First Down: A Nerdy Virgin Meets a Badboy Football Player Romance Page 6

  I have to feel her, taste her. Now.

  I pull away from her mouth, lifting her up to strip her from her shirt. She breathes hard as I reach behind her to pull off her bra, her hands returning to clutch my shoulders. I follow the trail of fabric with my mouth, kissing down the soft skin of her arms. She trembles against me, her beautiful green eyes glowing with desire.

  She rips at my shirt, trying to tear it to bits. I raise myself to my knees long enough to shed myself of the shirt. She rubs her hands up my torso, drawing a shudder from me at her soft touch. There's no hesitation in her eyes or hands as she explores me. Her gaze refuses to release me as she seems to try and read my intentions. I hide nothing from her, wanting her to see my seriousness, my tenderness for her, my desire for her.

  Whatever she sees there apparently reassures her. One of her hands travels to the buckle of my belt and down over my jeans, rubbing against the bulge in my pants. I groan and press it harder into her hand.

  Tara gasps, making her tits bounce, drawing my attention and mouth down towards her hard nipples.

  She releases another one of her sexy whimpers, tossing her head back as I suck gently at the tip of her tit, swirling my tongue around the nipple. I follow her as she collapses back against the bed, refusing to release her nipple. Her hands fall away from me to grip my back.

  I bring one of my hands up to her other boob, and roll her other nipple between my fingers. Her hair is fanned out around her, framing her face, her expression desperate as she presses her chest harder into my face. Her boobs are small, but perky and full. They fit perfectly into my hand.

  And my mouth.

  And they're fucking gorgeous and perfect.

  I trail my lips across the top of her chest, down between the valley of her tits to her belly, licking along the waistband of her yoga pants. Her head thrashes and her hands fist the blanket.

  Fuck, she is so damn hot.

  I want her more than I've ever wanted anyone. I want her so much my cock aches and blood boils.

  Grabbing her waistband, I slide her pants and underwear down her legs, kissing and licking down each of her thighs the same way as I did before on her arms. Her legs tremble and quiver with every touch. After tossing her pants and underwear to the floor to join her shirt and bra, I drag a finger through her folds and she's already so fucking wet for me.

  I stare down at her perfect body, taking in every inch of her. Perky tits with big, dark nipples, Green eyes limpid with desire. Flat stomach sculpted with the slightest hints of abs. Long, lithe legs the perfect length to wrap around me. Plump pussy with dark curls trimmed close to the skin. I like a woman with pubic hair. She's a woman. She should look like it. I haven't enjoyed this new fad of women waxing and shaving themselves bare like young girls who have yet to reach maturity.

  She's fucking delicious and tempting as hell.

  I have to taste her.

  Kneeling between her legs, I spread her thighs again, opening her up for me. I look up her body to meet her eyes as I take my first lick. She throws her arms across her face, stiffening and sucking in a breath. I grab her pussy lips and open them up, flicking my tongue over her clit furiously until she cries out. She tastes delicious. I crave her like she's the expensive, fine whiskey I keep for special occasions.

  When I sense her reaching the verge of climax, I ease off, taking slow licks with the flat of my tongue, unable to resist darting my tongue over her back hole. I want to make this last for her. I want to tease her until she's desperate.

  I want to turn my attention completely to her sweet ass, but I don't want to push her too far, too fast or scare her off. But I will. Hopefully, soon.

  I slip my tongue deep into her pussy, swirling it around inside her. She moans and lifts her pelvis. I smile against her cunt, drowning in her heavenly taste. I could stay between her legs all day. She moans again, squirming beneath me, the muscles in her stomach clenching.

  I return my attention to her clit, nibbling at her nub, pinching her folds a little harder. Her hips jerk and she gasps. I soothe the sting with my tongue, looking up at her to make sure she's okay. She's staring at me out from under her arms, her bottom lip caught between her teeth.

  She likes it. I thought she might. She was putty in my hands when I was rough with her. Fuck, she is perfection. Everything I've ever wanted in a woman other than the lack of love for football.

