by Ava Walsh
“You look surprised,” he said.
“I am. There aren’t that many lit majors in the basketball community,” Tamsin said, and immediately regretted it for fear of having offended him. But Crosby laughed and leaned in further.
“No, there aren’t. So what kind of questions do you want to ask me? I was thinking that we could decide on them first and then talk?” he said, and she nodded.
“Before we begin, Crosby, I am curious to know why you chose me to give this interview to,” she said, digging around in her tote for her notebook and recorder.
“Because I knew you were new to this, and you’d agree to my conditions,” he said. The smile on Tamsin’s face disappeared. “And also because I felt like I could trust you,” he added, and her cheeks were starting to feel warm again. What did Crosby Jones want from her? He couldn’t just genuinely be such a nice guy. She was going to play along. This was exactly the boost she needed for her career and she had nothing to lose.
“So what kind of questions did you have in mind?” she asked him, shifting in her seat so she could place the recorder on the coffee table between them. She saw him look at it and then back at her, the smile not leaving his face.
“I’d rather say what kind of questions I don’t want to be asked,” he said. His eyes were boring into her skull and she felt uncomfortable under his intense, green-eyed gaze. But Tamsin soldiered through.
“Like what?” she asked him, poising her pen over her notebook, ready to take notes.
“No questions about my father and nothing about my love life. That’s all,” he said, and sat back in the chair. Tamsin looked at him, hesitating. She wanted to ask about his father. The little that she or anyone else knew about Crosby was that his father had been his childhood coach. He had learned everything about basketball from his dad. Crosby’s love life was vital gossip information, too. Everyone wanted to know who America’s most eligible bachelor was dating now, what kind of women he liked, if he had plans of settling down.
“Also, no recording. You can take notes, but I don’t want you recording this interview,” Crosby added. Tamsin licked her lips and looked down at her notebook. If she agreed to this, she’d be agreeing to some of the most important aspects of her interview being removed.
Tamsin knew he was staring at her and looked up at him. Their eyes locked. His were bright and intense. He had challenged her. Tamsin’s were nervous. She wanted this interview so badly, even though he intimidated her.
“Fine,” she said, and reached for the recorder to put it back in her bag.
“Good girl,” he said, smiling widely and relaxing his shoulders. Tamsin smiled too. She wasn’t going to be taken for a ride. He might have forced her into agreeing to conditions that she wasn’t a fan of, but she was going to get her interview and she was going to make it the most explosive one that Crosby Jones had ever given.
“So tell me about your childhood, Crosby. What was little Crosby like?” Tamsin asked, ready to start taking notes. Crosby raised an eyebrow, apparently surprised that she was jumping right into it. His eyes flickered from her face to the neck of her dress where it plunged to reveal just a small part of her cleavage, then back to her face again.
“Little Crosby was not very different from big Crosby, I suppose,” he said with a laugh. “I had a normal childhood. Middle class working parents, a backyard, a dog, an older sister, two best friends at school.” He suddenly stood up and walked over to the French windows behind him. He stared out, his hands in his pockets again, as Tamsin scribbled in her notebook.
“What is your earliest memory as a child?” she asked. The sound of her pen scratching the paper was the only other sound in the room.
“My father fixing a basket on top of the garage door. It was too high for me, but he didn’t lower it,” he said, still staring out over the lawn outside.
“He wanted you to practice that way?” she asked him.
“No. He just couldn’t be bothered.” His answer was quick and he jerked around to look at her. “I said no questions about my father.”
“I didn’t ask,” Tamsin said, meeting his eyes defiantly. She knew what was going on. Crosby wanted desperately to talk to somebody about his father but didn’t want to acknowledge it.
“So your first memory is associated with basketball, but what other interests did you have?” She tried to change the subject.
“I liked reading, but I was never encouraged. The only way I could read was by sneaking into the library. My parents, especially my father, thought reading was a waste of time.” Crosby was looking at her as he spoke, with narrowed eyes. The smile on his face had disappeared, and he looked like he was angry.
“What else were you not allowed to do?” Tamsin asked him, making sure that she kept her surprise well hidden. This was a side of Crosby Jones that had never been portrayed in the media. He was always smiling on TV, always happy and celebratory.
“I wasn’t allowed to lose,” Crosby said. His voice had grown grave and he took a few steps towards her.
“At basketball?” she asked him, dropping her notebook into her lap. She couldn’t be sure what was happening. He was in a daze and she was suddenly afraid of what he might say or do.
“At anything. I was trained to be a winner, to be a human machine who could shoot baskets like a robot,” Crosby said, continuing to walk towards her. He was standing above her now, looking down. His eyes were focused on her face and Tamsin had to crane her neck back to look up at him. She didn’t know what to say.
“I lied to you, Tamsin. I didn’t ask you to come over here for just an interview. I asked you to come to my house because I wanted you. And I always get what I want. Because I always win.” His hands were still in his pockets and that smile was returning to his face. The anger was disappearing from his eyes. Tamsin felt mesmerized, like she was under some kind of spell.
“You want me?” she mumbled. Crosby continued to smile.
