Hail Mary (BSU Football Book 2) Page 3

  He’s every woman’s dirty fantasy.

  And every dad’s nightmare.

  I hold eye contact with him for an uncomfortably long time.

  He finally gets restless and saunters to my table. He doesn’t sit down. “Are you stalking me?”

  “Is my pursuing you in an obsessive manner upsetting?”

  His gaze darts from my eyes to my lips, my hair and not so subtly to my breasts before making the trip back up. “Yes.”

  I close my textbook and fold my arms on the table, leaning into them and tilting my head to look up at his six-foot-something height. “Do you want me to stop?”

  “We had this conversation yesterday,” he growls.

  “That’s not an answer.”

  “Coach warned me to stay away from you.”

  I bet he did, controlling prick. “You don’t strike me as the kind of man who does what he’s told.”

  His eyes narrow. “How old are you?”

  “How old do you want me to be?”

  “Don’t fuck with me,” he says under his breath. “You told Ro you just graduated. But you were in the bar the night we—”

  “I have a fake ID.” I smile seductively at the thrill of seeing flickering dread behind his eyes. “I’m nineteen. Don’t tell me you actually care.”

  He runs a hand through his hair and scratches at his jaw, dusted in a day’s worth of beard growth. I have an urge to rub up against it and feel the burn against my skin. Lick from his throat to his lips—

  “Stop looking at me like that.”

  I uncross my legs under the table, feeling restless and hot. “Like what?”

  “Stay away from me.”

  Do I detect a quiver of unease in his voice?

  “I’m serious, kitten.”

  Kitten? Meow.

  “Promise me.”

  When I don’t answer he turns and storms out of the coffee shop.

  I’ve got him right where I want him. The bad news for him? I never do what I’m told.

  Chapter Six

  Spider

  Our team drags ass to the showers after a killer training session. Emery’s obviously getting to her dad in ways that don’t include me because he was in a foul fucking mood. Practice went two hours over, and half the team ended up puking on the sideline.

  The hot water is heaven on my fatigued muscles, and I plan to eat my weight in carbs as soon as the nausea wears off.

  Carey stands at the spigot next to mine. “Rowan told me you ran into Emery at Bean Madness.”

  I drop my chin to my chest allowing the water pressure to pound against my neck.

  “You need to leave her alone, man. If coach finds out—”

  “I know.” I’m fucking trying. Everywhere I look I see her. Between classes, in the commons, I swear she’s following me. “I’m trying.”

  “What do you mean you’re trying? Just do it.”

  If it were only that easy.

  I wish I’d never met Emery Brawley. I wish the night she approached me in the bar, wearing that conservative black dress, that I’d have brushed her off as a basic, uptight bitch. I wish I never saw the flicker of danger in her eyes, never tasted the rebel that lives beneath her librarian exterior. I wish like hell I could erase the memory of the filthy things she whispered in my ear while I pounded her into her floral bed sheets.

  But I can’t.

  She’s bad for me—an immoral indulgence wrapped in Sunday school teacher’s clothes. Her neurotic personality intrigues me. Am I too far gone, fallen so far that there’s no going back? Am I drunk on her deviancy that she’s tattooed on my insides now?

  I finish with the shower and wrap a towel around my waist. Once at my locker I use my towel to dry my hair when a tension fills the room with muttered what the fucks. I turn around and my gaze snags on the source of the disruption.

  Emery strolls through the room filled with a couple dozen naked men as if she’s leisurely browsing through Target.

  “Whoa, sweetheart,” Kaipo says, stepping in front of her in nothing but a white towel. His enormous body blocks her path; she takes a moment to openly appreciate his physique. “You can’t be in here.”

  She tips up her chin defiantly. “Says who?”

  “Says common sense. It’s the men’s locker room. Or did you not see the sign on the door.” He’s teasing her.

  I don’t like it.

  “Oh, I saw it. I just don’t care.”

  He stares at her for a silent moment before his booming laughter echoes through the concrete space. “All right then, honey.” He steps aside with a dramatic sweep of his arm. “Come on in. If testicles make you squeamish, I’d keep your eyes high.”

