All Played Out (Rusk University #3)

by Cora Carmack

  Torres groans behind me. (Torres? Mateo? God, why are names so stupid?)

  I feel the barest touch low on my spine, just above the curve of my bottom that I know is entirely visible to him. He begins dragging his fingernail up the length of my spine, and I straighten, resisting the urge to squirm under that small exploration. But I can’t control the goose bumps that pebble over my skin or the breath that catches in my throat when the bed shifts and I feel his mouth begin the same trek up my back.

  I clutch at the covers, needing something to ground me, and instead I end up gripping his calf. He chuckles, and the puff of his breath in the middle of my back tickles, and I break my resolve to stay still.

  “Did you know you squirm when you’re about to come?”

  I don’t know how to answer that. My brain is still too foggy from sleep. Do I stay silent? Tell him that yes, I noticed it last night, or no, I’ve never done “that” before him, so I don’t know if it counts? Or do I just tell him to shut up because he’s embarrassing me?

  I don’t like being embarrassed.

  I tell myself I shouldn’t be. What we did last night, it was . . . brilliant. Better than I ever could have imagined. And he’s made no move to rush out of my bed, so that has to be a good sign. But I can’t get over the fact that I’m sticky in places I shouldn’t be sticky, and the sheets against my skin are damp with sweat, and dear God, was that his tongue on my back? Doesn’t he know I’m sweaty and gross?

  Just when I’m about to bolt for the bathroom, his mouth reaches the nape of my neck, and I feel his tongue and then teeth graze the side of my neck.

  “Should I assume your silence is a yes? That you know your arms and legs flail when you’re right on the edge, as if you’re about to fall over an actual cliff?”

  I shrug. That’s what I’m reduced to. Master of intellect right here.

  His mouth trails along my shoulder, and then I feel the graze of his stubble as he lays his cheek against my back.

  “Come on, girl genius. Answer me. It’s important.”

  Then, finally, I find my voice. Scoffing, I say, “How could that possibly be important?”

  “Because I want to fuck you in the shower, but I’m worried you won’t be able to stay standing when you come.”

  I make a noise that not even I can identify, and drop my head into my hands. I hear him chuckle behind me as he flops back on the bed.

  “You are such an ass,” I say into my hands.

  Then, before I know what’s happening, I’m being slid and tugged and rolled, and my naked body is draped on top of his. My legs fall to each side of his hips, and large hands squeeze my backside. “What did you say about your ass?”

  Annoyance is finally beginning to dilute my embarrassment, and I try to push up from him. His arms won’t budge. Instead I end up with my forearms pressed against his pectoral muscles, and his face just below mine. “I said you’re an ass.”

  “Hmm . . . no. I like the way I heard it better.”

  I squirm, trying to slide off him, and instead he rolls, trapping me beneath him, and insinuating his hips more firmly between my thighs.

  “This is . . . a lot for me,” I say. “I would appreciate it if you could put the joking on pause for a little bit.”

  His eyes are dark as his gaze glides over my face. There’s the barest shadow of stubble along his jaw and neck that I’m not used to seeing, and just the sight of it makes something flutter in my belly. One corner of his mouth tips up, and I know he felt the subtle shift in my hips as I reacted to the sight of him hovering over me. He leans in close, brushing his lips back and forth over mine in a not quite kiss.

  “I don’t know why you think I’m joking, sweetheart. I love your ass. Have ever since you wore that short little schoolgirl skirt and nearly gave me a heart attack when you walked away from me. And as for fucking you in the shower . . . I was definitely not joking about that.”

  A blush blazes over my cheeks, and he smiles. “I get that this is new for you, Nell. I do. But I’m not going to lie or hold back telling you how much I want you. I can’t.”

  I swallow. “I’m just not used to talking about this kind of thing.”

  “I believe you scientific types would say the only way to really get comfortable with something is through exposure. Practice.” He lowers his body against mine, props himself up on his elbows, and cups my cheeks. “And for the good of mankind and these gorgeous red cheeks, I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make you comfortable.”

