Kicked: A Bad Boy Sports Romance

by C. M. Stunich

  Fuck.

  Fucking Teagan.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck.

  I turned away from her and tried to breathe.

  Passion.

  Obsession.

  Thrill.

  Teagan.

  I gritted my teeth and curled my gloved hands into fists. I'd invited her here to show her how far I'd come, to prove myself blah blah blah, but in reality, maybe I was just being selfish? I wanted her here. For me. Because I liked her and I was wondering how the hell I was ever going to let her go again.

  “You alright?” Kai's hand on my back popped the air around me like a bubble, let in the sound, the raucous horrible wonderful crash that was Autzen Stadium, a place where the best teams went to die. It was so goddamn loud in here that other teams had accused us of piping extra sound in just to throw them off their game.

  I smirked.

  We didn't need to cheat to win; the Ducks had me.

  “I'm fine,” I said, shutting down my mind, pushing Teagan out of it.

  I'd play this game, win it, remind myself that I'd already chosen between football and Fletcher.

  I'd remind myself that what I lived for, what I'd chosen, was this.

  During the first half of the game, I managed to keep my thoughts in check by pointedly not looking Teagan's way. But I knew in the back of my mind that she was fifteen, maybe twenty, feet behind me. If I turned around and jogged over there, held up my arms, she could jump into him. That's how close we were.

  Unfortunately, Mason Fenna noticed her, too, and he waved and sauntered and acted like a complete a-wad. I did my best to ignore him, too, but when the second half of the game started, I couldn't take it anymore. My focus was on the game, yeah, but I needed to see her face, she if she was watching me.

  When I glanced over my shoulder, seconds away from taking the field again after half-time, I saw her looking at me. Staring at me. Studying me. Her face was painted in tribute to me, her lips decorated with my number, her eyes zoned in on my back. I lifted up a hand, did a little wave that got caught by the cameras and flashed up on the fucking Jumbotron. The crowd tittered and the people sitting on either side of Teagan turned to look at her, to check out the girl that was stealing my attention away from the game.

  I snapped my face forward and gritted my teeth.

  When I hit the field again, I took my aggression out with my plays, my runs, my passes. I made sure we smoked the shit out of the other team. As the game was nearing its end, we were up by seven, and I knew that come hell or high water, we were going to win the day. Period. I wasn't about to invite Teagan over here to watch me lose.

  I smirked and waited for my chance, getting the ball in my hand and running it to get the clock down, icing my enemies with that sprint.

  “Touchdown, DUCKS!” I heard the announcement over the loudspeaker, felt the blood thumping in my head. “An incredible play by Tyce Winship, one of the greatest quarterbacks to ever put on a Ducks uniform. I'm telling you, the kid has a real career ahead of him.” The words swirled around and through me as my teammates jumped on me, patted my back, hooted and fucking hollered. The student section in the corner of the end zone went ballistic, like a herd of wild dogs, howling and baying and cheering.

  Game. Set. And. Match.

  I cheered, slapped helmets, danced around like a fucking idiot.

  But I never forgot that Teagan was watching me.

  Her eyes burned into me, drew my own up so that all I saw for the next few minutes was her face. I didn't see the other team when we slapped hands, congratulated them on a good game. Didn't see my coach, my teammates, the crowd as they yelled and rippled in a wave of flags and color and hands and jeers. I only saw Teagan and the way she made me feel, the way those emotions battled with the rush of the game, fought for control of my heart.

  I watched her as my team jogged their way towards the tunnel to head back into the locker rooms. Five minutes after the final whistle, the fans would be let loose to walk the turf, take photos, get a sense of what it was really like down there in the pit. But right as I approached the blackness, I found myself coming to a stop, putting my right hand on the cement wall outside.

  As soon as I crossed this threshold, I wouldn't be able to see Teagan anymore, see the way she stood up and moved to the railing, leaned over, her red hair spilling over shoulder in a braid. Even from here, I could see her pale fingers curling tight around the metal, her nails green and yellow and marked with my number. Marked by me. Mine.

  Shit.