  “I appreciate the warning.” She sits on the bench in the middle of the room, all of us watching her with our towels held to our dicks. She takes a slow look around the space, not hiding her appreciation for the athletic bodies that surround her. Her gaze snags on mine and lingers until she eventually blinks away. “I don’t suppose any of you fine looking gentlemen would be interested in a date, would you?”

  At least a dozen men pipe up with some variation of “Yes, fucking, please.” Some of them step closer to talk to her, clearly unaware she’s Coach Brawley’s daughter. My other roommate, Loren, holds his hand out to her. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of jeans open at the fly. She takes his hand and smiles hungrily up at him. He pulls her to her feet and with his free hand reaches out and touches her hair.

  “Hands off.” The menacing tone in my voice surprises even me.

  Loren aims a worried glance at me, removes his hands from her, and takes a step back. “Sorry, Spider.”

  I ignore the punk, grab her by her elbow and drag her away from the group of drooling men into a sports medicine room with no windows. I slam the door, lock it, push her against the wall and cup her throat. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

  She’s breathing heavy, her pulse rapid-fire against my palm, and a soft purr hums in her throat. “Getting your attention.”

  I shove up into her space, pinning her to the wall with my terry-cloth-clad hips. “You got it. Now tell me what you want.”

  She bites her lip and wiggles against me, drawing attention to my quickly hardening dick sandwiched between us. “I think you know.” Her gaze darts down and she smirks. “Feels like you want the same thing.”

  “You want to fuck? Is that all this is?” I can feel her hot breath against my lips, her heaving breasts encased in starched cotton against my chest.

  “Does there have to be more?” She smiles seeming to enjoy my reaction to her baiting.

  “You want to use me to piss off your dad.”

  She pushes my towel to the floor and grips my hard-on in a tight fist. “That’s not all I want to use you for.”

  I hiss and roll my hips into her hand. “You want to play with me, kitten?”

  “You want to play with me too. You won’t admit it, but your body screams it. I’m right, aren’t I, Theodore?”

  Hearing that name from her lips is the ultimate pleasure-pain. I flex my fingers around her throat and a sigh falls from her parted lips. I rest my forehead against hers, breathing hard, pushing the filthy, demented sexual fantasies of the two of us together far from my head and yet they continue to flood my mind. “Yes.”

  I don’t know who moves first, only that suddenly our mouths fuse together and her tongue slips eagerly against mine. She tastes of sin and peppermint, her lips promising redemption only to drag me further into damnation. A temptress, she licks into my mouth coaxing me to deepen the kiss while she rubs her soft body against me. The idea that I could’ve resisted her advances was nothing more than an illusion, a lie I told myself. I was helpless against her advances that first night in the bar, and I’m helpless against her now.

  My breath catches when she bites hard on my lower lip. I rear back, grinning as the flavor of my own blood touches the tip of my tongue. “You’re dangerous.”

  “You have no i
dea.”

  “Coach is gonna have me shot.” I pant as she continues to stroke me.

  “I’ll handle him.” She pushes up on her toes and kisses me gently. “Don’t you trust me?” Her tone is teasing.

  “Not even a little.” This woman is unpredictable, and yet, her cunning has me aroused and captivated in the worst way.

  “I should probably go.” She releases her hold on me and a frustrated growl bubbles up from my chest. She slips out from between me and the wall, moving to the door as I brace my weight and catch my breath. “I’ll see you tonight.”

  “Tonight? Where—” The door closes behind her and I’m left alone, bare-ass naked with a nasty case of blue balls and my towel at my feet. After a series of deep breaths, I straighten up, wrap up as best I can, and storm out of the room.

  Carey, Kaipo, and Loren are there waiting for me, eyes wide and obviously trying to avoid my not-so-quickly deflating hard-on.

  “Dude.” Kaipo says. “You and Coach’s daughter?”

  I’m already committed, my dick insisting to have it no other way. “Yeah, I guess so.”

