Score: A Stepbrother Sports Romance

by Aubrey Irons

  I’m muttering, cursing my biology professor for rescheduling last week’s lab for so late tonight. Heather’s house really isn’t far to walk from the academic buildings, but the idea of dashing all the way across campus in the pouring rain in flip-flops with all my notebooks did not sound appealing.

  Hence, dripping through the halls of the athletic center, hoping to God that my dad’s still around for a ride home.

  “Dad?” I puff my way into his dark office, pausing to catch my breath from the run and dropping my soaked books and notes onto his desk.

  I step out of his office into the football team locker-room, grabbing a towel off a shelf and using it to squeeze rain from my hair.

  “Dad? Hello?”

  Silence. Silence and darkness.

  I groan, my shoulders slumping as I realize I am going to be walking to Heather’s house after all.

  It’s the sudden clanking sound from the other side of the door labeled “weight room” that has me about jumping out of my skin. I whirl, clutching the towel to myself in the semi-darkness of the locker-room as the sound comes again - sharp and rhythmic, followed by a grunt.

  I hate horror movies because they stick with me forever. And it’s that scaredy-cat part of me that freezes in the dark locker room, thinking of all the grizzly ways that - what is clearly - an ax murderer could chop me into little pieces.

  The sound comes again, and this time I roll my eyes, shaking my head at my own absurd imagination. Obviously, it’s just one of my dad’s meathead football players getting a workout in.

  And seeing as I’m the coach’s daughter, I’m pretty sure I just found myself a ride home.

  “Hi, sorry to interrupt, but do you-”

  I freeze at the sight of him as I step through the doors to the gym.

  Goddamnit.

  Ninety-something idiots on the football team, and of course the one person I run into, alone, in the dark, is Dalton Cole.

  A very shirtless, very sweaty Dalton Cole.

  “I’m pretty sure that’s the guy’s locker room, you just came out of, darlin.” He grunts as he lowers the thick bar laden with weights onto the rack behind him. He gives me another look-over and grins “What’d you do, take a shower?”

  I roll my eyes. “It’s pouring outside. I was looking for my dad for a ride home.”

  “He left a little while ago.” Dalton shrugs. “I can give you a ride as soon as I’m done.”

  I frown. “Eh, it’s okay, I’ll walk.”

  “Thought you said it was pouring outside?” He grins at me, running a hand through his thick, wild hair. “Look, hang for a few and I’ll drive you, alright?”

  I make a face. “Fine.” Dalton rolls his eyes at me and picks up a barbell, curling it up and down with his biceps as I stand there trying to look everywhere and anywhere but his very sculpted, very bare rippling abdomen.

  I finally take in our surroundings and raise an eyebrow as I realize the only light in the weight room is coming in through the reinforced windows that look out onto the indoor volleyball court.

  “Is there a reason you’re working out in the dark?”

  Dalton chuckles, puffing as he drops the weight back on its rack again. “Helps me concentrate.”

  “It’s a little creepy.”

  “Says the girl that just burst out of the men’s locker room looking like she just came out of the pool?” Dalton winks as I smirk at him.

  He picks up the barbell with his other arm, grunting as he starts to curl it. “So, you coming to game one this Friday against Virginia?”

  “Sort of have to,” I shrug.

  He laughs, dropping the weight again and shaking his head. “There’s the team spirit.”

  I roll my eyes. “I’m coming out to support my dad, not the team.”

  Dalton grabs a towel from a bench and wipes it over his neck and chest. “So, let me get this straight. Despite growing up with one of the best coaches in high school football history, you’re really not into football at all.”

  I shrug. “Guess not.”

  “Nice enthusiasm.”

  “What, so I’m not into big sweaty men tackling each other over a ball.”

  He grins. “You know, that is exactly what most girls I know are into.”

  “Guess I’m not most girls you know then, cause that doesn’t do it for me.”

  “Guess not.” He grins, “So what does do it for you, Hailey?”