  His gaze is so piercing, so serious. I am constantly amazed and undone by the different facets of his personality. He can flip-flop between joker and romantic so easily. He’s so comfortable as both. Then, as if proving my thoughts, he adds, “And I’m willing to have shower sex as many times as it takes until you learn to stay standing.”

  I shove playfully at his shoulder, and as he tips over, he once again brings me with him. We roll so that I’m on top, and I can feel the hard length of his erection nestled in the heat between my legs. We’re inches away from tumbling off the bed, and one of my legs hangs over the side, my toes brushing the carpet.

  He’s still got one hand on my cheek, and he uses it to start drawing me down toward his mouth, and I can’t explain why it makes me panic. It just does. Last night was good. Great. And it was exactly what I wanted. But I haven’t had time to think about what’s next. I have to think about what’s next . . . don’t I?

  “I need to shower and get ready for class. If I don’t hurry, I’m going to be late.”

  He keeps pulling me closer, until my mouth is just over his, not quite touching, but so close I can feel his every breath against my kiss-chapped lips. The promise of that nearness distracts me, and I feel my body melt into his, my soft stomach pressing against his harder one.

  “Skip it,” he breathes.

  “I—I can’t. I’ve never skipped a class. Not ever.” But it’s tempting. So very tempting.

  “Is there a test today?” His lips swerve left, touching my cheek.

  “No.”

  “Do you have to turn in an assignment?” His tongue traces the sensitive spot at the corner of my jaw.

  “No, but—”

  “Skip it,” he murmurs against my ear. The heat of his breath makes me shiver and press closer. “Skip it and stay here with me.”

  “Mateo—”

  He hums. “I like my name in your mouth. Come on, girl genius. Think of your list. You’ve been doing a lot of things you’ve never done before. Give me one more. Let me thank you for last night.”

  His other hand has found its way to my hip, and he uses it to rock me against him. And just like that . . . I find myself giving in. No, not just giving in. Throwing myself at him. Because even though I’m tender, it feels unbelievably good as he glides through the wetness between my legs. And he’s in my bed. And the morning light is playing over his bronze skin, and his eyes are dark and sleepy. And that’s another piece of Mateo Torres I want to lay claim to. I want to own this memory of him playful and pleading in my bed.

  “Please,” he breathes, his voice strained and gravelly. “You want to make me beg, is that it? Is that on your list? Because I just might do it. For you.”

  “No more after this.”

  His grip on my hip tightens, and the hand on my cheek slides into my hair. “What do you mean?”

  “I can’t skip any more classes after this. I won’t.”

  He exhales, and the tight hold he has on me loosens. He thought I meant sex, that I meant no more of that. And his reaction, the way his whole body stiffened, takes away the last of my unease. I’m not the only one on edge here. I’d thought after the way I pulled him in here last night, the way I initiated things, that he had all the power. But I’ve got some, too.

  “Shower?” I ask, and I can’t help but think of the night that I’d turned on all the lights in the house. His smile sweeps away the loneliness in a way that never could.

  I CHECK OFF another first in the shower
when Mateo kneels in front of me and teases me with his mouth and his fingers. I’m sore, and when I wince he places an apologetic kiss just below my belly button. He only uses his mouth from then on, and it takes me a long time to come, long enough that I try to stop him on more than one occasion because I feel bad for his knees, but he only laces his fingers through mine and pushes my hand back against the tile wall. When my orgasm does come, it’s slower than last night’s. Less detonation and more crashing wave. It starts at his mouth, and crests in my belly before, flowing out through all the rest of me. My legs don’t flail this time, but they do go numb, and if my back weren’t against the tile, I’m certain I wouldn’t have been able to keep my balance.

