So Much Trouble: Bad Boy Forbidden Love Romance Collection (So Wrong It's Right Book 4)

by Jamie Knight

  “Therefore, I don’t know how it is that you would go paling around with Elias Tucker. How exactly do you two know each other?” she demands.

  It’s none of her business, but I’m afraid that if I say that to her, she’ll be suspicious.

  I decide to punt, as the saying goes, and very appropriately, in this instance.

  “I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I have to go,” I tell her, walking over to the desk that any of the reporters using this room share, and putting it into my purse. “It was nice chatting with you though, Kirsten.”

  “Oh, don’t kid yourself into thinking I’m not going to expose you,” she says. “When I find out what’s up between you and Elias, it’ll be my main scoop that will propel me to journalism stardom.”

  Wow, she sure has a huge ego, I think to myself, as I shrug and push past her on my out the door.

  “Good night, Kirsten,” I say, telling myself to fake it ‘till I make it out the door.

  My heart is racing and my palms are sweaty.

  That was a close one. I need to stop being so stupid. I need to knock off this silly obsession I have with Elias Turner. But how?

  But my pussy is still dripping wet and seems to be shouting out its own response.

  No. Go on the date with him. Let him take your virginity, goddamn it.

  For once in your life, do the thing you actually want to do!

  Chapter 12 - Elias

  The next day, I’m poking around outside the Leviathans’ locker room, trying to find what I’d planned to come get, plus anything else I might happen to notice along the way. I’m not supposed to be here – we’re supposed to be resting up for the big game – but that’s why it was the best time to come.

  I had promised Stacy I’d find out who tried to hurt her. And now I wanted to do that more than ever, so that I could smash that bastard’s head in.

  I had always thought that Stacy Allen was not only a super smart rising reporter, but also that she was super hot. But now that I’ve held her in my arms and kissed her, I feel something else for her.

  It’s not just my cock’s raging lust for her.

  Or even my heart’s pathetic fucking fluttering for her.

  It’s an overwhelming need to protect her.

  Now that I’ve kissed her, she’s fucking mine, and there’s not anything she or I could say or do to change that fact. So we’d best start accepting it.

  Step one will be starting to solve this mystery.

  Step two will be fucking her brains out.

  Step three will be winning the Superbowl and celebrating with my teammates and then with her.

  I know that step twenty-seven or so ends up with her and I having a bunch of babies. And I’m not too concerned with the logicistics for any of the steps in the middle, other than the one in which the mystery of who Stacy’s attacker is actually gets solved.

  I look at the door to the locker room, wondering how he had even gotten in here.

  Just then, above the archway, I see the security camera.

  That’s it.

  It’s what I came here for, risking punishment so close to the Superbowl.

  That’s what I have to get.

  But how?

  I hadn’t exactly figured that part out yet.

  I consider climbing up the door frame so that I can reach the camera and move it. Or throwing a rock up there to knock it down to where I can pick it up.

  But I know that all of these ideas are fucking stupid.

  I’d only ruin the footage I so desperately need to see.

  Let’s face it – I’m no crime scene investigator.

  But I might know someone who is.

  Just then, I hear a deep, familiar voice clear his throat behind me and say, “Elias. You so eager to win the game that you’re showing up to practice when I explicitly told you to stay home?”

  Fuck.

  What the hell is Coach Kramer doing here?

  But I had a plan for this. Just in case.

  It just means there’s no way I can get this security footage now, even if I could figure out a way to do it.

  Leave it to Coach K to come foil my plans.

  “Hey, Coach,” I say, nodding at him as if I’m not shocked and pissed to see him here, which I most certainly am. “I’d never disobey your orders. I just left something in my locker, is all.”

  “Oh, yeah?” he asks. “That’s funny, because so did I. What’d you leave?”

  “A book,” I tell him, without hesitation but with a very straight face, and he smirks.

  “A book? Elias. You’re a jock. You don’t read.”

  “Sometimes I do,” I tell him, shrugging again. “How about you? What’d you forget?”

  “My running shoes.”

  I’m pretty sure it’s a flimsy pretense he invented so that he could see whether his players were heeding his instructions or whether any of us would be here trying to get in some last-minute extra practice. But it’s not like I’m one to talk, when it comes to inventing flimsy pretenses to be somewhere I’m not supposed to be.

  After we both head into the locker room, the coach goes to his office and I go to my locker. I hurry to send a text while the problem of the video footage is fresh on my mind. Then Coach Kramer walks out carrying his running shoes, just in time to see me retrieve the book I had mentioned from my locker.

  365 Meditations for Athletes.

  “I never knew you to be a particularly zen-like man,” he says, when he sees it. “You’ve always seemed a bit high strung for that eastern religious stuff.”

  “All the more reason I need it, right?” I tell him. “Have a good night, Coach.”

  “You too, Elias.”

  As I walk back out to the parking lot, I can’t help but smile.

  I’m not sure I can get the information I came for. I’ll feel a lot better when I know that I can. But for now, I’m still feeling buoyant, thinking about how good it’ll feel when I take Stacy on a date and also take her virginity.

  I just know she’s a virgin.

  The way she looks at me.

