Knowing the Score (12 page)

* * *

They arrived at Blueberry Forest campground an hour before the sun set. Quaint hand-painted wooden signs directed them to choose their favorite spot among the overgrown trees and fruit-laden brambles. As Spencer drove around, Caitlyn’s heart sang with joy. She couldn’t have chosen a more perfect location. Nestled at the base of the South Downs National Park, the campground was surrounded by gently rolling green hills. Footpaths crisscrossed the grounds, leading into the national park and giving them plenty of options for exploring tomorrow and Sunday. A few campfires flickered from behind bushes, but each spot seemed secluded and cozy.

They found an available one and Spencer parked in front of it. As they unloaded their supplies, Caitlyn kept up a stream of happy, nervous chatter. Spencer responded when necessary, but he mostly smiled and stayed silent, as if he knew she’d have to let all her nerves run their course before she could do anything else.

“What do we do first, skipper?” he asked.

“Skipper?” Caitlyn dropped the tent bag on the ground.

“Skipper. Captain.”

O-kay. “Are you comparing me to the fat man from
Gilligan’s Island?
”

“What?” He looked thoroughly confused.

“Why did you call me Skipper?”

“It’s what we call team captains. Do you want me to call you ‘boss’ instead?”

Caitlyn stood up straighter. “Actually, yeah. I like the sound of that.”

He chuckled. “I’ll keep that in mind tonight. Maybe I’ll let you order me around a bit.”

Caitlyn’s blood sizzled. She
definitely
liked the sound of that. But in order to get that far, they needed someplace to hide away. “First, I’ll show you how to pitch a tent.”

He burst into laughter so loud a flock of birds squawked and shot out of the tree limbs above them, and he collapsed onto the wooden picnic table behind him, his whole body shaking. Caitlyn’s cheeks burned as she realized what she’d said.

“Yankee, that’s one thing I don’t need you to show me how to do. It happens naturally every time I’m around you.”

Gathering every ounce of self-confidence she possessed, Caitlyn stepped in front of him and spread his knees so she could stand between them. Perched against the side of the table, Spencer was her height. He wrapped his hands around the backs of her thighs, sending fiery pulses a few inches north to where she desperately needed him. He tugged her closer until they fit together like two pieces from a jigsaw puzzle. Caitlyn hugged his neck, her breasts pressed against his chest as he nudged her with his erection. “See?”

Caitlyn couldn’t stop the needy whimper she released as he pulled her tight, the move sliding his hard length against her through their far-too-many layers of clothes. She’d never felt a man like this before. Never understood how hard an erection got, and how it could stoke fires in the softest bits of her body. She dropped her face to the crook of his neck as he tilted his hips again, rubbing her magic spot until desperation spiraled through her. She panted with each stroke, groaning as he squeezed her ass cheeks and pressed scorching, openmouthed kisses against her neck.

“Jesus.” His voice sounded as ragged as she felt. “We have to stop and get that tent up. Now.”

He let go and she stumbled back, her body bereft of his heat, his hardness. “Yeah. Um, yeah.”

Great. Apparently pressing the magic button made her stupid. She stumbled on unsteady legs to the tent bag, picking it up before she noticed he hadn’t followed her. “I’ll need your help with this.”

He grimaced and waved his hand toward the tent she’d helped him pitch moments ago. “You’ll have to give me a minute.”

At least she wasn’t the only one incapacitated by lust. While he recovered, she unpacked the tent pieces and rolled the nylon inner tent out on the flat dirt. Spencer soon joined her and followed her instructions until they had the shelter standing. He stepped back and eyed it critically, his forehead creasing. “That’s it?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not knocking your gift, but it’s a bit small.”

“It’s a three-man tent.” And it had cost her a small fortune.

He cocked a brow. “How many of those men were six-three and sixteen stone?”

She glanced between him and the shelter, sizing them up against each other. He had a point. If he slept in it alone—diagonally—he might have enough space, but with her planning to join him she didn’t like his chances of getting a good night’s sleep.

Then again, maybe with her pressed against him, neither of them would want a good night’s sleep.

“There’s only one way this will work,” he said. “You’ll have to sleep on top of me.”

The mental image did nothing to help her brain get sharper. Suddenly shy, she avoided his eyes and gathered the empty tent bag so she could put it back in his car. “We should start a fire.”

She wasn’t sure, but she thought she heard him mutter, “Done.”