  I started breathing hard, flicked a glance over at the rapidly disappearing bodies of my teammates, and then straight back to Teagan. I felt my cock respond to the sight of her in my jersey, the way it draped her shoulders and shrouded her in my scent, turned that possessive urge into a raging fire that I couldn't stop. Sweat poured down the sides of my face, and I was fucking tired, and I was aching with adrenaline and testosterone and rage.

  Seconds dragged past.

  Seconds, but we only had five minutes.

  I took off before anybody could realize I was missing, sprinting down the sidelines like I'd sprinted along the paths in Alton Baker Park. I skidded to a stop in my cleats, moving up to the cement wall at the edge of the field.

  “Tyce?” Teagan asked, her voice audible even through the enormous roar of chatter from above and around. I had no idea how I heard her. Or maybe I didn't. Maybe I just saw those painted lips of hers move with the single syllable of my name.

  I wanted them wrapped around my cock.

  I wanted to fuck her.

  Even if I couldn't have her, or if it would hurt her, or if it would hurt me. Didn't matter. Didn't matter. Less than five minutes.

  “Come here,” I said or maybe I shouted it. Maybe she couldn't hear me either, but I guess she read my lips because she climbed over the railing onto the grass that covered the top of the wall. I gestured her forward before somebody saw and tried to stop us. But what were they going to do anyway? In five minutes, the crowd would be released onto the field. And I was Tyce fucking Winship, and I'd just won this goddamn game for my team, and I wanted—no, no I needed—Teagan. Now.

  She leaned down, putting her hands on my shoulder pads while I reached up and put my hands on her hips, yanking her down and into me. My body was sweaty and dirty and disgusting, and my muscles hurt, and I really needed a fucking shower.

  “Hi,” she said as she gazed into my eyes through the shield on my helmet. Her mouth was slightly parted and her pulse jumping. I reached a hand up and smoothed a thumb over it, feeling her body's reaction to me like a drug. Her pupils were dilated and her forehead dotted with sweat. And that jersey. That fucking jersey. I thought maybe that was what really did it for me. Seeing her dressed in my clothes turned everything I'd ever felt and thought about Teagan on its head. I suddenly saw her in my shirts with nothing on underneath, mussy and groggy and smiling in the morning. I saw her in my bed naked when I went to sleep at night.

  I might not be able to have any of that, but at least I could have this.

  I was going to take what I needed from her, right here and now.

  I reached down and took Teagan's hand, curling my gloved fingers around her pale ones. “What are we doing?” she asked as I forced her to jog after me towards the tunnel. “Where are we going?” Her voice was breathy and patchy, and she panted as she ran after me, but she kept going, following me into the pitch blackness and down, down, down.

  At the halfway mark, I stopped, turned, shoved her back into the wall.

  “Tyce,” Teagan said, her voice high and reedy, like she was about to come in her panties just from looking at me. I reached up and tore my helmet from my head, tossing it aside and letting it bounce along the pavement beneath our feet. I was panting so goddamn hard in that moment, sucking in breath after anxious breath as my eyes flicked over her face, down her throat, across the full swell of her chest.

  I stepped forward and cupped the back of her head with a golden glove, leaned down and cap
tured her mouth with mine. I kissed her hard and fast, frantic with time and need and desire. Less than five minutes. I bruised Teagan's mouth with my own, slide our tongues together, made her dizzy when I pulled back and looked her straight in the face.

  “We have five minutes,” I said and then we were working together to shove her pants down one leg, over her sneakers. Mine were next, pushed down halfway off my ass, my cock springing free from my cup. I lifted Teagan up against that stone wall, slammed her back into the cool cement and let her curl her fingers in my sweaty hair. It was stuck to my forehead, probably a hot mess, but she looked at me like I was a god. I felt like a god there in that tunnel in the dark with thousands of fans screaming and pounding the pavement above our heads. In an instant, my coach or a security guard or one of the boys, they could come down here and find us screwing.

  I didn't care.

  Seriously. I didn't give a shit.

