Hunter (Campus Kings): A Football Secret Baby Novel

by Celia Loren

  I frown at him. It's not like my dad to stumble over his words. Wait, is he blushing?

  "Dad!" I interrupt. "If this is, um, a sex talk, then you don't have to. I think I, ah, already know the gist of it."

  He frowns. "You mean you've already—"

  "No! No. I just mean I don't think we need to talk about it," I hasten to clarify. "And for the record, most kids get the sex talk when they're like thirteen, not eighteen."

  "Hm, maybe you're right," my dad admits with a sigh. "Well, you know my view. That you should wait until you're married."

  "I know," I reply patiently. No need to get into an argument over my father's traditional views on marriage and sexuality. This conversation has already been embarrassing enough.

  "Then I just have one thing to add," he says, his eyes narrowing to slits. "No football players. No hanging around them. And especially no dating them."

  "Dad, you know I have no interest in them," I reply with a sigh. "But, for the record, are they really that bad?"

  "Oh, yes," he says. "In my day, sure, there were a few bad apples. But now, you should hear the things they talk about in the locker room. Or rather, you shouldn't. Look, I respect their dedication to the sport and what they can do on the field, but to continue in this job, I've had to completely separate myself from what they do off of it. These guys see women as less than notches on their bedposts, I'm telling you."

  I shake my head. "Well, that sounds terrible. And you have nothing to worry about with me, Dad. I have absolutely no interest in them."

  "Good. Stay far away from them. Especially Hunter Phillips."

  My eyebrows raise and a slight heat rises to my cheeks. "Why him specifically? Just out of curiosity."

  "He's the worst of the bunch. Trust me. Hunter Phillips is rotten, right down to his core."

  Chapter 4

  Hunter

  I glance at the time on the bottom right corner of the TV screen. 12:30AM. Almost time to head over to the party. Usually watching ESPN puts my mind at rest, but right now I've got jittery adrenaline flowing through my veins, thinking of all those nubile young co-eds that are just waiting for me to show up. My teammates better kiss my ass for this head start I'm giving them.

  My phone rings on the couch seat next to me and I swipe to answer. "Hey, Dad. You're up late."

  "I was just looking over the stats of this junior out of UCLA. He's got a good arm, but he can't run the ball as well as you."

  "Thanks for letting me know," I reply. My mom and dad have been training me practically since birth to be a football star. Now that I'm in Tennessee and they're all the way in Texas, they're still searching for a way to stay involved and make sure I'm on track to get into the NFL. I'd say they want it even more than I do, but I don't know if that's possible.

  "How was practice today?"

  "Good. Coach is still up my ass about how I am in the huddle."

  "Don't listen to him. It's not your job to mollycoddle some wide receiver who isn't making the plays. You just hit your marks. That’s what the scouts pay attention to, not who gives the most uplifting speeches or some crap."

  "Preaching to the choir, Dad."

  "What are you doing at home, anyway? Shouldn't you be out at some party? Now's the time to sow your wild oats." My dad and mom got married kind of young, and sometimes I think he's living out his party boy fantasies through me.

  "Just about to leave, actually," I tell him.

  "Alright, talk to you soon," he says, and hangs up. I stand up and stretch, then head into my bedroom. I live in a luxurious one-bedroom apartment right across the street from campus, along with some of the other best players on the team. The block of apartments is owned by one of the university's biggest donors, and he rents them out to the football players for dirt cheap, just because he's a big fan. I don't trouble myself with the ethics of it all. I'm just happy to enjoy my California King-sized bed.

  In the bathroom, I rub some Old Spice under my pits and then pull on a pair of jeans and a white t-shirt. I learned long ago that it doesn't really matter what I wear. I could've just rolled in a pile of shit and the jersey-chasers would still flock to me.

  It's a quick walk over to the football frat. I'm a member, but hell if I'm going to actually live in that place. Mostly the rooms are occupied by sophomores and juniors, not the most talented players. Their job is mostly to sit on the place until we need it for parties, and they don't exactly keep it in the best condition. I prefer to come home to something a little more luxurious.