They’d stopped at a farmers’ market a few miles from the campground and bought wild boar meat sausages, a couple of lean chicken breasts for Spencer, a sack of new potatoes and veggies they could roast on skewers. While Spencer covered the potatoes in foil and chopped the zucchini and peppers, Caitlyn built them an impressive fire. The sun had disappeared behind the hills, and the trees blocked most of the remaining light, so their camp spot turned into a private little haven. The familiar routine of building a teepee from sweet-smelling logs and stuffing it full of twigs and kindling eased some of Caitlyn’s nervousness about what would happen that night.

Would she panic? Would it hurt? Worse, would she inadvertently hurt him?

Spencer had finished wrapping a dozen potatoes, so she used a stick to bury them in the hot ash at the base of the fiery teepee. The fire flickered, mesmerizing her as she moved back to the table where Spencer straddled a bench. She picked up sliced vegetables, threading them onto a metal skewer.

A hand slid around her waist. It worked its way under the hem of her shirt and rested on her tummy, right above where her body tightened and throbbed. Spencer pulled her back until she sat on his leg, and he nuzzled her from behind. “You’ve gone all quiet.”

“I’m...worried.”

Crap. Where had that honesty come from?

Spencer’s body didn’t react. He kept up the spiraling strokes on her stomach, his chest rising and falling with even breaths behind her. “Would it help if I said I’m worried, too?”

She stiffened. “No. That wouldn’t help at all. You’re supposed to be the one who knows what he’s doing.”

His breath warmed her cheek as he chuckled, making both of their bodies shake. “I do know what I’m doing, Yankee Doodle. That’s not what I’m worried about.”

“What, then?”

His hand stilled momentarily before he pulled her tighter. She practically lay in his lap, her head resting against his shoulder. His voice was low, serious and so close it made her ear tingle. “What if I disappoint you? What if sex isn’t what you’ve built it up to be, and I’m the man who shows you that?” His arms wrapped around her like a ribbon on a gift, and he rocked them slowly. “It’s been a long time for me, sweetheart. And this is definitely different than my past summer hookups. What if—”

He went quiet, leaving her to fill in the blank. What? If he came too early? Couldn’t get it up at all? Oh, crap—what if he saw her naked and went limp?

She struggled against his hold, and he let her go. She turned to face him. “What if what?”

He sighed and scratched his stubble, the rasping sound of it not quite drowned out by the crackling fire. Obviously reluctant, he said, “What if you get too attached?”

Attached? Oh, how adorable. He worried she’d fall in love with him. “That’s not going to happen.”

His face fell, almost like he was disappointed. “How do you know?”

She shrugged. “Because I won’t let it happen. I know the rules, Spencer. I’d have to be a masochist to fall in love with you.”

Or anyone else.

Realizing her quick rebuttal might have hurt his feelings, she stroked his chest. God, he felt amazing—strong, ripped, and yet she knew he kept his power leashed around her. If anything, he’d let the power shift toward her most of the times they’d explored each other so far. But that had been so different. Other than some hot and heavy kissing, they’d never touched each other intimately.

That would change tonight. Completely. He’d see everything she had tonight—every nook, cranny and roll. She gulped, suddenly acutely aware that he was a professional athlete with the world’s hottest women ready to drop to their knees before him, while she...wasn’t. And even if she did drop to her knees, she’d probably fumble around down there until they were both too embarrassed to continue.

He must’ve seen her misgivings. He rested his forehead against hers, cradling her cheeks with his rough, gentle hands. “Are we doing what you really want? It’s not too late to stop this.”

“Or slow it down?” She had no idea where the question came from, but as soon as it appeared she was grateful for it.

“Or slow things down,” he agreed. “We have time left. No matter what happens, Caitlyn, I don’t want to be your first regret.”

She tilted her head and kissed him. His lips firmed, nudging their way between hers, opening her. The tip of his tongue met hers, teasing and tangling until they both smiled and scooted closer. His hands tightened in her hair, and he whispered against her mouth, “Remember how this panicked you a couple weeks ago?”

She nodded. Her nose bumped his, reminding her of how sweetly he’d caressed the healed bone that night, even as fury simmered beneath the surface. She wouldn’t turn back. By the end of the weekend, she would let him show her everything she’d been missing. It didn’t have to be tonight. “We can work our way up to it, right?”