  Which is something I bet I can change eventually. If I work at it really hard. If I'm really convincing.

  I drag my teeth across her again, reveling in her gasps and whimpers. Reveling in each twitch of her thigh muscles. I slip two of my fingers inside her, my passage easy and smooth thanks to her dripping pussy. She is so wet and hot and ready and tight. Ready for me. Ready for my cock. I ache to be inside her. To feel her coming on my dick.

  She makes me feel like a fourteen-year-old shooting his load too soon after seeing his first set of boobs. She has seriously turned me into a horny fucking teenager. It's ridiculous. I have to get it together. Keep my head in the game.

  I crook my fingers up to tease her g-spot. She jerks and cries out. The sounds makes my cock jerk and harden even further. My self-control is almost shattered. It's taking everything in me not to rip off my clothes and sink into her balls deep. I remind myself this is about her pleasure. And I can't rush her. I won't rush her. She has to be sure and ready.

  But I'm damn sure going to make her ready. And if I have to do this a million times before she is, I have no complaints or protests. I love eating women out. I love the taste of pussy, the feel of them clenching my head with their thighs.

  Tara tastes and responds better than anyone.

  I start stroking in and out of her, wishing it was my cock, flicking my tongue over her clit. She is so fucking tight. Once I am inside of her, it's going to be hard as hell to keep from blowing my load in her right away. I fuck her with my fingers, going faster and faster, keeping the same rhythm with my mouth. Her breaths become harsh and fast. Her pussy clamps down hard on my fingers, making me groan against her.

  I ease off her again, slowing down my movements, enjoying her little mewl of protest and distress. I love teasing her, making her want me as much as I want her. And since she drives me mad with desire, I fully intend to return the favor.

  Unable to resist, I lick her ass again, biting lightly at her butt cheeks. She gasps and jerks, but based on the blissful expression on her face, she has no objections.

  I do it again.

  She mutters a couple choice cuss words, her voice strained and husky. My cock presses hard against my jeans. I adjust my position, trying to shake myself into a more comfortable spot.

  She moans again, taking my attention away from my discomfort, and back to the gorgeous woman waiting for release. Maybe I've tortured her long enough. And to be honest, it's my turn. I hope.

  I consider sliding a finger into her asshole, but instead, I add a third finger, stretching her tight hole. I've pushed her far enough tonight. She squirms and threads her hands into my hair, pulling at it, sending spikes of pain through my scalp.

  "You're mine," I claim as I twist my fingers inside her, making her body almost float above the bed.

  She mumbles something I can't make out, too far gone with arousal to make any sense. She's beautiful like this. Her body flushed red, glimmering with sweat and the glow from her twinkly lights.

  I growl and fuck her harder with my fingers, sucking at her clit, grazing her with my teeth again. I mean business now. I want to make her come hard and loud. So loud it knocks her precious books off the shelves.

  I reach up and grab her left nipple between my fingers, rolling it and pinching harshly. She cries out, her grip on my hair tightening, making me wince. I like it though. It's the good kind of pain. The kind that signals how turned on she is.

  It doesn't take long for her entire body to tense up. She screams and bucks, her pussy clenching my fingers. I draw out her orgasm, drinking up every last bit of pleasure I can wring
from her, not letting up for a long few moments.

  Unfortunately, no books fall. I'll have to try harder next time.

  She's still shaking when I finally pull out of her and raise my mouth, staring up at her in satisfaction, trying desperately to ignore my raging hard on.

  Next time, it'll be my name screaming from her mouth when she comes.

  7

  Tara

  Once my body calms down and I'm finally able to move again after the stupifying orgasm Zach just gave me, I turn on my side to face him, butterflies going crazy in my stomach. "I want to return the favor, but..." I look down, gnawing on my lip, nervous and uncomfortable. I haven't really had a whole lot of practice with wand play, I guess you could call it.

  He gets it immediately. "I'll teach you." He leaves it at that. He doesn't laugh at me, or tease me, or express shock, or any number of horrible and humiliating reactions he could have had. He just accepts it and moves on.

