Quarterback's Virgin

by Ivy Jordan

  The restaurant was once a 19th-century country home with its own private road. When we turned onto it, Ava watched as the trees lining the road faded and gave way to a clearing, where lavender and soft pink wildflowers were growing among clusters of lilies.

  The restaurant was sitting on the far edge of the clearing, just outside the treeline. They had a small patio where vines of roses and honeysuckle traveled up the trellis walls. We took a seat in the corner, and I ordered us a bottle of wine. They knew me, so I never had trouble getting something to drink there.

  “This place is amazing,” she said. “I’m surprised they get any business. They’re so far out of the city.”

  “The owner, Morello, is known around the world for his sauces. People come to him, so he never has to worry about customers.”

  “Really? A celebrity chef.” She took a drink of her wine.

  “There are two kinds of celebrities,” I said. “Now I’m not talking about people who are famous because of circumstance, or anything else. I’m talking about your run-of-the-mill, red carpet celebrities.”

  “Enlighten me.” She put her drink down.

  “You think they’re all the same?”

  “I think people that go around promoting themselves have big heads.”

  “That’s the difference,” I said. “There’s the people that look for fame, and the people that get famous because they’re good at what they do. It’s easy to tell the difference. It’s all in the way they act. If they’ve got orange skin, and a half smile, they want people to look at them. They step in front of the cameras, talk to all the right people, and generally go around making idiots of themselves. If they’re low-key, and keep their heads down, they’re not famous for shameless self-promotion. They got famous because they are extraordinary people, recognized for their talent.”

  “Would you say that one type is genuine, and the other is fake?” she asked.

  “It’s more complex than that, but I always look for genuine people. That’s one of the reasons I like you.”

  “Why?” She smiled into her wine glass when she took a sip.

  “There isn’t a single fake bone in your body. You’re not out to impress anyone or ride on their coattails. You don’t even like people. It’s refreshing.”

  “You like me because I don’t like people?”

  “Oh, yeah,” I told her. “People try to be my friend all the time. Girls throw themselves at me. Half the female population on campus is fighting over me. It’s like every girl in the city thinks I’m the one, and it’s driving me insane.”

  “It’s a bad cliché.”

  “What is?”

  “The girls throwing themselves at the quarterback. It’s so old it feels like something out of a different century. I mean, do people even do that anymore?”

  “That’s exactly what I thought. You’d think that went out with the poodle skirt and the pompadour.” The waitress came by to take our orders, and we went back to our drinks. “How do you keep up with your grades the way that you do? Doesn’t it drive you crazy?”

  She took a sip of wine. “I guess it’s baptism by fire. When you’re driven to succeed, you focus and get things done.”

  “Maybe that’s my problem,” I said. “Everything’s already taken care of. I don’t have to worry.”

  “Worry doesn’t even cover it. It’s a life struggle. My mom is breaking her back every single day. She works two jobs: one waiting tables, the other as a bartender. It’s hard labor, and she can’t even afford food for both of them, her and my sister. She has to steal boxes from the kitchen. Every single time I feel like giving up, I think of her. She never gave up, and she has to work a hell of a lot harder than either of us.”

  “She can’t buy food?” I asked.

  “No, and they never go out to eat. It’s pathetic. She’s going to be working like that for the rest of her life, and there’s no retirement, no vacation. If she gets too sick to work, she loses her job. Most people like her end up working until their joints give out, and they can barely stand. That’s what’s going to happen to her.”

  “That’s why you’re doing this.”

  “Oh, definitely,” she said. “I’m already sending money home to her.”

  “That’s awesome. You know, most people would just walk away.”

  “I never thought of it like that. Anyone that could just walk away from their family doesn’t deserve to succeed. If I have to, I’ll move them in and take over the burden. I won’t let them live like that.”

  “You’re an amazing person, Ava.” She had her hand resting next to the salt shaker between us. I laid my hand on top of hers. Her skin was soft, and her touch firm.