“Absolutely.” He gripped the backs of her thighs, lifting her effortlessly until she straddled his lap. Oh, God, his erection rubbed right against her again, making her hips jerk. He stood with her wrapped around him, their mouths seeking each other over and over.

Then she pulled back and uttered the world’s least romantic words. “Wait! The potatoes.”

“What?”

She groaned as he carried her around the fire to the tent. “Nothing. Ignore me. I have sex-induced Tourette’s.”

“Is ‘potatoes’ a euphemism I’m not familiar with?”

She chuckled. “I wish. I was worried about dinner.”

He reached the tent and shifted his hands so she slid slowly down his body. His cock rubbed against her belly, and he devoured her with another hot, wet kiss. By the time he pulled back seconds...minutes...hours later, she was panting like a marathon runner.

“Still worried about your dinner?”

“Honestly?” she wheezed. “A little.”

He gave her a wicked smile that made her girl parts shiver in anticipation. “I’ll take you out later. But I’m hungry now, and tonight I’m going to eat dessert first.”

Chapter Twelve

Spencer had worried he wouldn’t be able to slow himself down enough to focus on fulfilling Caitlyn’s needs. He hadn’t realized crawling into the tent would require all his famed physical agility, forcing him to ignore his pounding erection and concentrate on squeezing through the tent’s small entrance without looking like a twat.

Caitlyn went first. She bent over to unzip the door, a move that thrust her lovely arse right in his aching groin. Groaning, Spencer managed to keep from grabbing her hips and holding her there. Soon. He’d have her really, really soon, but after the trepidation she’d shown a few moments ago, the last thing he wanted was to scare her into crying off.

Rubbing his hard-on against her arse would probably do that.

So he held himself still and studied how she crawled halfway into the tent, twisted to sit with her feet still outside, and yanked off her shoes before scrambling the rest of the way in. When it was his turn, he followed suit. Being roughly twice her size, and never having squeezed himself into a tent before, he didn’t achieve it with the same finesse. By the time he ripped apart his knotted laces, his erection was nearly a memory.

But then he turned and saw her. She sprawled across the silky sleeping bags like a combat-trouser-wearing concubine from his own personal harem. Her legs spread, knees bent to give him room to hunch the rest of the way inside. He pulled his legs into the tent, forcing himself to zip the door flap to muffle the moans he planned on drawing out of Caitlyn’s gorgeous throat. A throat that visibly gulped when he made eye contact with her.

“Will you fit?” she asked.

Don’t laugh.
Don’t laugh.
She’ll think you’re laughing at her.
“It’ll be a tight squeeze,” was all he allowed himself to say. The flush spreading from beneath the V-neck of her shirt to her cheeks told him she caught his meaning.

He began a slow, purposeful crawl up her body. Halfway up, he grasped her hips and yanked her toward him. She yelped, sliding down the nylon fabric until the hot juncture of her legs straddled his thigh. Stretched over her, he lowered himself on elbows propped either side of her panting chest. He clasped her face, kissing her as he brushed his chest against hers.

Her mouth met his with an eagerness that threatened to turn him inside out. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pulled him closer, rubbing herself against him without hesitation, without embarrassment, wherever their bodies met. He’d planned to have her moaning within seconds, but he was the first to lose speech. Lying flat on top of her, he ground himself against her softest bits, battling for control as she tilted her hips to embrace his cock. With more effort than he’d ever needed to call upon during a match, he pulled his lips free and struggled for breath. “Clothes. Have to get you naked.”

Shit. She’d turned his brain to mush.

She collapsed, wincing as her head clunked against the hard ground. He sucked in air and worked his hand under her skull. “Careful, love. We don’t want to end tonight in Casualty.”

Wrong thing to say
,
dipshit.
Her wince turned to chagrin, so he kissed her to banish any self-doubt. When she writhed beneath him again in a way that threatened to end this far too quickly, he forced himself back and dragged her into a sitting position. He stared down at her clothes. She was still too un-naked. God, she dressed like a teenage boy, and that shouldn’t turn him on the way it did, but her baggy black T-shirt and olive trousers hid a body that looked anything but boyish.

She licked her lips, drawing his gaze. Crossing her arms, she reached down and clasped the bottom of her shirt, drawing it slowly up her torso as if she expected to chicken out at any second. He settled back on his heels, giving her space and himself more room to appreciate the unexpected show.

“Wait.” Christ, what was he telling her to wait for?

Her confused face begged the same question.

