Challenge (27 page)

I grab her hand and drag her behind me. I swear I can hear her eyes rolling. “This is called the Cry Room,” I grin. “It’s where injured players are brought in to be examined.”

Her eyes are wide. “Wow, you guys have an X-ray machine in here?” I try not to take it personal that this room impresses her more than the pitch.

“Yeah. They X-rayed me before I left the field last week.”

“Interesting.” She walks around the room, touching anything of interest, which is pretty much everything. I stand in the doorway and drink her in like a creep, eyeing every square inch of her legs the entire time. “You have a staff doctor at every game, too? Does he travel with you?”

As I’m answering her, she slides her plaid shirt off her shoulders and ties the offensive material around her waist. Now she’s in nothing but a skimpy white tank top with tiny metal buttons begging to be unsnapped.

“Let’s revisit that part of our conversation where you said I was a great lay.”

“After all you shared out there, that’s what’s on your mind?” She stops in front of the large padded exam table and hoists herself up, kicking her feet nonchalantly.

I smile and walk slowly toward her. “You know, I was inside of you over twenty-four hours ago.”

She smiles and her cheeks flush. “I remember.”

“Think you’re feeling better down there?”

She looks down, revealing her innocence again. “You want to do it in here?”

I nod. “There are security cameras on the pitch. And since this is a medical room I thought it would be kind of poetic. I’ve been dying to play doctor/patient with you since the first time you kissed me in the ICU.”

“I didn’t kiss you! You kissed—”

I kiss the word kissed right off her mouth. With one flick of my tongue, she grabs me by the shirt and yanks me between her legs.

My hands stroke up her sides as she wraps her legs around my waist. “Is that a yes?” I murmur with a smile.

“Yes,” she gasps, and I finally get to rip those stupid fucking snaps open on her chest.

It was mostly just for dramatic effect because, five seconds later, I pull the whole bloody thing off of her, along with everything else she’s wearing. She immediately returns the favour, all but ripping my clothes off. Now, with her on the footstool, we’re standing skin-to-skin and eye-to-eye. She’s completely pressed flush against me as I ravish her mouth with my tongue.

After palming her arse and groping every delicious curve of her, I’m desperate to be inside of her. Without hesitating, I turn her around and bend her over the exam table. Her gorgeous hair splays out wildly, and she lets out an excited groan when I press myself against her backside. Propped on the footstool, she’s at the perfect height. I waste no time sinking my fingers into her wet, tight channel. I throb with appreciation, but I continue spreading her, prepping her for my entry. I need her ready for what I want to do to her next.

When my thumb grazes her back hole between her lush cheeks, she lets out the sexiest fucking groan. It’s a sound that makes no mistake that she likes what I’m doing to her. And that pleases me greatly.

When she begins bucking against my hand and begging for more, I pause my actions and dig a condom out of my jeans. I watch her back rise and fall with laboured breaths as I slide the rubber on.

Smiling, I bend over top of her, brush her hair off to the side, and breathe, “Now, Specs, this isn’t going to be slow and careful like last time. It’s going to be hard and fast.”

“Yes,” she exhales, moaning out loudly when I press my fingers down firmly on her clit, teasing the flesh in slow, rhythmic strokes.

“I’m going to really fuck you this time.”

“Yes.” She sounds like she’s going to come already.

“Have I mentioned I love your noises?”

“Camden, just do it already!”

A mighty cry erupts from her when I slam myself inside. I have to close my eyes because she’s still so tight and it feels even better than the first time. I pause, allowing her body to adjust. Her laboured breaths come hard and fast.

“Are you good?” I pant.

“God, yes,” she cries.

I position one hand on her cheek, massaging and gripping while the other skirts around to her front and swipes at her slickened nub.

“Oh my God,” she cries out as I start to move inside of her.

My head drops back as I thank the world of football for giving me this after taking so much away. “This is why I needed more time.”

I pump into her faster, feeling every inch of me slip in and out with wet, firm strokes. Her body squeezes me like she doesn’t ever want me to leave and, God, I could imagine living here just like this.

My continued assault on her clit it fruitful. “Oh my God!” Her voice is high and alarmed.

“Not yet, we’re doing this one together,” I say, letting go of her front and gripping her hips in both of my hands. I pull her back into me with every hard thrust I push forward. I bounce her supple arse on me and hit even deeper than before.

“Camden,” she cries again, and I feel everything inside of her tighten around me. It’s so incredible that I can’t hold back.

I slam into her one final time. The cries of her release are what push me over the edge, too. Quaking, shaking, and trembling as I pulsate everything I have inside of her. Or inside the condom, I should say.

When I finish, I hunch over her back, both of our breaths heavy and sated.
Christ, I don’t remember anyone ever feeling this good.

That’s a disturbing thought, so I quickly pull out and walk to the loo to clean up. While I toss the condom, I recall the last time I had sex with a girl twice in this short amount of time. It was probably that model a few months ago. I knew the second time with her was a mistake because, as soon as we finished, she tried to make plans with me for the next night. When I refused, it turned into a social media smear campaign that had my dad breathing fire at me for weeks.

Thank fuck this has a clear kill date on it because things are already getting confusing.

Indie’s already dressed when I come back. As she watches me put my clothes back on, I do my best to forget about the odd thoughts racing through my mind.

When I look up, she’s shaking her head in wonder. “There’s no way the next one is going to be that good.”