“I can give you your interview. Hell, you can ask me about my love life if you want. But you have to give me what I want first,” he said, and offered her his hand. Tamsin dropped her gaze from his face to his hand and gulped. Crosby Jones was offering himself to her. He wanted her. In exchange for an interview? She’d accept that offer even if the interview was not on the table.
“Deal,” she said, and licked her lips.
Chapter Three
Crosby looked as surprised by her reply as Tamsin was by his suggestion. For a few seconds, neither of them said anything. Then she took his hand, her heart beating so loudly she could hear it.
He helped her up so that she was standing, still a foot below him and looking up at his face. There was a fire in his eyes that she had not seen before. She tried to picture the guy she had swooned over on TV, but somehow this was not the same person. His face was different somehow and she didn’t recognize him anymore.
“Good. Why don’t you make yourself comfortable, Tamsin,” he said, and took a few steps away from her. She didn’t know what he meant by that, so she remained standing, staring at him.
He raised his eyebrows and his gaze dropped to her breasts, and she understood what he meant.
Slowly, she reached for the zipper of her dress and pulled it down. Tamsin was in a daze. She had clearly not thought this through. But she had seen him naked, she knew what he looked like without his clothes on, and she wanted to see it again.
Her dress fell down her body, settling at her waist, and her torso was revealed. She had chosen a delicate white lace bra for the evening and she watched him look at it. His eyes were focused on the rise and fall of her breasts. She could feel her nipples erect under the lace of the bra, and she knew he could see it too. It sent a chill down her spine. He was looking at her with a frosty look in his eyes, like he was proud of himself for the achievement. Crosby Jones did get what he wanted.
“You’re beautiful. I want to see more of you,” he said, in a low, guttural voice. She was shy and nervous. But she did what she was to
ld. He was standing next to the armchair now, staring at her, his hands back in his pockets. Tamsin had never felt so naked before.
Slowly she pulled down her dress so that her lace panties were revealed as well. Her dress slid down to her ankles and she stepped out of it. She wanted to tell him to undress, she wanted to see him naked, but she didn’t have the courage.
She heard him take a sharp intake of breath as he watched her. His eyes roved over her naked body, and she could see the smile spreading on his face. He was enjoying the power he had over her.
“Come here,” he said in a low voice, and Tamsin walked towards him. She was shy of her nakedness, and she cupped her breasts, embarrassed, as she walked to him.
Without warning, he reached for her breasts with his long arms. Gently he pushed her hands away so he could look at her properly again.
“Don’t hide them, Tamsin. You have a beautiful body,” he said, more to himself than to her. She could feel the goosebumps on her arms as she stood quietly while he admired her. He wasn’t looking at her like she was a piece of meat, he was looking at her like she was a work of art. He was studying her carefully, the way her skin shone in the light, the curve of her neck, the deep crevice of her cleavage.
Then he touched her. He placed his hand right on her heart and Tamsin immediately felt faint. His hand was warm and surprisingly soft, and he left it there for a few seconds, feeling her heartbeat.
“Take them off,” he said finally, and Tamsin, still in a daze, did as she was told. She slipped her undergarments off, one at a time. Crosby remained standing before her. His eyes were focused on her dark, erect nipples again.
“May I?” he asked, too politely for the situation they were in. Tamsin nodded, her cheeks still warm with embarrassment.
Crosby leaned forward, positioning his large hands on her waist, which he held tightly. He licked her breasts with his long, wet tongue, and then sucked on her left nipple. Tamsin gasped. She was small, miniature in his hands. He was holding her tightly by the waist as he sucked on her breasts, one at a time, while his hand pinched and pulled her other nipple.
She could feel the wetness growing between her legs. She stood with her thighs pressed together as his body came closer to hers. He continued sucking on her breasts as his hand moved down her belly. He was looking for the soft, wet core of her.
He found it and quickly slipped in his forefinger. She gasped again and threw back her head with pleasure. He was gentle but quick. His finger was long and thick and in her head she couldn’t stop imagining his dick. She had seen it, it was throbbing and she imagined it inside her instead of his finger.
He was sucking on her nipples, the itch between her legs growing, while he continued stroking it with his finger, until Tamsin felt like she was going to explode. She couldn’t help thinking that he was using her, that she had given in to her own carnal desire, instead of sticking to professional duty. But it felt so good.
Crosby stopped suddenly and she gasped again. She didn’t want him to stop, she wanted him to do it until she orgasmed. But he had other plans.
His eyes were on her face, intense and full of desire, as he quickly undressed. His pants came off, then his shirt and she saw that he wasn’t wearing any underwear.
His dick looked bigger this time. He was ready for her and throbbing. He lunged forward at her and, before she knew what to do, he had lifted her up. It seemed that she was light as a feather to him. It was a rush to be lifted off the ground like that, and he held her up and walked. She felt the cold smoothness of the wall on her back as he pushed her against it.
He maneuvered her legs so that she had no other choice but to wrap them around his waist. And then he was inside her, just like that, with one quick thrust. He didn’t prepare her for it or warn her. He just slid into her and Tamsin felt a sharp, quick pinch. He was too big for her. She squealed and he placed a hand on her mouth.