  I swallow thickly in the sudden silence of the darkened gym, breathing in the smell of sweat, and men, and oiled weights and machines. Normally I’m quick with the witty comebacks, but there’s something distracting about Dalton without a shirt on.

  Something very distracting.

  “I take it Paul isn’t much of a football guy?”

  I can feel the blush creeping into my cheeks. “Uh, no.”

  “Uh-huh.” Dalton grins at me as he moves closer, and I’m somehow frozen there to the spot by the curling machine, my pulse racing and my eyes tracing over the sharp shadows of his abs.

  “So I’m guessing he’s more of an online gamer? Orcs and knights and dragons and all that shit?”

  My cheeks burn hot as I trip over my words, suddenly much more flustered than I should be. “I- he…maybe.”

  “That sounds immensely satisfying for you,” Dalton says, suddenly somehow standing right in front of me.

  “You have no idea what satisfies me, actually,” I toss back.

  “No, but I’ve got a pretty good idea what would.” A wicked grin creeps across his face as he glances down at the front of his gym shorts and raises a brow suggestively.

  I bite my lip, swallowing the lump in my throat and forcing myself not to look down.

  It’s just a damn rumor anyways, he’s just trying to mess with you.

  And yet just the same, I can feel the heat, and the wicked, illicit pull of temptation trying to drag my gaze down.

  God, why can’t he have a shirt on?

  And shirt or not, why am I still standing here, alone, face-to-face in the near dark with Dalton?

  My gaze dips down to his chiseled chest, and to the big Roman numeral “X” worked into the tattoo across his shoulder. I roll my eyes - I mean, there’s bravado, and spreading rumors and myth, and then there’s getting a damn tattoo of it.

  “Wouldn’t get the tattoo if I was lying now would I?” I jerk my eyes up to his cocky grin, his eyes looking right into me like he’s reading my thoughts.

  “I- I already told you,” I say quickly, feeling my pulse beat like drums in my ears. “I have zero interest.”

  “Sure you don’t.” He grins again, but this time, there’s something less casual and more hungry about that smile. He leans into me, shifting his weight to one side as his hand goes up to lean against the machine behind me.

  “Are you seriously always this cocky?”

  “Usually,” he says with another cowboy grin.

  I roll my eyes. “And this works? On girls I mean?”

  I suddenly inhale sharply and quietly as he moves even closer, his masculine scent invading my senses as he licks his lips. My eyes hover over the dimples in his strong jaw, the easy smirk lingering there in the hollows of his cheeks.

  “You tell me, darlin,” he says, his voice dark and low as he moves even closer against me. I can feel my pulse racing, my eyes blinking quickly and the room starting to spin around me as his hand suddenly slides to my hip, resting there.

  I whimper quietly as his hand tightens and slides over my hip before he pulls me close against him. I can feel the heat of his skin searing through the wet chill of my t-shirt, and his hand creeps just under the back and slides over my skin.

  “I- I should go,” I say quietly, my eyes darting across his.

  “You don’t want that ride?”

  “Oh, is the ride contingent on this?” I tease awkwardly, biting my lip as he grins.

  He leans into the crook of my neck, his breath hot across my skin there. “You can leave anytime you wa
nt, darlin,” he growls, moving us both back until my back is flat against some sort of workout machine that smells like grease and metal and sweat.

  God, why does that does smell so damn hot right now?

  “I can?” I whisper out, and before I know what I’m doing, my hands are leaving their place frozen at my sides to creep up to his bare arms. I’m biting my lip, feeling my blood roar in my face as I slowly and tentatively trace fingertips over his hot, bare skin. His biceps flex and ripple beneath my touch as I slowly slide my hands up his arms, his breath hot against my neck.

  “Go ahead and leave, I won’t stop you,” he growls. He moves himself flat against me, and I gasp at the thick bulge in his shorts pressing against my thigh.

