Kulti (49 page)

“I really wanted to win.”

His answer was to rub my back, his fingers sliding beneath the thick straps of my sports bra.

“I hate losing,” I told him like he didn’t completely understand, pressing my face deeper between his pecs. “And they think I don’t care that we lost. Why would someone think I’m a robot?”

Kulti just kept right on rubbing, his fingers cool and rough on my damp skin.

I sniffed. “And now you’re stuck here, and I didn’t even win. I’m so sorry, Rey.”

His fingers burrowed even deeper under my sports bra, the seams popping in protest of what he was doing as his palm lay flush against my skin. “You aren’t going anywhere without me.”

Say what? I reared my head back enough to look at his face, indifferent to how much of a wreck I had to be. “But you told—“

Kulti’s face was gentle. His eyes were brighter than ever. “I have so much to teach you, Taco,” he said with a flick of his eyebrow. “Unless you have something in writing, there would never be proof of an agreement to begin with.”

This ruthless shit. I should have been shocked that he lied to Cordero, but I wasn’t. Not at all. I laughed but it was one of those laughs that you let out so you didn’t keep crying. “You’re such an asshole.” But I loved him anyway.

His mouth tipped up, just barely. “Ready to leave?”

I nodded, cleared my drowning throat and took a step back. “Let me get my things first. I don’t want to be here anymore.”

I hesitated for one second as we turned and spotted some of the girls staring. They must have been the group that just passed us. This hard ball of resolve formed in my belly, and I slipped my fingers through Kulti’s.

Screw it. The season was over. I was done, tapped out.

I grabbed his hand, and he smiled.

We’d taken maybe eight steps when he asked, “Who called you a robot?” in such a sweet, sincere voice it was easy to believe it was a casual question.

But I knew him too well, and by that point, I didn’t even care. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters,” he replied in that same tone. “Was it the same player that told Cordero about you calling me a bratwurst?”

I stopped walking so abruptly it took him a step to realize it. “You know who told him?”

“The nosey one. Gwenivere,” he replied.

“Genevieve?” I coughed.

“Her.”

My eye. My eye twitched. Freaking Genevieve? “Your manager told you?”

He nodded.

I swallowed. Unbelievable. What a backstabbing bitch. Holy shit.

“Your face says enough,” he said, tugging me back to continue walking. “I’ll wait for you out here.”

I smiled at the small group and gave his palm a quick squeeze before disappearing into the mostly empty locker room. I should have stayed, listened to Gardner talk about the season, but I couldn’t. I grabbed all of my things, stuffed them into my duffel bag and left. Tomorrow I would go back and return what wasn’t mine. I could also see Jenny and Harlow before they left to go home.

I found Kulti standing against a wall giving Genevieve and the other girls standing by the door a look that could have boiled someone’s flesh right off. I wasn’t going to ask. I raised my eyebrows at him, and just before we took off, I smiled over at the women, choosing one word and one word only: “Bye.”

Have a good life, I added in my head. I had high hopes I would.

“Come on,” Kulti murmured, leading me through the group of reporters crowding the exit.

He shouldered them out of the way, and I kept walking, not giving a crap that I should have said something to them. It seemed to take a year to make it to his car.

I slid in first, watching as he followed after me, pressing that long, muscular build against mine. His arm slipped over my shoulder as he angled into me, smothering me with his broad chest. That was all he did. He didn’t tell me not to keep being disappointed or angry. Kulti didn’t tell me everything would be fine. Kulti just kept on holding me until we made it to my garage apartment.

Wordlessly, we went up the stairs and he unlocked the door. He dumped my bag in its usual spot. I told him I was going to shower. The next few minutes all seemed like a blurry dream, and I took a lot longer than usual. By the time I finished, I was proud of myself for not crying more than I had. I mean, grown men cried in football when they lost, it would have been fine for me to bawl too…

If I was a baby.

I’d cried enough at the stadium.

It wasn’t the end of the world. It really wasn’t. I would keep telling myself that until I got over it.

Kulti was waiting in the kitchen when I finally ambled out of my bathroom. He shot me a look over his shoulder as he scraped something out of a skillet and onto two plates. “Sit.”

