Johnny Deeper: A Sports Romance
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Authors: Tabatha Kiss
Contents
Johnny Deeper: A Sports Romance
JOHNNY DEEPER
A SPORTS ROMANCE
TABATHA KISS
Copyright © 2016 by Tabatha Kiss
All Rights Reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form
without written permission from the author.
This is a work of fiction intended for mature audiences only.
Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
All characters detailed within are eighteen years of age or older.
No characters engaging in sexual acts are blood-related.
WARNING:
This novel contains explicit descriptions of
erotic and sexual acts that some may find offensive,
including perverse adult language.
Reader discretion advised.
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JOHNNY DEEPER
A SPORTS ROMANCE
BY TABATHA KISS
How deep can he go?
All the way.
ROSE
John Kirby. Just another big, dumb jock with a real big…
you know
.
I swore I’d never get involved with another man like him again.
He’s crude and loud. Vulgar and unsophisticated.
But he knows exactly what he’s doing when he touches me.
I can’t let this happen. I’m a TA at our university and there are rules about this kind of thing.
If we get caught, my entire world will fall apart.
But I’m already in too deep.
And I like it.
JOHN
Rose Hawthorne. Just another hot, blonde babe that gives me a real big…
you know
.
I swore that by the end of the football season I’d make her mine but I wasn’t expecting that to be so hard.
She’s uptight and boring. Frigid and prude.
But I know exactly what to do to melt that ice.
I have a reputation to maintain. I’m a player, both on and off the field.
If I don’t seal the deal, my entire world will fall apart.
I’ll just have to go a little deeper.
And she likes it.
An irresistible womanizer. A forbidden teaching assistant.
College football’s quickest halfback is about to go deep.
SEPTEMBER
Chapter 1
John
“Hike!”
The center snaps the ball back to the quarterback, Junior Morgan. He spins around to hand it off to me and I smile as I grip that tight pigskin in my fingers.
Time to go deep.
I take off to the right, dodging the extended hands of the defensive linemen, each one of them missing me by a wide margin.
I’m John
fucking
Kirby.
Ain’t nobody faster than me.
I throw one foot in front of the other, speeding down the field quicker than anyone else until my toes meet the end zone.
Touchdown!
I spike the ball and throw up my hands, listening to the screams and shouts of the crowd as they echo in my head.
It’s easy to imagine them now. We heard them shake the earth last season when Cary Pierce (yeah,
the
Cary Pierce — four-time professional football champion,
Cary Pierce
) nearly coached us to a college football championship. Unfortunately, a little
family matter
took our star quarterback out of commission and we crumbled to bits under the pressure but there’s no way I’m going to let that happen again this year.
This year, I’m owning this field. I’m owning this season and at the end of it, I’m bringing home a damn championship.
I dance in the end zone, shimmying my hips and twerking while the rest of the team watches from sidelines.
“John…” someone shouts. “It’s just a scrimmage!”
They laugh at me but I keep dancing despite the fact that the stadium is empty and it’s noon on a Sunday.
“Life ain’t no scrimmage, boys!” I shout, waving my helmet over my head like a cowboy. “Make every moment count!”
Coach Bob shakes his head but I see that crooked smile on his old face. “Hit the showers, guys. And John…”
I pause. “Yes, sir?”
“You do you, son.”
“Thank you, Coach!”
I follow them down the ramp, dancing to myself like everyone is watching — because they will be watching.
Might as well show them what I got.
***
“It’s called
the trifecta.
”
I walk along the bench in the locker room wearing nothing but a towel and wet skin, speaking to the team while they dry off from their showers.
“This challenge is for seniors
only,
” I say, pointing a finger. “Sorry, juniors, your challenge is next year.”
I’ve been preparing for this for three years. Three years of learning the moves. Three years of studying the art of seducing the lady folk. Dozens of girls have come (and come again) and gone. I’ve been slapped. I’ve been teased. I’ve been tested and cleared. All in preparation for this challenge.
The trifecta
has been a staple at this school for decades. My father did it. Hell, even old man Coach Bob did it when he was an undergraduate.