  “But if you stay,” he whispers darkly into my ear, his breath sending shivers down my spine and pure heat pooling between my legs. He pulls back, his lips barely an inch from mine and his eyes burning right into mine. “But if you stay, I’m not going to be able to stop myself.”

  Oh God yes.

  I whimper. It’s nothing I can help, just the sudden and unstoppable sound that’s the result of this swelling and surging need welling up inside of me.

  And it’s the only answer he needs.

  I gasp when he kisses me, my body almost overwhelmed by the sudden heat and force of it. His lips sear hotly across my own, and he growls as I moan and open my mouth for him. His tongue is demanding and insistent, and I yield to him, losing myself and feeling the world spin around me as he pushes me hard against the metal at my back, claiming my mouth.

  My hands slide up to his bare shoulders, my fingertips clutching and digging at his skin there as he holds me tight against him.

  His hand on the small of my back is warm and strong, and I shiver as I feel it start to slide up my spine. My soaking wet shirt comes with it, and I know I should stop him, but I have zero interest in doing so, even as I feel the shirt pull up over my stomach and halt at the underside of my breasts.

  True to his word, Dalton doesn’t stop, and I only moan harder into his mouth as he yanks the soaking cotton higher, slipping it over the swell of my breasts and over my aching hard nipples. They poke and drag against his bare chest, little electric shocks teasing through my body as we press skin-to-skin.

  Dalton pulls away from my mouth then, his teeth pulling gently at my bottom lip. My knees almost give out before he drops to my chest. His lips close around one of my aching nipples, his tongue teasing over the nub as I cry out and rake my fingers through his hair, clutching him to me.

  He keeps one strong hand against my back, holding me tightly as he sucks and licks at my peaks. The other starts to tease over my hip, and I suddenly find myself gasping even louder as I feel his fingers move across the waist of my denim shorts.

  “Dalton-” I gasp, biting my lip, feeling myself melt against him. I know I should stop this, but my traitorous body says “yes” with a roll of my hips, as if urging him on.

  And I do want him to go on.

  I want him to take what he will, damn the consequences. I want him to pull every stitch of wet clothing from my body and warm it with his hands and his lips.

  …With every part of him.

  In this moment I don’t care what this means, or what this makes us. In this moment, I utterly stop giving a shit and completely stop worrying about being a notch on his locker or his bed.

  Because right then, I want him to be a notch on mine.

  His hands and his lips and his body feel like magic as he coaxes the pleasure from me, and I realize then that I’m done being the good one. I’m through withholding things like this from myself because I feel like it’s “not me.”

  Screw that. I want this. I want to experience this, and live the college life of experimenting with sex, and my body, and all the new things I can feel and try.

  And quite frankly, who better to do that with than Dalton Cole?

  So when he pauses, his mouth pulling away from my breasts and hovering by my lips, I hold my breath. He looks deep into my eyes, his own blue ones roaring like liquid fire. He opens his lips to ask me “are you sure about this?” and all I can do is mash my mouth against his.

  And again, it’s the only answer he needs.

  The button of my shorts pops under his fingers, and I moan as I feel him tug the zipper down. He’s sliding them over my ass and hips and they’re catching on my knees, but he leaves them there as his hand slides to the front of my panties.

  I’m moaning wantonly and eagerly as he strokes my slit thought the cotton. I’m soaking through the fabric as he drags his fingers up and bumps them over my aching clit, making me moan loudly into his mouth, his tongue and his lips silencing my cry.

  He’s moving his fingers to the elastic of my panties and slipping them inside, and suddenly his fingers are sliding wetly over my dripping pussy. His finger slides easily inside, and I’m dripping all over his hand as he curls it deep and grinds his palm against my clit.

  He’s still kissing me, pressing me back against the weight machine with my legs spread as much as they can be with my shorts around my knees. His finger strokes me right against that sweet spot just inside, making my heart feel like it’s about to burst out of my chest. I’m rocking my hips against him, feeling him rub his palm against my throbbing clit. His fingers hit that wonderful spot again and again, sending sensation and pleasure rocketing through my body.

