Team Player: A Sports Romance Anthology

by Adriana Locke

  I stop him from going in with a gentle tug, worrying my bottom lip.

  “No, why would they?”

  “You dated one sister, now you’re dating the other,” I explain. “You don’t think your friends are going to have a problem with that?”

  “Mi cielo, my friends aren’t going to know the difference. They’re a bunch of idiots.”

  I blush at the term of endearment. My heaven.

  “Okay. I just don’t want them to think I’m, you know…shady.”

  “No one is going to think you’re shady.” His laugh is deep, amused. “If anything, they’ll think it’s fucking awesome I dated twins.”

  I snort. “You’re not Hugh Hefner—you didn’t date us at the same time.”

  “But I kind of did.” He turns to face me, stepping down off the stoop and pulling me into his body, hands sliding to my waist.

  “But it’s not like you knew.”

  I watch his mouth, engrossed by his lips. “My friends would still think I’m badass if I told them about it.”

  “They’d think you had a threesome.” I roll my eyes. “Because most guys your age are perverts.”

  “I’m not.”

  “That’s right—you haven’t even tried to kiss me.” My chin tilts up smugly in his direction, cocking my right brow.

  “You didn’t want me kissing you, remember? I’ve waited because I’m a nice fucking guy.”

  “I didn’t want you kissing me because I liked you.”

  His head gives a perplexed shake. “That makes no sense.”

  “I didn’t want you kissing me as Lucy. I wanted you kissing me as me.”

  He moves to cup my face between his palms, stroking his thumbs up and down my cheeks, giving me the tingles. “You are seriously the fucking cutest.”

  “No, you are.” I’m trying to pucker my mouth between his hands, but just end up with fish lips.

  “We’re not going to be one of those disgusting PDA couples, are we?”

  “You’re the one with your hands all over my face.” His big, rough, perfect hands. “Are you going to kiss me?”

  His face inches closer. “Do you want me to?”

  “Yes,” I whisper. “I’ve waited forever for you to put those giant paws on me.”

  I don’t know what I expected to happen when our mouths finally connected, but this wasn’t it.

  It’s so much better.

  Charged.

  The slow, deliberate probing from his delicious tongue is like a dream.

  Wet.

  Jesus, he tastes so good, so stupid good.

  Impulsively I push against his chest, backing him up against the siding of the house with a gentle shove, rubbing up on him.

  Dante’s palms grip my ass, squeezing. Drag me onto his firm body, into his hard-on, running those fantastic catcher’s mitts up and down my backside. Tense.

  His lips are full. Hard.

  Soft.

  I could swallow him hole.

  It’s not enough, not nearly.

  I’m so hot right now, and horny, and God I hate that word but it’s so true. I want to rip my clothes off so he can touch my body, so I can touch his. We’ve done the three-date thing; I’m ready to take it to the next level.

  This kiss is ruining me—I wonder what actually having sex with him will do.

  When we finally tear ourselves apart, Dante blinks. Blinks again.

  Mutters, “Let’s get inside.”

  “All right,” I say breathlessly, eagerness vibrating all my nerve cells. “If you don’t think your roommates are going to judge me, I’ll go inside.”

  “I really think it’s adorable that you think they’d be able to tell the difference—really goddamn adorable.” He plants another heated kiss on my lips, leaving me dazed and feeling cold when he pulls back to push open the front door. “Besides, most of these guys aren’t with the same girl twice, so who the fuck are they to judge.”

  They’re sitting around the house when we walk through the door, Dash tugging me in. We pause in the entry to the living room, and I give a short wave.

  “Hi.”

  “Guys, you remember Amelia.”

  They’re all openly staring, friendly and interested. Curious, like a group of toddlers would be.

  One guy—a huge ballplayer sprawled in the center on the couch, remote control in his hands—looks me over from head to toe, then back again, wrinkling his forehead.

  “I thought you said her name was Lucy.”

  I grin, responding before Dante can. “Nope. It’s Amelia. You must be confusing me with someone else.”