  I want to return the favor, but I’m so deliciously exhausted from his long exploration of me with his mouth that my hands are shaky.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

  He takes my hand and wraps it around his erection. He has me squeeze harder than I expected, but under the fall of the shower, he slips through my fist easily. I try to kneel, but Mateo grabs my hips and keeps me upright.

  “I’m already close,” he says. “A few times I thought I might come just with my mouth on you.”

  He gets harder in my hand; bigger, too. And I’m embarrassed that for all I know about biology, I’m still surprised by his body, by how it works. Then he stiffens. He presses a hand into the wall by my head and leans his face into the crook of my neck as he groans. He jerks and pulses, and comes against my stomach.

  And even though I’d been exhausted moments before, now I’m alert . . . and curious.

  This is what I wanted to know. When I’d added losing my virginity to my bucket list, it had been no more than a mechanical act. It had been about the body, and that side of things is interesting enough. I do want to touch and explore and discover more, but it’s everything else I’d been naive about. Sex is about more than bodies.

  And I don’t mean love, though I’m sure that does change the equation, too. I mean . . . he was on the edge just from giving me pleasure. He hadn’t even touched himself. I know because I remember vividly having his hands on my hips and our fingers tangled together and his grip on my thighs.

  That’s the side of sex that fascinates me, what made me curious enough to watch that couple in the library. Pleasure isn’t just about touching the right places or making the right movements. There’s another element to it. And I don’t know what it’s called or how it works, but I want to.

  I want to know everything.

  Chapter 22

  Mateo

  It’s amazing how one night can change everything. Not just the sex, but everything, from the moment I first entered her apartment.

  Talking to Nell about her doubts somehow inadvertently lessened mine. Neither of us found any solutions at dinner that Sunday, but talking about it, commiserating with someone else who’s facing a similar situation, makes it easier to bear.

  And of course, the mind-blowing sex didn’t hurt either.

  I find myself using Nell as my mental shield. As the next game approaches and the pressure mounts to perform as well as I did last week, I use her face to push away the thoughts of failure. When I start to stress about living up to the expectations of my coach and my team and myself, I think about her in her kitchen or her spread over my lap in my truck or her taking her own pleasure against me in her bed.

  When I think about her, nothing can fucking touch me.

  Then I have to think about something else entirely for a while because thinking of Nell like that while I’m in public always presents a problem.

  I live for the moment when I can see her again, when I can park my fears and stresses at the door and lose myself in her arms. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I know I should be thinking about what this means. She’s graduating next month, and even though she’s not leaving immediately, she will leave eventually.

  But I tell myself I’ve got time. I’ll figure out exactly what it all means later.

  Whatever she’s doing to me, it consumes me enough to overcome my insecurities and fears. She pushes everything else out, delays the doubts, and I ride that solution all the way to another win on Saturday. I end up with a few less catches, but two of them were huge plays with major yardage. And at the end of the game, Coach claps a hand on top of my shoulder pad, and the look in his eyes says it all.

  It’s happening.

  We’re now 8–2, and one of those losses wasn’t even conference play. With two games left, we’re finally starting to make some waves. They’re calling us the “big surprise” of the season and the “little team with big heart.” And it feels like we’re on the verge of something huge.

  Something real.

  Which is a little how I’m feeling in all aspects of my life lately.

  The Monday after the game, I’m feeling high on life and on Nell. As I promised her when we’d been texting after our last away game, I spent the week texting her dirty things. She hadn’t quite texted me anything dirty back yet, but she’d asked a few questions. Why I said certain things, what I liked. I figured I was close to getting her to text me back.

  I send her one quick text before I lock up my phone for practice.

  I’m about to put the phone away when I’m surprised by her immediate reply.

  Fuck. How the hell am I going to be able to concentrate on practice now? I’m an idiot.

  I toss my phone in my cubby as Brookes comes to stand next to me.

  He says, “So, I guess this means I was wrong.”

  “About?”

  “Nell. That’s who you were texting, right?”

