First Down: A Nerdy Virgin Meets a Badboy Football Player Romance Read online

  He nods, still looking lost and confused and completely adorable. I escape to my bathroom, bringing trembling fingers up to my swollen lips. I'm flushed and my green eyes are glazed. I look like I've already been fucked. I pat my hair back into place and splash a little water on my face to bring myself back to my senses. Maybe this is a mistake. I've just met him today and already I've brought him into my home. And he's definitely expecting more than a beer. Not that that'll keep me from throwing him out on his ass if I decide I can't go through with this. This isn't me. I don't do these sorts of things.

  But I can still taste him on my lips. And my panties are already wet with desire. I may not plan on actually sleeping with him tonight, but I'm definitely not ready to send him away. I can't let a gorgeous man who reads and loves Harry Potter get away. Not yet anyway.

  And it's been such a long time since I've had a good make-out session. Or an orgasm not brought by my own hand. I freshen up and adjust my clothes, finally gearing up the nerve to leave the bathroom and return to the god-like man who waits for me. If I leave him waiting too long, he might leave.

  I open my door to find Zach perusing my shelves and nursing a beer. I'm glad to see he had decided to help himself. He grins at me, his eyes roving up and down my body. His intense gaze makes me feel like I'm already naked before him.

  "Sorry." I say. "I take it you found a way to amuse yourself?"

  His eyes brim with humor, not at all fooled by my pretenses. But he plays along. "You have an impressive collection. Are they all yours or do you have plans for them in the store?"

  I smile. "They're all mine. If I bring store books upstairs they aren't safe. I'd be too tempted to keep them."

  He chuckles. "I'm surprised you bother buying books for yourself when you could always go right downstairs and borrow something from your store."

  I gasp with theatrics. "I would never. My store isn't a library. What if I broke the spines? Or spilled coffee on the pages? I can't sell used books to my customers. Besides, that's not very fair to the authors." I don't mention I have done it before, but I'd kept the book and replaced it with a new copy for the store.

  He holds up his hands in surrender, almost dropping his beer in the process, laughter escaping from his luscious lips. "Sorry. Sorry. I had no idea I was suggesting something so scandalous."

  I laugh. "That's all right. Now you know better."

  "I like learning new things." His voice loses the humor and carries a dirty innuendo.

  I infuse my own voice with the same double entendre, that roller coaster sensation returning. "So do I."

  The corner of his lips quirk and his pupils widen. But he doesn't move, he just looks at me, taking me in. There's a strange look in his eyes. One I'm probably reading too much into, but it looks like wonder. Like I'm some mythical creature and he has the pleasure of being in my presence. It looks like he wants me to make the first move, probably sensing my doubts from earlier.

  But my doubts are long gone, leaving only arousal in their place. And excitement. And my own wonder that a man this hot is interested in boring old me. Especially after only seeing me in a McGonagall costume. It's not like I went to the party dressed as Fleur Delacour.

  I take a step towards him, and pull the beer from his hand, taking a long, sensuous pull. His eyes follow my every move, his body still, like I'm a wild horse he doesn't want to spook or scare off.

  But I'm not going anywhere. I can't think of anything he could do to scare me off at this point. I'm too worked up and he's too perfect. I set the beer on my little kitchen table, which is covered in a sheer and billowy teal tablecloth.

  Before I even have the chance to turn back around to face him completely, Zach is on me, pulling me into his arms with a hand at the back of my neck, his mouth claiming mine in a kiss that shatters me into pieces and rebuilds me better and stronger than ever. I clutch him back so tightly the tips of my fingers go numb. But the rest of me races with the electricity humming between us.

  Zach's fingers thread through my hair and he presses his pelvis against me, his hard length nudging against my belly. My pussy clenches with a greedy need. He slides his hands away from my head and it sends my brown hair tumbling down my shoulders.

  Zach leans back and stares at me, his eyes blazing blue fire. He growls and recaptures my lips, ripping the robe off my shoulders and down my arms, and sending it pooling around our feet. He walks me backwards until I'm pressed against the wall. He likes trapping me against hard surfaces apparently. Not that I have a single complaint. I like the feeling, the roughness, the hotness.

