My hands returned to her ass. God, how I loved the feel of her ass cheeks against my palms. I was gripping and squeezing and spreading them, moving her pussy up and down my shaft that way, planting my cock inside, filling her completely. I placed a finger at her asshole and she hissed out with pleasure, speeding up the pace, eyes closed and her head tilted up to the sunroof. Slowly, I pressed my fingertip harder against it, and all that movement of her hips intensified when my digit slowly dipped inside. She cried out from pleasure. Jo was so fucking close to coming I could feel her inner walls tightening and gripping my shaft. For a second she looked down at me as though she would whisper a question, but she didn’t. Her head lowered to bury itself at my neck and she almost screamed out when she came.
I took over then, moving my hands back to her hips, picking her up and dragging her down my shaft, helping her along as she still shook from her climax while bringing myself to the edge. I stayed buried deep inside her now, thrusting my hip up a few more times until I shuddered and came so hard my face froze and my mind went blank. She relaxed her weakened body on my chest, hanging on to me like she was mine.
She didn’t move or talk for a while, and when her panting calmed, she asked me to open my driver side door so she could stand and straighten out her clothes. I let her out but made her walk around to the shoulder of the road, following behind her with my cock still pulsing and hard. I wanted more of her. Not willing to miss the opportunity, I discarded of the used condom and went back to my side of the car for another.
I walked up to her with the unopened package in my raised hand, eyebrows raised and waiting to see if she was game. This was when I knew I’d met my match. Jo stepped over to her side of the car, lifted her skirt past her hips and placed both palms on the door. I had to hold down a growl when she bent at the hips, sticking her bare ass out for me to take her again. Barely able to keep my hands off of her, I stood behind her and got that second condom on in a hurry. In a second I was positioning myself at her slick opening and did not hold back when I buried by rock hard cock to the hilt. She groaned out a sigh, and pushed her hips back with every stroke I made, welcoming me over and over as I pumped in and out of her, both of us still hungry for more and getting closer to another peak.
By the time we both came again and caught our breaths, I was hard and wanting to go again.
This time, I held back.
It was almost one fifteen in the morning and I needed to get on the road so I’d be ready for the start of fall practice. She pulled her skirt back down her hips again, finding the rest of her things inside before hopping in. We were quiet for the trip back to her house, and as the car stopped, she kissed my cheek.
“Drive safe and have a good week, Chris,” she said, getting the door before I had the chance.
“You be safe on these streets after work,” I called out to her as she took the steps up to her front entrance and went inside. Then I drove home.
Fall camp started, and my social life came to a grinding halt. This was my senior year. We were all gunning for the limited spots in the NFL. A good fall practice would position our team for a strong kickoff game and a solid season. This was not just about me. As a team, we all needed to bring it. Slade led the way. He pushed hard. That and that got us all challenging ourselves and each other.
No one was doing half-assed shit. Everyone brought their A-game and we blocked out the rest of the universe. Family and friends were forgotten. All that existed for the weeks of fall camp was good nutrition, twice a day practice, game planning meetings with the coaching staff, a shit load of gameplay rescreenings, and good rest.
Then the season started and things got even more intense with games, practices and college coursework. I went more than three months without seeing Jo. To be fair, I gave her the headsup about needing to focus. She had no issue with it. She was also adjusting to a new life in a new city. I couldn’t travel down to see her in any case, with her evening and weekend work schedule. It was simpler this way.
Early in the week of the kickoff game, I invited her to come see me play that Saturday. It was more of a token invitation because she worked Wednesday to Sunday evenings. She couldn’t come to any of my Saturday games even if she wanted to be there, not just because of work but also because transportation would have been tough.
Those Saturdays after our games were the toughest for me. Everyone on the team would drink, party, hook up with their ladies or the usual groupies that hung out at the frat house. I couldn’t afford to do that, mostly because I wasn’t that strong a student to begin with. It took a hell of a lot of effort to maintain half decent grades. So while everyone else was whooping it up for those post-game shindigs, I would show my face for the first ten minutes, then ease back out of the place to bust my ass to hang on to a B-minus average. Maybe it would have been easier if I hadn’t picked a science-based Kinesiology program as my major, but this was the tail stretch. I needed to live with it for just two more semesters.
While the frat house and half the college were in on the bet Slade had going about kicking it with that cheerleader, Cassidy, well sure I was in on it too. My money was on Slade. And all that time he was sneaking around to bus tables at the frat house landlord’s restaurant after that antique furniture destruction mini-blowout, I took the opportunity to do some sneaking around of my own—to keep my ass on top of my degree coursework. I think we all snuck around to study and never admitted it, except perhaps for Mo. Dude needed to get his shit together if he wanted to graduate.
Still, when we won all those games, I wished Jo could have been there to celebrate with me. The one game where we had a devastating loss, I was close to getting in my car and driving down to see her. All I could think about was that seeing her would cheer me up. Even then, I didn’t. I kept my head down, focused on my top priorities. We did keep up with texting back and forth, but because she knew what I was up against, I was the one initiating contact each time.
