Jockblocked: A Novel (Gridiron Book 2) (11 page)

“You should stop.”

“I can’t.” I move my hand up her ankle to cup the slender calf. “Feel good? Worth the risk?”

“I’m not sure.”

That’s an invitation if I ever heard one.

Is it possible to come from just rubbing a girl’s leg? I might test out that theory. “And now?” My fingers find the tender hollow behind her knee. Her pulse beats rapidly against my palm. She’s as turned on as I am and I haven’t even gotten to the good parts.

“It feels riskier,” she croaks.

Yeah, because pretty soon my hand is going to be on your thigh, and I don’t know how I’m going to stop there.

Her fingers are turning white as she grips the sides of her chair. Is she holding herself back? Or keeping herself there?

Fuck, I want to kiss her so bad. I want to kiss her lips but I’d settle for her toes or her knee orshit, if all she’ll allow is for me to touch the tips of her fingers, I’d be okay with that. I need a taste of her. I’m
dying
for a taste of her.

Desperately, I plead with her, “You sure you don’t want to take a chance? I really don’t take up that much time. I’m low-key, fairly undemanding. I’m the bargain purse. I have all the same hardware as the expensive purse, but I’m cheaper. I bring my own booze, remember?”

I don’t know who moves first. Later she would say it was me. She could be right. I’ve been wanting to kiss her since I discovered her here. Since I saw her at the coffee house. Since maybe before we even met.

I dig my fingers into her long blond hair and pull her onto my lap where her soft parts meet my hard, aching parts. Her hands grip my head and our tongues converge in a wet, hot collision.

She tastes as sweet as she looks. Like the most decadent baked good ever.

My poor dick is aching to feel her bare skin against it. I want to peel off her clothes until the heat of her warms my cold skin. I’ve been itching to mold her tits in my palms, lick the pulse point of her neck.

My mother could come in and ask me my name and I wouldn’t have a response. I’m full of Luce. Her sweet taste, the heat of her touch, the vanilla smell from the cookies.

She wriggles, trying to find the hard spot to alleviate the ache between her legs. My hand drops down to find the smooth skin of her thigh, made bare where her pajamas has ridden up. I hitch her leg higher.

She sighs with relief and moans with pleasure when I press my weight against her. I nearly cry. It feels that good.

I want to both kiss her until the sun comes up and throw her down onto the first surface I can find. Fucking hell, man, who needs a flat surface?

I grip both her hips and drag her slowly across my dick. Her head slowly lolls back, exposing her smooth, beautiful throat. Her fingers are tangled in my hair, and the sharp pulls keep me from going over the edge, keep me from tearing off her kiddie pajama top and pulling down her silky shorts until she’s completely naked.

I swear she’s ready for me, that she’s wet between her legs. Her feet hook into the ladder of the chair and she begins to ride me. I place a hand around her neck and pull her closer so that I can ravage that porcelain skin with my teeth and tongue.

I should be gentle. This is my first chance to show her the reward is worth any risk, but it’s so damned hard.

She smells like the first burst of spring. The clippings from a genuine grass field. Real, honest…
mine
. I feel like I could just live off the taste of Luce alone. That she’s all the sustenance I’ll need, which both thrills me and scares the shit out of me at the same time.

It’s a crazy, exhilarating feeling, and I seriously cannot get enough. I drag her mouth back to mine so I can drink straight from the fountain. God
damn
, this kiss is better than any sex I’ve ever had. Her mouth is hot and wet, and she kisses me back as if she’s starving and I’m the first food she’s seen in days.

She’s voracious, and every need in her calls forth an answering desire in me. I want to give her anything, everything. I want to kiss her mouth until we’re both too drugged up on each other to do anything but lie on the floor and count our breaths. I want to—

The door slams open. Noises burst into my eardrum. My name is called. Once, twice, a dozen times. I don’t hear it but Lucy does.

She shoves me away.

“I…I should go.” And then she runs off. With my dick trying to punch his way out of my jeans and what sounds like the entire fucking team out in the hall, I can’t really do much about it. I’m awkwardly rearranging myself so I don’t look completely obscene when Hammer strolls in.

“What the fuck was that?” Hammer asks. “Isn’t that Ace’s girl?”

I run a hand over my hair. My world’s been tipped upside down with that kiss. “I don’t know, Hammer. I just don’t know.”

I
collapse
onto the safety of Ace’s bed. Lord, Matt Iverson is potent. No, he’s
dangerous
. I nearly burst into flames when those big, powerful hands were running over my foot. My legs. My sex. If we hadn’t been interrupted…God, I would have had sex with him. Right there in Ace’s kitchen, where anyone could’ve walked in on us. That’s how deep of a spell he had me under.

I rub my hot cheeks and try to ignore the even hotter feeling between my legs. I was grinding against him like I was trying out for a spot as a cam girl. I’ve never felt like that about a guy before. Maybe it’s because I haven’t had sex since last year. A year is a really long time to go without. I’m just experiencing a…sexual re-awakening. It’s like when your limb falls asleep and when you wake it up, you’re full of intense pain and buzzing until it wears off.

