Page 7 of 1st and 10 (Season of Change #1)

He smells good. Really, really good. I nuzzle my face deeper into his chest, practically in his armpit, my attention not on the television, but on the man beside me.

Weird to think it’s only been a few weeks since we met.

Everything with us, once I removed my head from my ass and moved out of the land of stereotypes, is so natural. Easy. Healthy.

We talk all the time, phone or text messages.

See each other several days a week outside of football practice and games.

He was in a bad mood yesterday after practice when he met me for dinner, but it didn’t take long for him to shake it off.

He said coach is doubling down on his assholery and promptly changed the subject.

We made out against the wall in the hallway of my apartment building for like a half hour before he ushered me in and said goodnight.

I wanted him to come inside so bad. I wanted to kiss him with our clothes off.

He had an early class, and I had a meeting with my thesis advisor first thing this morning.

And now, a Friday night, the night before a game, we’re cuddling on his couch instead of trolling the campus for parties. He’s not at all what I imagined when I first met him. And that’s on me. I judged him too quickly.

A door opens and one of his quadmates walks into the common space in just his boxers.

Just past the couch, he lets one rip, and I watch in shock when he scratches his balls on the way into their kitchenette.

He grabs a drink from the fridge, cracks it open and guzzles it down.

As he walks past us back to his room, he belches with a boyish giggle.

Once his door is firmly closed again, I arch my neck to stare up at Crue, who is losing the battle against his laughter.

Boys are gross.

“Why are we here?” Crue’s perfect lips stretch into a smirk.

“In general or in this room?”

I roll my eyes at him and answer, “This room.” He shares a quad with three other roommates.

They have their own bedroom, two bathrooms, a shared kitchenette, and living room.

It’s surprisingly nice, given that four male athletes live here.

Doesn’t smell bad, though, I can’t smell much other than Crue.

His scent, his warmth, the feel of his muscles and soft skin…

not much else exists for me when we’re together.

He smiles, and my eyes dart to the chipped front tooth I find so cute.

“That’s easy; if we went back to your place, where we would be alone, I’m afraid I would have stripped you bare and feasted on your pussy until you couldn’t walk and my tongue cramped.

” My core spasms at the image he creates with just his words.

Nipples hard peaks desperate for his touch.

“ That’s …why aren’t we doing that?” I don’t recognize my own voice, all husky and laced with desire.

I snarl and snap my teeth when he taps the tip of my nose.

He opens his mouth to offer a ridiculous retort, but his phone beeps with an incoming text message.

He frowns, grabs his phone from the arm of the couch and stares at it.

The longer he stares, the deeper his frown gets.

“Babe?” His eyes snap to mine and his lips tip up in a broad grin.

“Like that.” Closing the distance between us, he snares my lips in a hard kiss, then bites my bottom lip as he pulls away. “Like that a lot.”

“Who is it?” Not sure if I have a right to ask that, but I don’t like the shift in his mood. He’s sexy when he frowns, all gruff and stern looking, but happy Crue is irresistible.

With another grunt, he turns off the screen and sets it aside again. “Coach. Wants to see me in his office before the game tomorrow.”

“Is that normal?” I’m finding in my research that Coach Heacock is not a typical coach.

My interactions with him, observations of him with his colleagues and players are abnormal, stilted, forced.

Reels of other teams show coaches that lead a legion of loyal followers, young men willing to do anything their coach tells them because they trust him.

I don’t think any of our players would follow Heacock to the end of the block.

Now, the assistant coaches…they inspire a loyalty that is more aligned with other teams across the country.

“No.”

“So…not a good thing?”

“Not usually,” he mutters.

“I’m sorry.” I lean up and he meets me for a lazy kiss. Slowly pulling apart, our eyes lock and I grin impishly. “Back to your tongue between my legs—”

“You aren’t ready,” he interrupts without hesitation.

Shifting on the couch, and feeling emboldened with righteous indignation and arousal, I straddle his lap, dropping my jean covered pussy against the promising bulge in his own jeans.

He gazes up at me, his lips parted slightly, his breathing coming faster, eyes heavy-lidded.

“I feel ready.” I whine, which is so unlike me, and grind our pelvises together. “My vagina is hella ready.”

Through gritted teeth, voice strained, his hands clamp on my waist. I think he’s going to reject me, pull me off him, but instead he raises his hips as I grind down. “I’m being a gentleman.”

“UGH! Fine.” I’m pouting like a child. An idea comes to mind, something I’ve never done before. His roommates aren’t parents, but close enough. I ghost my lips over his. “How about second base? Let’s make out like teenagers in their parent’s family room.”

“Phia, my roommates could come out at any moment.” Why does that make me hotter? My pussy wetter? I raise an eyebrow at him, as if asking who cares. “Fuck. Do I get to play with them titties?” I nod coyly, feeling like I’m a different person. He brings out a side to myself I didn’t know existed.

He surges up, fusing our mouths together, his tongue immediately licking across my lips then diving between them.

His hands guide my movements, showing me how to swivel my hips.

Once I’ve got the hang of it, moaning like a wanton whore as I ride his burgeoning erection, his hands trace the shape of my body, up my torso to my breasts.

He groans and I swallow the sound as he hefts the weight of them in his large hands.

I break away from his kiss to throw my head back and let out a long, low, pleasurable moan, his fingers pinching my nipples through my shirt and bra.

“Let me see ‘em, baby. I just want to feel them in my hands, shove my face between them.” He’s already rucking up my tee, exposing my tits encased in a plain cotton bra.

I’m fairly down to earth, realistic in who I am and how I look.

But my boobs…I admit are beautiful. “Fuckin’ hell.

” He mutters, dragging his fingertips over the two mounds above my bra line.

He drops his face into my cleavage, the vibrations of his moans tickling my sensitive skin.

His large hands frame them, pushing them together, then letting them fall back.

Crue’s dark eyes drift up to meet mine, my breath hitching at the emotion that swells within them.

He glances quickly over his shoulders, then slowly, teasingly, pulls the left cup down until my naked breast and painfully hard tip pop out.

He opens his mouth near my nipple, but doesn’t touch it, instead the warmth of his breath teases my turgid peak until I’m mindlessly driving my hips faster and faster, my climax building rapidly.

I’m so close. He sticks his tongue out and languidly licks around the bud, broadening the circle to include my areola.

“Crue,” I whisper harshly, feeling the precipice fast approaching.

He looks up at me with such mischief that I laugh until his lips finally close around my nipple and suckle.

I hold his stare as I fall apart, using his thick cock for my own needs.

His eyes close and a serene expression loosens his facial features.

Other hand on my back, he traps me on his lap, rocking beneath me.

A moment later, he grunts, his cheeks hollow as he sucks my tip hard, prolonging my own orgasm.

Reluctantly, he releases my nipple from his mouth, his hands skating reverently up and down my body. I’ve never felt so cherished and seen and exhausted.

“For obvious reasons, football is my sport of choice.” He murmurs in my hair, my face buried in his neck, my chest against his. One large hand cups my right ass cheek and squeezes. “I’m thinking baseball might not be so bad.”

“Most pleasurable double I’ve ever experienced.”