Jock: A Secret Baby Sports Romance (7 page)

“You can’t stay, you know,” I say quickly.

Holden grins as he arches a brow.

“What, like stay the night?”

I nod and he chuckles darkly.

“I think we’re both adults enough to know what this is, sugar. Relax, I’m not gonna ask you to
go steady
with me or take you to the fucking prom.”

I arch a brow at him, biting my lip.

“I would have
never
gone to the prom with a guy like you.”

His eyes flash darkly at me, and I suddenly whimper as the head of his cock slips against my opening.

“Yeah, but you’re going to
really
wish you had after I’m done with you.”

He pushes inside, and I moan loudly as my eyes start to roll back.

“Anyone -
uhh
- anyone ever mention that you’ve got an over-sized ego?”

He groans as he rocks his hips up, and we both cry out as he drives in deep, filling me to the hilt.

“You tell me,” he growls. “How’s that oversized
ego
feel buried inside your tight pussy?”

I moan loudly, the pleasure pulsing through me.

“I think you need to shut up and fuck me,” I groan.

And after that, it’s like the floodgates have opened. After that, it’s a blur of shuddering breaths and ecstasy as we come crashing together.

We’re gasping as he plunges inside of me again and again, filling me to the hilt with every stroke as he rocks his body against mine. His strong, powerful arms hold me tight, pumping me up and down on his cock as I claw at his back and at the corners of my sanity.

It’s so wrong. It’s against every professional boundary I have to be here, doing this with a prospect, and against every
personal
one to be doing this with an arrogant, smug jock like
him
.

But there’s no holding back on this.

This is pent up lust.

This is sweet release.

This is a one-time thing, and for the time being, my boundaries and my convictions can take the night off.

I cry out when the orgasm finally slams into me, my whole body quaking and shivering as I bury my scream into his chest. Holden drives up into me again and again, fucking me hard and deep through my climax until I feel his muscles bunch and coil beneath my fingers. He gasps as he follows me over that cliff, holding me tightly and searing his lips across mine.

* * *

I
t’s barely
dim with morning light outside when I startle myself awake. I blink, frowning at my surroundings until I remember who I’m with and what just happened.

Whoa.

He’s still asleep, still sprawled out on his stomach, and his arm is draped across my hip.

I frown, my mouth tasting like a sock as I slip out from his arm and pad my way to the bathroom. I splash water on my face and gulp down two glasses of it along with three aspirin to stave off the hangover I
know
I’ll have tomorrow.

So, that happened.

I meet my eye in the mirror. And for a minute, I want to chastise myself, or cringe, or even just
leave
.

But I stop myself.

“I think we’re both adults enough to know what this is, sugar.”

Of course we are. And what just happened doesn’t change a single thing.

The glow creeps across my cheeks as the replays start to drift through my head.

He wakes briefly as I stumble back into the bed.

“Fuck, what time is it?”

“Dunno,” I mumble, crawling back in with him.

“I should go,” he mumbles back, his voice heavy with sleep.

“Eh, don’t worry about it, we can just go back to sleep,” I murmur as I let my heavy lids start to close.

I feel him flop back down on the bed behind me. His arms drifts back across my waist, hugging me close as I feel his breathing becoming regular again.

This should be warning bells.

This should be a big red “what did you just do” warning sign.

But his arm around me like that feels too damn
good
to have anything else to say about it, and I’m too damn exhausted to do anything but close my eyes and ease my body back against his.

I’m going to regret this.

Probably.

But for now, that part can wait.

I
wake
up with my face buried in a hotel pillow, blinking at the morning light.

I blink again, frowning slightly at the unfamiliarity that comes with waking up in a new place before consciousness starts to filter into my head. There’s a dull ache in my head, but I’m not feeling nearly as hungover as I probably should be. I turn, realizing I’m alone in the bed before sitting up and running my hands over my face and through my hair.

Shit, last night happened.

I grin at the soreness in my muscles and the memory of her moans as she shattered to pieces for me. My cock swells slightly at the memory of her body bouncing up and down on top of me, of her brow creasing and her mouth going slack as she came.

As I slowly become more of aware of my surroundings, I realize the sound I’m hearing is the shower running in the bathroom.

I grin hungrily.

Because my cock is now pulsing hard at the thought of London Jacobs all wet and soapy in the shower.

Yeah, I could go for some seconds
right
about now.

I swing my legs out of bed and stand shakily, my cock bobbing in the air in front of me as I stretch and then stalk towards the half-cracked bathroom door. I’ve woken up in unfamiliar beds a hundred times after charming my way into a hundred different unfamiliar hotel rooms. But there’s
something
about last night and the way I’m
raring
to go again this morning that has my dick leading me to the bathroom and the naked girl I can imagine standing within.

Because last night was fucking
awesome
. Okay,
all
sex is awesome, especially when I’m sliding inside a new girl for the first time - watching the look of bliss on her face as she takes every inch of me. But there’s something standing out about last night that won’t get its hooks out of me. Maybe it’s the extra level of “wrong” in her being who she is, and who her father is. Maybe I’m a little impressed with the way a girl half my size met me drink-for-drink without blacking out at the restaurant.