  My hands curled around Teagan's bare ass as I found the molten slickness of her core and thrust my way in, pushing her into the wall as she gasped and tears sprung up at the edges of her eyes. It wasn't fair. I'd taken her virginity in a second, right up against a tree like it was nothing. And here on her second time, I was ramming her into a wall, but I couldn't make myself stop. I couldn't figure out what I wanted other than this, and I didn't know how to say no. If she'd told me to stop, I would've, but she didn't.

  She whimpered and buried her face against my shoulder pads, her hands reaching down and cupping my own ass with her long nails. She pulled me into her, let me slide my cock as far as it would go as we panted and groaned, grunting like animals in our less-than-five-minutes-left.

  I didn't even try to keep my voice down, confident that whatever noises I made would be drowned by the crowd. But if someone did happen to hear or see, then let them see. Let them look.

  Teagan Fletcher was mine, and I didn't care who knew.

  Tyce was a monster in his gear with sweat dripping down the sides of his face, off the tip of his nose, catching on that bruised swell of his lower lip. I bit at it, kissed him, ran my tongue up his jaw like I knew what I was doing.

  I didn't.

  I was twisted around, bent and confused and hurting. His cock still hurt this time, but it wasn't as bad. It was … full. I felt full and empty at the same time. Tyce and I were having sex, he was inside of me, he was looking at me with this dark intent that I couldn't understand, and yet I'd never felt like we were further apart.

  I wanted to stop or say no because I knew this was only going to hurt me in the end, that he could shrug this all off and walk away like he'd done before, I but I couldn't. I liked him too much. Missed him too much. And even if I'd never had another 'friend' on this earth that I'd let pick me up and slam me into a wall, I went with it.

  I wrapped my legs around him, clawed at the tight muscles of his bare ass cheeks as they clenched and rippled with each violent thrust. I felt Tyce in my core as he moved and groaned and sweated on me with his pants shoved down his hips and mine dangling off and dragging. My mind and my common sense were foggy, hazy things that whispered about getting caught. Just like at the park, they were shut down by so many other feelings and emotions that I couldn't hear anything but the sound of the crowd above our heads.

  The thumping of feet mimicked my racing pulse as Tyce's hard body rubbed mine in just the right way, pushing against my clit as his cock dove inside of me. I could feel myself tightening on him, encouraging him, fluttering against him as he let go of my ass with his tattooed right hand and slammed his gloved palm into the wall.

  Our movements got faster and more frenzied, and I found that the pain started to dissipate, to become less than nothing as I wiggled my own hips, thrust my own pelvis to meet his, lifted my hands up and pulled at his hair. I nibbled his lower lip and smeared it with lipstick because it was just so perfect that I couldn't get enough. I stared into his blue-gold eyes and pretended that for a second there, he was really mine. Permanent and forever. Not some fleeting face on a phone camera or a guy I remembered with both hate and love. He wasn't the person who'd fucked me and shrugged his shoulders like it was nothing. I let my fantasies take over and tell me that Tyce was the other half of my soul that I'd always dreamed he was.

  His thick, long cock opened me up wide, and I felt his balls pressing against my body, the firm tight muscles of his abs crushing me to the wall.

  “Less than five minutes,” he groaned as he worked us both up into a frenzy. I felt the stirrings of an orgasm come over me and cried out, clutching at his head, his face, kissing him as I struggled through the wild violet burst of emotion that ripped through me. I think I cried. As I shivered and held Tyce, touched the pads on his shoulders, his chest, I felt him come inside of me again and I didn't know what to do about any of it.

  When he slid out, fast and quick, I felt cold. Cold as he set me down and tried to help me back into my pants. Cold as he yanked up his own, a vision in his uniform that I wouldn't soon forget. I looked up at him, a full twelve inches taller than me with his wide, wide shoulders and tapered waist, those padded pants that cupped his ass like a second skin, the gloves on his hands, the tattoos I could still see on his arms. I'd smeared the black and gold lipstick from my mouth all across his, over his chin, along his cheek, like an accessory to the eye black he wore beneath that dark sapphire gaze.

