Cocky Quarterback: Eric Cocker (Cocker Brothers of Atlanta Book 12)

by Faleena Hopkins

  “Here,” he rasps, tearing off his shirt from where it was hanging off his shoulders. He lays it on the boulder. “Hold that here.”

  I do, and he bends to retrieve my forgotten shirt, glancing over to my nakedness and pausing in front of my pussy. He presses a tender kiss to the mound and works hot kisses up my abdomen, ribcage and kissing both breasts like he wants to stay there but will be back for more later. Rising to his full height, eyes hungry, he lays my shirt on his and backs me against the makeshift cushion. His body is amazing and mine just so-so, but the way Eric looks at me makes me feel like I’m the most beautiful woman who ever lived.

  My blood races as he unzips his slacks and they fall around his calves.

  “Oh my God,” I blurt, staring at his girth and length, eyes frozen in awe.

  There’s a laugh in his voice as he takes my hand and brings it to his cock, guiding me to wrap my fingers around the silky yet very hard surface. “Should I have warned you I’m not small?”

  My eyes flick up to meet his and I see him grinning that famous grin. I know I was wet before but a gusher has just exploded between my thighs. I want to know him, feel him, experience this gorgeous cock. I mean really…yes, please!

  Eric claims my mouth, unlocking and molding it with the most hypnotically sexy kiss that my knees weaken. I hook my leg around him, using one to balance on, my back against our shirts. I moan with need as he bends to penetrate me for the first time, guiding himself up against my dripping channel.

  As the tip presses in he growls, “Oh, fuck you’re so wet,” and slowly pushes deeper into me, getting me used to his size, his width. Whimpers of desire are sent from my mouth to his, making him echo them with throatier versions. I throw my other leg up, desperate for more, letting him hold me. He plunges in, eyes rolling back on this primal moan. Three quick thrusts of urgency, he gives me, before slowing down to long strokes, his chiseled hips grinding me. “You’re so tight,” he moans. “So fucking tight for me.”

  Stepping away from the boulder so he can fuck me without worrying about my back getting scratched, he bends his legs to hammer as hard as he can, our lips together in a hot, moaning kiss. Fucking like this for a good long while, I cry out in his grunting mouth as an orgasm shimmers from my core. Eric starts biting his lips, nibbling on mine, grimacing and trying to hold back his own climax. The forest is quiet around us, a showcase for our ragged breaths.

  “Oh god,” I moan, gripping his back and tensing all over. “I’ve never felt like this!”

  “That’s right, give it to me. Cum for me. Give me everything you’ve got, Sweet Tits.”

  I start laughing and he grins, but loses the smile as his hips work faster, pumping his engorged cock with abandon. It’s everything I need. Animalistic and without shame. I cum like this, wrapped around him, eyes squeezing shut in shock as I tremble. Suddenly his lips are on mine, drinking in my whimpers as my pussy clenches around him in hot bursts. Eric gasps free and sets me down, cumming outside of me and reaching for my hand. I grip his and grab onto his body, hugging him and kissing his back as it jerks under his ecstasy. “Fuck, I’m sorry,” he gasps, “I didn’t want to cum inside you without your permission and then it just hit me and I had to pull out like that. Fuck! I can’t stop cumming. What the hell?”

  “It’s okay,” I murmur into his shivering back. “It’s okay. I loved it. It’s okay.”

  He rises like a shot, loops an arm around me and yanks my face to his, staring at me a hot moment before kissing me hard. “You’re amazing, Wren, you’re fucking incredible. I could kiss you for days.”

  Chapter 26

  WREN

  “So, this is your place?” Eric glances around my shoe-shack. “Clean.”

  Thank God I scrubbed it top to bottom.

  “It’s small, I know.”

  Genuinely his eyes land on me as he asks, “Why does one person need more space?”

  “I like it here.”

  He shrugs like the subject is closed and mutters, “That’s what matters,” walking to a shelf I hung in the wall, myself, so I could showcase those pictures on it. “This your mom? She looks just like you. Shorter hair.”

