Seduced by the Football Player (2 page)

Is this leading where I think it’s leading? “Look, Chris,” I begin, shaking my head. “I’m-”

“Hey,” he interrupts, holding his hands up and mimicking surrender. “There’s no pressure,” he states calmly. “I just wanted to catch up in a quiet place where we won’t be disturbed.”

There is less than a second’s hesitation, before I nod my agreement and step across the threshold. I’m still not entirely sure he’s intentions are platonic. However, there’s a slow spread of heat between my thighs that renders me completely unable to turn around and go home.

The room is much smaller than I would have imaged. A leather couch sits along the length of one wall, with a small coffee table on which sits a couple of magazines and a newspaper. A dressing table is opposite it, with a mirror and a wooden chair.

“This is how Panther Sports treats its stars?” I ask, my eyebrows lifting in surprise. “No couch?” I add, turning to look at him.

He lifts both shoulders. “I haven’t even spent five minutes in here,” he points out. “So, it’s no big deal.”

This in itself is a surprise to me. It flies in the face of the big celebrity sportsmen; the arrogant ‘star’ I thought he’d become. “Oh,” is all I can find to say in response.

“So how have you been since high school?” he offers. “You look great,” he adds, his eyes moving up and down the length of my body with what looks a lot like appreciation.

“Well,” I say on an exhalation of air. “No more glasses,” I point out.

His head lilts to one side, as he examines my face. “I never minded the glasses,” he shrugs.

Creasing my brow, I wonder whether he’s being serious. The man is such a talented bullshitter, it’s impossible to tell. “You never said anything at the time,” I respond quietly.

“Like you said,” he sighs, taking a step toward me. “We moved in different circles.”

I hum a humorless laugh in reply. “I must have been the only girl at school you didn’t sleep with,” I told him frankly, champagne and years of feeling cast aside suddenly making me bold.

For the briefest of moments, surprise flashes over his face. “I didn’t…” he shook his head. “I did more than my fair share of dating, and there were a few that I…” he pauses, trying to find a different word, before changing tack. “I didn’t have sex with anywhere near all of them.”

“Doesn’t matter to me,” I tell him with a smile.

“It matters to me,” he insists. “What you think matters to me,” he says, taking another step toward me.

He is now so close, I can feel the soft caress of his breath against my face.

“Why?” I ask, swallowing a large lump in my throat and trying to stop the trembling in the back of my left knee.

“I always had a bit of a thing for you,” he says, his voice now no more than a whisper. “I just felt that you didn’t like me,” he eventually finishes.

“What?” I scoff incredulously.

“You were so smart,” he murmurs, his face tilting down to mine.

Suddenly, my whole world has become very small. All I can see is his face, his deep blue eyes; his full lips. The smell of cedar from his aftershave, coupled with a vague hint of mint, which I guess is from a shower gel, and an earthy masculinity is enclosing me. I want to say something. I want to tell him that my recollection of high school is quite different. However, my brain, vocal chords and mouth are refusing to work in conjunction. So, my lips part helplessly, only to close once more.

Before I can try again, his mouth is pressed against mine in a tender, somewhat hesitant kiss. Thankfully, I don’t have to tell my body to respond. My lips are already moving beneath his, returning the kiss with a similar sense of explorative wariness.

Tipping his head back all too soon, Chris peers down at me, making me feel incredibly small. “You know, I used to dream about you,” he says, his lips still tantalizingly close.

“Really?” I manage to ask, my voice weak and hoarse.

He nods almost imperceptibly. “I still do sometimes,” he admits.

I feel his deep voice resonating through my whole body. Sparks of heat are shooting between my legs and I reflexively clench my thighs in a bid to quell some of the restlessness. If at any point, I’d kidded myself that I had any control of the situation, I was now completely disabused of that presumption.

If my life depended on it, I could not walk away from him now. I wanted him to kiss me again. I wanted his hands on my body. It was much more than desire, it was a burning need. My teenage fantasies and yearnings were nothing in comparison.