  I can hear the music from two blocks away. It's a Saturday night, so there are several parties going on on Frat Row, but ours is the biggest. Everyone wants to party with the football players.

  People step aside as I head down the sidewalk, and girls' heads turn after me. A few of them get up the courage to offer shy smiles, looking up through their eyelashes at me. I could probably just stop here and take one of them home, but I'd like to get a beer first.

  A cheer goes up from the porch as I turn up to the house. I feel the music begin to pump through my veins like a shot of drugs and I accept a beer from one of my teammates as I mount the steps. Being at a party surrounded by willing women is almost as good as being on the field. In both places, I'm the alpha.

  I down the beer in one massive gulp. Devon sidles up to me and hands me another red Solo cup. I nod to a couch in a dark corner where Adam is making out with some chick, his hand about halfway up her bare thigh.

  "Looks like Adam's found his piece for the night. What about you?" I ask, glancing around. "You can't say I didn't give you the opportunity." Out of the corners of my eye, I can already see groups of girls forming to whisper and glance in my direction.

  "Dude, that blonde cheerleader is cold as ice. I spent like two hours on her, and nothing."

  "You know what your problem is? You try too hard. I never try. You just gotta let them come to you."

  "Yeah, well, you got that Brad Pitt face, you lucky fuck."

  "What can I say? I guess I’m just blessed,” I reply with a grin. From across the room, I see the blonde cheerleader staring at me. Her friend, a girl I recognize as another cheerleader, a junior, is whispering in her ear, but she only has eyes for me. She's wearing a tiny little white dress, a cotton wisp of fabric that just barely covers her crotch and allows a line of cleavage to show at the top. I lick my lips, thinking of how it’ll feel to suck on those tits. “Devon, would you excuse me for a second?” I say, in a jokingly formal manner.

  “I’m telling you, those legs are staying crossed!”

  “We’ll see!” I reply over my shoulder. I head to a flimsy chair in the corner. It creaks as I settle into it, but holds. I casually lean back, knowing I won’t have to wait for long. And here she comes…I keep my eyes down on my drink until she’s standing right in front of me and has to clear her throat to get my attention.

  “Um, Hunter?” she asks, her voice high and breathy. “I just wanted to introduce myself. I’m Lydia, one of the new cheerleaders.”

  “Hi, Lydia,” I say. “This your first college party?”

  “Well, I went to one last night, but it was nothing like this,” she replies, shifting her weight from heel to heel, and nervously twisting the hand not holding her beer around a lock of her long hair.

  “Want me to give you a tour?” I ask.

  Her lips part and her eyes light up. “I’d love that,” she murmurs, unconsciously pressing her breasts together and leaning toward me.

  I smirk, and stand up, finishing the rest of beer and tossing the cup on the ground. With a hand at the small of her back, I guide her toward the back hallway, pretending not to notice as her friend gives her a thumbs up. We pass by Devon and I smile as his expression changes from dumbfounded to a sort of frustrated resignation.

  “Hey, you had your shot,” I mutter to him. I slide my hand onto her ass as we turn into the dimly lit back hallway, and feel her press back into me. I knock at the first door.

  “Occupied!” a ma
n’s voice yells back. While only a handful of the players live here, we all use the bedrooms to hook up when we’re at a party. No sense going all the way back to your own place. At the next bedroom door, I knock again, then pause to wait for a response.

  “All clear,” I say with a smile, and punch the code into the pad under the door handle. The door swings open, and Lydia breezes inside. Sometimes it amazes me, how quickly these girls know the score.

  Lydia stands obediently by the bed and waits as I close the door and walk toward her. The room is messy, but at least the comforter is pulled up and only a small bedside lamp is on.

  “I’m such a big fan of yours, Hunter,” she says, looking up at me with almond-shaped brown eyes. “I was beginning to think you wouldn’t show up tonight.” I press up against her and slide my hands down over her ass, pulling her against my cock. She gasps as she feels its size pressing up against her waist. Cheerleaders are some of my favorite hook-ups, because they know how to stretch.

