Seduced by the Football Player (4 page)

“Ahh,” I whimper, my lower half unconsciously rubbing against him. “No, it’s not that,” I manage to pant, as I try to grasp his hair, but find it too short. “But we can’t do this here.”

Reluctantly, Chris lifts his head. Eyes still full of desire, he sucks in deep breaths through an open mouth. “Okay,” he sighs, nodding wearily, as his hands slowly leave my body and he takes a small step backwards.

My fingers slacken and slide from his head. My arms, feeling like jello, flop listlessly back to my sides. My eyes, however, are wide and attentive, focused on the large bulge at his groin. Even in the baggy tracksuit pants, the extent of his arousal is obvious, and the knowledge that I’m the one who’s caused it is heady.

He seems to notice the direction of my gaze and his chin dips, as he glances at the object of my fascination. He clears his throat, “So,” he sighs, trying to disregard the erection that neither of us can ignore. “Did you want to do that interview?”

“Umm,” I reply, my eyes moving painfully slowly up the length of his body. “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea, either,” I eventually say.

“Why?”

I don’t respond with words. Instead, I allow my eyes to move deliberately back down to his groin.

Again, he coughs nervously. “Just give me a minute,” he suggests.

If only it were that simple. My arousal may not be on display like his, but it’s present and it’s equally intense. I know that the longer I spend in this room with him, the less likely I am to retain the conviction that I shouldn’t do anything so grossly unprofessional at work

. “I…” I mutter. “I…umm…really ought to get back to….” I lamely finish by jerking my thumb toward the door.

“I thought you needed something for your article,” he objected.

“I think I know enough about you to throw something together,” I shrug.

“You do?” he asks, suspiciously.

“Well,” I quickly brush his question aside. “You know, I mean, I just…”

His lips rise in a teasing smile, as he watches me squirm. “I don’t care about that,” he announces. “All I want to know is when I can see you again.”

Was he serious? Well, he certainly seemed to be. “I finish work at six,” I reply.

“So, I’ll come to your place,” he says, it’s a statement rather than a question.

“Umm…Okay,” I nod, feeling, on some level, as though I don’t actually have a choice in the matter. “About seven?” I suggest, ensuring that I’ll have time to ready myself for his arrival.

“Great,” he beams. As he moves to the door, I notice that the swelling at his crotch has deflated significantly, but has not completely disappeared.

“Can I just ask you one question?” I quickly say, as his fingers grasp the door handle.

In reply, he merely twists his head toward me.

“Why me?”

“What?” he mumbles, his brow creased in confusion.

“Why me?” I repeat. “You could have any woman you want.”

The bewilderment on his face gives way to a knowing grin. “Seven o’clock,” he simply states with a nod.

Drawing in a long breath, I release it slowly, as I watch him leave the room and retrace his steps. He passes my desk and causally runs the tips of his fingers along its surface. Then, he’s at the elevator with a small crowd of my excited colleagues eager to shake his hand.

Chapter Six

The day passed excruciatingly slowly. I couldn’t stop thinking about Chris, part of me wishing I hadn’t put a stop to things in the conference room. I know, with absolute certainty, that if he’d lingered in the office any longer, I would have lost all self-control.

During the morning, I drank my bodyweight in coffee and, in the afternoon, I took two aspirin. By five o’clock, I felt human again. And the anticipation of seeing Chris reached a crescendo.

Now, back at my apartment, I quickly dash to the bathroom and strip off my clothes. Jumping in the shower, I wonder for the thousandth time what Chris is doing with me. I know the potential is there for me to be hurt horribly.

With a towel wrapped around me, I quickly brush my teeth, before heading to the bedroom. I don’t dwell too long on what to wear; you can never go wrong with a simple back dress. Sleeveless, it means I have to go without a bra, but the dress is a perfect fit and scoops both breasts up, creating ample cleavage. Slipping on a pair of red panties and black thigh highs, I consider the outfit complete. By the time I’ve finished drying my dark hair, scrunching the ends to extenuate its natural waves, and put on a light layer of make-up, I hear a firm knock at the door. My heart instantly begins to pound rapidly against my ribcage.