  He ignores my boner but keeps his distance to give me an awkward high-five. “You got brass balls. Coach’ll make you pay for slipping it to his little princess.”

  Carey shakes his head in disapproval. “I can’t believe you’re going for it.”

  “Why not?” Loren blurts. “She’s fucking hot. I’d take Coach’s bullshit any day to get a chance with pussy that pretty.”

  “Watch your fuckin’ mouth.” I’m about to lunge when Carey’s shocked gasp derails me.

  “Oh no,” Carey mutters with horror in his voice. “Don’t tell me…” He squints. “You’re actually falling for her.”

  “No. It’s just sex.” And no matter what I’m feeling inside, it’ll always only be just sex, because that’s all I’m capable of.

  Chapter Seven

  Emery

  Finding out where Theodore lives was easy. I asked a few cheerleaders in my psychology class and after they gave me a long hard look and dismissed me as a sexual threat, they spilled the address.

  My Uber pulls up to the gigantic house just before nine o’clock at night. I was expecting an overgrown yard littered with beer bottles and rusty workout equipment, not something out of a Martha Stewart magazine.

  I knock on the front door and smooth my pleated, tartan skirt that hits just above the knee. I check to make sure the silk scarf tied and bowed under my oxford collar is centered.

  “Coming!” The door swings open to reveal a super-muscled guy with dark skin and a playful smile. “Emery, right? I’m Kaipo, we met in the locker room.”

  With my shoulders stiff and my spine straight, I nod. “I remember. Is Theodore available?”

  “Theod—girl,” he chuckles. “You’re not gonna get anywhere with that man by calling him Theodore.”

  I don’t smile outwardly, but he must see the grin in my eyes.

  “Okay, Emery, I see you.” He laughs and opens the door wide with a smile. “Come on in, then.”

  I step inside the entryway; it’s so tall and wide my footsteps echo.

  “Yo, Spider! You have company!” He waits with me at the foot of the staircase.

  “Why do you call him Spider?”

  “His last name’s Web, and he throws a football like he’s got eight arms.”

  “Spiders have eight legs. Not arms.”

  “Who’s to say they’re not arms?”

  I shrug. “Science.”

  “No one listens to that.” A mischievous grin tilts his lips. “Do you know sign language?”

  “I know a little, yes.”

  “You know…” He lifts a brow. “My dick can speak sign language.”

  I crack a smile. “Really?”

  “Oh yeah. Feel like having a conversation?” He braces his hands on hips and rolls them forward and backwards. “Right now, he’s telling you he likes your headband.”

  “Your dick has great taste.”

  He wiggles his hips again. “My dick says thank you—”

  “Put it away.” The menacing growl comes from the top of the steps where Theodore stands gloriously topless scowling down at us.

  “All right, all right,” Kaipo winks at me. “I’ll see you around, Coach’s daughter.”

  “See ya.” I turn to look up at Theodore, who hasn’t moved to come down to meet me, so I guess that means I’m making the trip up. I stop two steps before the landing.

  “How did you know where I live?”

  “I’m not giving away my secrets.”

  His glare tightens.

  “May I?” I motion to the two steps still between us.

  He stiffly nods—one quick jerk of his chin.

  I tentatively wrap my fingers around his tattooed hand. Two breaths later and his fingers curl around mine. “See, that’s not so hard is it?”

  He doesn’t answer in words, but his expression softens in resignation. He shows me to his bedroom, closing the door behind me. Once again I’m surprised by how clean it is.

  “Have a seat.” He motions to one of the two chairs in his room.

  I ignore the chairs and sit at the edge of his bed. He watches with a voyeuristic heat in his gaze as I untie the bow at my neck. I pop the top button of my blouse, then the next and one more until the cleavage and white lace of my bra show. I kick off my flats, put my heel to the bed and scoot back to the middle, knees bent allowing my skirt to slip open and bunch at my hips.

  He bites his lip and an animalistic growl rumbles up his throat. “You have something against underwear?”