Or maybe it’s that the taste I had of her last night is possibly some of - if not
the
- greatest sex I’ve ever had.

That’s bullshit
.

I shake the thought from my head as I pause outside the bathroom door. I’m skewing the memory of last night because it’s fresh - because it
just
happened. And I’m putting her and the mind-blowing fucking that went down last night on a pedestal because of my frustrating and wildly uncharacteristic dry spell of the last month before it.

Being the life of the party gets you laid. Being a full-time, fall-down drunk does
not
.

My mind drifts again to the memory of last night - to the visual still dancing through my head of her small body riding mine; to the feel of her hips eagerly rocking back and forth and of that tight, curvy ass bucking as she swallows every inch of my cock again and again until she’s exploding around me.

And I am now hard as iron standing there outside the bathroom listening to the water cascade over her nude body. I’m suddenly wondering if this comes as part of the package with moving to Houston.

Yeah, it’s time for round two.

My hand is on the doorknob to the not-quite-closed door when the shower stops abruptly. I pause, frowning at the missed opportunity to get in there with her, when the door suddenly swings open.

She’s wrapped in a towel, her wet hair cascading in a tangled mess over her shoulders and over the tops of her breasts tucked behind that towel. She looks surprised to see me standing there, and when her eyes drop to realize I’m nude and fully hard as well, that pink blush creeps into her cheeks as her mouth opens slightly.

I grin as I step towards her, ready to pull that towel off and get another taste of her when she looks up sharply.

“Do you need the shower next?" she asks, all business.

She’s formal, looking me dead in the eye without a
trace
of the steam and heat from the night before.

I shove the thought aside as I grin at her.

"Yeah, I worked up a bit of a sweat last night,” I drawl, arching a brow at her and waiting for her to grin or blush or whatever.

She doesn’t.

She merely smiles professionally, like we’re making acquaintances in a board meeting, and steps aside.

“Well, shower is free if you want it.”

She brushes right past me, padding across the hotel room towards her suitcase lying open by the dresser.

I frown, reaching up to scratch my head as I watch her start to paw through her clothes. She stops and glances over her shoulder at me.

“Did you not want the shower? I need to get dressed, so if you don’t want it, I’ll just change in there.”

I grin hungrily at her, crossing my arms over my chest and leaning against the bathroom doorframe with my cock still bobbing in front of me.

“You can get changed right here if you want, sugar. Nothing I haven’t seen.”

There’s the
hint
of a blush on her face, but London says nothing, her face betraying nothing.

“Yes or no to the shower.”

Okay, what the fuck. “Cocky and crude” was working just fine last night, but it’s like this morning she’s woken up back to being immune to my bullshit. Well, or at least making a very good play at
pretending
to be immune to it. But either way, the fact remains that ten minutes after waking up, I’m
not
making that sweet pussy come all over my cock as I fuck her against the wall of the shower.

I’m just standing here like a douchebag with my cock out and a girl who clearly is
not
interested.

I frown as I clear my throat.

“I’ll just go grab that shower.”

I wash off quickly, my cock deflating and a frown etching into my face at the fact that I’m in here alone like a tool. Stepping out, I grab a towel before peeking out of the half-open bathroom door.

I grin.

London has her back to me, standing in front of the bedroom mirror pulling a straightening iron through her hair.

Huh, I had no idea it was curly.

She’s also standing there in creamy white, lacy-if-not-formal-looking lingerie. She puts the iron aside as she reaches for her makeup bag, and I can feel the blood pulse through me again as she leans forward into the mirror with her eyeliner, her panties pulling tight and high across that perfectly curved ass.

Goddamn, I want her again. I want to come up behind her and press right against the bureau. I want to pull those panties to the side, slip the head of my cock inside, and slowly fill her with every inch from behind.

And I want to watch her face in that mirror when she comes for me.

Except…

Except judging from the coolness I got earlier, that shit is
not
happening. In fact, I’m one hundred percent sure that door’s been somehow shut this morning, given her attitude earlier.

I slowly towel off, watching as she finishes her makeup, does another few touch-ups to her now straight hair with the iron, and then reaches for her clothes.

I frown, watching the last of my morning fantasy slip away as she starts to hide that slammin’ little body behind a staid, stuffy, all-business blouse and knee-length office skirt. She bends to zip the side of the skirt, and when she looks back up, she suddenly catches my eye in the mirror and jumps a little before she turns to me.

“What?”

I slowly wrap the towel around my hips and lean against the bathroom doorframe again.

“What?” I grin. “Well, first thing I'm gonna do with my new contract is buy you some clothes that don't have you looking like you work for the United Nations.”

London flashes a quick smile before she hides it away. She finishes zipping her skirt before she steps barefoot across the room towards me. I grin as she steps right up to me.

Finally.