“Shhh,” he whispered in her ear, and then he pushed himself into her again. Tamsin’s eyes rolled in her head. He was pumping into her, her back hitting the wall with every thrust. She could feel his muscles move against her. She was going to orgasm very quickly. She could feel it. With every thrust, she was getting closer.
His rhythm was quick, his dick pushing into her, right into her core where she could feel the knot in her belly unwinding. He was stroking her where she needed to be stroked. Their bodies squeaked against each other and Tamsin squealed again.
Crosby had a smile on his face. She could see the veins on his neck plump up. He was grunting with every push, while his eyes remained on hers. He wanted to watch her come. It was almost like he was trying to set a record. How quickly could he make her come?
Tamsin dug her nails into the flesh of his shoulders. Her legs were wound tightly around him as he continued to pump. He overpowered her, she felt tiny. His thrusts came in quick succession and he was much stronger than her.
Tamsin shrieked loudly as she came. He held on to her tightly as she felt her body vibrating. He didn’t stop thrusting into her so that she felt his dick deep inside her as she reached the edge. She couldn’t think straight anymore, her body had taken over her mind.
She felt his arms shudder too. He was releasing himself. She could feel him ooze inside her, pushing himself further and further in.
Tamsin was screaming now, and he made no move to quieten her. She couldn’t help it.
Her body slowly started to relax. Her thighs unclenched and she suddenly felt like she had no energy anymore. If he let her go, she’d fall straight to the floor.
Tamsin heard him chuckle and looked at him.
“You looked like a screamer,” he said with a smirk, and she knotted her brows. That familiar feeling of dread was creeping in on her. What had she done?
“We didn’t use a condom,” she said suddenly, looking at him.
“Fuck, yeah, you’re right. Sorry, I never forget... I wanted you so bad. I guess I just forgot,” he said, apologetically. “But don’t worry, I’m clean.”
Crosby slowly released her so that Tamsin’s feet touched the floor. She wriggled herself free from him and hurried away.
“What’s the matter?” he asked. She whipped around, suddenly aware that she was naked. She could still feel him inside her and her rage was brimming at the surface. She wasn’t intimidated by him anymore, she was angry at him.
“You manipulated me. You used me.” She threw the words at him. Crosby leaned against the wall, the smirk still on his face.
“You wanted it just as much as me. It was all over your face,” he said, crossing his arms over his naked chest.
“You never had any intention of giving me an interview,” she said, her chest rising and falling. She was glaring at him, her nostrils flaring.
“No, I did not. I don’t do interviews,” he said, the smile still on his face. He was looking at her with the same curious intensity, even though he had just fucked her. It was like he had already forgotten what she felt like and wanted another taste.
“So all of that was an act? Do you even read?” Tamsin asked, turning around to look for her clothes on the floor. He remained quiet and Tamsin threw him a caustic look.
“Forget it. I don’t want to know,” she said, picking up her undergarments. He was watching her getting dressed.
“Tamsin. There’s no need for this rage. We both got what we wanted,” he said in a quiet, calm voice.
“I wanted an interview,” she said, hissing at him as she slipped into her dress. She had never felt more used in her life.
“You should have known better. You should have seen it in my eyes, that all I wanted was to see you naked,” Crosby said. He still remained unfazed by her anger.
“You disgust me. I can’t believe I fell for it. Congratulations, Mr. Jones. You can add me to your list of conquests,” Tamsin said, aware of the hot tears pricking the back of her eyelids.
She didn’t wait for a reply, or to catch her reflection in the mirror on the wall. She wanted to g
et out of there as fast as possible. She had done it again. Tamsin Clarkson had made one more stupid decision in her life. And this time, it had cost her the respect she had previously felt for her basketball hero.
“Hey. Tamsin. Wait up,” she heard him call out to her, but she had already charged out of the room. She didn’t want to spend any more time looking at his smiling face.
She had been fooled. All the men she had met recently were either creepy or bastards. Tamsin was furious as she ran out of his house, banged open the front door and hurried towards her car.
He hadn’t followed her out. She got into the car and sighed loudly, throwing one last look at his mansion before she drove off. He was probably glad that she was gone. He didn’t seem like the kind of guy who would have wanted to cuddle after.
Chapter Four
It had been two weeks since she was in Crosby’s house, two weeks since he had pinned her to the wall and ravaged her body. Tamsin couldn’t forget it, because he had made her feel good, because he had stroked her deep inside in places nobody else had touched her before. She could still feel him inside her. She could feel him there without needing confirmation. He had impregnated her. She was carrying his child.
The pregnancy test confirmed what she already knew. What was she supposed to do now? Crosby Jones was all over the news. The team had made it to the NBA finals. She saw his face everywhere, and she had to write reports about his games. She was carrying his child, and he didn’t even know.
He had texted her, several times. But she hadn’t texted him back. She had turned off her phone eventually, growing tired of his attempts to get through to her. He had used her and she wasn’t ready to forgive him for it.
Tamsin tried to tell herself it was for the best. He probably wouldn’t want the baby anyway. He didn’t know her at all and was too busy with his basketball career not to mention his numerous flings, to be a dad.