Deep End: A Bad Boy Sports Romance

by Roxeanne Rolling

  We’re having this conversation in the middle of making out heavily, taking short breaks from kissing in order to spill out the words at top speed. Her hands are all over me, and mine are all over her, grabbing at every curve I can find.

  “I’m your what…you’re inside source? Anyway, if coach catches me with you, he’s going to kick me off the team. He told me you’re completely off limits. I’m on thin ice as it is, stealing the statue, and a shit load of other stuff. There goes my shot at the Olympics, if that happens.”

  “So we can’t hook up any more then, that’s that,” says Allison, with her tongue still half way down my throat.

  “Yet here you are in the locker room trying to bang me during a meet,” I say.

  “That’s exactly what I want to do,” she says.

  “Well, at least we got the heavy stuff out of the way before we go at it,” I say. “I’ve only got twenty minutes, and people could come in here any second. It’s the men’s locker room, and everyone shares it.”

  She doesn’t say anything, but for a response, she pulls down my swim briefs.

  She grabs my cock like no one’s ever grabbed it before.

  Before I know what’s happening, she’s down on her knees, with my cock in her mouth.

  I gently grab her head, without trying to dictate her movements, caressing her scalp, and running my hands through her luscious hair.

  “Do you have a condom?” she says, pulling her mouth away from me for a minute, before going back at it.

  “You really know what you want,” I say. “I like that.” It’s hard for me to say anything more intelligent or witty with the amount of pleasure I’m receiving. She’s acting so different from the shy, reserved girl the other night, and that dichotomy makes all the difference, it makes the whole thing so much hotter. And the fact that we could be caught at any moment, and lose everything—somehow that only makes it hotter as well.

  She gives me a look, like she’s still waiting for an answer.

  “I don’t have one,” I say.

  Shit! How could I be so stupid? I’m going to miss possibly some of the best sex of my life, and I’ve had a lot of hot sex already, just because I don’t have a stupid condom.

  She pulls my cock out of her mouth, and for a second I think it’s all over, that she’s going to leave and go back up to the balcony to watch the rest of the meet. How will I race with a boner like this, sticking straight up? There’s no way I’ll be able to concentrate, and the drag alone will slow me down like nothing else.

  “Fortunately I brought one,” she says.

  “Thank God!” I say, not realizing how loud I’m talking.

  “Quiet,” she says, putting a finger to her mouth, as she pulls a condom out of her little journalist bag. “Don’t ask,” she says, as I give her a quizzical look. Why does she have condoms in her bag, after all? Did she bring them just for me? Was she expecting this? It certainly doesn’t feel planned. “This isn’t planned,” she says. “But I have to admit I was only thinking of you when I packed these.”

  She takes the condom out, and I help her put it on my cock.

  I push her gently against the wall, kissing her neck, and cupping her breasts with my hands. She’s facing away from me, and her body is heaving with desire. Her hair runs down her back, and I can’t take my eyes off it. I don’t know where to look, whether at her hair, her ass, her thighs, or the side of her face. Even the nape of her neck is turning me on like nothing else.

  I pull her pants down in one swift motion, so they’re down around her knees.

  Her perfect ass plops out. It looks ripe, ready to be taken.

  In a second, the swollen tip of my cock is against her outer lips, starting to push its way inside. She lets out a soft moan, as I slowly enter her.

  “Holy shit,” she says, now practically panting.

  My swim briefs are down around my ankles, and I have to be conscious not to trip over it as I reposition my legs slightly, so that I can enter her better.

  I’m thrusting inside her, and my mind is going wild. I can barely contain myself. I can barely keep from coming immediately. No woman has ever looked hotter to me.

  The shower is still on, and the steam is coming up all around us, enveloping our bodies slowly in the mist.

  “You’re so hot,” I say. “I love being inside you.”

  “I think I love you,” says Allison.

  It catches me by complete surprise. I remain silent for a moment, but of course, I can’t stop fucking, and I keep thrusting into her, pushing her further against the wall.

  “Aren’t you going to say anything?” she says, giving me a certain look, although the intensity level of the look is lowered significantly by the soft moan she gives as I thrust into her again.

  “I…”

  “You can’t say it, can you?”

  But I have a flash. I suddenly realize it’s true: I do love her. And this is a big deal for me, since I’ve never loved anyone before. But there’s something different about her.

  “I love you, too,” I say.

  “Wow,” she says. “I thought that’d be harder. After all, you have a certain reputation around campus.”

  “What can I say?” I say.

  We keep fucking for about a minute, but it doesn’t last too long, which is good, considering the risks we’re taking with this little inter-meet session.

  “I’m coming,” pants Allison.

  Suddenly, she’s moaning and thrashing around, between me and the wall, bucking her hips wildly.

  I massage her breast, and kiss her neck as she comes.

  “Matt Belver on deck,” says the loudspeaker, which I can only hear slightly, the sound significantly muffled coming through the locker room door, and drowned out even more by the sound of the shower.

  “Shit,” I say. “I’ve got to go.” But a second later, I realize I can’t go just yet.

  And that’s because I’m coming. Coming like I never have before. It feels like a flood is being released inside me, a flood meant for one special girl, and that’s Allison.