  I shrug. Because Nell and I haven’t really talked about how we’re going to play this with everyone else. She’d had a big project due today that she spent last week working on, and I’d been gearing up for the game, so we’d only seen each other a couple times.

  “That’s a yes,” he says.

  “Tell me something, how do you know this shit? It’s fucking creepy, man.”

  He smiles. “I pay attention.”

  “To what? My Internet history? Do you have my phone tapped? Did you bug my room?”

  “To your face, bro. It’s all there. When I mentioned her name, you reacted for a split second, and then immediately covered it up. That told me I was right.”

  “Why are you here playing football instead of working in the CIA or something?”

  He smiles. “Football is more of a challenge.”

  I laugh. And make a mental note to Google him and make sure he didn’t just randomly spring into existence a few years ago.

  “Seriously, though,” he says. “I’m sorry I gave you shit about Nell. I read that wrong.”

  “Me or her?”

  “The two of you together. You didn’t make sense when I considered you separately. But whatever is going on with you two . . . it’s good. I can tell.”

  “You’re like some weird version of The Wizard of Oz, aren’t you? There’s some old dude somewhere spying on us all with video cameras and telling you what to say. Or you’re secretly a robot or an alien or something.”

  He raises an eyebrow. “What kind of messed-up Wizard of Oz did you watch as a kid?”

  “You two,” Coach Oz barks as passes by us. “Quit gabbing like a bunch of little girls, and get on the field.”

  We finish changing clothes quickly as Oz leaves, and when the door slams behind him, I whistle. “Man, Oz needs to get laid. Dude scares me when he gets like that.” Brookes makes a noncommittal noise. “I’m serious. Look at Coach Cole. Guy is still scary as fuck, but since he’s been dating that dance professor chick? Way cooler.”

  The silence after my statement is a bit too silent.

  “Coach Cole, are you right behind me?”

  “Yes, I am, Torres.”

  I shoot Brookes a glare, and the prick doesn’t even bother hiding his grin. I spin. There aren’t many people in the world who can make me feel small, but Coach Cole is one of
them. We’re roughly the same height, but the dude has Hulk shoulders and a beard that just screams, “I could kick your ass.”

  “Sir, I don’t know if you’re aware of this. But ‘scary as fuck’ is a slang term that means incredibly well respected.”

  His expression doesn’t change. Not at all. Freaking stone.

  “And ‘dating that dance professor chick’ is slang for—”

  “Just shut up and get your ass on the field, Torres.”

  “Yes, sir. Of course, sir. Because I find you scary as fuck, sir.”

  He takes a step forward, and I bolt as calmly as I can for the door. I call back, “I was using that as a slang term, remember?”

  For a moment I think I see the twitch of a smile beneath his mustache, but it’s gone a second later, and I decide I’m better off hightailing it out onto the field.

  “You never know when to stop, do you?” Brookes asks, jogging up beside me.

  “I prefer to view that particular gift of mine in a positive light. More like . . . I cross lines no one else is willing to cross. I go where no man has gone before. All boldly and shit.”

  “I literally have no clue how you and Nell work. None.”

  He’s joking, I know. But that particular jab slips past my defenses, and bangs around in my chest for a while as we walk out onto the field. I’m not looking for anything long term from Nell, but if events up to this point are any clue, she’ll probably be done with me before I’m done with her. And even though I’m not trying to get serious, I can’t say I’m looking forward to that. It’s gonna fuck me up to see a girl like her walk away, serious or not. And I can’t afford that. Not right now. Not when I’m on the verge of finally proving myself.

  If I were smart, I’d take that thought and end things now. But I do enjoy flirting with that dangerous line.

  Maybe that’s what makes me reckless. I don’t know. Maybe it’s Nell, and how freaking powerful she makes me feel. Maybe I’m so eager to prove Coach right, prove Lina and everyone else wrong. Maybe Nell’s assessment of me that first day was right, and I enjoy showing off too damn much.