Time Out: A Holiday Sports Romance

by Amanda Heartley

  “Me either,” I insisted, turning in my barstool so I faced her. She was just out of reach as she continued to pace frantically. “And you’re so much smarter than me, I figured—”

  “No, I’m not!” she snapped, pausing in her tracks to glare at me. “Who said that? I’m completely ignorant about all this… this… relationship stuff!”

  She looked so serious, her hands on her hips, her eyes glaring at me, but she obviously didn’t realize her robe had fallen wide open and she flashed me her boobs. I couldn’t help but laugh. Surprised—maybe even pissed—at first, she looked down to what I was staring at and busted out laughing as well. “So we’re both lost,” she said, sighing as she pulled her robe tight and slumped back into a chair. “We’re obviously confused. I mean…how can they do this to us?”

  “They don’t even know, babe.”

  “I know, but it’s just so stupid. I finally found the man of my dreams, only for my mom to take it all away. It’s not fair. I mean…we’re just—”

  “Out of time,” I said, reaching out to still her frantic rambling with a hand on her knee. “We’re out of time, Avery. Time is running out and I don’t want to waste any of it arguing or fighting or anything stupid like that.”

  She nodded, then shook her head, peering down at my hand before inching just out of reach. “I know, Craig. I don’t want to waste another second of our last day together, but… but I can’t sleep with you, either.”

  “Don’t say that, Avery. You mean, you can’t fuck me, right? We don’t have to fuck, we can still sleep together one last time.”

  My voice sounded hopeful, even as her eyes looked doubtful. I felt her slipping away from me and grew, in a word—desperate. The thought of going back home—alone—after seeing her again, filled me with dread. And so, flailing around for an idea, my mind finally—and gratefully—hit on one.

  “Listen,” I said, a hand on each knee as if I could literally hold her in place. “Pretty soon, or at least once our parents move in together, we’re going to have to be in the same house, right?”

  “Yeah,” she said, slowly, dragging out the single syllable as if it was endless.

  “So, I mean… how hard is that going to be, right?”

  “Very,” she agreed, still doubtful.

  “So maybe tonight, instead of fucking, we could just sleep together?”

  She rolled her eyes. “In the same bed, Craig?”

  “Naturally,” I chuckled.

  “You know I can’t do that,” she insisted, shaking her head, but not standing to kick me out, either. “I mean, your body next to mine? Me, restless in the middle of the night? You just lying there sexy as you are? You know I can’t do that. Not without wanting more.”

  “That’s the whole point,” I insisted. “Imagine what it’s going to be like in your mom’s house—”

  “Or your dad’s,” she interrupted.

  “My point exactly,” I said, mirroring her words from just a moment earlier. “Both of us in bed, late at night, the house quiet, tossing and turning, just wanting to—”

  “Fuck each other?” she interrupted, chuckling saucily as I felt my dick leap at the thought.

  I nodded, so lost in the details of the fantasy her voice yanked me back into reality. “My point exactly, Avery. We… we need practice, before all that happens.”

  She stood abruptly, without a word. Striding into the kitchen she opened the fridge and poured herself a glass of wine. “Want one?” she asked after a long, slow sip.

  I shook my head. “Got any beer?”

  She nodded. “Just the stuff you left here,” she said, handing me a long-forgotten bottle of winter lager.

  “Surprised you haven’t thrown it out by now,” I said, taking the open bottle from her.

  “I tried,” she confessed, peering past her wine glass around the apartment. “Tried to throw out your old boxers and towel, your ball cap and other stuff you left here, but I couldn’t.”

  I studied her while taking another sip. “Maybe you knew I’d be back,” I teased.

  She smirked, warmly, as if rounding the bend on making her decision. “Maybe I hoped you’d be back.”

  “I wanted to,” I said. “So badly, more than you’ll ever know.”

  “Not more than I wanted you to.”

  “So, if we both want each other, what the fuck are we doing apart?”

  She smiled slyly. “Practice, remember?”

  I nodded, then so did she. “Fine, Craig. We’ll try sleeping together, but I’m not sure it’s a good idea.”