Unable to articulate any of this, I do the only thing I can and quickly close the gap between our faces. No longer wary, I throw caution to the wind, as my tongue ventures from the confines of my mouth and begins to trace his bottom lip.

With a muffled groan, he opens his mouth, his own tongue rushing out to meet mine, as he begins to explore the moist cavern.

The sudden change in atmosphere affects him too, as his arms sweep around my body and he hungrily grasps my buttocks in his large, strong hands. He squeezes, using just the right amount of force to be on the good side of painful. Pulling me to him, I part my legs slightly. Desperate for relief, I press my mound against his hard, muscular thigh, groaning in pleasure as I grind against him.

His fingers continue to mold the flesh of my ass, as his mouth clasps and unclasp over mine, his tongue diving in and out. I’m aware of the bulge that’s nudging my hip and I can feel it swelling.

“Chris,” I gasp, pulling my lips free. I don’t know what else I want to say. I don’t know whether his name is an obscure plea for something.

But he seems to interpret it as one. His hands quickly slide to my hips, where he grips me roughly and spins me around. Suddenly, I’m being propelled backwards the few paces towards the door. My spine lands with a hard bump that expels all the air from my lungs, as I meet the wooden panel.

It’s only at this point that the reality of the situation sinks in. Am I really about to have a quickie in a poor excuse for a dressing room, with my high school crush? Is this how I’d dreamed about it, when I’d hoped he’d be the one to take my virginity? D

Definitely not. But I’m a little older and a little wiser now. I know that sex isn’t always romantic. It’s not about candles or warm, clean beds and ‘I love you’.

“Are you alright?” he asks, his breath shallow. His face is tilted down, his head resting on my forehead.

Glancing up, I realize he must have sensed the change in my focus. He’s smiling at me, with just a hint of concern in his expression. “Yeah,” I nod. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You want to stop?” he asks, unconvinced.

Do I want to stop? That’s essentially what I’d been asking myself just moments before. And yet, when he asked it, my answer was sudden, blunt and incredibly simple. “No,” I said shaking my head, as my hand reached for his groin.

“O…” he begins to say, but stumbles, as my fingers cup the denim clad swelling. “Okay,” he manages breathlessly, recovering himself.

It’s immediately obvious that he’s big. Really big. And it briefly occurs to me that perhaps it’s a good thing he wasn’t the one to deflower me. I rub my fingers over the bulge, pressing my palm against the seam of his jeans.

His hands rest on the door by my side and his eyes drift closed momentarily, as he seems to allow himself to enjoy the sensation. However, it doesn’t last long. Soon, he’s eyes are once again open and peering down, as his hands grip the edge of my red dress and begin to bunch it up around my waist.

A lacy pair of black panties are revealed to him, and he leisurely runs his finger across the waistband before the whole of his right hand smoothes down over my mound and possessively cups the juncture between my legs. His fingers move expertly, pushing the lace of my underwear between my folds, as the pad of his thumb instantly finds my clitoris and moves in small circles.

“God, you’re wet,” he says through gritted teeth.

In other circumstances, my obvious arousal and the wanton way I was widening my stance, begging for more, would have made me feel ashamed. However, there is no embarrassment here. I feel no shame in groaning for more. I’ve spent the last eight years fantasizing about this moment.

A small adjustment of his fingers and my panties are pushed aside and he is giving me more. His middle finger runs between my damp outer lips, before sliding with ease into my passage. He moves purposefully, probing deeper and stroking my slick inner walls. 

“Yes,” I hiss, my fingers suddenly feeling lethargic and dropping away from his groin.

His quick reflexes come into force again, as his free hand swiftly moves to grab my wayward fingers. Insistently, he pushes me back to his neglected member.

I know that I won’t be able to focus, while he’s doing wonderful things with his finger and thumb. So, I shift my hand slightly, one-handedly unclasping the thick leather belt, before pulling his zipper down. As he slips a second finger inside me, a moaned, “Oh, God,” escapes my lips, and I hasten my efforts to remove his pants.