  I stared at him and he stared right back at me just as the noise of the crowd began to shift and they flooded onto the green of the field for the stadium walk. Soon, they'd flick the lights on in the tunnel and they'd be allowed to briefly walk down here, too, feel what it was like to be worshipped and revered and lifted up so high above everyone else that maybe you couldn't see how bad they were hurting anymore.

  I reached up and felt a tear crawl down my cheek.

  Our sex was hot, and it was perfect, and I was still panting, but I was also wondering who this person was that I was becoming. Who was Tyce. What was happening between us.

  He kept staring at me, his chocolate dark hair twisted and plastered against his skull with sweat. The straight bridge of his nose dripped sweat onto his swollen lips. Mine felt used, tainted. But I loved it. All of it. And I hated it, too.

  “I don't know what to do,” I said, and I guess he misinterpreted my words. Or maybe he was just an idiot. Tyce lifted up a gloved hand and used his thumb to wipe away the tear.

  “It won't hurt every time,” he told me, like he was some expert. Some sex god sent down from on high. “Did you walk here?”

  Like that mattered, like the physical stuff was important at all.

  “What's going on here?” I asked him, pointing between us, knowing we didn't have a lot of time to talk. Apparently Tyce was thinking about that, too.

  “I don't know, but I can't talk right now.”

  “Just tell me,” I whispered, looking over and seeing the people in hordes and droves. They couldn't see us, not in the pitch black, not yet. I looked back at Tyce. “Do you want me or not? Because half the time, I feel like you do. And the other half …”

  “I already told you this isn't going to work,” Tyce snapped, and he sounded pissed. I hated him for that. I tightened my jaw and forced the tears back. I wasn't going to cry again. No way. “If you want to keep … doing this stuff, fine. But it's not going anywhere. I'm sorry.”

  “Stop fucking me around with me and sayings oops, Tyce. Stop fucking me and saying sorry. It's screwed up and it's mean, and it's not doing either of us any favors.”

  “Oh hey, Teagan,” a voice said from down the tunnel to my right. It was Mason Fenna. My heart stammered as I wondered how much he'd seen. I looked at him, still dressed in his uniform. It was clean. He wasn't sweaty. He wasn't used. With Tyce, they didn't need him. “Did you enjoy the game?”

  “Fuck off, Fenna,” Tyce snapped, jerking his fingers through his hair. People were starting to come down the tunnel and a security guard was making his way towards us. “I gotta go,” he told me, and I shook my head, yanking t
he jersey off and exposing my Ducks tank underneath.

  “Yeah,” I snapped right back, tossing the ball of black fabric at his chest. “Go ahead. That's what you're good at.”

  “How was the game?” Chelease asked when I walked back in the door, shaky on my feet and sweating and desperate for a shower. I smelled like Tyce, felt his hands on my skin, his semen inside of me. I needed it off, off, off. I had to wash it all off.

  “Don't sound too enthused,” I said, knowing I was being bitchy but unable to stop myself. Chelease flicked her braids over one shoulder and stood up from the table, slamming her smartphone down on the glass. I paused on my way past and gave her a look. “I'm sorry if I sound upset, okay, but I've had a shitty day. A shitty week. A shitty month. And I don't know what your problem is. I get it if you hate football or hate Tyce for being an arrogant jerk or whatever, but if you have something to say, then say it. I can't take all of this animosity anymore.”

  I stood there staring at Chelease for several seconds before I turned and started walking away.

  “Hold on,” she said, sitting back down at the table. “Just … I'm sorry, okay? I'm not trying to be a bitch, but …” There was a strange, stringy hesitancy in her voice, something that told me this was important, that it was related to the vague hints she'd dropped on Halloween.

  I walked back over to the table, pulled out a chair and sat down. I definitely needed a shower, but there was already one relationship in my life that was screwed up, so if I had a chance to fix another right now, I was going to take it.

  Chelease looked down at the glass surface of the table for five whole minutes before she spoke. I knew it was that long because I could see the clock above and behind her head. I watched each second tick past as I stayed patient. Sitting here, letting this sudden crisis with Chelease fall into my lap, it saved me from feeling sorry for myself, from hating Tyce, from punching a wall or something.