  “Well, I’m here now,” I murmur, bending down and covering her lips with my mouth. The faster we can get through the inane conversation and get to the fucking, the better. She gladly accepts my tongue, and I move one hand to the back of her head and hold her in place. She moans, and I move my hands to the bottom of her dress. She lifts her hands over her head, and I pull it off and toss it on the floor. She stands back to take off her bra, and then waits to let me admire her. Her tits are certainly impressive, and I can tell by the way she’s smiling that she knows it.

  After a moment, she reaches forward and slides her hands under my shirt and up my abs, her fingers digging into the valleys between my ab muscles. “Holy shit, your body is amazing.” I smile and pull my shirt off. “Wow,” she breathes, unabashedly allowing her eyes to travel across me. “I can’t wait to see the rest,” she says with a smile, and reaches for my belt buckle. She quickly unfastens it and pulls my jeans and boxer-briefs down with them. “I see you’re proportional,” she whispers, eyes wide as she stares at my cock.

  “Think you can handle it?” I ask, wrapping my hand around the shaft.

  “A girl can only do her best,” she whispers, and sinks to her knees. She licks her lips and then fastens them around my tip. I groan as she takes me to the back of her mouth. She can only make it about halfway down my length, but I’m used to that. I dig one hand through her hair as she goes to town on me, sucking and licking and flicking her clever little tongue.

  She’s good, but I find myself zoning out as I look down at her moving up and down my cock. How many women have I seen in this position? I lost count long ago. I close my eyes and tilt my head back, remembering the look of shock on that girl’s face this morning as she walked past the locker room. She looked like she’d never seen a naked man before, not to mention one that looks like me. I wonder what it would feel like to see her in my sheets, lying on top of her and watching her face as I enter her…

  My eyes snap open and I frown. Who cares about some girl I saw once, when I’ve got one sucking my cock right now?

  “Get up,” I growl, feeling suddenly annoyed. She glances up, her eyes widening a little at my tone, and wipes her lips as she stands. I grab a condom from the drawer in the desk where they're always kept, and quickly roll it down my dick while she watches. I roughly turn her around and yank the tiny triangle of purple fabric between her legs to the ground. I kick my sneakers and jeans off, and step up behind her. I wrap one arm around her and spread one hand over one of her breasts, feeling her nipple harden against my palm. My other hand snakes down and between her legs, rubbing over her soaking wet clit and then quickly slide my finger into her opening.

  She cries out in pleasure as I circle my finger inside of her. “You’re pretty tight,” I grunt.

  “Don’t worry about me, I can take it hard,” she sighs breathlessly as I move my finger back out and flick her nub back and forth.

  “We’ll see about that,” I grunt, then abruptly pull my hand out and press it forward on the small of her back, bending her over the bed. I nudge her legs wider with my foot, and wrap her hair around my wrist and then grip it in my hand, pulling her head back.

  With my other hand, I take my cock and slide it across her slick opening. I move all the way up her butt crack, teasing her, then suddenly slide down and thrust inside her. She cries out, and I pull back and thrust inside again.

  “Oh, fuck, yes,” she groans, and I smile. She wasn’t lying, she does like it hard. I let myself go, driving inside and out of her, spearing her body on my cock.

  I look down at her back, feeling her pussy tighten around me as she nears orgasm, and again that brunette comes into my head. I’m too close to coming at this point to control myself, so I let the image of those brown curls and big blue eyes take over. I imagine how it would feel to come inside her, what she’d smell like and taste like, as I release myself inside this cheerleader with one final thrust.

  After a second to catch my breath, I pull out, tossing the used condom in the trash. She turns over and bites her lip as I head toward my clothes.

  "One more time, Hunter, please?" she asks, sliding her legs open enticingly.

  I smile. "I live to serve," I reply, and walk back toward her.