  She looked down at the table.

  “I like you.” Maybe I didn’t have to use her. I could fall into this, and see where it led. She was worth the effort. “And I don’t think you’re a shut-in. You should know that. You’re doing the right thing by sticking to your studies. It doesn’t matter what everyone else thinks. You’ve got dedication. That’s a rare quality to find in a person. Nobody is genuine anymore, not in my world.”

  “What is your world?” she asked. “What’s it like?”

  “I have a lot of freedom. My parents give me whatever I want, and they take care of me. They send me things when I need them, and they keep track of my grades, so I have everything set out for me. I don’t think I could make it if I didn’t.”

  “It keeps you disciplined.”

  “Yeah, but I rely on everyone else for that. You don’t have anyone propping you up. You do that yourself. You’re your own support system.”

  “You’re too nice to me, Channing.” She met my eyes. “I don’t know what you want from me. I’m not your kind of girl.”

  “How do you know?” She trembled when I brushed my finger over her jawline. I didn’t know what my intentions were either. I just wanted to taste her lips and feel her peppermint breath flow down my face. Was it wrong to kiss her?

  I didn’t care.

  Her kiss was a thousand times better than I could’ve imagined. The breath was drained out of her, she gasped, and I slid my tongue through her lips. She had to hold onto my neck just to keep from sliding back into her chair. When I pulled away, the blood had rushed into her cheeks. She looked back down at the table.

  “I’d like to be with you for now. Is that enough?”

  “It’s a distraction,” she said, “and it worries me. I don’t know if I want to take the risk.”

  “But you don’t want to walk away, either.”

  “No,” she smiled, “not after that kiss.”

  “I’m glad to hear that.”

  The server brought out two steaming plates of veal with a light tomato sauce and pasta. It was traditional Italian in every sense, with fresh-made bread and soft, homemade noodles. The food wasn’t the main attraction, though. Neither of us could pull away. We naturally gravitated to one another. Our eyes met, our legs touched under the table, and the energy flowing between us was electric.

  I rested my hand on hers when she finished her food, then took a moment to take her in. She was stunning, even without the makeup or the curled hair. She was naturally beautiful. It was refreshing to meet a woman that didn’t have to spend six hours in front of the mirror or inject herself with poison to boost her self-confidence.

  She looked up at me, and I felt how vulnerable she was. I knew that she’d go with me; I could smell it, but I couldn’t do anything that would hurt her. If I took her virginity, I was making a silent promise not to just walk away. I couldn’t let her think of me as that guy. I didn’t want to be that guy. At the very least, I wanted to make this moment special, and in order to do that, I’d have to commit to following this through.

  I couldn’t go into this without knowing that my intentions were pure. I had to want her, not just her body, but her mind, and I did. I wanted to spend all night on that patio learning everything about her.

  I traced my finger down her arm and felt a shiv
er move down my body. She seemed to tense up, so I moved my hand away. “That’s not too much, is it?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable. You don’t, do you? I could take you home if you want.” Maybe it would be better not to do it.

  “Okay.” She stood up, and I led her back to the car. The second we got in, I felt the tension seething off her. She couldn’t look me in the eye. Instead, she stared out the window.

  What I really wanted to do was pull the car over and take her right there. I could see myself shredding her shirt, and ripping off her panties. I needed to have her, but she didn’t look like she was up to it. She was too afraid, so I stayed quiet until we pulled up to her complex.

  Then, when she started to get out, my hand lunged forward and grabbed her wrist. I didn’t even mean to do it. She froze, like she thought she was going to die, so I decided to move slow. I kneaded her shoulder just a bit to ease her tension until she softened up.

  Her head fell, so I lifted her chin, and turned her head so that she was facing me. Her eyes were slammed shut, and she winced like she was about to take a punch, so I dropped her head. “If you’re not into it,” I said, “it’s okay.”

