, cutting through the cold like an ember. She stands on her tiptoes and runs her
fingers through my hair. Her cool hand moves down to my cheek, and her eyes are fixed on mine. I'm stuck. Dumbfounded. And my heart hammers out of my chest as she brings her warm lips to mine.
Breanna
It's not a stolen kiss. It's deliberate and purposeful, at once rewarding his words and giving him something of me. His lips are parted in surprise, making my work easier. My tongue flicks against his, and before I can pull away, his hands are around my waist. His warm body keeps me there, protecting me from the cold. The world is spinning around us, a flurry of snow and heartbeats. His kiss moves gently, expertly, and while I may have initiated the kiss, he’s the one in control.
His strong hands spread lower, cupping my ass as if he’s been wanting to his whole life. They don’t stay long, though, because now their off exploring the rest of me. His grip is increasing as he moves along my hips and thighs. He holds me tight, like he’s afraid this moment isn’t real. Like it will disappear.
I understand the feeling, and my hands are off on an adventure of their own. His hard biceps and forearms respond to my touch by tensing, and I grasp his solid shoulders as if the ground is slipping beneath me. But my hands are nomadic, only staying long enough for first impressions before traveling down towards his abs, creeping underneath his shirt. He flinches at my cold touch, sucking in and smiling. Then his lips find mine again.
He pulls me close I feel him growing hard against my stomach. My fingers ache to touch him, but I try to keep a semblance of self control. But our tongues dance together as if they’ve met a thousand times before, and my body yearns to get acquainted with the rest of him. As I feel his hot breath against my neck, I know It's hopeless to try to slow down. I've wanted this for so long, and now there's nothing stopping us.
“Can we go to your room?” I whisper against his ear, and I don’t recognize my voice. He nods against my neck as trails kisses eagerly.
We pull apart just far enough for him to grab my hand. He quietly opens the back door and leads me through it, watching my footwork on the ice. Once inside, even the mixture of holiday music and party chatter can't distract us.
Tugging my hand, he weaves his way to the back of the room. From there, we duck down the hallway. As he opens the door to his room, he pulls me against him, kissing me in eyeline of anyone who happens to be watching. Thankfully, people are starting to dance and drink heavily, so it's doubtful we'll be missed.
I giggle and press myself against his muscled torso as he clicks the door closed behind us and quietly turns the lock. Before I have time to think, he is gripping my ass, lifting me. I wrap my legs around him and kiss him frantically. My body is conflicted between wanting everything now, and wanting to savor the moment. His lips are spreading down my neck, and I can feel his rough stubble against the delicate skin. His teeth graze me between kisses, nipping lightly.
“God, you’re fucking gorgeous, Breezy,” He whispers between gentle bites, and shivers spread against my flesh. It’s as if he’s seen the fantasies I’ve constructed between us and is recreating them.
He lays me back against the bed and rests his weight gently on top of me. He kisses me slowly, with an intensity I never imagined existed. My fingers run through his hair, and as he moves his lips to my collarbone, I find myself tugging his blond strands lightly.
I gasp as his strong hand finds my thigh, caressing me as if he’s lost the gift of sight. He traces his fingers lightly against the untouched skin, lifting the hemline of my dress to get to the places he’s desperate to experience. I involuntarily arch against the bed, responding to his touch as if he’s a conjurer. His kisses spill down towards my cleavage, which suddenly has his full attention.
He pulls me into a sitting position and unzips my dress. The zipper moves exquisitely slow until the fabric is loose enough for him to peel down. My breasts are free, just inches from his face, and now his lips have a new motivation.
I close my eyes as his hot mouth finds my budded nipple. He moans and traces his fingers underneath my breasts, lower and lower until I'm mentally pleading him to go where I've always wanted him. He brings his mouth to mine, his tongue probing deeply.
My fingers are desperately working to unfasten the buttons of his shirt. As I work towards the bottom, my fingers brush against the hardness at his beltline. It’s an area I’ve been avoiding due to a mixture of fear and intimidation, but after my glancing touch, I’m compelled to feel more.
Carefully, through the fabric of his pants, I skim my fingers along the hardness. As I do, he tenses and groans against my mouth. It’s a powerful feeling. Addictive. I stroke downwards now, increasing the intensity of my touch. He’s stopped kissing me, and is focusing on the feel of my fingers through the cloth. He moans again and shrugs off his shirt, which has fallen down on his arms, restricting his biceps. Every ab muscle catches the low lamplight, and I run my hands across them before returning back down towards my new favorite thing. I watch his muscles tense and flex as I touch, hypnotized and high on making him react. But just as I reach to unfasten the button of his pants, he catches my hands and presses me back against the bed.
