by Paige North
But I don’t want to. I don’t want to get away from Gabe ever again.
He pushes forward and I whine as his cock stretches at me, sliding into my pussy, his cock so big that it feels like I’ll barely hold him. I feel him tremble with pleasure, then the brush of his groin hitting against my ass. My lips break into a smile; hot, sweet pleasure at knowing he’s so deep in me. He swallows hard, then begins to fuck me in long, deep strokes.
My ass bounces against him as he moves, his cock straining at the walls of my pussy each time until I’m shouting out in pleasure with each push. He clutches me tighter, his forehead beading in sweat, his eyes bright and hungry and ecstatic. I can’t believe he can fuck me this hard now— I can’t believe I love being fucked this hard.
Gabe releases my legs and spins me over onto my knees without ever leaving my pussy entirely, then continues to take me. I toss my head back, and when he grabs hold of my hair with one hand, I moan in delight at how good it feels.
He laughs gutturally at my response, then spanks me hard with his other hand, massaging the spot he struck until the stinging subsides, all without ever losing his rhythm. I’m a chorus of sounds now, whining and moaning and whispering his name while his cock rubs inside me just right. But when he suddenly grips my ass cheek and unabashedly slides his thumb over my asshole, I scream out in surprise and pleasure. He’s touched me there lightly before, but never like this, never massaging, never using my wetness to dare push his finger into me a bit—
“I’m going to come. I can’t stop it,” I gasp.
“You want me to stop?” he asks, straining for the words. He’s close too, I can tell.
“No, please, don’t stop,” I gasp, and he responds by fucking me faster, and by pushing his finger the tiniest bit farther into my ass. He has to release my hair to steady himself against me, and when he does, I find myself driving my hips backward, eager for more of him, desperate to have him deeper and farther and harder. I want us to come together, I want to feel him come in me without a condom, just our bodies combined.
“Come with me,” I plead. “Come in me.”
“Lucy—”
“Please,” I beg.
Gabe growls, long and loud, then leans forward over me, sliding his finger full into my ass, fucking me deep and hard and nearly collapsing onto me in the process. My shoulders bump against his chest and I moan as my orgasm assaults me, an explosion of heat and desire that makes my heartbeat sound like a purr and my body go slack.
I feel Gabe’s cock pulse hard against the wall of my pussy, then a burst of power as he comes deep inside me, still thrusting forward slightly as he does so, making me feel impossibly full of him. He chokes my name out, hugs my hips tighter to him, his body slick with sweat. My limbs give out, and I fall down to my chest, but he kept my hips in the air. He pants, carefully pulling his cock from my pussy, then even more delicately sliding his finger from my ass. I whimper at both, and he spanks me lightly before collapsing beside me.
“Who knew you were such a dirty girl?” he says, and cuddles me up against him.
“I think you did,” I whisper against his skin, inhaling the scent of him, enjoying the way I feel in his arms, in his presence, in his bedroom. “I want to be even dirtier.”
“We have all the time in the world, Lucy,” Gabe says, exhaling.
Chapter 15
I wake up on the floor of Gabe’s dorm room, wrapped up in a comforter beside him. I can’t tell if the air is actually brisk, or if being nestled up next to him is just too cozy to leave; I creep close against him to absorb his warmth and breathe in his scent. Gabe moves a little, wrapping and arm tightly around me— he’s awake. I blink my eyes open, squinting at the sunlight pouring in through the enormous, curtainless windows. It casts Gabe in silhouette, but I can still see he’s awake and smiling.
“You sleep like the dead, Lucy Shaw.”
“You wore me out,” I remind him, and poke him in the ribs. I’d expected him to shy away or at least jolt a bit, but it’s like I’ve prodded a piece of steel. I sigh and turn away from the sun, letting Gabe sweep up behind me and wrap me more completely in his arms. “What time is it?” I ask.
“Seven. I have to go to weight-training in an hour,” he says with an exhale.
“Just as well. I have class,” I answer. “And before then I have to do a walk of shame back to my own dorm to change.”