  I'm in trouble. He keeps surprising me with his thoughtfulness and understanding and patience. He's nothing like the jocks I knew in high school. Or college. Or in fiction.

  While I know in my brain that this relationship will never work, my body continues to betray me. It craves him. When he kisses me, it's like he's a dementor drinking in my soul. But I'm determined that for now, I'm going to get out of my own head and lean in, wherever this leads me. I'm tired of always being so careful. It never works well for anyone in books to be too careful and never take any chances. So I'm going to be brave and leap, like the heroes in my favorite books.

  He unbuttons his jeans and slides them down his legs, kicking them off onto the floor.

  I slip down the bed until my face is level with his Nimbus 2000. My heart pounds at the sight and I try to keep the alarm from showing on my face. It is so freaking huge. And it looks even bigger than before, like he's had some skele-gro. I take his cock in a tentative hand, looking up at him for reassurance. He smiles and nods. Feeling a little braver, I lick the head, swirling my tongue around it. He sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth and I raise my head to look at him in alarm. Had I hurt him? Did I do it wrong?

  He visibly keeps himself from chuckling at the expression on my face. "Don't stop, gorgeous. You're not going to hurt me. Fist the bottom of my cock, and bob up and down on it."

  I nod and take him in my mouth, sliding as far down him as I can without choking. He's so big, he makes my jaw ache a little. I slide up and down on his length, slowly at first, but he brings his hand down to the back of my head and guides my movements. He leads me faster and faster until I'm worried he might pop right out of my mouth or he'll go too far in and I'll throw up in his lap.

  That would certainly kill the mood.

  "Use your tongue." His voice is strained. I hope that means I'm doing something right.

  I flick my tongue along the base of him, trying to keep track of everything I'm supposed to be doing. There's a lot to remember. But considering how mind-blowingly good he is at going down on me, I want to at least give a good showing.

  After a few minutes, I start to get into the rhythm. And I discover I enjoy this. I like listening to the little groans and sharp breaths he makes. I like the silky texture of his cock. I love the twitches it makes inside my mouth. I like the muscles straining in his legs in reaction to what I'm doing to him. It makes me feel powerful. It makes me feel sexy. It makes me feel a little less like I'm so completely outside my element with him.

  His hand falls away from my head and his cock swells and stiffens in my mouth and then his warm salty cum spills onto my tongue. I drink down every little bit. It doesn't taste as bad as I expected. I mean, it's no pumpkin juice or butterbeer, but it doesn't make me want to throw up either. It's actually rather pleasant.

  I crawl back up beside him while he takes his turn to recuperate. He pulls me into him and I curl myself around him like a cat in the sunlight. His fingers trail lightly up and down my back, dipping low occasionally to graze my ass.

  Weariness pulls at me, but I don't want to kick him out or go to sleep yet. I really should read my book for book club, but I can look it up on Wikipedia. I usually would never do something so similar to Cliff's Notes, especially for a boy, but I'll make an exception just this once. And I'll catch up for the next meeting.

  "You want some coffee?" I ask.

  "Did I wear you out?" He leers at me and winks one of his pretty blue eyes.

  "A little." I giggle as I slide away from him and off the bed. Not quite at the stage of walking around comfortably nude in front of him, I snag his shirt off the floor and slip it over my head, trying to tame the wild bird's nest my hair has become. He doesn't move from his spot on the bed, not bothering to cover up, staring at me with eyes bright with blue flames.

  I smile at him over my shoulder as I start a half pot of coffee. "Do you want some?" I ask again.

  "Yes. Espresso Patronum!" He looks immediately horrified and ashamed of himself for yelling out a Harry Potter pun. His face reddens and his eyes widen.

  But I am completely charmed. So charmed, my pussy dampens in response. It's exactly like something I would say. Hell, I have a coffee mug that says the exact same thing.

  The shame on his face fades as I grin at him with such ridiculous delight. I never knew nerdy jocks existed. Probably because they keep all their nerd-love hidden on the down low out of self-preservation.

  He narrows his eyes at me. "If you ever tell anyone I say that, I will make things very difficult for you."