  The guy looked sheepish. “Shit, sorry.”

  Dante’s index finger tickles my palm as we move toward the hall. “Anyway, we’ll be in my room. Don’t bother us.”

  When we’re in his bedroom with the door closed, he turns to me and says, “That little fib slipped right off your tongue, didn’t it?”

  “I’ve had a lot of practice.” I grin, slipping off my shoes, already comfortable. “Mostly with family members and a few unsuspecting teachers in grade school.”

  “You didn’t even bat an eye when you lied to his face. Please don’t ever do that to me.”

  “I was just teasing him.” I grab Dante’s thick arm, squeezing. “Which would be impossible with you since you can tell us apart.”

  “Lucy said I’m your unicorn.” He laughs, tossing his jacket on a chair.

  This gives me pause. “She did?”

  “Yup. I’m a motherfucking unicorn.”

  DASH

  The differences are remarkable now that I know she’s a completely different person; they stick out at me like red flags.

  Obviously, there’s the hair, and the dimple. Her brows are arched higher, eyes sharper. Amelia has an air about her that Lucy doesn’t; she’s deliberate and thoughtful.

  Her lips? Incredible.

  She sheds her jacket, sliding it down her arms, hanging it on the chair I have at the table functioning as my desk.

  Truth? Now that I have her in my room, I’m not sure what to do with her.

  She surveys the space, hands on her narrow hips, taking it all in. There isn’t much to see, just a bed, table, chair, floor lamp. The bare minimum, not even a television.

  Nothing to watch, nothing to see, no where to go but the bed.

  Really it’s just a beige box where I sleep, and now I seem to have acquired a girlfriend to go along with it.

  I take a seat on the edge of my mattress, legs kicked apart, leaning back. Watch her preoccupying herself with my shit. The laptop on my desk and the sticky notes on my wall above it. The few books I have stacked on the table.

  “This is nice, clean.”

  “I’m really boring.” It sounds like an apology.

  Amelia turns. Starts toward me, stepping in between my legs. “I don’t think so.”

  My hands automatically slide to her waist like we’ve done it a million times, pulling her in for a hug. I bury my face in her flat abdomen, nuzzling her sweater.

  Her deft flingers pluck tenderly at the black hair atop my head then trail down my neck, landing on my shoulders. Back and forth, fingertips kneading the muscles there.

  It feels like heaven.

  “I don’t think you’re boring at all.”

  I raise my head. “No?”

  “Te encuentro fascinante.” I find you fascinating. “I love your big hands. They do incredible things, wouldn’t you agree?”

  My hands are fucking big. I flex them against her ass, skimming them down her denim-clad butt cheeks.

  She goes on. “And you’re kind.”

  Kind.

  That’s something no girl has ever called me, but I suppose it’s true.

  My nose finds it way between her breasts, and she laughs when I give her another nuzzle. I can’t wait to see her tits, can’t wait to get her naked.

  “And you’re as turned on as I am.”

  “Sí.” My arms encircle her, the tips of my fingers g
ripping her inner thighs from behind, thumb beginning to slowly massage the apex. “Te encuentro sexy.”

  Amelia bites down on her lower lip. “Do you think we’re moving too fast?”

  I raise my head again. Her mouth is right fucking there. All I’d have to do is raise my face an inch…

  “We haven’t done anything.”

  Yet.

  “No.” Her lips brush mine with a moan when my fingers rub the delicate nub through her jeans. “But I want to, don’t you?”

  “Sí, but we can wait.”

  “I don’t think I can.” Her hips roll.

  “Amelia,” I enunciate with my accent. “I want you to know I’m all in. I’m not going to bail on you if we have sex right away.”

  “All in? Already, Dante, after two dates?”

  “Three after tonight.”

  “I can live with that if you can.” Her sexy voice wavers. “Do you, um, have, you know…condoms?”

  “I live in a house full of baseball players—there are condoms everywhere.”

  “In your drawer?”

  “No.” Shit. “I’d have to go find one.”

  “Just in case, maybe?” She backs away. “I’m a planner, very organized.”