He distributes his weight carefully over my body. His tongue moves slow and measured against mine. One hand is cupping my face gently, and the other is pressing against the inside of my thigh, parting my legs.
He gauges my reaction, which is one of desperate want, before tracing his fingers closer to the spot that remains untouched by a man. He is moving so slowly that I feel as if time has stopped. Finally, his fingers press against me through the lace of my panties. I lift my hips, silently encouraging him to do more. He touches me harder, his tongue flicking against mine gently.
Circle after exquisite circle, he’s tracing in the exact spot that I use to bring myself to climax while imagining him. I’m gasping and arching my back, burying my face into the muscled crook between his neck and shoulder. As he pushes aside the lace to touch the wetness with his fingers, I can’t keep myself from biting his tattooed shoulder. He continues the circles without any barriers between us, and I can scarcely breath.
Without warning, he stops the motion and runs his hand back up my breasts. Frustration wells within me, but I know he’ll follow through. He’s between my parted legs, freeing the dress from my hips. My panties are flung to a far corner of the room, and he runs his hands down between my thighs.
Using one hand, he resumes the gentle circles. I close my eyes, not accounting for the other hand. Then I feel his fingers grazing against my lips. He parts them, sticking two fingers into my mouth, feeling both kinds of wetness. I suck lightly, and I'm too aroused to be mortified that I can taste myself on them. I’m lifting my hips to his touch below and sucking his fingers hard, wanting to take him inside me in every way imaginable.
He pulls away his fingers, and I’m aching for more. But his hands are running through my hair and his mouth finds mine. His tongue darts in, evoking moans from me. He groans as he tastes me on my own lips.
The taste seems to trigger something in him, and now he’s wild. He’s kissing down my breasts, then lower. I am tensing and moaning, grabbing the sheets in anticipation for where he is headed. He nips my hipbone, but holds my hips so that I can’t buck against him. He kisses the crease between my thigh and wetness, and even his strong grip can't keep me from lifting my hips to his mouth.
I can feel his breath against the delicate parts of me, and inklings of insecurity trickle through me. I am about to pull him back up when I hear him groan.
“Do you know how badly I’ve wanted this? I’ve thought of this almost every night,” he pants against me. His blue eyes are looking up at me between parted thighs, burning with want. He’s exactly where he wants to be. His words splay my legs even farther, and he takes this opportunity to taste the source of his frenzy.
The kisses are studied and slow, but soon give way to licks and sucking. He’s moaning as if I am physically doing something to him by allowing him to be between my thighs. My fingers are wound in his long hair, and I
can feel myself becoming crazy. I press his head down, and he starts moving his tongue in the circles I love. No matter how much I writhe, he keeps the rhythm.
I gasp as I arch towards him. He groans, and I feel the stubble of jaw between my thighs as I close them around his face. I’m aware that he probably can’t breathe, and I try to relax my legs down, but I wound tight like a coil about to spring free.
The pressure builds within me, and it’s more intense than I’ve ever experienced. With one hand, I pull him hard against me, and with the other I grab a pillow to cover my face. I am moaning uncontrollably now, and with what little sanity I have left, I realize I need to muffle the noise.
I’m doing body rolls against his face, but he’s staying with me whether he can breathe or not. I’m on the precipice of madness and ecstasy, and tears are filling my eyes. His stubble is still against my thighs and the pillow that smells of him is pressed against my face. Just when I can’t take it anymore, the orgasm rips through me like train.
I’m moaning his name and wrapping my legs around his shoulders, keeping him against me as the pleasure spreads like ripples throughout my body. He stops the rhythm, but keeps the pressure, allowing me to rock against him. He holding my hips to keeps himself immersed in my taste.
My moans subside, and I realize just how loud I was. He pushes the pillow off of my face and is kissing me hard. I turn my head, embarrassed.
“Do you think anyone heard?” I whisper, aware how naked I am compared to his half revealed body.
“I fucking hope so," he says against my ear. His stubble is brushing my neck, and I feel myself getting pulled back into the moment. I can smell his musk and cologne, and suddenly I am more intrigued than ever to see the hidden half of his body. I need the missing piece of the puzzle. I tug at the button on his pants, desperate to free his hardness. I want to wrap my hand around it and know it’s size.
Snapped: A Sports Romance Page 5