Until three weeks before Thanksgiving.
13
Josephine
It was about three months after my move to New Orleans that I was finally beginning to relax a little. I earned minimum wage, and was only taking home about a thousand dollars every month. Even so, with my disciplined money habits, my seven thousand dollar nest egg had increased to eight thousand big ones.
Rose and I were actually getting closer. Back when we were growing up our age difference seemed so huge, and then she moved out here with Mike and we drifted even further apart. Now, we made a habit of going to a nearby farmer’s market every Saturday morning. We also prepared brunch together on Sundays. I wouldn’t quite say we had a lot in common, but we enjoyed spending time together. Personally, I was happy to have a family bond again.
Her boyfriend, Mike, was scarce. He worked those weird, twelve days on and fourteen days off shifts. His position was a rotary drill operator on one of the offshore oil rigs in the Gulf of Mexico. Somehow, whenever he was off the rig and here at home, he’d end up at one gambling establishment or another. Or maybe that was just his excuse for cheating on Rose with other women. Either way, I was glad I had only seen Mike’s face about four times in the last few months.
Chris and I hadn’t seen each other for over three months either. I kind of missed him, even though he wasn’t supposed to be more to me than a casual fling and a road trip rescue. The funny thing about not seeing him was we were getting closer as friends. He would send me texts almost every week to check up on me, and fill me in on school and his games, which I never told him I listened to on the radio at work. I guess if I wanted to, I could watch it on my phone, but that meant I’d need a better data plan, which would throw off my budget. Because of his full schedule, I didn’t message him much, other than to reply whenever he called or sent a text. The biggest reason I didn’t get in the habit of reaching out to him was because I had no intentions of fucking up his chances of acing the school year, playing hard, graduating or living out his dream in the NFL.
I
spent most of my free time painting. Getting into my art gave me an outlet I desperately needed. I had a sliver of freedom and peace that I never was able to reach through any other medium. People like to say a picture is worth a thousand words. For me, it saved me from certain jail time for my foul mouth and my generally rude and outlandish behavior.
So everything was going great.
Then my world got turned upside down again.
It was Thursday and Mr. Solomon, the store owner, would make rounds at all his minimarts once a week or so to be sure everything was running smoothly. He was probably also ensuring each of his attendants like me, were still at our stations and hadn’t abandoned our jobs. Maybe it was also to double check that we didn’t steal any of his cash or stuff from the store. Whatever the reason, he would show up. This week, he phoned the store after five in the evening. He said he was on his way, and asked if everything was okay. It was, so he told me he’d be here soon.
About twenty minutes after he hung up, a male customer walked in. The man perused the store aisles, but every time he got to one end or another, he was still empty handed and would stare over at me. He got to the back aisle that shelved the refrigerated beer and spirits, then he shouted out to me that he needed some help. I was already rolling my eyes. I disliked the job enough as it is, so topping it off with extra close-up contact with the patrons made me feel I might break out in hives.
“May I help you find something, sir?” I asked in my least annoying tone of voice.
“Bud Light. Where’s the fucking Bud Light?” he spat out, although there was a row filled with bottles and cans of exactly what he wanted and they were staring him right in the face.
“How many would you like, sir?”
“Two six-packs.”
I slid open the fridge and reached up for the handles of the two cardboard beer carriers. That’s when I felt the disgusting prick’s hands on me. The fucker groped each of my ass cheeks with his hands, then he reached around and grabbed my goodies.
“What the fuck is your problem?” I practically screamed, putting the beer back into the fridge and turning to face him. I think the bastard was damned lucky those bottles went back in there and that I didn’t end up breaking one and jamming it into his eye sockets for what he’d just done. My hands came up in front of my face, ready to fight.
“I was just checking out the merchandise, sweet thing,” he said, thinking he was funny. “Can’t blame a hot-blooded male like myself for wanting to touch.”
“Get out!” Now I was screaming. I kneed him in the groin and pounded my fists on his back when he ducked down to protect his crown jewels.
“You fucking bitch,” he shouted.
“Get the fuck out of here! Don’t fucking come back or I’ll have your sex assaulting ass arrested before you step on that curb outside!”
As I turned to kick him in the pants, that’s when I saw my manager walk in.
“What’s going on here and why aren’t you at the cash register?” he asked.
“Mr. Solomon!” I answered, relieved. “I’m so glad you’re here. This man came in the store and groped me.”
The fucker vehemently shook his head. “No I didn’t.”
“What? You know what you did, you sick pervert!” I turned to my boss. “Mr. Solomon, he grabbed my ass and touched me after asking me to help him find some beer. Please make this man leave or have him arrested.”
“Arrest me? If anyone should be arrested it’s you, you feisty bitch.” He looked over at Mr. Solomon. “Your employee physically assaulted me over there.”
“That’s a goddamned lie! Everything’s on camera, Mr. Solomon. I’m done asking. I’m calling the police.”