  My kind of girl.

  “Be right back.” Planting an electrically charged kiss on her mouth, I bolt off the bed. “Make yourself comfortable.”

  Shutting the door behind me, I riffle through three bathroom drawers and one cabinet before finding a brand new box of condoms, thanking Christ I didn’t have to go to the living room and ask for one.

  It’s bad enough that I’m planning to get laid in a house full of my roommates.

  I palm the bright pink box, giving my door a gentle knock before reentering. “It’s me.”

  Nudge the door open.

  Stop dead in my tracks.

  Almost drop the box to the floor, almost hurl it across the room.

  “Amelia…holy shit.”

  She’s lounging on my bed in just her lingerie, breasts spilling over the cups of her bra. The material is lacy, sheer, and black. I stare at her pale flesh.

  Her shoulders rise and fall apologetically. “You said to get comfortable.”

  Getting naked isn’t exactly what I had in mind, but I’d be an idiot to argue and mi madre no creo un tonto. My mother didn’t raise a fool.

  I’m already tearing the shirt off my body when she says, “You have a shirt for me to wear later? Because I’m thinking I might spend the night.”

  Unbutton my jeans, slip them down past my hips. Kick them off to the side.

  She’s leaning against the headboard, watching me undress. “I’ve never met a guy so eager to be tied down.”

  Tied down, tied to the bed—either way, I’d be happy.

  “I was bred to be with one woman, mi cielo.”

  Amelia moves first, scuttling toward me on her haunches, meeting me in the middle of the bed. “Is that so?”

  She places the tip of her finger in the center of my chest, above my heart, dragging it down my body. Down my solid pecs. Down my rib cage. Over my abs, circling my belly button.

  My dick is stiff when she reaches the waistband of my tight boxer briefs, hooking the material, snagging it away from my skin. I think I stop breathing when the nail of her finger brushes the head of my cock, a pleasant smile pasted on her lips, schooled expression neutral.

  Neutral except for her eyes.

  Those are gleaming.

  Predatory.

  Shining when she clasps my hard-on with all five fingers. Gently squeezes through the thin cotton of my underwear.

  “I’d wondered about the size of this.” Her voice is a low, seductive murmur. Her hand? Giving me another squeeze. “And now I know. Hmm, your breathing seems labored. Do you want me to stop? Let you catch your breath?”

  I shake my head like a dope. Swallow hard, wanting so badly to jut my hips forward and thrust. Grip her hand so she’ll tighten it around my throbbing dick.

  “It’s probably a good thing you’re in such good shape.” She releases me—the tease—running both palms up my abs. “I’ve never dated an athlete before.” Plucks a nipple. “And your skin is so smooth—well, except for these goose bumps.”

  Still, I wait, not touching her, knowing I’ll get rewarded for my patience.

  “You know what I like about you Dante? Besides the fact that you’re so smoking hot and look incredible with no clothes on? I love that you’re so levelheaded, so composed.”

  Amelia moves closer on her knees until her lace-covered breasts brush my chest. “I’ve never found anyone so sexy or attractive in my entire life.”

  I don’t know what’s making me harder—how upfront she is about what she wants or the fact that she’s not wearing clothes.

  When our mouths collide, one hand slides down her spine to cup her tight little ass, the other braced behind her head. Our kissing sounds fill the air, sexy moans and lapping tongues. We’re messy and hurried and when Amelia starts rubbing her pussy against my dick, our pelvises grinding, it’s time to get completely naked.

  She beats me to it—reaches behind her back, lips still suctioned to mine, unclasping her bra in one motion. Pulls the straps down her arms, discarding the delicate black fabric on the side of the bed. Grapples for my hands, placing them on her tits.

  I’ve never really been a boob guy, but I’ve just been converted into one. They’re full, heavy in my hands, my thumbs brushing over her dark areolas at the same time Amelia pushes down the waistband of my boxers.

  “Eres mío,” comes her husky murmur. “Mío.” You’re mine.