  “Unnecessary obstacle.” I unbutton the rest of my shirt, peeling the two sides apart. “You said you wanted to play with me.” I take the black silk that was around my neck and use it as a blindfold, tying it tightly over my eyes. “Let me be your playground.” I lie down on the bed, completely exposed and vulnerable. My heart races with excitement because a man like Theodore won’t be able to hold back his baser instincts when I offer myself as prey to his predator.

  His desk chair creeks and his bare feet pad against the wood floor, growing louder as he draws closer. I tremble with anticipation, the memories of our first night together still fresh in my mind, my body desperate to relive it.

  Fingers bite into the skin at my knees as he grips hard and presses them into the mattress. Exposing me to the cold air in the room, I gasp when his hot, wet tongue licks up my inner thigh. “You taste like forgiveness,” he mumbles against my skin.

  “What does—”

  “Quiet, kitten.”

  My pulse pounds at his display of dominance. I had a taste of it our first night together, but I sensed he held back. He bought the image—pearl earrings, sweater sets, and slacks. He thought I was delicate, that he had to go easy on me, treat me as if I’m breakable.

  No one in my life has ever gone easy on me, and he can’t break what’s already broken.

  Chapter Eight

  Spider

  I wasn’t sober the first time I hooked up with Emery. If I had been, I would’ve paid closer attention to the way my touch affected her. Learned all the ways to make her moan, catch her breath, bite her lip and squirm restlessly under my mouth.

  Like now, as I run my teeth along her inner thigh to the warm and welcoming apex of her thighs, she sucks in a stuttered breath.

  Even wasted, I remember loving her taste and sober she tastes even better.

  Savory, rich, and so fucking pure—she’s out of my league and yet here I am, eager to contaminate her with sin and debauchery.

  I lick into her body, poisoning her with ugly thoughts of ruining her for every man who comes after me. With a bruising grip on her thighs, I pin her knees to the bed and drown myself in her taste and her needy sounds. She buries her hands in my hair, gripping the strands and pulling until it hurts.

  I sit up and hold both her wrists with one hand. “Don’t touch me.”

  “You let me touch you before.”

&nbs
p; I bring her hands to my sweatpants and press them to my hard-on. “Only here.”

  A wicked smile tilts her lips. “Works for me.”

  I reach into my bedside table and hand her a condom. Still blindfolded she manages to open it and roll it on like she’s done it a million times before. I wonder what kind of rich, boarding-school assholes she’s let inside her body. I’ll kill every fucking one of them.

  I fall over her, bracing my weight on my elbows while kissing the white lace over her full breasts. Her nipples tighten between my lips, perfect pink beneath virginal white. She arches her back, lifts her hips, her body begging me to put out the fire I’d barely begun to stoke.

  The urge to fuck with her, bring her close only to leave her wanting, rides me hard. She sought me out, hunted me, and refused to listen when I told her to back off until I couldn’t resist her. She made me weak. Denial of pleasure would be the ultimate payback. Pain would be even better.

  My nostrils flare as I fight against my baser instincts. Her hands remain at her sides gripping the fabric of my comforter. I calm at the sign of her obedience. She wants to please me.

  I run a finger along her jaw and whisper, “It hurts you to be good, doesn’t it.”

  “Yes,” she breathes.

  “We have that in common.” I grit my teeth together and slowly sink inside her. My muscles shake with the effort it takes to keep from slamming my hips forward.

  Seated inside her, we’re both breathing heavy. Her lips part to accommodate her breath as I move inside her. She licks her lips, her mouth calling to be filled. I run my lip along hers in a brutal tease.

  “Kiss me,” she whispers.

  “No.” I use my tongue, my lip ring, and my teeth until she’s growling in frustration and trying to chase down my mouth. “How do you like it when you’re not heard, kitten? When your desires are left unmet?”

  Her jaw gets hard, her pretty mouth closes in a tight, defiant line.

  I dig my elbows into the bed and pick up my pace determined to wipe that look off her face. I kiss her throat, pull the tender skin between my lips and suck. Hard.