I just need for it to wear off. The next time I encounter Matt, I’ll be prepared.

Next time?
Oh, God, am I already anticipating a next time? How about never again? And shit, I promised Ace to stay away from him. But I don’t have to sleep with Matt. I could just…what?

Talk! That’s what we’ll do. We’ll talk it out. Eat some food, have a drink—beer for him, Diet Coke for me—and we’ll both laugh and realize that we’re better off friends.

I try to force myself to sleep, but my mind whirls in circles. I need to stay away. But I can’t help myself. But he’s no good. But he’s funny! He makes me laugh and, fuck me, the size of the monster in his pants—
No! Do you not remember those Instagram photos? Do you really want to be the next member of the panty parade in Matt
’
s bed?
But I’d have to be dead not to appreciate what a perfect specimen of masculinity he is. How I was on fire just from him touching my fricking ankle!

And the circle goes around again. I toss and turn until Ace’s door slams open. I bolt up in bed wondering where the fire is only to sag back immediately when I see two shapes wrestle inside, half-laughing, half-trying to discover what the other person had for dinner.

I clear my throat as the two stumble and fall onto the sofa. “Ahem,” I say a little louder.

Ace peers over the blonde’s shoulder and his eyes flicker in some dim remembrance.

“Oh, Luce. Forgot you were here.” He’s drunk so the words are slurred together, but I get the gist.

“I am here,” I remind him.

“Can you just…” He spins his finger around in quick circle.

I gape. “For real? You just want me to cover my head and pretend you’re not here?”

“No. We’re going to pretend
you’re
not here,” the girl shoots back. I don’t recognize this one. She’s not the blonde from earlier, and she’s not Stella.

Ace looks out at me glassy eyes. “You don’t mind, do you?” His hand runs up the back of his companion, and she responds by rubbing her chest all over him.

I stare at the two of them in disbelief. He wants me to pretend he’s not having sex on the couch? I take too long to respond because my inability to form words is taken as consent by the girl. She proceeds to noisily kiss Ace’s neck, sounding for all the world like a fish flopping around on a dock.

He must be so drunk he can’t hear her or so horny he doesn’t care. Maybe it’s both.

“I do mind, actually.”

“Don’t be a cockblocker,” the girl says, her mouth partially muffled against Ace’s neck.

“That would be cuntblocker,” I correct impatiently. “You don’t have a cock.”

“Did you just call me a cunt, bitch?”

I turn to Ace. “You know how to pick them.”

“I’m not judging her IQ, just the quality of her snatch,” he replies crudely.

And the girl? She doesn’t even flinch. If anything I think her expression grows victorious.

“Nice, Ace. Real nice.”

“Lucy, give us…” He looks down at the girl and back to me. “Twenty minutes.”

“Twenty minutes?” His friend squawks. “I want to spend the night here.”

“Right, I really don’t do sleepovers,” Ace tells her and starts to rise.

“You have someone in your bed!” She points to me. Yet my presence, no matter what the reason, doesn’t drive her off.

“It’s just Lucy. She doesn’t matter.”

I know he’s drunk, but that was rude. And here I was feeling guilty that I’d kissed his teammate. After this, I should have the right to kiss the whole damn team! I climb out of bed, find my socks, and grab my backpack. Ace reaches out to grasp my hand as I leave.

“Don’t go. Just wait downstairs. I’ll be a half hour. Hour tops.”

“No, you won’t.” The girl takes Ace’s face between her hands. “I’m going to rock your world. You don’t need her.”

Without waiting for any response, she pulls Ace’s hand down between her legs and starts rocking. Oh. My. God. Ace is really losing it. I hustle out of there before the contents of my dinner decorate their rapidly discarded clothes.

Outside Ace’s room, I slip on my socks and then glance back into the room. The two are going at it on the very sofa he screwed some other girl on just a few hours previously.

I run a hand through my hair. I don’t know what’s going on with Ace. He’s usually not like this. Yes, I know he has sex, and I know he has plenty of girls on campus after him, but I could have sworn he had real interest in Stella last semester. Now he’s acting like a manwhore without a conscience, and that’s just not him.

Something is wrong with Ace, but short of stalking in there and pulling the girl off of him, I can’t really address it with him tonight. Or, I guess, it’s morning. I pull out my phone to check the time. It’s nearing two in the morning. I have a ten o’clock class. I’ll deal with Ace tomorrow but for now? I just want a damn place to sleep.

If my apartment wasn’t being fumigated and if breathing pesticides wouldn’t kill me, I’d go home. But I’m stuck here. Somewhere in this place has to be a place for me to crash.

I trot downstairs and find the living room empty. It’s not my first choice, and half the house is still out partying, which means I could fall asleep only to be woken up several times as Ace’s roommates straggle home, but I don’t have many more options.

A couple of raised voices coming from the porch catch my attention. I quietly approach the front door to see who’s arguing, only to jerk back like a character from a bad spy movie when I see Matt and Jack.