  We’re whispering all sorts of sexy shit to each other in Spanish as our hands explore, limbs entwined, falling to the mattress. Amelia lazes beneath me, hair fanned out on my pillow, permitting me to explore, dreamily twirling my hair when I latch onto her nipple, sucking. Arches her back. Runs her nails down my scalp, my neck.

  I rise above her, index finger idly trailing up her underwear, up the front, thumb pressing down in small, lazy circles.

  Round and round and round on that little pink nub.

  Her fists clench the quilt covering my bed.

  “Don’t,” she gasps. “Or I’ll come.”

  My finger hooks into her panties, pulling them aside, fingers stroking. “You want me to stop, cariño?”

  “Yes. Jesus, just take off your underwear and get on top. I can’t take it anymore.”

  “You like it on the bottom?” Good to know.

  We’re shoving down our underwear and in a group effort, I kick mine off, roll on a condom. Hover over Amelia, dragging the hard length of my cock along her thigh until we’re both moaning with anticipation, both of us eager.

  Willing.

  Ready.

  “S-Sometimes I do.” Her eyes are closed, teeth biting down on her lower lip.

  “I wonder something.” I lean in, sucking on her earlobe as I whisper, “Do you really think you deserve a good fucking?”

  Her eyes open, nostrils flare. “Yes.”

  I let my dick nestle between her legs. “I can’t believe you fucking dumped me.”

  Amelia’s hands pull down on my ass, urging me inside. “You are not bringing that up right now.”

  I reach between us, clutching my erection, running the tip up and down her slit, making her moan. “Oh, but I am.”

  When she pouts, turning her head and presenting me with the pale length of her neck, I lean in, sucking. “You weren’t even going to tell me, were you?”

  “No.”

  “That’s really naughty of you.”

  “It is.” She nods. “So naughty.”

  “You probably don’t deserve this.” I let the head of my cock creep in the smallest fraction.

  “But you do.” Amelia’s face is flushed, hips beginning a slow roll, arms above her head. She looks ready to pass out.

  “I do, don’t I?”

  “Yes,” she hisses, panting. “God you feel good. Ohhhh shit…”r />
  So fucking good, in and out.

  In and out.

  Just the tip, just the motherfucking tip—not even an inch—is ecstasy.

  When she moans—so loud my roommates in the other room undoubtedly heard—I press a finger to her lips. “Shhh.”

  Her tongue darts out and flicks my finger. No sound comes out of her lips when she mouths, “Fuck. Me.”

  We both do a lot of pleading, panting, and praying to Jesus, God, and everyone else while I’m balls deep inside her, rocking back and forth, muscles clenched.

  It’s gasping, desperate, breathless fucking.

  My hands slide beneath her ass when I come, unloading inside, nose buried in the crook of her neck.

  Mi cielo.

  My heaven.

  About The Author

  Want to see more of Dante and Amelia? Catch glimpses of them in Jock Row, the first book in the Jock Hard series, releasing late Spring, 2018.

  Do you like reading about the good guy getting the girl? Then check out this excerpt from How to Date a Douchebag: The Learning Hours, now available on Amazon and Kindle Unlimited

  The learn more about Sara Ney, find her at authorsaraney.com, or subscribe to her newsletter

  ONE GOOD MAN

  Copyright 2017 Emma Scott

  It’s spring, 1970. The Vietnam War has been raging for years with no end in sight. Janey Martin, a California college student and aspiring journalist is tired of writing puff pieces about her university men’s sports teams. She wants to be taken seriously as a journalist and as a woman. With riots at their doorstep, her wealthy father sends Janey to the Sorbonne in Paris to finish her college education away from the chaos.

  Janey is reluctant to leave the Big Story that is Vietnam, but vows to prove herself. Much to her dismay, her first assignment is to interview the hotshot star forward of a local soccer team. Janey is sure Adrian Rousseau is going to be like every other playboy jock she’s ever dealt with, but quickly learns there is much more to Adrian than meets the eye.

  The mysterious, sexy footballer just might be the biggest story of Janey’s life.

  Dedication