  Thirty-One

  Avery

  “I told you this was a great idea.”

  His voice was soft and low, the bedroom dark as I felt Craig stir beside me. “Bad idea,” I groaned, turning inevitably as I’d been wanting to do for the past hour. Sure enough, Craig was on his back, shirtless, arms behind his head, beautiful athletic body splayed out temptingly on the sheet beneath him. “I said this was a bad idea.”

  He turned to me, his eyes sparkling in the moonlight peeking through the window. “Yeah,” he purred, his voice soft from the late hour, but far from sleepy. “But now that we’re here, I mean…”

  I sighed, resigned to the fact that no matter what happened in the next few hours before daylight, neither of us was getting any sleep tonight. “You mean what?” I teased, turning to him and propping myself up with one hand while my other slowly crawled toward him. “I’ll finally quit tossing and turning and roll over and… and…”

  “And?” he finished for me, his face lean and sexy in the soft moonlight, body just as tempting as his long, flat belly quivered with desire. “Fuck me?”

  The word was like a lightning bolt in the dark, turning on my brain as if unlocking the words I’d been trying to utter all night. “Fat chance, lover boy” I murmured as my fingertips gently slid across his stomach. I felt him jolt, silenced by my touch. Taking his silence for encouragement, I let my hand rove across his bare torso, just like it had wanted to all night.

  He was flawless beneath my touch, his breathing growing harder and faster the closer I got to the waistband of his boxers. His breath wasn’t the only thing growing harder as my fingertips danced along the soft blue cotton—his cock was thick and hard as well.

  I wanted to joke or tease him about it, wanted to deny it, but more than anything I wanted to touch it. To taste it, suck it and please him. For old time’s sake, I told myself, admiring the length of him as I reached beneath the fabric to stroke him.

  He gasped, trembling in my hand as I used his natural juices to lubricate his fat prick. He peered up at me, our eyes meeting in the dark, and opened his mouth to speak.

  I shook my head before he could utter a word, silencing him with a look. “Don’t say anything,” I whispered in the dark. “This is practice, remember? So, pretend… pretend someone might hear us and just… let me please you this way, okay?”

  He nodded, wide-eyed as I gently tugged his boxers down to mid-thigh, trapping him in place as his cock leapt free. I’d forgotten how majestic it could be, wet, hard and slick in my hand. It felt forbidden, somehow. A stolen moment in the dark, as if we were already related and doing something taboo.

  Perhaps that’s why I wanted to please him this way. I leaned forward and kissed his tender tip, drizzling my own drool along his velvet shaft before inching back to admire its girth as I continued to stroke and jerk him in the creaking bed.

  As if someone might hear—or perhaps burst in at any moment—I remained silent admiring the effects of my late-night hand job on my quiet, squirming lover. I stroked his cock slowly, as if we had all the time in the world, even though we could both hear the mental ticking of the clock as our time together wound down, inevitably, to an end neither one of us wanted.

  Growing aroused myself, I crept to a sitting position, not just to make it easier for me to lick and swirl my tongue around the tip of this quivering cock, but to silently and stealthily slide on top of one of Craig’s strong, mus
cular thighs.

  Thirty-Two

  Craig

  “Fuck.”

  “Shhh…don’t say a word.”

  Her pussy was wet and slick on my thigh, even through her panties. Her eyes were luminous in the dark, her soft ponytail bouncing loosely as she ground her wet, swollen mound against the muscle of my left thigh.

  She was still in her robe and as she gently stroked my throbbing prick, it gave way with every tug and pull. I would have reached up to drag it open, but I was too aroused to move my hands. Instead, time did the job for me, the sash loosening with every grind of her hips.

  Her robe fell open and her soft, round breasts swung free. Avery bit her lip and gently, shrugged her shoulders so it slid free entirely. Removing her hand from my prick only momentarily to tug the sleeve off, she readjusted herself, gripping my left thigh with one hand while stroking my cock with the other.

  She slowed her rhythm, focusing on her pleasure as well as mine while I watched. Her nipples tightened, her eyes closed to slits and her back arched as she gently ground her pussy against my leg.