“Coming,” I call, unsure whether he’ll be able to hear me. I quickly close my bedroom door behind me and jog, or as near to a jog as I can get in these ridiculous heels, to the living room. Reaching the front door, I pause, trying in vain to compose myself, before opening it.

“Hey,” he says, his smile warm and bright. “Wow,” he breathes. “You look beautiful.”

Unable to register the compliment, I quickly cast my eyes down his body. He’s wearing a deep red dress shirt with white upturned cuffs. He’s also wearing gray suit pants and a pair of shiny black loafers, something I’ve only ever seen him in once before: senior prom.

“You look…good,” I acknowledge with a surprised smile.

“I scrub up okay?” he asks, with a chuckle.

With a definitive nod, I continue to eye him appreciatively. He scrubs up more than okay, and I wonder why he always chooses a more casual look. Sure, he looks great in T-shirts and tracksuits and jeans, but, my God, the man looks good enough to eat right now. “Yeah,” I murmur.

“I thought we could go out for dinner,” he says, changing the subject.

The thought hadn’t occurred to me. I’d assumed he’d simply want to spend a couple of hours at my apartment. “Like a real date?” I ask aloud.

He laughs heartily, placing one hand on the doorframe and leaning forward slightly. “I guess,” he shrugs. “If you want it to be,” he adds in a more serious tone.

“Do you want to come in for a minute?” I offer, standing aside to let him enter the apartment.

“Sure,” he smiles, walking forward and casting his eyes around the living room. It’s nothing fancy, not compared with the kind of lifestyle he’s accustomed to, but I like it. “Nice place,” he says warmly, as though reading my thoughts. “It’s very you.”

I want to ask him how he knows what ‘me’ is, given the fact he doesn’t know the first thing about me, but I bite my tongue. “Can I get you a drink?” I ask instead.

“Umm, no,” he responds thoughtfully. “No, I think I’m fine.” His eyes are still moving carefully around the room.

“Okay,” I reply. “Well, feel free to sit,” I offer.

“Thanks,” he says, immediately stepping towards the large L-shaped couch and seating himself in the corner. “Ahh,” he sighs contentedly, leaning back and spreading his arms along the backs of the couch on either side of him. “Are you gonna join me?” he asks, smiling.

Unable to resist grinning in return, I move towards the couch. Settling on the edge, I keep one hand on the edge of my dress, mindful that it’ll ride up if I settle too far back into the seat.

“I’ve been thinking about you all day,” he says quietly, shuffling across the length of the couch, so he’s suddenly positioned next to me. “I haven’t been able to get my mind off your sexy body,” he adds, his fingers lifting to my knee and enclosing it in his warm hand.

Closing my eyes, I try to swallow, but my mouth has suddenly gone dry. “I’ve been thinking about you, too,” I admit in nothing louder than a whisper.

His fingers move slowly, clasping the inside of my lower thigh, before purposefully moving higher.

In stilled fascination, I watch the action of his hand, almost imperceptible shifting my legs apart to facilitate its path. “Chris,” I mumble, as he strokes his way ever higher.

“Yeah?” he replies.

“I need to know something,” I say, involuntarily jerking as the tips of his large fingers meet the skimpy crotch of my panties.

“What?” he asks, his face close to mine, his lips just a breath from my ear.

“I need,” I begin, before pausing as my hands grasp the edge of the couch, fingernails digging into the cushion, when Chris starts to apply pressure to my sex. “I need to know what this is,” I finish on a gasp.

“What do you mean?” he asks, his voice even and calm, betraying nothing of what he’s doing or whether it’s affecting him in any way.

“Oh, God,” I moan, as his fingers begin to stroke me through my underwear. “I mean, is this just a fling?” I breathe. “Are you just working something out of your system?”