Taking a seat at one of the two barstools at the counter, he slid a plate of mixed veggies, sliced sausage and rice to me. Neither one of us said much as we sat together eating. I felt somber and a bit depressed, and I figured he was just giving me space to mope a bit. I’d have to ask him another day how he dealt with these things.

When we finished, he took our dishes and set them in the sink with a small, tight smile. He went and sat on the couch, leaving me alone in the kitchen. I’m not sure how long I sat there but after feeling pretty miserable, I finally got up and made my way to the living room to see him sitting in the middle, going through one of my dollar-store Sudoku books. As soon as he saw me, he set it aside.

Kulti pulled me onto his lap.

It happened so quickly I couldn’t really focus on anything. His mouth dropped to mine, which had already parted in anticipation.

That split second of anticipation was nothing compared to the actual deed. His mouth was warm and supple, willing and demanding as he dragged his tongue across my bottom lip. I did what any other sane person would have done; I opened my mouth. His tongue tasted faintly like the spearmint he chewed on sometimes as it brushed against mine: once, twice, over and over again, thirsty and needy. He was crushing me to his body as our kisses got deeper, rougher, almost bruising. They were devouring.

Holy crap, I loved it.

The game and the loss became a memory and a worry for another time.

My hands reached for his sides, stroking his ribs before drifting to his waist. His hands had a mind of their own, one going straight for the back of my head, burying deep into the thick, wet hair I’d thrown up into a knot. His other hand reached for my jaw, cradling it. I took the time to suck his tongue into my mouth, greedy and selfish. It was too much and not enough.

I wasn’t the only one who thought it. Kulti used his arms to hold me to him. His grip was desperate, like he wanted to crawl inside of me. Something big and hard brushed against my hip as he held me. Oh my God. Oh my God.

Years had passed since the last time I’d had a boyfriend. It had been many, many years since I’d put relationships on hold to focus on my career. So this was… I didn’t even think twice before dipping my fingers under the hem of his shirt, my thumbs brushing the soft skin there.

What did he do? He jerked away from me, just an inch, only an inch, pulling his shirt over his head and putting my hands back at his sides. I ran them up his ribs, over his back and shoulders, feeling, feeling, feeling. God, he was so muscular, his laterals rippled under my touch.

“You smell like oatmeal, clean and sweet…” he rumbled, sucking my earlobe into his mouth.

It didn’t matter that he was still technically my coach until what? Midnight? Or that he was a celebrity of sorts and that I got rude emails from his fans. All that mattered was that he was my friend above all else, and he made my blood boil like no other person in the world ever had. I couldn’t get enough.

Kulti pressed his chest to mine with a savage growl, his fingers pinching the thin material of my tank top in frustration. In one move that I really didn’t want to think about because it was so effortless, Kulti yanked my shirt and sports bra over my head, tossing them aside.

Oh jeez. Oh jeez. I managed to kiss his throat and that soft place where his shoulder met his neck before he pulled back enough to look at my breasts. His breathing became even more ragged than before, which said something for a man who used to sprint up and down a soccer field for a living. He swallowed, his lips parted, and I could have sworn the bulge at my hip jumped.

The German shifted me with those big hands, pulling me across to straddle his hips as his mouth dipped down to catch a nipple between his lips. He gave the flesh a suck. Good lord, he sucked hard. I moaned. I moaned and arched into him, rubbing at the hard, thick shaft nestled between my legs.

He cursed in his low German accent before pulling away far enough to kiss the freckles that ended right above my nipples. I couldn’t stop looking. I couldn’t. It was so
hot
. I was panting, he was panting. His hands tried to circle my waist, to pull me up even closer to his mouth.

Something insane and deceptive and tempting streaked through my body, and I went for it. Fuck it. My fingers fumbled at his waist, at the button of his jeans, wanting him now. I’d spent most of my life trying to be a good girl, accepting that I wasn’t made for anything that wasn’t worthwhile. As I dug my knees into the cushions of the couch on either side of his hips, trying to get him to help me out so that I could unzip his jeans, he groaned and thrust his hips up. Down they went, the broad dome of his erection peeking out from beneath the elastic band of his underwear.