  His kiss is different now. Harsher, hotter, more demanding. Like he's determined to own me, body and soul. Did Darcy kiss Elizabeth like this? Did Rochester kiss Jane like this? Did Wesley kiss Buttercup like this? I could go on for a while but my mind stops there.

  Is this the start to my own legendary romance? Based on the winged keys fluttering in my belly, it is a possibility. The logical part of my brain tells me to slow down on those thoughts, this is just the best hook up of all time, but the lust and magic boiling in my chest and belly has taken over and just wants to fall.

  I steady myself with my hands on his shoulders, not certain how long my knees will continue holding me upright. His hands graze the sides of my breasts as he runs them up and down me. My head falls back against the wall with a thud. He takes advantage of it and cups my tits, palming their weight, running his thumbs over my fabric-covered nipples. There's too much clothing between us, getting in our way. I need to feel his skin, burn myself on his heat, taste him.

  I reach for the hem of his shirt, gliding it up over his chest until it gets hung up around his arms. He releases me just long enough to yank it over his head.

  Sweet merciful mermen. He is glorious. He is a bronze statue lovingly carved by a master's hands. My own hands have never touched such defined muscles, hard planes covered by satiny smooth skin. Before he can take my lips again, I kiss across his chest, wanting to taste him. He skin ripples beneath my lips and his breathing hitches and then hastens. I can feel his heart pounding harder with each touch of my mouth. I nip and kiss up him until he claims my lips again, his fingers popping open the buttons on my black blouse.

  Air hisses through his teeth when he reveals my lacy red bra. "Shit, Tara. I knew you had something delicious hidden underneath your robe."

  I shake as he bends down to plant reverent kisses on the swell at the top of my breasts. He finishes unbuttoning my blouse, yanking the ends out from the waistband of my gray skirt. He slides it down off my arms, his hands following in its wake. Goosebumps rise in response to his gentle touch. I'm a fiery orb of burning need, about to explode.

  He reaches behind me to unclasp my bra with only one hand, easing it from my shoulders to join my robe and blouse on the floor. He sucks in another loud breath and circles the outer rims of my hardened nipples with his pointer fingers. My nipples pucker even further in response and this time it's my breath hissing through my teeth. I arch my back, wanting and needing a firmer touch.

  He takes both my tits in his hands and pushes me back against the wall, kneading at my flesh as he sears my lips with a passionate kiss. I grasp the back of his neck, my fingers tangling in his hair, whimpers falling from my mouth into his.

  His hands slip down my sides and wrap around the small of my back. His hands are so big, he can almost reach completely around the span of my waist. Our chests glide against each other, his skin smooth and soft against mine. My breasts are smashed almost flat against the hard planes of his torso as I press as close to him as I can get. It still isn't enough. We aren't close enough. The sensations flowing through me demand more.

  My body aches to be filled.

  He seems to feel the same need, the same desperation, the same ache. He lifts me with ease, my long, flowing skirt falling down my legs, allowing me to wrap my legs around his waist. His mouth travels down my neck, to the tops of my breasts, until he reaches my nipples. He sucks one of them lightly
into his mouth, flicking his tongue across it. He moves to the other one, giving it the same attention, sucking the slightest bit harder.

  Crying out, I arch my back even more, loving each lick and suck. No one has ever played my body so perfectly. Like I'm a violin and he's first chair in the orchestra. I'm glad he's holding me up because the force of pleasure slamming through me would send me crumpling to the floor otherwise.

  He backs away from our spot by the wall, carrying me over to my bed, covered in a teal and purple wispy comforter. The twinkly lights wrapped around the headboard and up the posts on my four poster bed dance across our skin, flashing in his eyes as he stares down at me, taking me in, splayed across the bed, my skin flushed and chest heaving. He stands between my legs and reaches for the zipper on my hip, sliding it down and removing the fabric from me. He bends over me, trailing light kisses from the valley between my breasts down to the waistband of my thong. Then he peels my drenched red lacy panties down my legs.

