Page 47 of Mr. Irrelevant (Rock City Renegades #1)
THIRTY-FIVE
MADDOX
“Are you sure you’re good to play?” Coach Hendricks asks as I pull my shoulder pads over my head.
“I need to know that you’re going to keep your cool out there.
We may have pulled off a couple wins without you, but with Rhodes tweaking his knee last week, we can’t rely so heavily on the run game. We have to conserve.”
I give him a tight nod. “You have my word. I understand how important this game is.” He lifts his chin, looking down at me with skepticism in his eyes.
I get his reluctance. My fight with Deacon had the potential to end our season before we even got a chance to compete for a playoff spot.
My backup, a rookie we acquired from Dallas after Baker was injured, did everything he could, but without much experience, they played it safe.
Our main running back was overused and has had some swelling in his knee ever since.
He’s been cleared by the team doctors for today, but if we’re not careful, we won’t have him for next week.
And we’re going to need him, because in the wildest turn of events, beating the Cincinnati Impact today will punch our ticket to the Wild Card game.
“Alright. Finish up here, then go look over your game balls before they’re sent to the officials,” Coach says, seemingly placated by my response as he gives me a solid pat on the back and walks away.
I focus on getting dressed while I go over the playbook in my head.
Nervous energy buzzes in the back of my brain as I do, annoying me like a mosquito that just won’t go away, no matter how much you swat at it.
By no means am I afraid of Deacon or think I won’t be able to do my job if he’s on the field with me.
I know he talked shit about Livvy last time to throw me off and see if he could fuck me up—which he did—so I’ll be ready for it today.
However, I’d be lying if I said I had complete confidence in my ability to keep my hands to myself if he disrespects her again.
I gave Mr. Grant and Coach Hendricks my word, but I’d risk anything to defend her…
apparently even my own career. As much as that revelation would’ve been shocking to me at the beginning of the season, it feels as natural as breathing air right now.
I tie my cleats, doing my best to quiet the noise inside my head as I leave the locker room and head toward the equipment closet.
But I only make it about halfway down the white brick corridor before a door swings open and I’m yanked by the hem of my jersey into a dark, empty room.
I can feel that it’s her before my eyes even adjust, confusion washing over me because she’s the last person I was expecting to see today .
“Baby, what the hell are you doing here?” I ask.
“You were supposed to be watching with Syd and Bailey.” My hands immediately find her hips, pulling her into my body because I fucking needed this.
Her presence calms me, her small arms wrapping around my neck as all the anxiety I felt moments ago fades away.
“I was going to, but I was up before the sun with this nagging urge to get in my car and drive. I tried to ignore it, but the longer I waited, the worse it got. So I tossed a few things into a bag and got here as fast as I could.” She looks up, her blue eyes shining in the small sliver of light that peeks through the crack in the door.
“I just had to see you. Are you feeling okay?”
I smile, dipping down so my mouth is just a breath away from hers.
“So much better now that you’re here.” She pushes to her tiptoes, closing the space between us as her lips connect with mine.
I inhale deeply, reveling in the way she grounds me with such a simple touch.
Her tongue darts out, licking softly. Unable to deny her, I open, allowing her to push inside.
“Goddammit, Liv,” I groan into the kiss, incapable of tearing myself away.
“I have to meet with the equipment manager.” She ignores my words for a few seconds, lost in the way I taste before she jerks herself back, her gorgeous tits heaving like she just ran a marathon.
I know I need to go. It’s important to choose which balls I want to use on the field, because even though they’re all technically the same, they’re not.
They all feel different, and I’m extremely particular with mine.
I take at least ten minutes to hold them before they’re sent to the refs to be weighed and checked, maybe more if I feel like they need to be scuffed up or wiped down.
But the fiery look in her eyes as she stares up at me, lips swollen from my kisses, has me questioning whether or not I can get by with whatever the hell the team gives me.