“I’m sure my clothes will fit you. We’re practically the same size,” Gabe jokes, nipping at my ear lobe as he does so. I laugh and try to turn over, but he holds me tight and drags his tongue up the side of my neck lightly, before biting there long enough that I’m sure I’ll have a bruise.
“And now that’s one more thing I have to fix up before class,” I say.
“Leave it. That way the Chandler Harrisons of the world will know you’re taken,” Gabe says, then reaches under my arms and slides a hand across my breasts. He touches me lightly at first, almost playfully, but then begins to finger at my nipples until they go hard and sensitive. I arch back, which brings my ass right to Gabe’s groin; he’s not fully erect yet, but I can feel him rising against me, his cock pushing between my ass cheeks gently.
Gabe’s phone buzzes from the other side of the room, where there’s a pile of things he dropped when we walked in last night— keys, phone, my panties. He ignores it, putting a hand over my hips to draw me tighter against him, our bodies starting to grow hot with need— but then his phone buzzes again. He sighs.
“Someone’s been trying to reach me all morning,” he grumbles. “I didn’t want to wake you up, but…”
“Go on. Answer it,” I say, laughing at his tenderness. He rises, completely unabashed at his own nudity, as per usual. The sunlight makes him glow, all muscles that looks more like carved marble than anything human. I stare at him shamelessly, at his semi-erect cock, marveling at how deep it was in me just a few hours before. Gabe looks at his phone and frowns.
“Everything okay?” I ask through a yawn.
“Yeah,” he says in a voice that tells me everything is not okay.
“Is it my dad?” I ask, because that’s the first, worst case-scenario that comes to mind – that somehow my dad has gotten Gabe’s number, and is texting him threats or warrants eviction notices or something. I sit up, the comforter falling away, panic rising in my chest.
“No.”
“Is it…your dad?” I ask, unsure if this scenario would be better or worse for Gabe. Better for me, if I’m being honest, but hell, what wouldn’t be better for me than my father executing some swift and powerful vengeance on Gabe and I?
“No,” Gabe says, and his voice is strange. When he looks up at me, his eyes are more so.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“I…” Gabe hesitates. I’ve never seen him so unsure— actually, I’ve never seen him unsure, period. But now he looks almost lost, like he can’t remember the words to explain whatever it is that’s on his phone.
“Gabe, you’re freaking me out,” I warn.
He shakes his head at the same moment his phone buzzes again, a long tone that tells me he’s getting a call, not a text. He says, “It’s nothing like that. Hang on— let me answer this. Hey— Coach Rickson? I know. Yeah, I had my phone on silent. Look, let me finish up some things here and I’ll come through the tunnels to the stadium office, okay? Yeah. I— yeah. I promise, I can explain. I know. Okay. Bye.”
I stand up and walk toward him, wrapping the comforter around me. He lowers his phone and sets it on the kitchen— yeah, the football dorms have kitchens— counter. “Lucy, there’s something I haven’t told you about myself. About my past, I mean. Something that’s bigger than being Steve Wright’s kid. Remember when we first met, and you asked me about why I didn’t play my senior year?”
Of course I remember it— but suddenly, the loudest memory in my head isn’t of the first night I met Gabe, but rather, Chandler’s words last night at dinner. I heard something from my father about Forest. About
where he’s from— about why he didn’t play his senior year in high school, about where he’s really from. I hadn’t forgotten them, exactly, but in an evening already packed with an insane amount of emotion, those words didn’t seem quite as dangerous as they feel right now. Gabe takes a few steps toward me, then stops, leaving an odd amount of space between us given how close we were earlier.
“I’m just going to tell you everything, alright? And then…well. You do whatever you need to do, but I want you to know that nothing about me has changed, alright?” he says. I nod, and he starts his explanation with a weighty look in his eyes. “I was from a bad part of town, remember? My friends and I were all fuck-ups, really. We were great at football, but not much else, so it kind of became our whole lives. That team was sort of the only family I had, to be honest.”
