Then, in the softest whisper, I hear it:
“Please…”
God, my cock is aching. But right now, this is all about her.
I drag my tongue over her pussy, in one long lap. She arches her back and tenses instantly, gasping. She’s so wet, so sweet. I tease her entrance with my tongue, I lick her lips, I suckle her nub, squeezing her ass with my hands so I can pull her close to me. I plunge my tongue inside her, tasting the wet heat of her. Her hips are rocking now, thrusting toward my tongue as I lick and suck, and I can tell by how hard her clit is getting that she’s close, very close now. Every stroke, every lap of my tongue is building it, bringing her closer to the edge, and she’s so responsive that I know, I know that it’s any second, I know that it’s now, this is it, this is the stroke that sends her…
Ivy’s hips buck violently as she crests and cries out, an explosion rocketing through her whole body. It’s fucking gorgeous. I keep lapping at her as she shudders and quivers and clutches at the sheets.
Eventually, she starts to quiet. I move up and lean over her as she opens her eyes, dark with passion and looks at me. “Oh, my God,” she whispers.
I lean down and kiss her deeply, trying to ignore the ache in my balls. “You taste as sweet as your nickname, cupcake,” I tell her.
“Knox,” she breathes. “I… I want you inside me. Please.”
I groan. “Fuck, cupcake, you’re gonna kill me.” I lean over the bed to grab my jeans, and pull a condom package out of my wallet. Ripping open the foil, I pull it out but wait for a second before I put it on. Instead, I position myself between Ivy’s legs and take hold of my cock, dragging the tip of it through her soaking channel. She shivers and throws back her head. “Oh, God, yes,” she moans.
It feels fucking amazing. I want like anything to push into her bare and take her, come inside her, with nothing between us. But I’m not an asshole. Forcing myself to stop, I roll the condom over the length of my cock and slick it over her plump, swollen lips again. Then I push inside, slowly, shuddering as her tight wet pussy wraps around my shaft.
“Oh… oh, yes,” she moans.
I grab hold of her hips and shove all the way inside her to the root. Then I draw back, groaning loudly at how tightly she’s gripping me, and pump into her, hard.
“Oh, Knox, please!” she begs. She arches toward me and I thrust again, my balls already starting to tighten. I’m not gonna last long like this. She’s clutching at my legs now, wanting it hard, and so I rear back and thrust again, and again, and again, her pussy clenching around me. Her moans are getting louder with every thrust, and I angle my hips so my cock slides against her sensitive clit as I move. Then, suddenly, she cries out again, her head pressing into the mattress as she climaxes, and I thrust one final time, burying myself deep inside her as I let go. Her pussy grips me hard, squeezing out every drop.
Holy shit. Holy shit. It’s so fucking good.
I don’t even remember falling asleep. But when I wake up, it’s hours later and a cold, wet nose is pressing into the palm of my hand. I open my eyes and see Zeus staring at me expectantly. Next to me on the bed, Ivy is asleep, one hand flung over her head and snoring softly.
“What’s up, Zeus?” I whisper at him, and then realize Ivy probably usually takes him out for a pee before bed. Moving slowly so I won’t wake her up, I grab my jeans and flip flops and pad out to the living room to put them on. I open the front door as quietly as I can and let the two of us out.
Zeus and I walk through the dark, deserted street, and I wait for him as he does his business. When we get back to Ivy’s place, I let Zeus in, and I stand there for a second on the landing, looking first at her doorway, then at mine.
Then, without letting myself think about it too much either way, I go back into Ivy’s place and close the door behind me.
11
Ivy
I wake up in the middle of the night to hear the front door clicking shut. For a second, I’m confused and startled, but then I remember what happened a couple of hours ago. I reach out my hand to the other side of the bed. It’s still warm, but Knox isn’t there. I guess he’s slipped out and gone back to his place.
I try to push down the wave of disappointment that follows this realization, but it’s too strong. Then I try to rationalize it away. After all, it’s not like he ever gave me any reason to believe this was anything other than a booty call. And besides, it’s not like I want him to be my boyfriend.