  I buck my hips, pushing my cock deep inside her, and I remain still, frozen and unable to move, as it pumps out of me.

  “Wow,” says Allison, her thrashing dying down.

  “How was that for you?” I say, already knowing the answer.

  “Wow,” she says.

  “I’ve got to go,” I say.

  “So fast?”

  “I’m supposed to be out there already. I’m on deck. I’m racing in just a couple minutes, maybe less.”

  She slaps my ass as I pull out of her, and start running towards the locker room door, pulling my swim briefs up as I do so.

  “You’ve gotten a lot saucier since the last time,” I say, turning my head to yell at her.

  As I push the door open to the pool, there’s someone there, about to come into the locker room.

  I turn and look behind me, seeing Allison leaving through the other door, which is at the opposite end of the hallway, and which leads to the rest of the building, where the stairway is to the balcony.

  “Who’s that?” says Spellman, peering over my shoulder. He doesn’t have as good of a build as me, or even Dave, for that matter, but he’s tall. Tall and gangly, and a real piece of work.

  “Why don’t you mind your own Goddamn business, Spellman?” I say.

  “Isn’t that the student reporter? What’s she doing in the locker room with you, right before our relay race?” Spellman has an evil glint in his eye that I know all too well. I can’t count how many times he’s had that same glint in his eye while catching me in the middle of something I shouldn’t be doing. And every time, without fail, he tells coach on me.

  “What the hell are you doing here anyway, Spellman?”

  “I’m on your relay team, Matt, and you weren’t anywhere in sight, so they sent me to look for you.”

  “I guess they always send the least important
member of the team. And why can’t you call me Anchor, like everyone else?”

  “Because I don’t believe this little bullshit hero aura you’ve created around yourself,” he says. “I’ve been on to you since our first day on campus.”

  “So that’s why you think you’ve been following me around, trying to get me in trouble? You’re jealous, is that it?”

  “I don’t know how I could be jealous of a phony like you,” he says.

  I can feel myself getting angry. The good feeling from the sex with Allison is vanishing rapidly, and it’s being replaced by anger. All the times Spellman has told on me come flashing back in my memory. Why does this guy have to be such a dick? I just don’t get it. I’ve never done anything to him, but apparently my mere presence is enough to annoy him so much that he’ll go out of his way to fuck with me.

  “Stop fucking with me, and let’s go race,” I say. “We’re going to win this thing, whether you’re on the team or not.”

  “Take that back,” says Spellman, standing a little on his toes, trying to make himself look a little taller, and more threatening, I guess, but all I see is a gangly uncoordinated swimmer who has barely enough talent to stay on the team.

  “No,” I say, simply. “Let’s go race.” I try to push my way past him, but he’s blocking my way, holding on to the doorframe for support.

  “Take it back,” he says again, like an idiotic automaton. He gives me a push in the chest.

  “Asshole, we’re on the same team. We’re probably supposed to be up on the blocks.”

  “You sure think you’re some hot shit. You think the team can’t do without you.” He gives me another push, harder this time, and I slip a little on the wet floor. But I regain my balance before falling.

  “They call me Anchor because I’m indispensible, asshole,” I say, as I swing my right arm around, turning my hips as I do so, to put all my weight behind my punch. I’ve had enough of this piece of shit, and I can’t contain my anger any longer.

  The punch connects with the side of his face before he has time to do anything.

  16

  Allison

  I’ve just climbed the last stair, and I take a moment to pat down my hair and adjust my glasses before pushing open the door to the balcony area.

  “You get some good notes?” says Dave, smiling at me in a way that doesn’t immediately tell me whether he knows what happened or not.

  But I’m just being paranoid. After all, he can suspect and insinuate all he wants, but there’s no way he could really know what happened. And if he does find out, what the hell do I care?

  “I got some good quotes for the article,” I say. “Any developments in the race?”

  “I’m glad you’re meeting with some of the individual swimmers, but also trying to get an overall picture of the team by coming to one of the games. I think you’re going about this right way, Allison.”

  “Thanks, Professor Beaumont.”

  “Hey Prof, they’re called meets, not games,” says Dave.

  “Well, that’s why she’s writing the article, and not me. I’ve never been a sports guy.”

  “That’s clear enough.”

  “Show him a little respect, Dave,” I say, giving him a light whack on his head with my journalist pad, which I pulled out of my bag as I was coming up the stairs, to make it look like I actually was taking notes, rather than fucking Anchor’s brains out.

  Dave and Beaumont leave me alone for a moment. Both seem to be interested enough in the meet that they’re not paying me much attention right now, which is good, because it’s hard to keep this secret inside me while trying to have a normal conversation. I’m just glad they didn’t seem to catch on that I just had the hottest sex of my life minutes ago.

  I don’t know what happened to me, but I felt more free than I ever have before down there in the locker room. The last time Anchor and I had sex, I felt somewhat shy and reserved, but this time I was nothing like that at all. I was a new me, the kind of person I’ve always secretly wanted to be, the kind of person who gets what she wants, and takes it without apologizing.