He drifts over toward the bed, still sheet-less, and sits on its edge; I follow, moving lightly, wishing his eyes would meet mine. They don’t, not even when he goes on. “We got into trouble, and the older we got, the worse the trouble got. It was mostly minor stuff, but there was a really big rivalry with the high school on the other side of town. It sounds stupid when I say it now, but you have to remember that until a year ago, I’d never even left the state. Lake City might as well have been the whole world. It didn’t feel like a rivalry to me. It felt like a war.”
He takes a long breath. “Anyway, so the summer before my senior year, we had this sort of prank war going on with the other school, only they weren’t the funny kind of pranks. Like, we’d punch a few holes in someone’s tires. They’d rock salt our field. We’d trash their field house with spray paint and baseball bats. They’d sleep with our girlfriends and film it. Back and forth, all summer, and every time we played a prank, it got a little more serious, until around July, we snapped. There was a fight, a pretty serious one. People got hurt.”
“You got hurt?” I ask, voice tiny.
“No. I hurt people,” he says firmly, in a way that tells me he’s had to say this a dozen times before. He exhales again. “I hurt one guy, in particular. Everyone was fighting inside this bar, and this huge defensive lineman from Lake City, a guy named Connor Ellis… he moved to punch our quarterback in the face. Connor would have knocked him out. So I stepped in between them and punched Connor before he could get a hit off. He fell. He hit his head on a table on the way down, and he wound up in the hospital. In a coma.”
“Oh my god, Gabe.”
“Yeah, I know. I didn’t realize how out of hand it had gotten. If I’d known, if I’d realized…” He sounds almost pleading, an unfamiliar and uncomfortable tone on him. “I wish I could take it back. He wound up being alright, recovering fully and all, but I already had a few minor priors on my record, so I went to juvie. That’s why I didn’t play my senior year. That’s why I’m a twenty-year-old walk on.”
“What about the other guys? The rest of your team?” I ask, shaking my head.
Gabe’s eyes flicker away, and I see his fingers tense. “No charges were brought against them, in exchange for selling me out. They finished school just fine. So. Some family they were, in the end.” He bites the words, and for all his strength, I can tell this part of the story is Gabe’s real weakness. “The judge sealed the records and I got out early for good behavior. Got out about thirty pounds heavier too, thanks to all the working out I did— not much else to do in jail. I was hoping to just put it all behind me.”
“Wait— no one knew? No one?” I ask in disbelief. Harton has a hell of a reputation to uphold, so it seems impossible that they wouldn’t vet the hell out of a new player, sealed records or not.
He shrugs a little. “I told the coaches, since I didn’t want to lie to them. But as far as I know…that’s it. I worked hard to make sure nothing pointed back to my old life. That’s why I came in as a walk-on instead of having my old coaches pitch me to scouts. Why I showed up without any record of playing. I just wanted to start over. But…now…”
“It got out,” I say.
“Apparently. There are reporters in the lobby. It’s in the campus newspaper, the coach says he saw it on the local news. It’s everywhere. They’re saying it’s dangerous to have a guy like me playing, especially since I still have trouble with my temper on the field…I just don’t know how it got out.”
I take a breath and give Gabe an apologetic look. “I do. Chandler Harrison. Or his father, at least. Chandler said something to me last night about your past— he knew about it. I didn’t really think he was going to leak it, since he knew it’d mess with your playing for the team, but then…”
Gabe’s eyes widen with understanding. “Then you threw wine in his face.”
“Yeah,” I answer, exhaling. “Gabe, I didn’t know. If I’d known—”
“That douchebag deserved to have a lot more than wine thrown in his face. I wouldn’t want you to go back and change it even if you could,” Gabe says, shaking his head. “I just wanted to start fresh here. But hell, I’m still the same guy. Still get in fights. Still get in trouble. Even if my past wasn’t leaked, it’s not like it was erased. That one fight ruined everything for me, and this…being here was the only chance I had of getting it back and proving to everyone that I’m more than one bad choice.” He looks at me when he says this, and I know he wants to know if I think that now.