Then I try to look on the bright side: this way, I don’t have to do the awkward next morning thing where we wake up and he tries to make a graceful exit while we both pretend to be totally fine and normal with each other. That’s good, right?
I’ve just managed to start thinking it’s all for the best that he’s gone when suddenly, the door opens again. I hear the clacking of Zeus’s paws on the wood floor as he ambles in, and realize that Knox was nice enough to walk the dog for me before he left.
The door clicks shut again. Then, a couple of seconds later, the mattress tilts, as Knox gets back into bed.
My stomach does a little flip-flop.
Then I force myself to pretend I’m asleep, until I hear Knox’s breathing slow and deep beside me.
The next morning, when I wake up, Knox is still there, taking up most of the bed with his bulk. One arm is flung across my stomach, the weight of it pressing me into the mattress. It’s amazing how solid he is. He’s all muscle, not an ounce of fat on him, and since muscle weighs more, his arm feels like it’s probably heavier than my leg.
Which sort of sucks right now, because it happens to be pressing on my bladder.
I really, really want to stay here, enjoying the unexpectedly comforting presence of him. But if I don’t move soon, I’ll pee in the bed, and that’s just not going to do a lot to make this less awkward. So, as carefully as I can, I try to slide out from under his arm without waking him, which is hard because it takes all my strength to pick it up from this angle. As I finally get free, he stirs and reaches for me again, pulling me close.
“Mmm,” he murmurs against my neck. “Morning, cupcake.”
He feels so good, his skin is so warm. I want to snuggle into him, but my bladder has other, urgent plans. “Can’t talk. Must pee,” I blurt out. I wriggle free and flee to the bathroom, hoping he’ll keep his eyes closed so he won’t see my naked butt jiggling as I run. I slam the door shut and sit down on the cold toilet seat, breathing a heavy sigh as I relieve myself. After flushing, I screw up my courage and take a look in the mirror to see how bad the damage is. My hair is frizzy and all over the place from last night’s “activities,” and my face is all pasty. I have a wrinkle on one of my cheeks from my pillow, and I rub it vigorously, hoping to make it less obvious, to no avail. I consider brushing my teeth so he won’t smell my morning breath, but decide it will be too weird if he smells toothpaste. So instead, I grab the glass on the counter and swish a couple of mouthfuls of water around and spit them out, hoping that will be good enough to make my breath less nuclear. I silently open a drawer and find my brush, and try to make my hair look like less of a disaster.
Then I survey my attempts to make myself look less weird, and let out a sigh. There’s nothing more I can do short of putting on makeup, and that just seems like it’s going too far.
I open the door and pad back down the hall. When I get into the bedroom, Knox has rolled over on his side and opened his eyes. Even just having woken up, he’s breathtakingly gorgeous. Of course. Trying to look nonchalant, I resist the urge to cross my arms over my boobs, and get back into bed.
“Hey, there, sexy,” he grins. “All better?”
“Yeah,” I mutter, embarrassed because he knows I just peed. “How’d you sleep?” I ask, trying to change the subject.
“Like a baby,” he says. “You?”
“Good,” I admit. And weirdly, I did. I actually have hated sleeping with someone else in the past. The few boyfriends I have had were all huge cover hogs. One of them thrashed
around so much that he gave me a softball-sized bruise one night when he kicked me in his sleep. But with Knox, it was actually kind of comfortable. He’s a warm, solid presence in the bed. It felt… safe, sort of. I realize that it didn’t even occur to me to worry about whether there would be another bat last night with him there.
“Good deal,” he nods, and pulls me into his arms. He kisses me, deeply, and somehow I forget my morning breath because he’s doing a thing with his tongue that’s making my toes curl. When he pulls away I’m kind of dizzy, and a little disappointed that he stopped. Because that? That, he can do all day as far as I’m concerned.
“So, what are you doing today?” he asks me. “Wanna go do something?”
