Quarterback's Virgin (A Sports Romance)

by Ivy Jordan

  He looked up at me, like a child that’d just gotten a new toy, and he traced his finger down the side of my arm. With it, jolts passed down my body, a shudder fluttering over my stomach resting deep inside my core.

  He had a new trick. He lifted me up, pulled off my shirt, and threw it onto the floor behind him. Then he set me back down and slid his knees open so that he could sit up and straddle me. I couldn’t move. I was trapped, watching him biting his lower lip while his eyes darted from one breast to the other and his fingers started walking down my neck.

  The light pressure and his piercing gaze became a disarming presence. Something was coming. I knew it, and I was starting to panic, wriggling around and thrashing my arms, but that wasn’t going to help. He shoved his hand down my pants. It passed by my lips and struck a flame inside me.

  His fingers were walking lower, and he was pulling his hand back out of his pants, but all I could think of was the way he was looking down at me with a bead of moisture welling up in one eye and a curly strand of hair falling down his forehead.

  There was no game, no tricks. He was sliding down my body now, resting his chest on my own, and all that existed was love, closing the space between us, pouring in. His tender lips pressed to mine. The passion was a tangible force. It was his tongue, his hand resting on my side. His body pressed against mine, and now his cock was sticking up straight.

  It was resting on my stomach, pulling up and down over the skin, scraping, throbbing. His body was massive, it engulfed mine completely, and that’s exactly what I wanted. I didn’t want to feel shame or self-loathing, and I didn’t want to have to think about the beating he took on the field.

  I just wanted to drown in him, let his arms wrap around me, and lose myself in his chest. It was warm and safe, the only place that I really felt like I could lose my worries and my inhibitions. He could make it all better, and he did. Every kiss was another wound closed, and his lips move slowly down my neck, planting one sweet blessing after another. It tickled when he pressed them against the place between my chest and my neck. I actually found myself laughing.

  He looked up at me and asked, “What is it?”

  “I-I love you, Channing.”

  “I love you too.” He reached up to kiss my lips, and once again, it was all falling away. He was cleaning me out, filling me with nothing but his sweet caress, his finger tracing down my side, and his hand reaching around my back.

  His lips moved down, over my neck, and his cock slid against my thigh, over my knee, while the hand moving down my side moved over my hips. I could feel the blood rushing into my nipples, and my skin tingling in anticipation.

  He grabbed onto the hook of my bra, pulled it open, and threw it aside, revealing my tender mounds, and the dark nipples sitting in their center. His hand reached back from around my back, and his finger began circling closer and closer to my nipple, a jolt that seemed to drag on and on as his finger flowed closer and closer. The moisture was building up between my thighs.

  His lips passed down, from one side of my neck to the other, then a kiss on the tops of my breasts. I was writhing. His hand was resting on the top of my thigh, and I could feel the pressure as it moved closer and closer to my throbbing lips.

  The pressure between my legs was starting to burn, and that burn was eating away at me, seeping through, staining my jeans while he lifted his head and stared down at my nipples. This was pure discovery. He wanted to know what would happen when he applied pressure to the tip, and when my head flew back, he had another spot to conquer, and another place for his tongue to ravage. But he wasn’t satisfied with that. No, he had to move on to the other, apply his newfound skill, and laugh when I cried out and he bit down, pulling at the skin with his teeth as he sucked my nipple through his sweltering lips.

  The burn had become a flame, building, growing larger, hotter, and stronger. His lips were fueling it, and his hand coyly reached in, and he pressed his finger between my lips through my jeans. The blaze was starting to become unbearable.

  He pulled his hand away from my nipple, but his touch still lingered, and his lips were playing over the other, creating a symphony of sensation. It was a soft, lilting melody, nuanced and rich. Then it grew in tempo. His teeth were digging in. His tongue was moving around the edges, over the tip, and every touch became a bow to a violin.

  The rush was pure bliss. The flames were growing inside me, moving up past my lips to overtake my entire pelvic area, where it spread out, slowly, giving warmth to all of my neglected places. He wasn’t slowing down.

  His hand was already unbuttoning my pants, and he had the other hooked into my belt loop. I was suddenly aware of his cock moving up and down my thigh as his head swayed with it. He pulled up the skin on my nipple, let his teeth dig in, then down again to start over while his cock moved in time with it.

  He rose up and slid his knees closer so that they were resting on my side. He was straddling me, with his right index finger circling my breast, with his cock resting on my belly button, moving along, back and forth as he swung his hips playfully, and kept his finger moving, spiraling in, closer to my nipple.

  His other hand was lifting off his shirt, one at at a time. He wasn’t going slow. His shirt was just so tight that it took that much time for him to take it off. I could see the contour of his pecs in the low light shining in from the door, the shadow beneath them, and his shoulders. They were a force of their own. Looking at them—knowing what he could do, it was frightening and comforting when he threw his shirt off.

  He fell on me. His lips moved down the space between my breasts and over my stomach. The friction of his body moving against mine was like flint crashing against steel, and the fire burning inside me became more than just a blaze. It was white hot, and the heat was overwhelming.