  Despite feeling pretty good, not to mention satisfied, I immediately start second-guessing what just happened. No, there’s no way I’m second-guessing the sex, but what about the whole “I love you thing?” This is typical me, since I can be a nervous wreck, at least in my head. No one else might ever notice it, but I sure as hell do. Does Anchor really love me, or was he just saying that to get laid, or, rather, to continue getting laid? Is that something he tells all the girls he’s slept with?

  Dave’s obnoxious voice cuts through my little anxious daydream. “What the hell’s happening? Spellman is supposed to be racing. Where is he? And where’s Anchor? Shit!”

  “The coach appears to be yelling at one of the team members,” says Beaumont, pointing down to the deck.

  Sure enough, the coach is yelling at someone. I sure heard him grumble a lot the time we met in his office, but he had such a tired air about him, that of a poorly-aging jock, that I would never have thought it possible for him to actually raise his voice so much. But he sure is raising it. Even with all the normal sounds of a swim meet, he would have been quite audible all the way up here.

  But as it happens, everyone on deck by the pool is completely silent. They’re in between events right now, and even the guys running the show, with the starter guns, have completely paused, just to stare at the coach.

  He’s yelling so loud. Who’s he yelling at?

  “You fucking idiot! How could you do it? I don’t give a shit if you don’t like him. You can’t injure your own fucking teammate. You know what? I’ve never liked you or your fucking face or your stupid fucking nickname, but I haven’t ever punched you, right? Although I really want to right now. Fucking idiot!”

  Someone in the row in front of me shifts to get a better look, and it opens up a better view for me.

  I can see who the coach is screaming at.

  It’s Anchor.

  Of course it’s Anchor. Who else would it be? But who did he punch out?

  I catch a glimpse of something else. It’s EMTs carrying someone on a stretcher.

  “No way!” says Dave, practically yelling in excitement. “It’s Spellman! He’s knocked out Spellman. Jesus Christ, and their relay is next.”

  The coach is still yelling at Anchor.

  I can see Anchor talking calmly with the coach, but I can’t hear what he’s saying, since it seems like he’s talking in a normal tone of voice. His body language reads neutral. He doesn’t seem upset at all, even with the coach now yelling directly into his face. The coach’s own face is a shade of deep red, and his cheeks are swollen as he uses them to draw in air for his next round of insults.

  “What’s going to happen?” I say, leaning over to Dave.

  “Dunno,” says Dave, shrugging his shoulders. He’s laughing his head off at the whole thing.

  “Isn’t this serious?” I say, careful to keep my voice down a little, in case the Olympic scout a couple rows in front of us overhears me. Although there’s no way in the world that the scout can possibly have missed the scene unfolding down below.

  Dave stops laughing for just a moment to answer me. “Been in trouble before,” he says, now stuffing his face with some chips he’s brought out of his backpack.

  Anchor calmly walks away from the coach, who’s still yelling at him.

  ==

  I can hear the coach’s words drifting up here to the balcony. “You’re off the fucking team. You hear that, Anchor? And there’s no way in hell you’re racing this relay. I don’t give a shit if the scout is here just for you. You’re nothing but a spoiled brat with a huge ego.”

  I feel the anger rising inside me. I feel myself siding with Anchor, no matter what he did. I don’t care what he did. He could do anything and I would still be on his side, no matter what. That’s how close I feel to him right now. No doubt, it has a lot to do with h
im taking me like that in the locker room. There’s some kind of special connection between us now, even if he is kind of a cocky arrogant prick…sometimes, at least. Not all the time. No, not all the time.

  Anchor’s talking to someone else on the swim team, and this new guy follows Anchor to the blocks at the end of the swimming pool.

  Everyone is watching the scene unfold with a morbid kind of silent fascination.

  The coach is still screaming at Anchor.

  “Don’t you dare get on that block! I absolutely forbid you from racing in this relay. I don’t give a shit if we lose the fucking meet. You can’t knock out other swimmers, let alone your own teammates, whether or not you like them. Spellman is the only one around here who has any kind of conscience. He’s the only one who ever gave a shit about the team, and you obviously don’t. You just care about yourself.”

  Coach is still red in the face, but Anchor’s talking calmly to the officials, who are nodding their heads, ignoring, for the moment, the screaming coach.

  “Are they going to let him race?” I say,

  “Looks like it,” says Dave. “Anchor has a way of convincing people to do what he wants, no matter what the situation. I’ve never seen anything like this, though.”

  “Who does he have there on the relay team to replace Spellman?”

  “It’s Chucky,” says Dave. “He’s just a freshman, and he’s not too good. It’s a real shame Anchor knocked out Spellman, since even Spellman is faster than Chucky. But I guess no one else wants to go against the coach. Chucky’s always had a kind of rebel streak in him though, from what I can tell. To tell the truth, I’ve never talked to him too much. He’s always at the parties though. Good guy, from what I can tell.”

  “You think they have a chance? You think the coach is really going to kick Anchor off the team?”

  “Maybe, maybe not. But if Anchor goes ahead with this and races, defying the coach in front of everyone, then I can’t see him staying on the team.”

  “That’s not good for his potential Olympic career, right?” I say.

  Dave just shakes his head.