  Smiling, because that’s what I always think, too, I stand by his side, both of us staring at her laughing image. “Yeah, she says I’m her second chance at greatness. Like God made two of us in case she didn’t get there.”

  “Well, she’s hot as fuck,” he says, matter-of-factly. He laughs and bumps our shoulders together.

  “Don’t talk about my mom like that.”

  “I’d do her.”

  “Stop it!”

  He starts tickling me and I fight him off. “What…you don’t want me hooking up with your mom, Wren? What’s wrong with you, are ya some kind of tattooed prude? I’ll tell you what, you can have my Dad in return.” He winces and shakes his head. “Okay, joking about that kind of sick shit is over.”

  “See?! Not funny, huh?”

  “Not funny. I was wrong. Except for this!” His fingers tear into my ribs again, tickling like crazy. I scream and dodge him, running into my kitchen. He dashes in after me, spreading his arms to full wingspan so I can’t escape again. I move left and he moves right, both of us looking sneaky. I duck to try and run under his arms. He scoops me into the air, flips me upside down sending my sunglasses and keys clattering to the spotless tile.

  “Forget what I do for a living?”

  With all the blood charging into my face, I challenge him, “You throw a ball to other people! You’re not a catcher!”

  “Oh ho! Is that right?” Walking like Frankenstein he carries me off into my bedroom like this, upside down and helpless to escape. “I just hand the ball off, eh? Is that so? How about I hand you off right now!” I yelp as I’m flung onto my full size bed, white comforter tugged tightly at the corners, orange and gold pillows stacked high against a pine headboard. Eric leans his back against a wall, crossing his arms as he watches me scramble to a more flattering position.

  “How’d you choose your tats?”

  Catching my breath I demand, “Why? Thinking of getting one?”

  Chewing on his lip, Eric stares into his thoughts. “My dad and his brothers all have matching ones. My cousins and I should do the same. At first I thought maybe it would be just the faction of us who hangs out the most, but it’d be better if we all did it.”

  “Faction?”

  “I’ve got a lot of cousins. Seventeen, so some of us have sort of grouped together over the years, we’re closer to each other than the others.”

  “I’ve heard of some of your family,” I confess, tearing off my shoes and throwing them to the ground so I can sit on my heels. “You can’t live in Atlanta and not know about the Cockers.”

  “Which ones?”

  “I know your uncle was a Senator. I know about his daughter because everyone does, after what happened with them.” Eric nods, eyes flickering with the weight of their story. I continue, “Your cousin Gabriel of course, which is her brother so basically them who are the most famous out of your family, huh?”

  Eric scratches the back of his head. “I’m no slouch.” He catches a pillow I throw at him.

  “Besides you.”

  Chuckling he spins the pillow on his finger and then tosses it back and walks over, pointing to the birds tattooed on my right hand. “There, those are for your name, right?” I nod, and he smirks, “The one on your back I still haven’t gotten a good look at.” Tugging back the fabric he studies it. “This a phoenix?”

  “Mmhmm.”

  “Is there a reason?”

  “No matter what happens I can always rise up and find my way out of the ashes.”

  Eric sits on the bed with me. “Scoot over, let me get a better look.” I adjust so that my back is to him, and throw my hair over one shoulder. He lifts my shirt off, fixes my hair again so that nothing blocks his view, and unsnaps my bra. From my neck to my tailbone the pads of his fingers slowly make a trail of goosebumps sing into my ski
n. He kisses the tattoo, lingering to whisper, “I wanted to check this out since the first day I met you, and here I am, kissing it.” I sigh as his hands slip around and fondle my breasts while his lips caress my shoulders, my neck, all the while taking his sweet time.

  He lowers us onto the bed and I melt into him, our legs entwined as hazel eyes explore all aspects of my face. They’re darker with the blinds down, the sun of Cascade Park gone now. There they looked more green.

  Eric murmurs, “What’s this scar here in your eyebrow?” tracing it with a lazy finger.

  “I fell on the monkey bars when I was four.” Caressing a scar on his chin I ask, “Is this from the game against the Bears last year when you got ambushed?”