  That shy smile.

  The way she walks.

  As if she’s trying to act more confident than she is.

  The way she kisses me.

  Like she wants me to take her in that way that no one has ever had her.

  It’ll be my pleasure.

  As soon as I can shake the coach off my trail.

  I notice that he’s looking at me as he heads to his car.

  I get into my own car and open up my book, which isn’t part of some elaborate scheme I’d planned out in advance, other than the fact that I’d told myself to say I’d forgotten that, if anyone walked in.

  I really do like the book. It’s just that I usually read it before practice or games and keep it in my locker – taking it home is the part I don’t usually do, but I can always bring it back.

  I might be a jock, but even jocks get nervous before big events – usually, I’d be referring to the Superbowl, but right now, I’m referring to my date with Stacy – and meditation calms the nerves.

  Day 20, I read, opening the book to today’s date and to where I’d last left off.

  May I be persistent in everything, striving to go after what I want with strength and focus and discipline.

  I wave to Coach Kramer as I see him drive off.

  Then I think about Stacy’s curvy body and innocent yet sexy eyes, and I smile.

  Today’s meditation is an easy one to take to heart.

  Chapter 13 - Stacy

  January may be one of New York’s coldest months, but just like they say it’s always five o’clock somewhere, it’s always summer, somewhere, too. And today, after managing to find my passport just in the nick of time – it was under the mattress of my bed, of all places – in order to go on my date with Elias, I find out that it’s summer in Tierra del Fuego, Argentina.

  Yeah.

  He actually brought me here for our date!

  I want to text C
larice to tell her how beautiful this place is. But I don’t have cell phone service, which, apparently, is a good thing.

  There are only so many places that Elias can take me that the press won’t hound us. On his plane on the way over here, he joked that he could keep me hidden here for his pleasure, for a long time until anyone ever found out. I joked back that I’d be a willing captive.

  Our flirtation has gotten so obvious. We are no longer in the “hate” part of our hate-slash-love relationship anymore. I guess we haven’t exactly gotten to the “love” part yet, but we’re somewhere in that “slash” stage, which involves a whole lot of lust.

  “Here you go, you wonderful people,” says the waiter at our restaurant, in a tone that says “I love rich American tourists,” as he puts some plates of tapas down in front of us.

  “Mmmm,” I exclaim, as I look at the delicious array of colorful food.

  I don’t know what to eat first, or even what all of it even is, but I’m famished after our long flight.

  “Where to start?” I ask out loud.

  “Try this,” Elias says, picking up some Argentine cheese from the plate and putting it into my mouth.

  “Yum!” I say, enjoying the feel of his fingers in my mouth almost as much as I enjoy the taste of the food.

  I can’t help but think about what other body parts of his were down my throat right now. My head spins with anticipation more so than the wine as I realize that tonight’s the night for that to happen.

  As soon as I’m done eating the bite of cheese, he’s feeding me salamis, tandil empanadas that are made with chicken, corn, and Argentinian beef, followed by some hot chorizos.

  “Is this not the greatest food you have ever had?” he boasts. “I fucking love this little restaurant by the sea.”

  “It really is delicious,” I tell him.

  “Just wait until you have the main course!”

  Sure enough, before we’ve even managed to make a dent in the appetizers, some Argentinian beef with a side of freshwater lobster is brought out. I’ve never dined like this in my entire life. My parents were frugal and lived simple lives. My mother would likely be ashamed at this display of wealth.

  But there isn’t much she isn’t ever acting as if I shouldn’t be ashamed of, I remind myself.

  I push thoughts of my life in the States behind so that I can enjoy this delicious meal and this date with Elias. I have to admit, I never knew he’d be such a casanova. I’ve tried to go on dates with other guys before, but they were always awkward or stilted. Elias is really pulling out all the stops.

  “I’m so stuffed I can barely move!” I exclaim, after polishing off some traditional Argentinian dulce de leche.

  “That’s a shame, then, since we need to dance soon,” Elias says, raising his eyebrows at me in that charming, sexy way I’ve come to know and love.

  “Dance?” I repeat.

  Now those eyebrows of his are wiggling in a devilish way.

  “Dance.”

  “I have two left feet!” I protest.

  And that’s really downplaying the situation. I haven’t really tried to dance because my parents forbade me from doing it, as they considered it to be a sin, and I have no rhythm.

  “Come on,” he says, standing up and holding a hand out to me.

  I take it, because I figure I’m already doing things I never thought I would do, so why not this? Dancing is probably one of the least craziest parts of any of this.

  We go out onto the patio where a band is playing sad, slow waltz music and he twirls me around. I watch the other couples dancing gracefully to the music and try to follow them. I surprise myself by finding it’s easy enough to mimic their steps because the lines their bodies make are clear-cut and definitive.

  As he spins me some more, I gain some confidence, and try a quick dip.

  “See?” Elias says. “You’re great at this!”

  I can’t help but smile broadly back at him, despite the somber tone of the music.

  Fake it ‘till you make it.

  It’s what I’m used to doing in my career and in life in general, since I was raised so sheltered and never really know how to interact with people or be strong in situations without mimicking what other people do, but I didn’t know it would serve me so well when it came to dancing.