“I can barely see you.” The tent cocooned them in a private world, but one with hardly a shred of light for him to see the things she was about to reveal. She leaned to her side and fumbled in one of her dozen pockets, drawing out a mini flashlight. She flicked it on, nearly blinding him when she lifted her arms to hang it from a couple of strings dangling from the tent’s ceiling. The light swayed, bathing her in a soft glow. Before she could lower her arms, he grabbed the bottom of her shirt and swept it over her head, not giving her a chance to second-guess whether she wanted this.

She wanted this. And so did he, with heart-throbbing, stomach-twisting, cock-pulsing certainty.

They gasped at the same time. She probably from the shock of being suddenly stripped, and he from the shock of her bra and the breasts it cupped.

Satin. Green satin the color of a grassy rugby pitch in the spring. The color of her eyes. White lace strips stretched along the edge of the cups, kissing the creamy flesh threatening to spill over the top. Hard nipples poked at the seam between the satin and lace, revealing the barest hint of dusky rose that would taste like pure sin. A little green bow gave the illusion of holding the whole contraption together in the middle.

Caitlyn fingered the bow, as if she shielded herself from him. Her voice trembled like her hand. “You seem to like green and white.”

“Do I?”

“You wear them a lot. Your shirts with the horizontal stripes.”

She obviously knew language wasn’t his strong point right now because she gestured across her chest as she said
horizontal.

“My rugby tops. My team colors.” Fucking
exquisite
breasts. He’d never loved his team colors more.

More. There had to be more, right? Women who bought sexy lingerie didn’t just buy bras. He plucked at her waistband, flicking open the button and drawing down the zip with an unsteady hand. She laid her hand on his before he could yank her trousers off.

“Spencer?”

“Yeah, love?”

“This feels uneven. Could you take off your shirt?”

He stopped long enough to read the embarrassment in her eyes. She’d never been naked with a man before. Not even semi-naked. Could he take off his shirt? Hell, he could do anything for her. Stripping was least of the feats he’d happily perform. But maybe giving her something to focus on would be better for both of them. “Why don’t you take it off for me?”

She smiled. Scooting back, she drew her legs under her and rose to kneel before him. His head already brushed the tent’s dome, so he stretched his arms out on either side of her as she yanked his shirt off. She did it with more enthusiasm than he’d expected, and he fought to keep his balance so he wouldn’t fall forward on top of her.

When he looked at her again, her hand covered her mouth.

“You okay?”

She nodded. “Think I’m drooling.”

He laughed, her guileless honesty so fucking refreshing compared to the women he was used to sleeping with—women who approached him because of his body, his status, his wealth, or all three.

Caitlyn was the first since he’d started his career who got to know him before getting him naked. Something about that made his heart thump like a jackhammer. Her curious hands gliding over his pecs and down his abs made the jackhammer go mental. He threaded his fingers in the red curls close to her scalp, holding her with one hand as his other copied her journey. He explored the dips along her collarbone, slid beneath the straps digging into her shoulders. Her breasts were so full and heavy the thin straps weren’t quite up to the job.

“This new?” he asked, rubbing the red marks.

“Mmm.” She flicked her tongue against his nipple. Jesus, any more of this and he’d truly regret the joke he’d made about not prematurely ejaculating since he was a teenager. She slipped her fingers under his waistband, mere centimeters from the head of his cock. His bollocks squeezed tight. He battled not to come.

He grasped the fabric at her hips and shoved it down to her knees. Still licking his chest, her head blocked his view of the party down below. Using his last ounce of self-control, he clasped the backs of her thighs and flipped her onto her back, wrapping an arm around her so she landed gently. She squeaked, a happy sound that reached inside and tickled him. After ripping her trousers and socks all the way off, he paused to enjoy his handiwork.

“Fuck me,” he whispered. His tone carried far more reverence than anything he’d had occasion to say in a church. She became his holy place.

“Like it?” She sounded as breathless as he felt.

Her panties had only a triangular strip of satin, running from her pubic bone down the cleft he grew desperate to explore. Two white lace strips reached over her hipbones to meet at the lush mound between her thighs. They hid almost nothing—not the plump shape of her, or the coppery color of her curls, or the wetness that had gathered there. After a few moments of watchful silence, she brought her hands up to hover over her hips, as if she fought her own embarrassment at being so closely observed. He held them, threading his fingers between hers and keeping her from covering herself while distracting his own hands from what they really wanted—to dive straight in and drive her wild.