  “Nah. Got this in Junior year of high school during practice. I was being lazy and didn’t secure my helmet. Got tackled and it went flying off. I smacked my jaw on the ground, lost a tooth.” Opening his mouth he pokes at it. “This one’s fake. Looks pretty good, huh?”

  Nodding I touch it, too. “Can’t tell at all.”

  “Modern technology, right?”

  “Amazing.”

  You’re amazing, Eric. What are you doing in my room?

  He drops down to kiss me and I respond. As our tongues dance, one of his hands slides down my stomach then disappears into my shorts to cup the throbbing part of me. I slip my fingers into his hair, enjoying the warmth, the soft texture, as we kiss. A moan escapes and Eric groans in reply, his erection more insistent against my inner thigh now. We adjust our bodies so he can slip my shorts off. I tug his pants over his hips and he does the rest, unbuttoning his shirt next while I gaze at his disciplined muscles and rippling flesh. His skin, so warm, presses into mine as he lies on top of me, weight giving in to gravity as our mouths play and get to know each other better. The boulder, the dappled sunbeams, the open terrain of the forest was amazing.

  Yet so is this.

  Our hands explore each other’s nakedness as our kisses never hurry, tongues dipping in and out, paired with sighs and moans. The pad of his thumb circles my clit. Without thought our bodies shift, my legs spreading for him and Eric gracefully adjusting to penetrate me while we kiss. I stiffen as his girth stretches my sore walls. His cock feels like bottled heaven, and the slight tinge of pain only adds to my pleasure. One of his hands cups my head, the other my ass as he slowly thrusts his strength between my thighs, giving me all of him with each stroke. My fingernails dig into his skin as I lose myself in the pleasure of being with this man.

  “Eric,” I moan, breath shortening, “You feel so good inside me.”

  He kisses me and rasps, “You’re amazing. I’m stunned, Wren. Out of my body, yet I’m right here, you know?”

  “Me too.” Arching my back as his length reaches the furthest point in me I reach for a kiss and Eric dives down to claim my mouth. After a deliciously long while I gasp, feeling my orgasm hovering on the edge of my core. Long beats of pleasure pulse just under the surface and I whisper to him, “I’m on the pill, take it every day.”

  He kisses me once before asking, “You want me to stay inside you then?”

  “Yes, please stay.”

  Our mouths find each other. I feel him becoming harder, filling up. The ache grows in both of us, hurting for release but not wanting this to end. I inhale sharply as he slows down but increases the depth, and each time the stroke dives in, his generous size fills me.

  Eric groans and I know he’s close. His kisses become urgent, even desperate. Our hands dig into each other as we abandon ourselves to the fire. His chest fills with air as he gasps, tears from the kiss and roars, unleashing his orgasm and taking me over the cliff of ecstasy with him. I tremble in his arms. Going tense with heat as he slams sure strokes, wincing before he blinks and gazes into my eyes, trying to catch his breath.

  In amazement Eric thickly whispers, “You know why Peter had to do what he did?”

  Confused he’s bringing that up now, I frown, “Why?”

  “Because otherwise you would’ve stayed with him, and you’re not meant for him. You’re meant for me.”

  Touching his face, my heart melts, my body boneless. “Oh, Eric, don’t say things like that to me today. It’s too scary.”

  Lowering into a quick kiss he tells me, “I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

  Chapter 27

  ERIC

  “Holy fuck this itches so bad,” I grumble under my breath in front of my locker as Coach passes me and cocks an eyebrow.

  “What is it?”

  We’re getting ready to go out on the field, excitement crackling in the air before the game. I don’t want to show him my right hand, fingers red with tiny blisters.

  He grabs it and freaks out, “What the hell!?”

  “Poison ivy.”

  He paces in a circle like the two words themselves are propelling his stunned ass around. “Are you fucking kidding me? Are you insane? You grew up here and you didn’t know to avoid Poison Fucking Ivy??!”

  “You should see my dick.”

  He glares at me in horror. “Show me.”