  Greedily, impatiently, she wriggled left and right, up and down then got up quickly and removed her panties. We both gasped, at the sudden sensation of skin on skin and then our eyes met and I began to help her grind and moan her way to her first orgasm.

  It came quickly, the wetness spreading across my thigh as she bit her lip and came, her thighs firmly clenched around my leg.

  Gasping silently in the dark, her back arched and using my cock as a handle, Avery writhed and rode my thigh to another orgasm. She was so hot and wet on my thigh, and I loved pressing my thigh up against her flesh when she ground down on it and pulling it away with a slick, wet sound when she rose.

  She came one more time, biting her lower lip to keep herself from screaming, squeezing but not stroking my cock until she shook her head, denying herself the pleasure she so obviously craved. “Enough,” she croaked, her voice hoarse from the effort. “I have to save a few if we’re… if we’re going to do this all night.”

  “All night?” I asked. “But I thought—”

  “I thought we could, you know, go until we have to get ready for the wedding,” she suggested.

  “Jesus,” I said. “That’s… we don’t need to get to the wedding until four.”

  “No shit,” Avery said, nodding toward the alarm clock by the bed where the face read 4:02 in glowing red numbers. “That gives us twelve straight hours to get this out of our system.”

  I chuckled. “You know that won’t be enough time.”

  “Of course it won’t,” she said, wriggling slickly down my thigh as she bent to kiss the wet, purple tip of my cock. “But it’s as good an excuse as any to spend half-a-day in bed with you.”

  I nodded, silent at the thought of what might happen after those twelve hours were up. For her part, Avery did her best to bury her own emotions, her hand energetically stroking me as she scooped between her legs to gather up her own come and used it to lubricate my cock. Wet, and extremely horny, I came almost immediately, surprising us both as geysers of jizz coated my chest and stomach.

  Avery milked me deliciously, until my tired prick couldn’t take any more. Sliding down on her side, Avery continued to finger paint in the puddle of splooge on my stomach, smiling wickedly as I sighed and trembled at her touch.

  “I’ll miss this,” she purred, tossing a thigh on top of me.

  “What?” I teased. “Giving me hand jobs in the dark?”

  “Yeah, but everything else, too.”

  Her voice trailed off, lost and sad, and I squeezed her tight around her waist. “Let’s not think about that,” I murmured, kissing her hair.

  “Let’s not think of anything,” she said and desire inspired, but body unwilling, I nodded, sliding out from beneath her to kneel on the bed.

  “This might help,” I said, guiding her thighs open as I crawled between them. Gently, I peppered her trembling belly with soft kisses, inhaling her fragrant scent then trailing down her soft mound to lick her thighs. I moved my tongue firmly against her clit, feeling her heat and tasting her desire before licking her clean.

  “It’s a start,” she teased, pressing her pussy against my lips as I licked her more earnestly. The minutes slipping into hours as the night turned to day. Our last day as lovers—and our first as brother and sister.

  Thirty-Three

  Avery

  “It’s beautiful, Mom,” I said, admiring her dress—soft and simple and a dark blue colored – in the grand foyer of her client’s mini-mansion.

  “I know,” Mom said, auburn hair pinned up to highlight a small, understated tiara. “Isn’t this house simply sumptuous?”

  I rolled my eyes. “I meant your dress, Mom,” I explained. “Your tiara, your hair, you!”

  Mom stopped for a moment, listening to my words as they finally registered. “Thanks, sweetie,” she said, squeezing my hand as we stood together in a rare quiet moment amid the big day’s hustle and bustle.

  Outside, the sun was shining and it was warm for December. Perfect for the wedding. On a vast lawn covered with white folding chairs in front of a simple gazebo, thirty guests—and one very nervous groom—waited patiently for Mom to arrive. But for now, it was just the two of us, the bride and her bridesmaid, in the quiet splendor of a beautiful home decked all the way out for Christmas. “You look beautiful, too!”

  I rolled my eyes again. “Are you kidding me?” I asked, reaching down to fix the fluffy hem of my ridiculous last-minute green prom dress. “I look like a Christmas tree. No, make that a Christmas shrub!”