  “We- oh fuck, what are- we can’t be doing this!” The words are dripping from my lips as I cling to him, my head falling back, my eyes squeezed shut.

  “You’re welcome to tell me to stop anytime,” he growls into my ear, his fingers stroking deeper and faster and harder, and pushing me right to the edge of my sanity.

  “I- I-” I’m gasping for air and searching for words, but there’s only one thought roaring through my head right then.

  I’m going to come.

  Dalton Cole has his fingers deep inside my pussy with his lips on my neck, and he’s going to make me come.

  Hard.

  “Cause I can stop, darlin,” he growls, his drawled voice like tobacco and honey in my ear. His finger slows to a maddeningly teasing stroke, keeping me right on the razor’s edge.

  “I can stop all this right now,” he husks, his finger sliding from my heat and tracing lazy circles around my clit. “Just say the word.”

  “Please,” I beg, my breath coming in gasps as I pathetically try and move my hips against him, desperate to come.

  “Yes?” He growls into my ear. “Something you want to say, darlin?”

  “Please make me come!”

  The words come moaning from my lips, and the second they do, I cry out as I feel him push his finger deep back inside. He starts to finger me quickly with his big, powerful hand, his thick finger stroking me again and again, until the edges of my vision start to fade.

  “Oh….God-”

  The scream freezes in my throat, and suddenly, his lips are right there at my ear again.

  “I want to watch you come, Hailey,” he draws out. “That pussy is going to come all over my hand, and then I’m going to lick it fucking clean.”

  It’s so dirty, and so fucking crude that I’m suddenly crying out as the last shred of my sanity goes shattering away.

  And I’m coming.

  My fingers scratch at his shoulders, and I bury my mouth against his chest as the orgasm tears through me. I’m panting, slumping against him as the silence closes in around us.

  Slowly, he brings his hand out of my panties, and as I look up from his chest, my eyes go wide.

  True to his word, his eyes locked on mine, Dalton brings his glistening fingers to his lips and sucks them inside.

  Oh my God.

  He’s so filthy.

  So dirty.

  And I just want more.

  18

  Dalton

  I’m a drinking man, primarily.

  Drugs - with a few ill-advised forays into cocaine when I was hanging out with all those models - ha
ve never really been my thing.

  Except now. Now I’m fucking addicted, and the drug I’m hooked on is Hailey Garrison.

  And like any good after school special will tell you, once you’ve gotten a taste of a drug, you just want more. Actually, no, “want” doesn’t quite cover it. It’s a need, a fucking craving, a Goddamn primal urge.

  And once you’ve gotten your hit, you start chasing that feeling down. Again, I’ve never actually been a “drug guy”, but I’d like to think I’ve seen enough movies to know what comes next. The supplier ducks out, or the heat closes in, and as soon as that first hit has faded, it’s suddenly impossible to get a second one. You’re left stranded, thirsty, craving more.

  And basically, you’re fucked.

  I think that basically surmises my thoughts on Hailey after that night at the gym.

  Because after that night - after that kiss and that sublime fucking perfect moment of watching her come, that supply has shut. The. Fuck. Down.

  By her, of course.

  She clams up immediately after buttoning her shorts back up, her eyes widely avoiding mine as she pushes her hair back behind her face, that lip caught between her teeth.

  And she says nothing.

  Shit.

  In fact, she says nothing the whole three-minute drive back to my mom’s house, to the point where she’s popping the car door open before the Escalade even shuts off.

  “Hey-” I grab her wrist, furrowing my brow at the silent treatment. “We gonna talk about that at all?”

  She bites her lip again, her eyes darting across my face but at least looking at me this time. “I- We don’t have to.”

  She moves to get out of the SUV again before I roll my eyes and yank her back. “You okay?”

  She takes a deep breath in the dark of the front seat, and this time, she keeps her eyes to herself. “You don’t have to be different with me.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Dalton, I know what you are, and what this is-”

  “Woah, hang on, Hailey-”