I’m a little taken aback by his question. It was already surprising enough that he stayed over last night. I just figured he’d get up and leave as soon as we woke up this morning. Spending the day with him is something that never occurred to me.
And I’m not really sure I’m prepared for it.
“I have to go to the library,” I tell him. “I’ve got hours of research to do.”
“No offense, but that sounds kind of boring,” he smirks. “How about tomorrow? It’s Saturday.”
“I work every day,” I point out. “I’m in grad school, remember.”
“On weekends, too?” He’s incredulous.
“Even on Christmas,” I nod. I’m not lying. My mom has a picture of me sitting with my books next to the Christmas tree last year.
“That is freaking insanity.” His eyes grow wide. “Do you seriously do nothing else but study and take Zeus out?”
I’m still for a moment. I think about lying, but I’m not sure I could really pull it off. “Pretty much,” I admit.
“Miss Ivy, that is just sad.”He shakes his head. “You are in serious need of some down time. How long have you been in Springville?”
“A little over a year.” I sigh. I already have a feeling I know what he’s about to ask.
“And in that time, how much of the city have you seen?”
“Not much.” I shrug. “I’m not here to sight-see, after all. I’m here for school. There’ll be time for fun later.”
“Are you kidding me?” He frowns, disapproval evident on his face. “You are seriously advocating living like a freaking nun during the best years of your life?”
“Well,” I say shyly, nodding down at us. “I wouldn’t call this living like a nun.”
Knox bursts into laughter. “Point taken. But don’t change the subject. You need to get out more, cupcake.”
“So, about that ‘cupcake’ thing,” I begin, giving him an irritated frown. “Are you gonna keep calling me that?”
“It’s either that or something worse,” he smirks. “How about ‘sugar tits’? Or ‘honey ass’?”
“Ugh. How about ‘Ivy’?” I counter, but I can’t stop the corners of my lips from tugging up.
“Sorry, cupcake,” he declares. “You’re just gonna have to live with ‘cupcake’. Unless you can find some way to shut me up.”
“Is that a threat, or an invitation?” I grin impishly.
“Take your pick,” he challenges.
So then, hardly believing my boldness, I do my best to shut him up, for about half an hour.
“Seriously, though,” he’s saying. I’m cradled against his chest, his hand fisting in my hair. I’m still breathing pretty heavily after the intense orgasm he just gave me. “You have got to get out more, cupcake. I’m appointing myself your Springville tour guide.”
I laugh and look up at him. “You just got here. You don’t even know anything about Springville yet.”
“I probably know more than you do,” he scoffs. “Promise me. You’re coming out with me tomorrow.”
Eventually, he manages to wear me down, and I agree to take a rare day off on Saturday and spend a whole day with him. “What are we going to do?” I ask him. I’m envisioning maybe a tour of some of the city’s historic sites, though that doesn’t really seem like the kind of thing Knox would be interested in.
“Leave it to me,” he says, brushing me off. “But dress for being active. We’re not gonna spend the day in a museum.”
The rest of the day, I struggle to concentrate as I work on my research, alternating between excitement and dread about tomorrow. I’m more thrilled than I should be that Knox Harper wants to spend the day with me. I know better to think that this is a boyfriend-girlfriend thing, but even so. I don’t know what Knox’s “type” is, but I’m pretty sure it’s not me. He could totally date models. Heck, he probably does date models. I mean, what does a pro football player’s dating pool look like?
During a break between reading, I decide to look Knox up online. First, I go to Facebook. It doesn’t look like he has a personal page, but I find four fan pages devoted to him. One in particular looks like it’s geared towards women, because most of the pictures on it are of him looking ridiculously hot, with tons of comments heavy on the hearts and emoticons.
I click out of Facebook and look for other articles about him. There’s a Wikipedia entry for him, and I click on that, feeling a little bit like I’m spying. Apprehensively, I click straight down to the “personal life” section. It’s mercifully short. There are a couple of women mentioned that he “dated briefly” a while ago, and they have profiles, too. I click on one of them. She’s an actress I’ve never heard of, but she’s a tall brunette with dark skin, and stunningly beautiful. I click out of her entry before I start freaking out. I don’t click on the other one.