  Elias and I start to get into perfect sync, the rhythm of our bodies matching each other as we dance. It’s incredibly sensual. I never knew I could get so turned on by dancing the Tango but I guess there’s a reason that the dance is known to be a passionate one, telling the story of love and hate – it’s almost as if it’s telling Elias’s and my story.

  After several more songs, Elias gives me a quick peck on my neck and says, “Shall we head out?”

  The Malbec I’d drunk during dinner seems to be affecting me now more than it was then. It must be because of the music and the mood.

  I nestle my head against his chest for one more moment, breathing in his scent and telling myself to always remember how I feel tonight.

  “Yes,” I tell him, when the moment has passed.

  He walks up to the band and gives them a very hefty tip. Then he takes my arm once again and says, “And now for the grand finale. The moment we’ve both been waiting for. Or at least, I sure have, anyway. Because now I’m going to take you back to our hotel room and make sweet love to you.”

  It’s certainly a perfect way to end a lovely date. I know I shouldn’t give it up on our very first one, but I feel like Elias has earned it, by flying me out here for such a unique occasion.

  Plus, I think, as I squeeze his hand excitedly as we walk on the cobblestone street back to our hotel, I don’t think I can wait another moment longer, either.

  Chapter 14 - Elias

  No one would ever guess that a big, cocky football player like me would know how to dance the Tango. And I prefer it that way.

  It isn’t something I like to shout from the rooftops. But with all the stress that comes from being a pro football player, having secrets, such as this tucked-away resort I like to come to, with the adjoining restaurant by the sea, seems to keeps me sane.

  It wasn’t that I ever set out to learn the Tango, but if you hang around these parts enough, you’re just kind of forced to. I had a good pair of husband and wife dance teachers who insisted on dragging me out there one day a few years back and showing me how it was done: the man would do the moves beside me and I’d mimic him.

  But I’d never danced as passionately or fully as I did with Stacy just now. There is a chemistry between us that is unmistakable. And a connection that is palpable.

  It didn’t hurt that she turns me on so much. All I wanted to do while we were dancing was devour her. My cock was so rock hard.

  In that sense, I guess it did hurt, both our dancing time, and my physical position. I decided we had to get back to the room, pronto.

  Now that we’re here, though, I almost feel like I’m back in middle school. Something about Stacy Allen turns me to jelly and makes me weak in the knees.

  Not that I’m going to show it, of course. When I feel that effect coming over me, I decide to tell her to get on her knees.

  “It’s time for your second dessert,” I tell her. “And I would hate to get any on your clothes, so take them off.”

  She obeys me, stripping off the pretty red dress she’s wearing, and getting down on her knees on the floor. It’s so hot I can’t resist parting her legs with my hands so I can feel how wet she is, which I soon find out is somewhere between soaking and drenched.

  “Fuck yeah,” I say, hurrying to take off my own clothes.

  “Wow,” she says, as she looks up at me. “I love the tats on your pecs and abs.”

  She reaches a hand up and then runs it down over the six pack I work so hard on at the gym. And I have never been happier that I do. I grab her hand, forcing her to stop, and slip my cock into her mouth.

  “Mmmm,” she moans, her pretty eyes looking up at me as her mouth is ful
l of my dick. “How did you know I was wanting to do this at dinner?”

  Because we’re meant to be, I want to tell her, but that would sound soft, so I say, “You know I’ve been wanting to ram my cock down your throat since the minute I first saw you.”

  Her nipples are hard, as if they’re calling out for my attention, so I reach down and play with them while I fuck her face. She takes my cock like a champ, deepthroating me while I squeeze and pinch her nipples.

  I bend down a bit to have better access to her hard little clit, rubbing it while squeezing her nipples. In the process, my cock comes out of her mouth a little, and she starts sucking on the head of it, and reaches down to cup my balls in her hand and play with them, without me having to tell her to do that.

  She really is my dream girl.

  I love her juicy ass and her big, full breasts. She is my perfect type physically, but emotionally, there’s also a strong connection between us. I love her personality, which is a mix of feistiness mixed with naivety.

  It’s as if she’s a bit scared of the world, but she’s not going to let that stop her from exploring it.

  I slip my fingers inside her folds while my thumb still circles her nub. She’s moaning as my cock is filling up her mouth again, and with my other hand, I pull her hair a bit and bring her face even closer to me.

  My cock is far in her mouth; it feels wrapped up and warmed by it. It feels so good that it begins to pulse and throb.

  I want to cum on her face, to watch it dribble down her chin and onto her breasts, where I could slide around on it and titty fuck her and then use that as lube to fuck her tight little asshole.

  But first, I want to pop her cherry. To take her pussy as my own for her very first time. So my other fantasy will have to wait. I’m sure there will be a lot more opportunities for me to do it.

  “Come here,” I tell her, standing her up and leaning her over the bed. “You’re a virgin, aren’t you?”

  She nods, just as I’d expected. But I’m glad for the confirmation.

  I spread her pussy and ass wide open, loving to see her curvy body as I’m about to enter it. She looks back at me with an innocent smile.