  He began to pull my pants lower. His kisses traveled with him as he did. They slid down my hips, my thighs, and finally, he pulled them past my ankles until there was nothing left between us but a thin, wet strip of white cloth.

  He stood up and whipped his pants down. His cock fell out, and I could see his hand gripping it, slipping up and down the shaft. He collapsed beside me, and I turned so that I could face him. “I love you,” his voice hit me in the gut. “I love you,” he kissed me, and I felt his cock rest on my stomach again, but this time it was bare, skin against skin. He pulled back, long enough to take a breath, “I love you.”

  Those three words were a life-changing revelation, sweeter than his cock slipping lower, closer to the hem of my panties. Now our bodies were touching. His bare chest was resting against my sensitive skin. His lips were pressed to mine, and his arm wrapped around my back to pull me into the sweetest embrace, so tender, so calm and innocent. I shouldn’t have doubted him. How could I?

  His lips were frantic, his tongue pulling back, then through again while his cock moved lower and the shaft rested on my throbbing opening.

  There was no fire now, no white hot blaze. Those were nothing compared to the pool rising up inside me. It wasn’t moisture, or rain, but it flowed through me like water and it burned hotter than any fire possibly could.

  He reached his head back for a moment to look into my eyes, and I saw another layer of rich, jungle green behind his blue irises. He was smiling. “Ava, I love you. I love you so much.” Suddenly he tensed up, and the animal inside him took over.

  He tore off my panties and dove his head lower to bite down on my neck. The jolt met the head of his cock piercing through my opening, and I started to feel the magma pressing up, past the boundaries that had been made for it. It was going to overflow.

  He didn’t care. He was in love, experiencing the sweet, hot bliss of my body embracing his cock, accepting it, letting it slip through. The shaft was pressing against my walls, and the tip was diving deeper, all while his teeth nicked at my neck.

  Then his hips slammed forward, and my voice bubbled out. He pulled back as fast as he went in, then started moving faster and faster, until I couldn’t kee
p track. I was convulsing, crying out, pulsing with electricity, and his finger had somehow found my clit. He clamped down on it while he rode me in impossibly fast, broad strokes.

  I wasn’t sure I could take it. He was huge, like a bat being driven through me, and that was hard enough, but this speed, this friction. The burn was starting to overwhelm me. It was a fierce mix of pain and pleasure, a bliss so sweet, a rapture like nothing I’d ever felt, and it wasn’t stopping.

  I could hear his hips sliding over the sheet and his hand tracing up my side. It rested on my breast, and the thumb flicked out to play at my nipple. My voice was coming out louder, and louder now, and his cock was pushing through, like he was pounding pavement. It was just as fast, and the force had to be the same.

  He kept his finger on my clit, and never moved it once while his thumb circled my nipple, spiraling closer and closer. The pool of lava was growing hotter, and I could feel it growing, larger than the land could possibly accommodate for. It was already flowing out, and the pressure of his dick sliding through me was urging it on.

  He moved his lips away from my neck and slowed his pace so he could look me in the eyes. I was shivering now. My whole body was tingling, and I couldn’t look away. “I love you, Ava.”

  “I love you too.”

  He pressed his lips to mine, and let his cock flow through me naturally, chipping away at my composure until we were both in the moment. It was the most profound thing I’d ever felt. The fluttering in my stomach met the sea of lava inside me, and they melded into something more than the usual burn that I’d grown accustomed to.

  It was a celestial breeze, flowing out from his mouth, meeting the pink haze that was traveling out from between my thighs. When those two systems collided, my universe shifted, and the sea of lava inside me became a volcano, shaking with his furious thrusts, ready to erupt.

  He pulled back one more time, and I could see the strain on his face. His bottom lip was jutting out, and his mouth was hanging slightly open. He gasped, and the world ceased to exist around me. How could it possibly exist with the volcano erupting inside me? Nothing could possibly hold up to that kind of power.

  It was like a trumpet blast, falling down from heaven, raining in the apocalypse. My body reacted like the ground being pulled up, the soil and dust collecting in the air only to be obliterated by the continental wall of fire traveling up my stomach, up my chest, down my thighs. It moved so fast I couldn’t keep track.

  I couldn’t focus. I could barely breathe. I was screaming so loud my ears were hurting, but I wasn’t fully there because the lava was descending upon my entire body, enveloping it in a blasting inferno, rippling over my skin, lapping at my nipples, inside me, outside, and even all around me. That heat was inescapable.

  It didn’t die either. It was infinite. It would always be with me, transforming itself from the warm glow we experienced now, settling into the permanent loyalty that was already beginning to develop. Then, it would blossom, from a tiny sprig of young love to a thick, aging pine, something solid that we could depend on.

  Epilogue

  Ava

  There was sweat beading up on Channing’s brow, catching the impossibly bright studio lights while I watched him from my place near the stage as he walked up to the podium.