The groan that broke through Kulti’s mouth, mixed with my own wild beg. My “Please” that sounded like a cry, was a predecessor for him wrapping his arms around me and pulling me in close. The short hairs on his chest rubbed my nipples.

“Please,” I begged him again.

His answer was to pull back once more and dip his head down low enough so that he could take as much of a breast into his mouth as he could. His hand slipped into the back of my shorts and underwear, skin to skin, palm to cheek. Long fingers trailed down and over the cleft of my ass, lightly brushing over a spot that had me jumping in place before he even reached where I wanted him. His fingertips swept over the two damp lips, and I made an awful, wonderful noise in my throat.

“What do you need,
schnecke
?” he asked, rubbing a finger in the crease between my cleft and thigh. “You are so wet. Do you want my fingers in you?”

I was going to freaking die.

“Tell me. Do you want my fingers in your warm pussy?” he asked me, eyeing me with wide, bright eyes that lingered over my face as he touched the sensitive skin.

I begged him twice before he finally slipped a finger inside of me.

He dipped so slowly, I thought I would pass out before he pulled back. I started moaning, rolling my hips as his pace increased steadily. His other arm wrapped low around my back to keep me close, our mouths finding each other’s. We kissed and kissed, and he moved his fingers over and over again.

It was the single most sensual thing I’d ever experienced. All I could feel was the warmth of his chest on mine, his arm around me, his mouth pressed to mine, his finger inside. I rocked my hips and then rocked them faster, my breath splintering, chopping itself into pieces, building me higher and higher.

Pulling his mouth away from mine, he trailed wet kisses across my jaw. His lips were at my ear, his thumb circling my clit. “You belong to me.”

A shiver up my spine was the only warning I got from the orgasm coming.

I came. I came and I came and I came.

My legs trembled and my stomach muscles jumped. The entire time, the German kissed my shoulders and my neck. He held me, kissed me and he rubbed his hand over the small of my back.

What felt like half an hour later but was more than likely only a couple of minutes, I slowly settled down to rest my bottom on Kulti’s lap, taking a couple of deep, steadying breaths. His hand had slipped out of my panties and at some point, he’d started cupping my ass. I slumped forward and pressed my forehead to his neck, feeling his pulse thundering away. I gripped his sides and let my thumbs rub up and down his ribs, his proud erection nestled right between us, a purple head staring straight at me, weeping.

I slid one hand down and across the rippled muscles in his abdomen, and with the backs of my fingers, ran a line down the underside of his shaft over the cotton material of his boxer briefs. He took in a quick intake of breath, his hips bucking beneath mine. I looked at his face as I did it again, this time up and down, the muscle jumping beneath my touch. Kulti’s mouth was parted, a deep flush over his cheeks and neck.

I jerked the waistband of his underwear toward me and slipped a hand inside, wrapping my fingers around the hot flesh. What I got in return was a groan, and Kulti tipping his head back as he made just about the sexiest face to ever register on the sexy scale. I leaned forward and bit the part of his throat between his Adam’s apple and chin, the German making a hoarse, erotic noise in his throat.

He was thicker than I expected, longer than I would have imagined. Smooth, hard and hot. Kulti was perfect in my hand. Beyond perfect. And I moved my hand up and down the length staring me right in the face from two feet below. I squeezed as I jerked him off.

It was more visual memory from the hundreds of soft-core porn movies I’d occasionally caught on late night cable that reminded me what to do.

“Does this feel good?” I asked him, sliding my bottom back on his legs a little further away.

“You have no idea,” he grunted, neck straining as I tightened my grip at the base of him.

I mean, I sort of did, but whatever. Now wasn’t the time to argue.

With my heart pounding in my throat, I kept one hand around him while I slid down his legs. He watched me with those heavy-lidded amber eyes, his breathing getting heavier and heavier until he gasped when I wrapped my mouth around the pinkish-purple tip of his head.

“Sal!” he shouted.

One pointed tongue on his frenulum and one more swift suck, and Kulti was letting out a deep, ravaging groan that I’d remember forever, pouring himself down my throat.

Holy shit.