With both hands now on the case, I manage to slip the brass button through its aperture and then I’m tugging the fabric over his hips.

His fingers plunge deeper and he spreads them in a scissor action, causing slight discomfort and I buck against him. “Oh,” I mutter. However, as my eyes land on the bright, white briefs he wears, which are distorted to the fabric’s limit by his rigid manhood, I realize he’s helping to prepare my body for him.

The problem is I’m not sure I can wait. Tugging his jeans and briefs down to his hips, I let gravity take them down his thighs where they come to rest. His huge manhood springs free from the cotton and he moans in relief. The shaft, which is easily close to nine inches in length, is jutting proudly up to the ceiling.

Gripping the wrist between my legs, I coax him from me. “I want you,” I pant. Once his hand is clear, I place my own hand between my thighs, covering the fingers with my arousal, before wrapping those digits around his warm, throbbing cock. I move slowly over it, carefully tracing the thick vein with my thumb.

“Oh, Jasmine,” he moans, as I rub my thumb across his tip. His hands are now at my hips, fumbling with shaky fingers to remove my panties. Within seconds, the frustration becomes too much and he simply wrenches the waistband in opposite directions, ripping the fabric.

The underwear is new and it was expensive, but I couldn’t care less. Instead, I’m easing his hardness down to me.

Chris bends at the knees and, as he does so, I automatically wrap my right leg around his hip. Instantly, I can feel his enormous cock prodding at my entrance; stretching me.

“Ready?” he pants, his cheek pressed next to mine, his lips near my ear.

“Yes,” I gasp in return.

And he’s moving. Slowly, he’s inching his way deeper.

I close my eyes, and my mouth falls open. “Ohh…,” I moan, as he seems to have filled me. But, as I force my eyes open and peer down, I realize he’s only two thirds of the way in.

“Okay,” he asks, his voice strained, and I can tell he’s exerting amazing restraint.

“Yes,” I cry. “Don’t stop.” I’m not even sure if I’ll be able to take him. I don’t know whether it’ll leave my walking strangely for the rest of my life. But I want him all the same. “Don’t stop,” I repeat.

He moves again, now his actions are jerky, no longer able to exercise the same self-control he’d begun with.

“Ahh,” I squeal, feeling my muscles flutter, as my passage widens and lengthens.

“Oh, God,” he finally grunts. This time I know he’s fully inside me, because I can feel the base of his shaft and his short dark hairs rubbing against my sex. “Jasmine,” he says breathlessly. “Christ, you feel good.”

“You’re so big,” I almost scream in reply. The line between pleasure and pain so blurred now I’m not sure I can tell the difference. “So fucking hard,” I mumble, meaninglessly.

He jerks; an unconscious movement, as the desire to thrust builds.

“Fuck me,” I pant, rubbing myself against him, in an attempt to increase the pressure between his pelvic bone and my clit.

My words have the desired effect and he pulls back sharply, before pushing slowly forwards, exhaling a long breath as he does so.

“Oh, yes,” I sigh, as I feel his engorged head bump gently into my cervix. “Harder,” I moan.

Again, he pulls himself back; an easy movement. This time, his thrust is much more forceful, as he quickly plunges into my depths.

“Ah, shit,” I scream. “More,” I quickly add, ensuring that he knows the sensation is good.

I’m not sure he would be able to stop or temper himself now anyway. He’s beginning to set a rhythm. His withdrawal always steady and smooth, while his drives forward are gradually increasing in speed and ferocity. Every thrust is accompanied by a masculine grunt of force. Each time he buries himself within me, my back slides up the door and bolts of electricity course through my clit and buzz throughout my entire body.

“Fuck yeah,” he groans, stepping up his tempo once more. “So good.”

I yelp wordlessly, air pushed up from my lungs with each of his powerful thrusts. I can feel myself spiralling higher, the knot in my stomach is beginning to tighten and I hold my breath waiting for the release.