  She pulled me forward and crashed her lips to mine. Then she wrapped her arms around my neck and drove her tongue through my mouth. I could feel her nails tracing the skin on the back of my neck, leaving goosebumps behind as she moved her finger down my neck and over my chest, exploring the mountains and valleys. Then she grabbed my crotch and slipped her hand up my shaft.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Ava

  I had my hand wrapped around Channing’s bulge and his lips brushing across mine while his tongue pressed through. He wasn’t a gentle person, but he was tentative. He moved fast, and caught every detail, like the tips of my teeth and my palette. Then he set his hand on my thigh, and I felt myself tensing up.

  “Let’s go.” I pulled away and started to get out.

  He pulled me back down and crashed our lips together, then opened his door and got out of the car. Our bodies naturally came together. Somehow, we found our way to the courtyard gate, and into the elevator up to my apartment.

  Mostly I walked backward while he led me through. I couldn’t focus on where I was going, just the way his lips moved down my neck when the elevator door opened. “Come on.” I pulled away and walked back down the hall towards my apartment.

  I could feel him stalking me, like a lion about to tear into a zebra’s leg. He was on me the second we reached the door. He slammed his body into mine and rose his knee up between my legs while his lips moved down, leaving a wet trail across my neck, then behind my ear.

  Something was moving inside me. The soft, fluttering jolt in my stomach had changed into a ripple that flowed down my face, over my chest, and into my gut where it settled. Every touch was another ripple, another raindrop in the storm.

  I reached into my pocket to pull out my keys. I needed a breath, so I pulled away and turned back so that I could open the door. That was a mistake. He pressed his crotch up against my butt and ran his shaft down my crack.

  The weight of his body threw me inside when I opened the door. He caught me and wrapped his arms around my waist while he dug his teeth into the spot behind my ear. His lips were wild, pulling at the skin, twisting, sending warmth down my body.

  I made my way towards the bedroom while he nibbled at me and pressed himself up against me. He whipped me around when we walked in. Then he threw me onto the bed and lowered himself on top of me. His hands moved down my sides, and his lips over my neck, while he fingered the hem of my shirt.

  Fire met ice. His lips were warm against the cold air, and soft when he pulled up on my shirt and moved down so he could focus on my stomach. As he pulled my shirt higher, and the air moved its way in, I felt a chill forming, driven by the mounting pressure between my legs.

  His cock was rubbing up against my calf. I could feel the outline of the head through the denim. He lifted my shirt over my head and threw it aside, while he pushed his finger under my bra. He met my eyes, then looked back down, bringing my attention to my cup. His finger grazed the nipple, and I gasped. It was like cold fire. It burned so sweet—I couldn’t take it, especially with his arm reaching around my back to unhook my bra.

  His wicked grin did nothing to make things easier. It was terrifying, predatory. The act became something more than just a connection between two people. When he ripped off my bra, we became animals.

  He dove in with a growl and tore at my nipple with his teeth. “Ah,” I gasped.

  His deep laugh seemed to roll through me. His lips poured in, cupping one nipple while he moved his finger over the other areola. The seething, relentless touch was luring me into a frenzy, while his cock moved further and further up my leg.

  He was devouring me, taking me in, pulling my nipple through his lips and back again. Every movement was another jolt, and another drop of rain in the growing storm that was pulsing through me. The pressure between my legs was starting to become unmanageable, and he wasn’t stopping.

  Instead, he met my eyes and bit down on my nipple. “A-ah,” I shuddered, and he pulled off.

  “You like that?” His fingers traveled down my stomach.

  “Dear God, yes.”

  “Yeah?” He slid his hand into my pants and swept his finger over my lips. It was like having an open wire pulled over the skin. Tiny strands of electricity tore through my body. Blood was pulsing, coursing into me.

  He pressed his finger in deeper, and a wave poured out, drenching my panties.

  “Wait,” I said.