“Fuck it,” I rush out, slamming my mouth back to hers.
My hands run up her hips, fingers curling into the bare flesh above her waistband and eliciting a desperate whimper that I swallow greedily.
I deepen the connection, feeling like if I don’t touch every inch of her, I might fucking die right here.
My cock thickens inside my football pants, restrained by the hard plastic of my athletic cup.
And as a man who’s been surviving strictly on hand jobs for the last two weeks while his piercing heals, I’m like a bomb ready to go off at any second.
I step forward, backing Livvy into the wall as our kiss grows frantic, her head shaking in protest as she attempts to break away.
“Maddox, no,” she breathes. “You have to go.” Her words are telling me one thing, but her body says another when I unfasten her jeans and dive my hand inside her thin lace panties.
“Shut the fuck up,” I order, her hips bucking to meet my fingers when they press to her swollen bundle of nerves.
I rub in quick, soft circles, a needy whimper tumbling from her lips in response.
Silencing her with another kiss, I hump into her like a feral animal.
I sink inside her warm, wet heat, curling my fingers forward and hitting the spot that drives her wild.
Adrenaline courses through my veins as her inner walls begin to tighten, her impending climax evident with the way she’s gripping me.
“That’s it, Dimes,” I coax. “Come on my throwing hand, so I can taste you before every play.”
“Oh my God.” The words whoosh from her lungs as she shakes violently, her release pulsing against my fingers and making my vision go hazy with desire.
I work her through it as best as I can, but when my hips thrust forward on their own accord, pressing into her toned body one last time, I sink my teeth into her shoulder to muffle the growl that bursts from my chest. I’m sucked into a vortex of bliss, tumbling around for what feels like forever before slowly floating back down until I’m cognizant of the floor under my feet.
Remnants of electricity skitter through my limbs, and I blink my eyes open, trying to figure out what the fuck just happened.
But reality hits me like a ton of bricks as I focus on Liv, whose expression is masked in shock.
“Did you just…” she chokes out, her words breathy and broken as she recovers from her orgasm.
“Yeah,” I reply, pulling my hand from her pants and shifting from one foot to the other as I become very aware of the warm, sticky wetness inside my athletic cup.
“Fuck.” My face twists in discomfort, making her giggle.
I roll my eyes, unable to stay mad after she just gave me the best nut I’ve had in weeks, even if she didn’t know she was doing it.
I’m already feeling a million times more relaxed and ready to play after this little quickie.
“I really have to go,” I say, pressing a chaste kiss to her lips. “I need to clean up and get to my footballs before we hit the field.”
She smiles sweetly, her dick-drunk expression and warm cheeks making her as adorable as ever, even in the almost nonexistent light. “I love you. Have a great game. And congrats on another checkmark, because I’m definitely counting this as sex in public. ”
“Damn right, you are,” I shoot back with a cocky smirk. “I love you too.” Then I’m out the door in a flash, praying that I have an extra cup in my bag, and that my footballs are in perfect shape to make a run for the Wild Card.
“Red, seven! Red, seven! Hut, hut!”
Boomer snaps the ball, and I roll back, allowing the play to develop as my line hits their blocks.
They’re on point today, giving me plenty of time to wait for an open receiver as I scan the field for the best option.
Jett executes a perfect in route, shaking his defender right before I fire the pass his way.
It hits him directly in the numbers about twenty yards downfield, and he manages to gain another five before he’s pushed out of bounds at the fifteen-yard line.
“Fuck yeah, Kingsley!” I shout through cupped hands, jogging toward the new line of scrimmage.
But Deacon Underwood falls into step beside me, the signature grin I’d love to punch off his face on full display as I prepare for him to pull something.
He’s been trying for the entire first half, but I’ve tuned it out, choosing to lick Livvy’s taste off my fingertips every time he looks my way.
He may not know what I’m doing—claiming her while he watches—but it’s a good reminder to myself that I got the girl.