“It doesn’t matter to me. The past, I mean,” I say delicately.
He lifts an eyebrow. “Of course it does. Just like me being the jock who fights people mattered to you the other day so much that you wouldn’t admit we were together. I’m not still mad about it, Lucy, but we can’t pretend it didn’t happen. My past matters. Your past matters.”
“But who we are now matters too,” I say. “And right now? You’re the best tight end Harton has ever had.”
“Thanks, but I don’t know that that’ll fix it,” he says grimly.
I smile. “And I’m not only the top of my class, but I’m a PR major. Gabe— we’ve got this. You trust me, right?”
Gabe looks almost amused, then almost alarmed. “You have an idea?”
“I have either the best idea, or the worst one. I’m not sure which. But right now, I’d really love to do something that keeps you on the team, fucks over the Harrisons, and gets my family to leave you and I alone. I think this can do all of the above.”
Gabe studied me for a moment, then nods. “Alright. I’m in.”
Chapter 16
Gabe isn’t crazy about all aspects of my plan— and I can understand why. The fact, however, that he trusts me to carry them out? It means the world to me.
He sneaks down to meet with the coaches through the tunnels that connect the football dorms directly to the stadium; I breeze past the hoard of local news stations parked out front without trouble.
Back in my own dorm, I hurriedly change and throw on some makeup, polishing myself like I might for a job interview. I call Charice, my father’s assistant who bought me that cocktail dress a million years ago, and ask her for a hard-to-get phone number.
She has no reason to think I might be doing something my father wouldn’t approve of, so she gets it for me.
Which is how, an hour later, I’m on Skype with none other than the head of Wright Image International, Steve Wright. Gabe’s father.
“I’m sorry, but who are you, again?” Wright asks through bites of some sort of baked chicken meal. He doesn’t think I’m important, so he’s taking my call during lunch. I’m not particularly surprised, but I smile politely into the camera.
“My name is Lucy Shaw. I’m State Senator Shaw’s daughter? But that’s not the purpose of my call, today. I’d like to talk to you, Mr. Wright, about your son.”
“Barton?” he says, setting down his fork, tilting his head to the side.
“No, Mr. Wright. Your other son. Gabe.”
He doesn’t miss a beat, shaking his head without a hint of recognition at the name. “I don’t have another son.”
I press my lips together like I’m pity
ing him, because I know it gets a rise out of men in power. “Mr. Wright, we can pretend for a while, or we can get to the point. Gabe Forest is your son, and I’m not the only one who knows it. And I’m going to wager that you’re at least keeping track of him enough to know that his records, the ones that were supposedly sealed, were released.”
Wright hesitates a moment, then his eyes go serious. “Why does Senator Shaw care about this, exactly?”
“I’m not representing my father, actually. I’m representing Buck Harrison,” I say smoothly, the lie well practiced.
“Son of a bitch,” Wright says, teeth gnashing. “They always have to go digging, don’t they? Can’t just leave well enough alone. Why the hell would Buck Harrison tell a senator’s daughter, anyway?”
“Actually, Chandler Harrison told me. We’re something of an item— but I happen to be a PR major, so I couldn’t miss the opportunity to flex my degree,” I say with a sweet smile.
“Great,” he says, rolling his eyes. “So what exactly is it you’re calling about, other than to tell me the Harrisons are off my Christmas card list?”
I take a small breath, trying to channel my father— for all his asshole-ness, my father can get shit done when it’s crunch time, and this is definitely crunch time. “There are two ways to stop bad press— release something better or release something way worse. The Harrisons care about Harton’s football team, and so do you. Without Gabe, the team’s in trouble, and we all know it.”
“Are you suggesting I talk to the school? I already did that to get the kid on the team to start with,” he says bitterly.
“No. We want to host a function at your alumni house the day before the next game. And we need you to pay for the function.”
“Forgive me if I’m not inclined to let the Harrisons throw a party on my dime when they’re blackmailing me,” he says bitterly.