“The camera’s not actually filming, Josephine,” my boss said calmly. “They’re a deterrent. We don’t have a budget for CTV cameras.”
To that, the patron became more demanding. My coward of a manager decided to give the man his beer for free so that he wouldn’t file a lawsuit against the store. I stood there in disbelief, but I couldn’t be any more outraged than when Mr. Solomon told me he was docking my pay to cover the two six-packs of beer.
“My pay? You’re cutting my pay after he sexually assaulted me? You’re got to be kidding me!” I objected.
“I’m dead serious, Josephine, and if you keep up that verbally offensive behavior you and I are going to have a problem.”
That was it. That crossed the line. I ripped my nametag off my work shirt, placed it on the counter, grabbed my bag and charged out before I did something that would end up getting me arrested for assault on my boss. I was seething mad all the way to the front steps of the apartment. I was so stomping mad all I could think of doing to calm down was sending a text to Chris.
‘Hey. What are you up to?’
‘Hi. Just leaving football practice. You?’
‘I quit my job.’
He answered less than a minute later. ‘What happened?’
‘I didn’t get arrested.’
‘Lol. Want to talk about it?’
‘Not on the phone.’
‘I’ll come get you.’
‘No. You have your stuff to do.’
‘I’m getting in the car now.’
‘Okay. Thanks. I’ll be home. Cause I don’t got a job no more.’
‘Be there soon.’
I huffed up to the second floor and walked in expecting to see Rose, who was usually home before the dinner hour. She wasn’t home. I locked the door and went into my room, stepping over to my window to mentally let off some steam. I was pacing back and forth, weighing whether to call the cops when I heard the front door unlock.
14
Josephine
“Oy my god, Rose you don’t want to know what—” I started, then stopped short when I looked out from my room divider and saw that it wasn’t Rose, but Mike. “Oh, hi. Sorry I thought it was Rose coming in.” I turned and went back into my space, not in the mood to make the effort to be courteous.
He stuck his greasy blonde-haired head and red face in. He had bloodshot eyes, and I could already smell the strong alcohol on him before he’d even said a word. “So Rose ain’t here?” he asked.
“Naw. I’m sure she’ll be here real soon.”
I sat on my sofa bed and started organizing my purse, just to pass the time. This was the first time he and I were alone at the apartment. I was hoping he’d go to his room or the kitchen and keep his distance, but he just stood there, watching me and letting the stink of his booze waft over in my general direction.
“Do you need something else?” I asked him without looking his way. “I can try to get her on my phone if you want.”
I must have had an invisible sign above my head that read ‘Redhead special today only. Go ahead and touch me anywhere you want to.’ That had to be it. While I sorted through my bag, he stepped in past the divider.
“Rose used to have hair like this,” he slurred, and ran his lecherous hand into my hair, letting it come to rest on my shoulder.
I jolted up to my feet and vaulted back to the window. “Are you out of your mind?”
“What?” he asked, coming closer.
I held the bag up between us and started looking around the room for something I could use as a weapon. Because of that awful corner store customer, I already had my guard up. I wasn’t letting this sick cheating scumbag son of a bitch try anything. “Don’t touch me, Mike. You’re rummed up and three sheets to the wind. Get out of my room before I make you regret it. Go fucking sleep it off or something.”
Drunk people aren’t supposed to be fast. They’re supposed to be slow and clumsy and lumbering fools. Mike was a fool, but he moved like lightning just then. Before I could kick him hard or step away, he had his hands on my waist and was gyrating his crotch against my side.
In my state of mind, I could have killed him for doing that.
I dropped my bag and grabbed the lamp on top of the chest of drawers, then I crashed it over his head. “You sick drunk ba
stard!”
That got him off me long enough for me to pick up my purse again and get the hell out of that apartment. I ran downstairs and out the front door, pulling out my phone so I could call Rose. Whatever she was doing this evening, she was not taking phone calls. My call went to her voice mail. I left her a message and phoned again. There was still no answer. I sent her a text asking where the hell she was. If she didn’t get here soon, I’d either call the police or have to empty a trash can and beat Mike over the head with it. Either way, someone was spending some time in a jail cell.
She didn’t answer, so I sat outside on the steps, waiting.
Chris drove up after about half-hour. He quickly hopped out of the car and ran over to me. “What the hell happened? Did you get mugged?”
I was confused when he asked that question, but then I looked down at my clothes. Half my shirt was tucked into my pants and the other half hung out. That spot where I tugged my nametag off the shirt was ripped and I was sure my hair was disheveled. It was in a sorry state.
“Talk to me, Jo,” he said, helping me to my feet and pulling me into his arms.
I didn’t know where to start. I didn’t want to talk at all. I could have just stood there and let him hold me until it was time to leave. When I opened my mouth to talk, the floodgates opened and I was bawling incoherent shit. He put a hand on my shoulder, guiding me to sit in the car, then he got in the driver side.
“I can’t leave like this,” I told him through stifled tears. “I need to get my stuff.”
Hook Up (A Bad Boy Sports Romance) Page 8