He stretched out next to her. The tent was so small he couldn’t straighten his legs, so he curled them around hers. His aching cock pressed against her hip, a position that did nothing to ease the pressure.

Still holding one of her hands, he propped himself on the other. “I’ve dreamed of you.”

She looked surprised. “You have?”

“Yeah. I’ve dreamed about you most nights since we met.” He skimmed his hand over her breasts, playing with the parts of her he’d soon uncover. Her eyelids fluttered as he gently teased, letting her get used to his touch.

“And?”

“Sweetheart, when it comes to sex, my imagination can be fucking amazing. But my dreams were nothing compared to seeing you in real life.”

Her whole body seemed to relax and smile.

“I want to see the rest of you. Will you show me?”

She nodded. He shifted so he knelt above her. The flashlight made a deep shadow in the crevasse between her breasts, and he couldn’t stand to see them covered, constricted and pushed together any longer. He needed to free them. She arched her back, her breasts growing impossibly big. He reached behind her and unhooked her bra one-handed, leaving the other free to draw it away from her skin. They spilled out, far more than a handful, even for his big paws. Whispering an incoherent prayer of thanksgiving to whatever deity he owed the pleasure, he skimmed his palms over her tight nipples. She sucked in a shaky breath and arched again, making her breasts tremble.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” Every inch of him throbbed. All his muscles bunched, ready to mate and thrust and grind and fuck until they drowned in each other.

“So are you.” She reached up to unbutton his trousers. “Take them off, please.”

“My polite little American.” He grinned and hunched over so he could lift his knees off the sleeping bag. The move brought his lips toward her breasts, so he closed the distance and drew a rosy nipple into his mouth.

She made a funny sound caught between a groan and a laugh.

“Ticklish?” He smiled against her flesh.

“Nooo.”

He sucked harder. She squirmed—he thought at first from the pleasure, but then he felt her foot against his hip. She hooked her foot in his trousers and pushed down until they reached his ankles. He kicked them off the rest of the way.

The tent grew tiny. Caitlyn’s moans and the sweet suckling noises of his mouth bounced off the nylon walls. As she writhed, her body slid around on the slick sleeping bags. There wasn’t enough room for Spencer to suck her nipples and grind against her pelvis at the same time, so he focused all his attention on worshipping her ludicrously beautiful breasts. He palmed them, plucked them, rolled her rock-hard nipples between his fingers, tongue and teeth. Caitlyn held his head as she begged him, “Please. Please. Please.” As if he’d ever stop.

Her legs shifted restlessly, the hungry heat of her searching for fulfillment. He could give her that.

He kissed his way down. Over her belly, across her hips, until he knelt between her spread legs.
She’s never done this.
The warning voice was tinged with triumph. He was the first man she trusted to take her, to show her what a man could do for her body. What her body could do to a man.

He met her gaze before he went down, needing to make sure this was all right. She swallowed hard, clearly nervous for all her eagerness. But then she smiled. Her fists curled, gripping the sleeping bag she lay on, and she let her knees fall to the sides. Her body opened to him. The moment seemed to call for words, a declaration of some sort that would reassure her about how much she meant to him. How much
this
meant to him. But language was completely beyond him now. He’d always been a man of action.

So he slid his thumbs under the lace lining the strip of satin. Soft, wet curls abraded the sensitive pads of his thumbs. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from hers as he slowly stroked her virgin-soft lips. Her legs trembled. Her hips jerked as his thumbs met over her body’s entrance.

He couldn’t hold himself back any longer. Dipping his head, he kissed her through her damp panties. He ran his tongue along the slick satin until he felt the bump of her clit. She gasped his name, and her legs clenched around his shoulders, whether in surprise or pleasure he wasn’t sure. He pulled her panties tighter until every plump centimeter of her was well defined through the fabric. Murmuring incoherent words of lust and adoration, he sucked her clit between his lips, stroking her with his thumbs until they were both drenched. Unable to bear being separate from her any longer, he slid a finger into her tight body, pumping it into her slick passage using the same rhythmic strokes as the pull of his lips against her satin-covered clit.

The heady smell of her arousal embraced his senses. His cock throbbed in burning anticipation, and he knelt farther forward, trying to ease the pressure against his thighs. Caitlyn panted his name over and over. His free hand sought hers, bringing it to his head so she could guide him where she wanted him. They would learn together what she loved.