  Dropping my pants he winces. “At least you don’t have blisters.”

  “Itches like a motherfucker. My girlfriend is wrecked, too.”

  Blinking back to my face his weather-beaten head cocks to the side. “Since when did you get a girlfriend?”

  “Remember that guy I punched?”

  “Yeah?”

  “He was cheating on her.”

  Slapping his palm to his head he spins around again, then comes over and slaps my forehead, too. “This is why I said don’t get serious with anyone until after the Playoffs are over!”

  “Because I’d catch poison ivy?”

  “Yes, that’s why! Because I was terrified you’d catch…get out of here. No wait, fuck I can’t believe I’m saying this against the damn Patriots, but you give me no choice. I’m playing Rivers today instead of you.”

  “No! I’m still playing.”

  He heads away and I jump over the bench, run in front of him and walk backwards at his quick pace. “Coach!”

  “Forget it, Cocker.”

  “Don’t do this, Coach. Let me in there!”

  “Your hand’s fucked up. Your dick looks like you set it on fire. I don’t even want to know what you’re not showing me. I bet your asshole is blistered to bits!”

  “It’s not! It’s fine! I’m good. Let me out there! I can do this!”

  “No,” he mutters, pushing my aside. “Rivers is starting our season today. Be more careful next time!”

  Staring after him, I’m a statue in a swarm of exiting players, most of ‘em overhearing what’s going on, and telling the ones who didn’t. They hit me on the shoulder pads as they stride past. “Sorry, Cocker.” “Yeah, tough break.” “Next game.”

  Stunned I trudge back, grab my helmet and head onto the field to rot on the bench.

  Trouble is Rivers isn’t mentally prepared to cover for me, or to shine. He played some exposition games but this ain’t college football, and some guys crumble under pressure.

  Rivers is one of those guys today.

  I don’t sit on the bench. Not one minute. I’m standing the whole time, pacing, the stadium in an uproar every time he calls a bad play. It’s almost halftime and the Patriots have scored three touchdowns, missed one field goal, so they’ve got twenty-seven to our nothing. Coach won’t look at me. The team is dismal. When offense runs off the field, Rivers is always glancing to me like he’s sorry, and I just give him a nod. “Come back. You can do it!”

  There’s nothing about his face that says he believes.

  The team’s morale is in the shitter and it’s all my fault.

  At half time we get the speeches. Coach is pissed. Still won’t look at me, and now the other players are following his lead. He’s barking orders, things like, “I want to see some sparks out there! You guys are running like you want to lose! Pretend you’re on fire and go, goddammit!”

  “Yes, Coach,” the t
eam says in disheartened grumbles.

  “Mott! What the fuck was that hole you left their linebackers that last play, huh? You want to give them an invitation to sack Rivers? Put a doily on it and send it First Class Priority, that your fuckin’ goal out there?”

  “No, Coach.”

  “Protect him! And you guys! What the fuck do you think the guards are for, to look pretty! Back Mott up!”

  “Yes Coach!” the guys say in unison.

  “Take back this game. Make me proud!”

  As everyone preps for the game’s second half that female reporter from CNN weasels her way in the locker room, same cameraman right behind. “Eric! Why aren’t you in the game?”

  Coach gets in front of me, crossing his arms. “Cocker got a case of poison ivy and we don’t want it getting worse for our away game next weekend.” I hold up my right hand as he continues, the corners of his eyes and lips tight with repressed anger as he tries to be diplomatic. This is a live feed after all. “These things can last sometimes two weeks and we…”

  “I’m willing to play but he wouldn’t send me out there.”

  Coach slowly turns around and glares at me. He’s about to object but the reporter jumps in, holding the mic from her mouth to his, “So, you’re the reason we’re losing out there?”

  His lips part. The man is speechless.

  I threw him under the bus.

  But I did it for a reason.

  Because I like to win.

  Facing the camera I clap a proud left hand on Coach’s shoulder, give it a squeeze as I grin to Lady CNN, “He just told me and the team, blistered hand or no, I’m playing the second half. We’re about to take the Patriots to their knees!”