  I start to kick off my shoes, but he stops me with a hand high on my thigh. A touch that sends shivers through me. "No. Leave them on. I want the heels of your sexy witch boots digging into my back while I taste you."

  I let out a breathless moan, my legs spreading as his hands push apart my thighs. He kneels down, placing my legs over his shoulders and dives between my folds with enthusiasm.

  I've had this done before...well, only a couple of times, but I am utterly certain it's never been like this. Zach is a man who knows exactly what he's doing, which makes me nervous and excited at once.

  Is he going to be the one?

  Will he be able to tell I haven't...that he'll be my first? To Alohomora me, so to speak?

  I'll never find a better candidate. No one I've ever dated or fooled around with had been this skilled. And I've never had such a strong connection with a man before. Especially so quickly.

  Besides, at this point in my life, I'm not waiting for a husband. I'm only twenty-four. I'm just waiting for someone to make it feel the way all the books describe it. This right here?

  YUP.

  His tongue flicks across my sensitive bud with light touches, teasing me until I am tense and stiff beneath him. He moves his face lower, circling his tongue around the entryway of my pussy. My thighs tremble and my stomach clenches, my breaths raspy and ragged. He groans against me, sending shivery shocks and spikes of pleasure vibrating through me. It has never been like this before. Never. Ever. Ever.

  He laps up every bit of my drenched desire, laving his tongue across the core of me. He reaches up to grab my tits, rubbing his thumbs over my puckered nipples before plucking them lightly. I squirm beneath him, wordlessly begging for more. He pinches my nipples a little harder making me moan and my pussy clench. I feel his lips spread into a grin against my core at my response.

  Zach releases one of my tits and brings his hand back down, sliding a couple of his fingers into my dripping sheath. He crooks his fingers up, hitting that sensitive and rarely touched place inside me. He keeps a steady pace with his tongue against my clit as he fucks me with his fingers and teases my nipples.

  A sheen of sweat coats my trembling body and my room turns hazy and fuzzy. I'm burning, burning, burning. I'm spinning, spinning, spinning.

  The great hall of my mind fills with floating candles. I'm lost in a spell so strong I don't ever want to escape it or recover from it. But unfortunately the spell fades, leaving me weak and gasping, and completely and utterly sated. I meet Zach's eyes, smiling when I see his cocky, satisfied grin. My legs are still hanging over his shoulders and down his back. I slide them off of him and scoot back onto the bed completely.

  He moves over me to get into a more comfortable position, and winces.

  "Are you all right?" I ask, frowning in concern. Did he pull something while he was pleasuring me? Did I dig the heels of my shoes too hard into his back?

  He lets out a small, muffled groan as he settles beside me. "Yeah. Just a football injury."

  Football? Seriously? "I should have guessed you played college ball," I say. Ugh. So much for our amazing connection. So much for finally finding someone to worth losing my virginity to. So much for finally finding someone and something like the books describe. He's nothing but a Wickham sent to distract me with fake charm. A Viktor Krum to bide a little time with until my true love finally finds me.

  He's definitely no Rochester. He's definitely no Westley. He's just some jock. But maybe he just did it for the scholarship? The slightest tendril of hope takes hold. I don't breathe as I wait for his answer.

  He snorts and smirks, raising a lone brow and shaking his head. "Oh no, sweetheart, I'm the pro running back for the Broncos." Smug pride colors his voice, completely turning me off. He assumes I'll be putty in his hands at this pronouncement. He has no idea. He has no idea the hopes he just dashed to the ground and stomped into dust.

  Heart shattering a little, and disappointment welling within me, I move to a seated position, trying to cover my breasts with my legs, putting up a barrier between us. "Well, Zach, the running back for the Broncos, I think it's probably time to call it a night." I fight back tears of frustration.

  I scramble from the bed and grab my green robe, throwing it back on in lieu of a regular robe, clutching it closed at my middle, my nudity suddenly making me feel incredibly self-conscious and rather vulnerable. I grab his shirt from the floor, tossing it over to him. He frowns in confusion as he slides from the bed and stands, pulling his shirt on over his head.