  Chapter 5

  Britt

  I blink at my computer screen. Shoot, I lost my train of thought again. I wanted to finish this paper for my advanced Spanish class before I went to sleep, but I’m not sure that’s going to happen. I took AP Spanish in high school so I was able to place out of the basic courses, and I’m afraid the coursework is really going to pick up soon, so I want to get a head start.

  I glance at the clock. 1:15. Well, no wonder I’m tired. I was up early this morning and then studying all day. I close my laptop and place it on the floor just next to my bed, then reach for my cell phone on the bedside table to make sure it’s on silent. I frown as the screen lights up with an incoming call. It’s Danielle. She’s never called me before, and we really just exchanged numbers when we moved in as a formality.

  I swipe it to answer, wondering if she’s just butt-dialing me. “Hello?”

  “Is Britt?” I can barely hear her slurred voice over the thumping music in the background.

  I sit up. “Yeah, it’s me. You okay?”

  “Drank…much…people…you come.” I only manage to make out every other word.

  “You need help?”

  “Mmph,” she grunts in the affirmative. I jump out of bed, grabbing a pair of athletic shorts from my bureau and slipping them on. Danielle and I may not be close, but I’m certainly not going to let her pass out in a ditch somewhere.

  “Okay, I’m on my way. Where are you?”

  “Football. Football…house,” she finally says, settling on the word. Oh, brother. Of course that’s where she is. “Bathroom.”

  “Stay there. Don’t move,” I tell her, and hang up. I pull on a bra and an old t-shirt, then slip on my sneakers and I’m out the door.

  At least I know where the football frat house is. It’s impossible to miss, really, since it’s the biggest residence on frat row, and there are always football players and groupies lolling about on the front porch, no matter what time of day it is. I hurry over to the main campus at a quick walk, and soon I’m dodging piles of throw up on the sidewalk and drunken girls teetering dangerously on their high heels. Ugh, what do people find appealing about this environment?

  I approach the football house and take a deep breath. Into the lion’s den. I’m certainly never going to tell my dad about the fact that I’m here. I’m not sure he’d even care about the extenuating circumstances.

  I nervously pick at the hem of my shirt as I head up the walkway. A couple of girls eye me from their perch on the porch railing and I blush. I look really out of place. I’m dressed more like one of the boys than these girls.

  I refocus my gaze straight ahead and march through the open front doorway. Shit, this is an introvert’s worst nightmare. If I thought the music was loud outside, in h
ere it’s almost deafening. And it’s so hot. And there’s so many people. And the lights are so low. I feel my body want to withdraw into itself, but I force myself to keep going.

  I see a guy standing by himself and approach him. “Excuse me, where’s the restroom?” I yell, so that he can hear me over the music.

  “Right this way,” he says, starting to turn.

  “No, no, thanks. You can just point me in the right direction,” I reply. I don’t want to go with him to a second location. He shrugs, and points to a doorway in the back of the big room. I nod my thanks, and scurry toward it, skirting around the writhing mass of people that are dancing to the music.

  When I turn into the back hallway, it’s a little quieter, though there are a few couples spread out between the closed doorways. They’re all making out, or maybe more. It’s tough to tell in the dim light. Two doorways down, there’s a closed door that actually has light peeping out from under it and spilling onto the floor. Hesitantly, I walk up to it and knock.

  “Danielle? You in there? It’s Britt,” I call out. I hear muffled moaning coming from the other side, and then a click as the door unlocks. I slowly open it, and then rush in as I see Danielle sinking backward onto the floor and curling up around the toilet. She looks so pale...I kneel next to her and pick up her head, placing it on my knees so it doesn’t touch this dirty tile floor.

  “Don’t feel good,” she murmurs.

  “I know,” I reply. “Everything will be alright.” Inwardly, though, I’m freaking out. She looks terrible. What am I supposed to do in this situation? What if she’s really in danger? “Can you stand up?”

  “Uh-uh,” she groans.

  “What if I get you some water?” She doesn’t reply, and her eyelids begin to flutter closed. “Wait, don’t go to sleep!”