I lean down, ready to scoop her into my arms and claim that sassy little mouth all over again with my own, when she suddenly just reaches up and taps me on the nose.

She fucking
taps me on the nose
, like a bad puppy or some shit.

"What contract?"

I frown, and she grins as she rolls her eyes.

“I’m kidding.”

Who IS this girl?

She’s getting to me, and throwing me off my usual swagger, and generally fucking with my ability to keep my usual even keel.

I shrug, playing it as cool as I can. “Yeah, the contract. Guess we never talked about that last night, huh.”

London blushes crimson.

Gotcha.

She quickly brushes it off though, taking a deep breath to clear the heat from her cheeks.

“Well, let’s discuss it.”

“We could do other things.”

This girl is
not
special. She is
just
like any of the other hundreds before her, and just like any of the God knows how many will come after her. And I’ll be
damned
if I let her think she’s got the upper hand here. I know how she moaned and how she begged for it harder and deeper and faster last night. She might have her business face on this morning, and doing her best to pretend she’s not still thinking about last night, but I know that’s all bullshit.

And I’m determined to make sure she knows I know that.

I move against her suddenly, grinning as her breath catches and as her eyes dart up to mine. Her lips part slowly, her tongue darting out to wet them. And for a moment, I’m about to tear those fucking business clothes right off and remind her
exactly
how bad she wants this.

She takes a step back, shaking her head.

“I think we should discuss your contract,” she says quickly, smoothing her skirt down. “Seeing as I’m leaving in-” she glances at her silver wristwatch, “twenty minutes.”

I flash a cocky grin at her as I hook my thumbs into the edge of the towel, pulling it low towards the thickening bulge in the front of it.

“There’s a lot we could do in twenty minutes, sugar,” I growl out, holding her eyes and letting mine burn right into her.

London swallows thickly before she crosses her arms under her breasts and gives me a level look, shaking her head. “Let’s talk about your contract.”

I sigh. “Fine, the contract.”

“We can’t go higher.” She shrugs. “I’m just going to level with you. The preliminaries we already sent Randy are the highest it’s going to get, no matter how good your manager thinks he is.”

I nod, mulling it over.

Randy’s right, the offer
is
good, even if it’s a little lower than what I’m pulling in Denver. Especially since Randy’s also right about the re-negotiations here; after last season and the bullshit of the offseason, there’s no way I’m keeping the same figures I was getting last year.

And to top it off, there’s that pressing need to run. There’s the undeniable feeling that I’ve stayed too long in a place I’ve called home all my life. And now, it just feels more like a commitment than a place I can call my own.

I need to get out of this town, and this is exactly the opportunity I need.

I stare at the sassy little spitfire of a girl standing in front of me - the one who blew my fucking mind last night with that rocking little body riding me senseless. I let my eyes wander over her, feeling the rush from last night coursing through my veins and my thoughts.

I shake my head.

Cool out, man.

Because the “contract” we’re discussing and the move I’m considering is to go to Houston to
play football
, not for the prospect of fucking that tight, perfect pussy again.

London clears her throat, dragging my eyes from the curve of her hip in that skirt back up to her face.

“Randy needs to know that, before we start wasting each other’s time with the back and forth. The number in the preliminaries
really are
as high as we’ll go. I’m just being honest with you so we can skip the BS.”

I nod. “I’ll make sure he knows.”

London shrugs. “Still interesting in Houston, then?”

Houston. Playing for the Bulls. NOT that hot ass, those perfect tits, those cock-throbbingly pouty lips.

I clear my throat. “Yeah, still interested.”

She holds my eyes for another second.

“Well, okay then.” She smiles, still all business. “I’ll talk to my people, you talk to yours, and we’ll send some stuff later today.”

She turns and starts zipping up her suitcase.

“You want to make the announcement or should we?”

I frown, grinding my teeth and feeling my heart sink at the thought of telling this town I’m leaving.

“Me.”

London turns and nods slowly. “Well, okay then. I guess we’re done?”

It’s amazing to me that this formal, all business, all straight-laced, tough-negotiating “LJ Jacobs” is the same
London
Jacobs from last night. The businesswoman standing in front of me looking like she’s ready to head into a shareholder meeting is the same hot little cowgirl who rode my cock like a bull last night while she came like a hurricane.

“Done?” I flash a grin at her as I step towards her once more, my palm going to the wall behind her.

“We’ve still got fifteen minutes til you gotta leave, you know.”

London’s cheeks flush as her eyes burn something fierce for a second. But then she’s only smiling as she reaches up and
pats
my cheek.

“Oh,
sugar
,” she winks at me, “I think you’d need more than fifteen minutes with me.”

And without another word, she grabs the handle of her suitcase, turns, and strolls towards the hotel room door.

She turns with her hand on the knob.

“Check-out is at eleven, but you’re welcome to stay here until then.”

She places that cowgirl hat of hers atop her head as she turns. And then she’s gone, and I’m standing alone in a towel in her damn hotel room, watching the door click shut.

Where the
fuck
did this girl come from, and what the
fuck
just happened?