I scroll back up to the top of the entry to “early life.” I find out that his birthday is November 3, that he played football for Carolina before he came to Springville, and that he’s originally from Atlanta, where he played football in high school and college. He’s the oldest of two boys in his family, and his parents are still alive. Further down, there’s a lot of stuff about statistics that I don’t understand, and even a breakdown of how well he’s played season by season. Wow. People really get into this stuff.
One thing that catches my attention is a short paragraph about someone named Chris Payne. Apparently, Knox and Chris were good friends in high school and played football together. The article says that both of them were considered as having the potential to go professional, before Chris was injured on the field and…
I stop reading and draw in my breath. My heart starts to thud painfully in my chest.
Knox’s friend suffered a spinal cord injury. According to the article, he’s a paraplegic now.
I sit for a long time without moving. I don’t know what to do, how to react about this. Irrationally, I feel kind of upset that Knox didn’t tell me about it, especially when I told him what I’m studying. But there’s no reason he should have, I tell myself. After all, it’s not exactly a happy story, and he’s not under any obligation to tell me anything about his life.
Still, I feel kind of… betrayed. I don’t know why.
I close my laptop, vaguely unsettled. I try to work a little more, but it’s no use. My brain won’t focus on the literature. In the end, I give up, pack up my stuff, and call it the day. I drive home from the library, not sure if I’m hoping to run into Knox, or if I’m hoping to avoid him. In the end, the decision is made for me. Knox’s white SUV isn’t in his driveway when I get home, and it’s still gone that night when I take Zeus out for his walk. When I turn out the lights and go to bed, I can’t stop myself from listening for him to get home, but in the end I fall asleep, still waiting.
12
Knox
I knock on Ivy’s front door the next morning around ten. When she opens it, I see she’s dressed simply, in a plain, fitted white T-shirt, faded blue jeans that mold to her shapely thighs, and running shoes. Her hair is tied back in a simple ponytail.
She looks freaking amazing.
“You said to dress for activity,” she says uncertainly, looking down. “Is this okay?”
“It’s great. You look great,” I tell her pu
lling her toward me for a deep kiss. “In fact, if we don’t leave right now, I’m gonna push you back inside and we’ll never go anywhere for the rest of the day.”
She looks at me impishly through her dark lashes. “I wouldn’t mind that,” she says in a wicked little voice.
I groan, already feeling the tent starting in my shorts. “Dammit, cupcake, you’re not helping.” I grab her hand. “Come on. We gotta get out of here.”
I lead her down the stairs to the Tahoe, threading my fingers through hers. It feels good to hold her hand. Natural. So much so that I don’t want to let go. When we get to the car, I detach my fingers from her regretfully and open the door so she can climb in.
“Nice car,” she murmurs as she sinks back into the leather seats.
“Thanks.” I close the door and jog over to the driver’s side. As we’re buckling up, she says, “So, where are you taking me? You never said.”
I flash her a grin. “You’ve got two choices. Bungee jumping, or rock climbing.”
“What?!” she sputters.
“Or, we could start with bungee jumping, then go rock climbing,” I murmur, considering.
“No.” She shakes her head. “No, no, no. I don’t know how to do either of those things.”
“No one knows how to do anything the first time they do it,” I point out. “That’s sort of the whole idea: to try something new.”
“But…” she starts to protest. She’s really gonna resist me on this, I can tell. But I’m not backing down. This girl needs to live a little.
“No buts,” I say firmly. “Choose.”
“But I don’t get it,” she says, shaking her head. “I thought bungee jumping was something people only did on vacations. How is there even a place to do that in Springville?”
“There isn’t,” I chuckle. “But there is a place about a hundred miles away from here. There’s a company that does jumps off the high bridge over Split Rock Canyon. I checked. Normally, they only take groups of four or more, but they have space for us with another group, if we’re interested.”
PLAYERS: The Complete Series (Springville Rockets (Sports Romance Books 1-3) Page 24