  I cross the room and open the door, waiting wordless and impatient for him to leave, grateful for the darkness of the night embracing us. I ignore the way the lights flicker across his skin. Skin that had felt so marvelous against mine.

  I need him out of here now so I can dwell in my misery. And try to forget this night ever happened. What had been magical and amazing and marvelous and perfect is ruined. Lying in ashes at my feet. How is someone so well versed in Harry Potter and books could be a jock? And a pro one at that?

  It's my own fault for not asking him more questions earlier tonight. I'd thought it was so sweet that he focused so intently on me that I hadn't even bothered to get to know him beyond his thoughts on Hermione and other Potter facts. I should have known, since Viktor Krum is his favorite. Of course he is. He's a fellow jock. Ugh. Ugh. Ugh. Ugh. Ugh.

  He scowls at me as he finally stomps through the door I slam behind him.

  Football? Hard no. Thank the wise Rowena Ravenclaw I didn't sleep with him.

  4

  Zach

  This marks the first time in my entire damn life I was invited to leave once a girl realized I'm a famous athlete. Hell, this is the first time in my life I've been invited to leave a woman's bedroom for any reason. Usually they beg me to stay longer.

  I turn and stare at the door, frowning. This is incredibly fucking confusing. She really did writhe beneath my mouth, tasting like heaven, and then hustle me out as swiftly as she let me in.

  I raise my hand to knock, but instead I let my fist drop back down to my side with a scowl. She clearly doesn't want me here. And the last thing I intend to do is beg her or plead for it.

  She should be begging ME for it.

  I slip down the steps, thankfully finding a side door that leads out to an alley so I don't have to go back through the bookstore and face her co-workers and friends. Back on the sidewalk outside, I look back through the windows of the store, the twinkly lights still flashing, the candles still lit, drunken laughter still spilling out from the inside.

  The night is still incredibly fucking early. It isn't even midnight yet. I consider calling one of the girls I know who are always up for a bit of fun, since this was a complete waste and my blood still boils for release. But for some reason, I can't think of anyone who would do. Tara's image keeps pushing them out.

  Shoving my hands in my pockets, I head back down the street to my car, feeling strangely cold and barren. She was supposed to take my mind off my troubles, not add more.
And my dick is still rock hard from how fucking hot she was, wriggling beneath my mouth.

  Behind the wheel of my car, I blow out a breath and pound the wheel with my fist. From such promise came such a weird ending. We'd had such a wonderful night. I haven't enjoyed just talking to a woman in such a long time. If ever. Surrounded by the magic of her party and getting to indulge my love of Harry Potter and literature for once, it was like something out of another world. She'd enchanted me with her wit and smiles and her dizzying scent.

  And I know she'd felt the same. Everything was perfect until I told her who I am. I guess now it makes sense that she didn't recognize me. That her friends and co-workers didn't recognize me. She clearly makes it a point not to watch sports or follow them in any way. What had been refreshing now feels more like a curse. I hadn't considered the negative side to getting to be invisible for a night. I should have just kept my damn mouth shut about my injury, but I had no idea she'd be so violently against football.

  It'd have been one thing if she wasn’t impressed, though that probably would have stung my pride a bit as well, but to be ushered out like some embarrassing lapse of judgment on her part was humiliating.

  What is her problem? It's not like I told her I kill people for a living. Or like I'm a garbage collector, or a car salesman. Or a sadistic dentist. It’s not like I still live in my parents' basement, playing video games and watching porn all day instead of working.

  I'm a famous fucking football star. Women usually throw themselves and their underwear at me, ripe for the picking. And by picking, I mean fucking. It's not like I haven't met plenty of women who don't follow or like the sport, or any sport for that matter, but I've never met one who would toss me out on my ear over it. I suspect she hates my job—hell, my calling—and it makes no sense. It's borderline unpatriotic. This is America, for crying out loud. Football players are gods here.