“What are you talking about?” I pull my shirt down over my head and button up my jeans.

“You don’t want to know. You’ll think I’m a head case.”

“I already kind of do and I still want to fuck you.” I force a congenial smile. “Tell me.”

“I can’t. I refuse.” She crosses her arms over her chest.

“I could force it out of you.” My brows lift playfully, but deep down I’m frustrated by how badly I need to know what’s inside her mind.

She makes a move like her lips are sealed. Without hesitation, I shoot toward her, clutching her sides in my hands and fiercely tickling her against the exam table. Her noises are infectious. Before long, my crabby mood is all but gone as I laugh at her squirming reaction.

She begs for mercy with tears in her eyes and exclaims, “Okay, I’ll tell you!” I pull back with a triumphant grin. “I have this Penis List I made-up with Belle.”

“A penis what?” I release my hands from her waist and stand back. “Is that like a Christmas list of dicks?”

“No, it’s just a Penis List,” she says with a huff, leaning on the table. “It’s that plan I’ve mentioned. About why I’m not worried about falling for you. Because of the list. The plan. You are Penis Number One, which is a very distinct type. Number one is supposed to be a playboy. Someone…experienced.”

“Okay…and?” I cross my arms.

“And, I’m just saying…Penis Number Two is going to have big shoes to fill because you and I have been doing quite well, I’d say.”

Her talking about other men again is not amusing. “What the fuck is Penis Number Two?”

She counts the descriptive traits on her fingers like she’s listing off items on her grocery list. “Total opposite of you. He’s got to be sensitive, a giver…takes nothing, gives everything. Emotional…” Her voice trails off when she notices the look on my face. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Are you saying I could never be Penis Number Two?” I can’t help but think I’ve given up a lot these last couple of days with her. I’ve screwed her in ways I’ve never screwed anybody else. So how different could a Penis Number Two be?

She eyes me skeptically.

I move toward her and trap her against the table with a hand on either side of her. “Indie. I’ve fucked a lot of women. You don’t keep women coming without being a giver. Has there ever been a time you haven’t gotten off?”

“Well, no.” Her face looks uncomfortable.

“See? That’s my primary goal every time. When you come…the face you make…the sounds you utter…that is what makes me come.”

She opens her mouth but no words come out.

“So your Penis List has some holes in it I’m afraid.”

“Well, thankfully…it won’t concern you once our arrangement is done.” She crosses her arms with a determined scowl.

I push myself away from her. “I think I could show you whatever else you’re trying to get from that list. Easily.”

“I highly doubt it.” She puts her hands on her hips. “And besides, this isn’t a contest, Camden. There’s no winner.”

“No, but it sounds like you have goals. Pun intended. So you need a sensitive lover? Challenge accepted.”

“Challenge not accepted. This isn’t how it’s supposed to go. The point is to have multiple penises, not one. And you’re Penis Number One. Not Two! End of.”

I scoff, “Relax, Specs. You’ll have plenty of time to shag other blokes when I’m gone.”

For some bizarre reason, the notion feels like razors in my stomach as it tumbles out of my mouth.

T
HE NEXT MORNING,
I
WAKE
up alone in my bed. Tanner came home late last night, so that was a big reason I didn’t invite Indie back to my flat. Or stay at hers. I don’t need questions about where I am or what I’m doing right now.

Because I’m not even sure I know what the fuck I’m doing.

This Penis List of Indie’s has my stomach in knots. I’m not sure if it’s just the jealousy factor, or if it’s the fact that I’ve always loved a good challenge.

I don’t even know what this is between Indie and me, but I know I have a strong intensity with her that I’m not sure I’m done exploring yet.

I ruffle my hair and stride out of my room to find my father and Booker sitting at our kitchen table as I thought they would be.

Ever since Tanner and I moved out here, Dad and Booker have come to our flat following every match to go through the footage. As a manager, our dad’s job is to recruit. As our dad, his job is to sideline coach.

“Camden,” my dad says, setting down his cup of coffee and standing up to get a look at me. “Your mobility looks improved. How do you feel?”

I toss a quick nod toward Booker and smile tightly at my dad’s words. “I feel perfectly fine.”

Dad’s brows rise. “Your physical therapist says you’re doing better than fine. He says he’s never seen such a quick recovery after an ACL tear.”

“You spoke to my therapist?” I frown and zip up my hooded sweatshirt over my bare chest, subconsciously suiting up my armour.

“He called me while we were on the road. We won the match, you know. Tanner scored one goal. Booker blocked three attempts.”

“Aces, Book.”

Booker smiles softly as Dad adds, “It was a great match. You were missed.”

“I got it all recorded and watched some of it,” I mumble, striding over to the coffee pot and pouring myself a cup.

“Great. I think it’s a good idea for you to go through the match footage with us. We need to keep your head in the game.” His voice sounds so much like Coach, it makes my skin crawl.

I sit down on the chair beside him and listen as he spouts off some of the highlights. He’s aged so much in the last few years. Did I even notice? His dark hair looks greyer every time I see him. Is football causing that? Did losing Mum cause that? Or is it something more? The only time I see him behave even remotely human is toward Vi. Why haven’t I noticed any of this before?

“So are you going to tell me what’s going on then?” I ask, cutting my dad off midsentence. Booker shoots me a quizzical look.