  The left corner of my lips rises at his threat. "Oh yeah? How will you do that?" I ask.

  He rolls off the bed and to his feet in a movement very fluid for someone so damn Thor-like, stalking over to me with an evil glint in his eyes. As bare as the day he was born. Mercy.

  Looming over me, he says, "I can find all kinds of ways to make things hard on you."

  My apartment swirls with the scents of coffee, sex, and him. It's a heady smell, making every single nerve in my body stand at attention. He doesn't touch me, he just stays close enough for me to feel his warmth.

  And it is torture.

  Damn, he's good. He's an expert in a game I have no clue how to play. A game where I have no clue what the rules are. But I'm a fast learner. I arch my neck up at him, bringing my lips only a breath away from his.

  "Is this all you've got?" I ask in a breathy tone I don't recognize as my own voice.

  With a growl, he kisses me, pressing me up against the kitchen counter he'd tortured me on so thoroughly the other day. I wrap my arms around his neck and rise on my tiptoes to reach him better. His hands slide under the hem of his shirt to cup the globes of my ass, his fingers kneading my flesh.

  My coffee maker beeps, making us both jump, jerking away from each other. We laugh, and the tense, sexy moment fades. I'm a little relieved, not sure I can handle any more. I grab a couple coffee mugs from my cabinet and fill them up.

  "How do you take yours? I have half-and-half, flavored creamer, and milk and sugar." My voice shakes a little.

  He smiles at the espresso patronum mug I slide over to him. I couldn't resist. "I take mine with flavored creamer."

  My brows rise in surprise. "I would have expected you to drink it black."

  He shrugs. "It's one of my only vices," he admits.

  I glance at his chest, not letting my eyes travel any lower. "I figured you must be pretty strict with yourself to stay in such shape."

  He shoots me a cocky look. "You like it, don't you?"

  "Maybe," I mumble, trying not to look down his still very, very naked body.

  He laughs. "I let go a little during off season, but I can't give up sugary coffee."

  I clear my throat, trying to turn the conversation back to something safe. "I have white chocolate raspberry and hazelnut."

  He frowns in thought for a second before making his decision. "Hazelnut."

  I grab the creamer from the fridge and hand it to him so he can make it how he likes it. He pours in a health
y dose, stirring it with one of my spoons. I put a little less in my cup and take the spoon from him to stir my own.

  We carry the coffee back over to my bed, settling side by side against the headboard. He pulls me into him, keeping his cup steady with his other hand.

  This is nice. Sipping coffee in my bed with my lover. I've never done this before. I'm experiencing a lot of firsts with Zach. Something that is both frightening and exciting at the same time.

  He brushes a kiss across my forehead. "So, what is your deal with football, anyway?"

  I trace patterns on his chest with my fingers, trying to find the words to explain without sounding like a bitch and offending him. "I've never been one for interest in sports. Or jocks. I find the whole thing pointless and dangerous, and you all make way too much money." Shit. I didn't mean quite that much of a rant to spill from my lips. I take a swallow of my coffee to shut myself up.

  His chest rumbles with laughter under my head. "We do make a little more than necessary, yeah. But I love the game. The challenge, the adrenaline, the competition. I'd even play on one of those sad old man teams if I couldn't play for money."

  My brows furrow in confusion. "But...why? You're well read, you certainly have your own nerdy traits. I can't figure you out. What's the draw to the sport?" Is it a penis thing? If you don't have one, there's no way to really understand? But I've met plenty of women who enjoy sports and not just to impress men. They actually really get into it, choosing teams not based on the color of their jerseys, but for other reasons I don't understand.

  He tries to explain, even comparing it to Quidditch. "I'm a running back, so I sort of play the part of a beater, though not always. I'm the strongest and biggest on the team and have to keep everyone off whoever has the ball. And the quarterback is a little like the chaser. Has the ball and scores."

  That made literally no sense at all. My brows furrow as I shake my head, trying to understand, but so utterly uninterested. "So you're a beater sometimes and a chaser other times?"