  Mom’s face was deadpan. “But that’s the idea, sweetie,” she said. “Randolph and I are wearing blue and you and Craig are wearing evergreen to celebrate the season.”

  The thought made me smile. Not just to imagine Craig in an evergreen suit, but his birthday suit just as I’d left him an hour earlier to meet Mom at the hair salon before her nuptials. “I understand the concept,” I said, hearing the strains of Christmas music from the jazz trio playing on the deck outside. “I just didn’t realize I’d look so ridiculous.”

  “You look beautiful, dear,” Mom scoffed with a playful, half-joking wink. “Besides, I can’t let my gorgeous daughter upstage the bride on her wedding day, now can I?”

  I chuckled, squeezing her hand back as we turned to face the patio. Inches from where we stood lay a red carpet stretching from the foyer to the sunken living room, through the sliding glass doors, across the deck and out toward the gazebo.

  As Mom slid her hand out of mine to fix her tiara one last time in the resplendent gold mirror hanging above a matching table in the foyer. My eyes followed the carpet outside to the restless crowd of family, friends and strangers assembled on the lawn. They chatted amiably as white lights that were wound around the deck railing, along the fence and illuminating the gazebo twinkled like stars. Beyond them, looking dashing despite the color of his suit, Craig stood anxiously, adjusting and readjusting his tie over and over, that is, when he wasn’t doing the same for his father’s as well.

  I smiled at the sight of him, only to frown at the thought of him. My brother, now and forever—or at least until death our parents did part. Scrubbing the unpleasant thoughts from my brain, I was relieved to hear the strains of “Here Comes the Bride” interrupt the Christmas music outside.

  Mom and I froze, then quietly chuckled at our reaction. Mom and I had never been particularly close, and I was certainly no fan of her choice of a groom for my own selfish reasons, but I was happy to see her happy. “I think they’re playing our song,” I said, nudging her shoulder playfully as we lined up, side by side, the way Mom’s fifty dollars an hour wedding planner had taught us to just before the ceremony.

  “They are indeed,” she said, taking my hand as we proceeded down the red carpet. We grew silent as we approached the sliding glass doors, the folding wooden chairs creaking as every head turned to watch us.

  I blushed at the sudden att
ention, even if it was for my mom. For weeks now, ever since she and Professor Robinson had dropped their Thanksgiving dinner bombshell, my mother’s wedding had just been an abstract thought. A day on the calendar, circled out of spite and dreaded every day it grew closer. But now that it was here, I felt the swell of emotion obliterate my selfishness.

  Mom was happy, even romantic for the first time in as long as I could remember. Who was I to squash that just because I had the hots for my soon-to-be stepbrother?

  Craig nodded at us as we approached and I noticed his eyes seemed to be wet and emotional too. Not just because of what was ending for us—but for what was beginning for our parents.

  As we got to the end of the red carpet, Mom and I stood side-by-side, facing her soon-to-be husband and my future stepbrother. I avoided looking into Craig’s eyes, and he avoided mine. Both of us fearing the world might see our blushing glances and know—know—what we’d been doing nearly every day for the last few weeks. Instead, I stood by my mother, watching her lock eyes with her fiancé and blush, cry and nod her way through the brief ceremony, presided over by one of her clients, Phil Noble—a minister.

  I got chills when Phil said, “I now pronounce you husband and wife,” and when Mom and Professor Robinson kissed, there was electricity in the air. The kind that told me this was true love and not just a marriage of convenience, then, as suddenly as it had begun, the ceremony was over.

  I watched silently as Mom and my new stepfather walked back down the aisle, the guests standing and applauding as they passed by. The minister followed, off to celebrate the holiday with his family, leaving Craig and I alone in the gazebo as the rest of the guests followed to the reception area being held in Mom’s client’s massive dining room.

  As we watched the guests retreat, eager for a sip of champagne or perhaps for a bite of brie and pâté, Craig and I looked at each other for the first time since becoming related.

  My heart pounded—as it always did in his presence. Handsome and hot as fuck—even in a winter green suit. I could only hold my breath until he cracked a crooked smile and said, “Hey, sis.”