  “First and foremost, I’d like to thank the people that kept me going these past three years,” he smiled at me. “There were so many times when I thought I was just ready to die, and had it not been for the people that I love, I probably wouldn’t be here today.”

  He looked around the room, to the recruiters, his coach sitting in the back, and all the players sitting at their respective tables.

  “When I was a little kid, I couldn’t think of anything better to do than running. That wasn’t because I was bored. I had everything I wanted, but I loved the idea of escaping, and that’s why I love football. It was my escape.”

  He was looking at me now. “I didn’t like the world I came from. It was shallow and materialistic. Everyone was always trying to make me fit into their perfect model of what I thought I should be, so I ran. I didn’t see my world getting any better. My future was always laid out in front of me. Football was the only thing I could control.”

  He looked around the room and paused for a moment. After a moment, he began again. “I always knew I’d be here standing up in front of this exact podium looking down at all of you. And I knew I’d be holding this contract. It used to be the only thing that mattered. But over the past few years, I’ve come to see the world in a different light.

  “I don’t have to run from it anymore, because I have somebody that I love, that cares about me and supports me in whatever I do, even now. I don’t need an escape, because I have her, and it’s done something to me.

  “I want to learn more about the world, and see what it has to offer, and I simply cannot do that if I have to plan my life around football season. What would be the point? I have all the money I could possibly want, and the game doesn’t interest me the way it used to. Life interests me. So that is why I’m formally rejecting my contract with the NFL.”

  The room erupted in quick bursts of light, and a million voices all scrambling at once, people swarming around the both of us. Channing’s head got lost in the sea of people, and I was already being pulled away by security. They took me to the back, behind the stage where Channing was waiting for me.

  I hadn’t been back there before. I figured it would just be a bunch of lighting equipment. Instead, it’d been turned into a living garden with rows of roses, and trellises with honeysuckle lined up on the back wall. The scent was intoxicating, but not as much as the sight of him pacing back and forth around the room.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I—should’ve.”

  “No, it wouldn’t have been the same. Channing…”

  “It’s okay?”

  “A life of freedom? No practice? No nasty jocks summing up my cup size? It’s heaven. This is more than I could possibly ask for.”

  He nodded his head. “Ava.” He got down on one knee, and I started shaking. “When I met you, I was just a kid, mad at the world. I didn’t care about anything, not even myself. I was so angry that I was ready to give my whole life up for nothing. Now all I can think about is how to better myself, and how to be a better man for you. I love you, and I don’t want to spend another day without you.”

  I was crying so hard I could barely see.

  “Will you marry me?”

  “Yes.”

  We collided. That was the only word for it. We were already on a trajectory towards one another, and maybe we always were. But until that moment, we were traveling down different paths. There was always something that could come between us. Now, nothing could stop us. The world was a place of possibility.

  That’s the end of Quarterback’s Virgin.

  Click here to continue.

  HERE’S SOME BONUS BOOKS

  MR PRESIDENT

  By Ivy Jordan

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2017 Ivy Jordan

  Chapter One

  The small Minnesota office was crowded with campaign staff, supporters, and the hopeful presidential candidate, Adam Andrews, current governor of the state.

  He looked so confident, so calm. I was falling apart inside, my nerves beginning to get the better of me as the reporter updated the race. One by one, Adam was winning the major states, and it was looking like a clear victory.

  “Another glass of wine?” Adam whispered in my ear.

  His hot breath startled me as it rolled down my neck from behind. “Yes, please,” I smiled, trying to hide my nerves as he handed me the glass of chardonnay. “It’s looking good,” I said, staring up at the large television h
anging on the desolate blue wall.

  I wondered what this office would be once we cleared out, what it was before we arrived. “I’m a mess,” he admitted, still with confidence that made him unbelievable.

  I chuckled. “You look fine to me.”

  His smile was wide and inviting, contagious, and nearly intoxicating. “I hide my stress well,” he sighed.

  Unlike me, I thought to myself. The soft blue eyes he laid upon me made it clear he thought I needed some assurance.

  Adam, 49 years old, a veteran that served in the U.S Air Force, ranked Chief Master Sergeant, was twenty years younger than his presidential rival, Grant Owens, a loud cowboy with outdated views and unorganized thoughts.

  Adam was a Democrat, and everyone said our country was in need of a party change. I agreed, and strongly believed in everything Adam stood for and behind.

  “What are your plans when this is all over?” he asked, staring directly at me instead of the television that held his fate.

  “I guess I’ll go back to the paper,” I smiled, unsure if that was what I truly wanted.

  “Ah, yes. You were a force to be reckoned with there. I’m sure they’ll be happy to have you back,” he stated, his eyes shifting from mine to the screen above.

  I hated to admit I had a crush on him, one that would somehow be amplified if he was truly going to be our president.

  The reporter soon announced Adam Andrews the winner without the final states being calculated. There was no way Owens could win, even with the remaining states. That was it. I was standing next to the next President of the United States.

  The entire office cheered, letting off confetti bombs into the air as their yells of victory flooded the room. “Congratulations,” I shouted over the noise.