His hot breath against my cheek is coming a little faster. “What is it for you?” he counters. “Are you just working something out of
your
system?”

Releasing the tight grip I have of the couch, my right hand sweeps up the inside of my dress. Grabbing his wrist, I hurriedly pull his hand away from my body. Panting, I try to get my head around that question. Was I getting him out of my system? Is that what last night had been about? Did I really think that this could go anywhere, or was I simply exorcising a teenage fantasy?

“What’s wrong?” he asks, allowing me to remove him from between my legs without a struggle.

My head darts to the right. Studying his face, I repeat the question to myself again and again. “I…” I stumble. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t feel well?” he asks.

“No,” I quickly state. “No, I mean, I don’t know whether I’m just working something out of my system.”

“Oh,” he responds, nodding his understanding. “Well, that’s okay,” he shrugs, his hand immediately moving back up my thigh.

“Is it?” I ask, my fingers now hanging on to his wrist.

“Yes,” he confirms, his warm hand quickly finding the rhythm it’d had just moments before. “None of us really knows where a relationship is headed, do we?” he points out logically, two of his strong fingers parting my outer lips and slowly rubbing the silk panties over my damp folds. “All we can do is follow our instinct and see what happens,” he continues.

“Christ,” I pant, my eyelids flickering shut, as the sensation between my legs begins to become overwhelming.

“So, what is your instinct telling you?” he asks, his voice husky now, as he takes my earlobe between his teeth and nibbles gently.

“I want you,” I quickly blurt. “Chris,” I say, heavy-lidded eyes turning toward him. “What does your instinct tell you?” I ask.

His delicious, full lips smile broadly. “I want you. I’ve never wanted any woman as much as I want you,” he tells me, sincerity clear in his eyes. “I want to spend hours exploring your body,” he adds, his face moving slowly, but very deliberately toward mine. “I want to hear you screaming my name,” he whispers.

“Please, Chris,” I beg, my head tipping back on a neck that’s no longer strong enough to support it. “I need you.” Before the words are out of my mouth, my hand is blindly darting to his crotch, clumsily trying to yank his zipper down.

“Hey,” he chuckles, the fingers of his free hand closing over mine. “Don’t you want to get something to eat first?”

All that came from my mouth was a frustrated whimper.

“Because I’ve gotta tell you,” he says warmly, his lips placing gentle kisses across my jaw line. “If we start something now, neither of us will be going anywhere for several hours.”

I want to scream, ‘you’ve already started something’, but instead, I moan something unintelligible. I continue to fight with his hand, trying to wrench my fingers out of his grasp.

“You really want it?” he asks, his voice deeper than usual as something seems to stir in him.

“Yes,” I hiss, the word elongated on a shallow exhale.

“Get up,” he suddenly requests, his hand leaving my body and appearing from beneath my dress.

“Huh?”

“Get up,” he repeats more firmly.

On very unsteady legs, I do as he asks. He does the same, grasping my fingers between his. With the other hand at the small of my back, he guides me around the couch. At first, I think we’re heading to the bedroom, although I’m confused as to how he knows where it is. It soon becomes clear, however, that our destination is much nearer.

Staying behind me, Chris steers me to the back of the couch, before pushing the length of his body against mine. Reflexively, my hands shoot forward, grasping the top of the couch to prevent myself from toppling.

“I used to dream about this,” he mutters, his fingers leaving my hand and smoothing over my ass. “Taking you from behind,” he adds by way of explanation. Both hands stroke up to my hips, before one lifts to the tiny zipper between my shoulder blades.

“Chr-” I gasp, as I hear the zip being pulled down.

“So beautiful,” he mumbles, seemingly to himself, as he runs his tongue down the bare skin of my back. I feel him sink to his knees, pulling the dress over my hips, until it drops to the carpet.

I lift one foot then the other, kicking the puddle of black fabric out of the way. My fingers are trembling, as they clench the back of the couch. This, like our encounter last night, was not the way I’d imagined being with Chris. However, it was infinitely hotter than anything I could have imagined.