  He still had his hand down my pants. He pulled them out and asked, “It’s okay?” He met my eyes. “I’ll be gentle.” He leaned over and kissed me, pressing his tongue deeper. Then he reached up and cupped my breast, not too hard. Just gently enough that I barely noticed it when he unbuttoned my jeans.

  I felt the cold move in, and he pulled his body down, taking my pants and panties with him. It was a slow, careful gesture, and just like he said, he was gentle when he got onto his knees and pulled me forward, resting his head between my legs.

  “Channing…”

  “It’s okay.” He looked at me again.

  “But I’ve never…o-o-oh,” I sighed.

  He dove his head in, and his breath poured in between my legs. The heat brought with it a ripple, and his tongue—like a violinist’s bow, tracing up my lips, then over my clit. I gasped, and he grabbed my hand.

  He was flicking his thumb over the tip now, back and forth, pulling me into the rhythm, while his finger moved up my calf, then onto my thigh. His tongue swept over the opening, and he let go of my hand.

  One hand was tracing down my side; the other was moving closer to the spot between my legs. His tongue pressed in deeper, and I felt the moisture building up inside me. Another swipe of his tongue along the back of my clit, and my head pulled back.

  I was struggling to keep the moisture from pouring out, but his hands were getting closer. One was moving down my thigh. The other was resting between my legs. He pinched my clit, and I cried out. Moisture was building up. I wasn’t sure if I could hold it, especially with him pressing my clit between his thumb and forefinger. It was a scorching brand, roaring up my body, bringing with it a tight, shrill shudder.

  His finger was outstretched, and I could see it moving closer to my opening. I could see a hint of anticipation in the way he looked at me, as to warn me of what was coming. I wanted to pull away. I knew that it would hurt when he put his finger inside me. I wasn’t ignorant to the reality of what I was facing. It wouldn’t be easy, which was why it infuriated me so much when he pulled me open and rested his finger on my opening.

  “Just get it over with,” I said.

  “No.” He kept his finger there without adding any pressure at all. Then he dove his head in between my lips and circled my opening with his tongue. He tapped his finger over it, up and down, again and again,
while his tongue moved closer and closer. It swept over my clit, and I sighed.

  He was still tapping his finger on my opening. I could feel myself throbbing, like I was grasping at him. I needed to feel him, not just his finger. That wasn’t enough, but it would be a thousand times more satisfying than this demented tease.

  He kept tapping and moving his tongue closer and closer. I could feel the tip swipe my opening, and a trickle of moisture shoved its way out. Another flick of his tongue, and another drop. My legs were trembling. If he didn’t stop, I was going to erupt, and this would all be over.

  His tongue pressed through, and I jolted. It tingled and burned, a shocking effect that nearly crashed through the tenuous hold I had on myself. He laughed, and his breath flew in, like fire and sharp mint. His tongue pressed in a little deeper while his finger flitted up and down, over the tip of my clit.

  Something was sliding through me now, making its way to the surface. He pressed his tongue through just a little deeper, and a shock tore through me. It spread out, over my arms, my legs, into the tips of my fingers.

  He was pressing in deeper and deeper, but he could only go so far. My clit was on fire, pulsing and throbbing. The moisture, his tongue, and the heat all combined, sending a shock tearing up my body when he pressed his finger in. It wasn’t far, just up to the first knuckle, but it was enough to rejoice over.

  It was big, and my body was tight. I wasn’t even sure that I could take it, but he was slow. He pulled his finger out, and swept his tongue over my opening, circling it, then diving in to acclimate me further.

  He didn’t press in all the way. He knew that would be too much. Instead, he anticipated my needs and pressed his finger in just enough for me to feel it. Then he pulled it back and focused with his tongue. He went back and forth like this, each time teasing the moisture out of me. I could feel it pooling up under my hips.

  He couldn’t seem to move fast enough. Every time he pressed through, I wanted more. I wanted him to feel me up and press deep into that spot where no man had ever gone. There would be nothing sweeter, but my body had to be ready.