Shit. I’m totally not prepared to deal with Matt so soon. The imprint of his body is fresh in my mind. I might still be a little drunk from his kiss. I need some time and distance to build up an immunity to him so I can see him and not want to tear off my clothes and his.

I peek through the sidelight. Whatever Matt is trying to sell, Jack isn’t buying. His arms are crossed and his jaw is set in a hard, unhappy line.

What did Ace say this morning?
Better than former National Championship player demoted in favor of true freshman recruit.

Surely he wasn’t referring to himself? Surely…I yank open the door and the two shut up the moment they see me.

“What are you doing here?” I accuse.

“I live here,” Jack says with a grin. It’s a fake grin. There are worry lines around his eyes. The suspicious kernel that formed when I first saw the two arguing starts to take shape.

“This is about Ace, isn’t it?” When the two don’t answer, I reach out and jab my finger into Jack’s chest. “Your quarterback is losing it. He’s drunk, screwing random girls, and acting like a teenager with her first bout of PMS.”

Jack raises his hands. “I’m too drunk to deal with this right now.” What a fricking lame-assed excuse. Jack’s as sober as a judge on Monday mornings. “Good night, Lucy.” He leans down and gives me a kiss on my temple. “Nice jammies.”

I look down at my Harry Potter pajama top and matching shorts. “They
are
nice,” I yell at his departing back. I turn my irritation on Matt. “What’s wrong with my jammies?”

“Nothing’s wrong with your pajamas, Goldie, but I’m definitely not a fan of your socks. Where’d you get those?”

“Goldie? What happened to Luce? One nickname’s not good enough for you?”

“You looked like a fairy tale tonight with your hair up like that.” Matt spins his finger toward my head. “Are you trying to avoid my question about your socks?”

“What is your obsession with my socks?” I lift one foot up. “These are my dad’s.”

“Then your socks are fine.” There’s a banked heat in his eyes that makes it hard for me to meet them without blushing.

“Speaking of Ace—”

“I wasn’t actually speaking of Ace,” Matt interrupts. “I was speaking of us. You and I and how you’re really heartbroken that we were interrupted before we could take a few more risks. Me, too.” His voice thickens seductively. He steps forward, and I step backward because it’s two hundred and fifty pounds of male coming at me, and he keeps coming until the door is closed behind him. “But we can patch our bruised hearts by seeing each other tomorrow night.”

“I’m busy.” I cross my arms, in part to ward off his charm and in part to keep from grabbing his shirt and whipping it over his head.

“Yes, studying, but you can’t study all the time, and you aren’t studying now.” He pulls gently on my crossed arms, dragging me across the wood floor until there’s hardly a breath between us. “How was the reward, Goldie? And don’t tell me it didn’t exist because you’d be lying. I was there. I felt you. I swallowed your sexy little gasps, and I felt you grind—”

“Okay!” I throw my hand across his mouth. “I felt something. Something good.” His eyes gleam in the night. He’s like this big cat just waiting to devour me, and worse? I want to be devoured. “But it’s late, and my head is muddled. I can’t think or sleep.”

I know I’ve just admitted to him that I can’t stop thinking about him, that he’s actually keeping me up at night, but the words tumble out of me. And once they’re out, I have a certain sense of relief. The tension had been building and building, and it had to come out.

His whole face softens beneath my hand. He presses a small kiss into the palm and then pulls it gently away from his mouth.

Still holding my hand, he asks “Why aren’t you in bed, Goldie?”

“You know why.” It’s embarrassing. “Because Ace brought a girl home.”

His eyes search my face, looking for hurt, I suppose. I’m not hurt. I’m pissed off and tired.

“I think he forgot he said I could stay.”

Matt’s lips thin out in disapproval. “You can’t sleep down here. Half the offense is still at the Gas Station.”

“I know. I wasn’t planning on getting much sleep.”

His eyes dart to the sofa where I left my backpack. “You’re coming with me.” He releases me to go over and shoulder my backpack. He stops near the front door and eyes all the random coats hanging on hooks. “Where’s your coat?”

“Upstairs. Why?” I ask with growing suspicion.

“I guess you don’t need it.” He throws out a hand. “Come on. Let’s go.”

“No.” Oh no. I’m not going home with him and
sleeping
in his bed. I wasn’t born yesterday.

“Now, Goldie, despite all evidence to the contrary, I believe you’re a standup woman. If you pinky swear to keep your hands to yourself and not take advantage of me, I’ll believe you.” He wiggles his pinky in my direction.

I can’t even do the pinky swear because I don’t know if I can keep my hands off him. After what happened in the kitchen, he’ll be lucky to make it to his house unmolested. Spending a whole night with him by my side? He’s going to need a chastity belt.

At my hesitation, he points upstairs. “Or you can go upstairs and enjoy Ace’s floor show.”

I tell myself that I’m agreeing to go with him because it’s the only good choice I have left.

“Fine.” I grab one of the coats from the hall and shrug into it. But there’s no way we’re sharing a bed. Absolutely no way. “You’ll be sleeping on the floor.”