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Focus on football, Crawford. Keep your eyes on the prize—and off of Sloane’s tits.
I slam the door to the bedroom shut, lean back against the flimsy wood door, my chest heaving hard from the mad dash. I’m rock fucking hard, my dick bulging in my swimsuit. I peel the wet fabric off my skin, the shorts slipping to the floor in a soggy pile.
Fisting myself, I slide my hand up and down the hard shaft, stifling a groan. I squeeze my eyes shut and work on picturing any female other than Sloane Carter.
But there she is, gazing up at me through a thick fringe of dark lashes. Her eyes wide, the golden flecks in her irises glimmering as she licks her full bottom lip. Seductive, enticing.
I dip my head, smashing my mouth against hers. She tastes delicious, like sweet nectar from a ripe fruit plucked straight from the forbidden vine.
I work my dick harder, faster, growing longer and bigger by the second. Imagining my cock driving into her,her pussy hot and wet as our flesh slaps together. Her nails claw at my back, digging into the skin she slathered with sunblock. Every muscle in my body’s tense as I drill into her, over and over and over again.
Faster, Cam.
Harder.
Fuck me, Cam.
The base of my spine tingles, my balls tightening, and I’m close, so fucking close to release. I squeeze harder, picturing the two of us joining together, her tight pussy milking my cock.
“Sloane—” I hiss, catching the long rope of cum with my T-shirt. “Fuck…”
Collapsing back against the door, my muscles relax as the tension I held onto all day leaks from my body.
Knock, knock, knock.
“Cam? You okay?”
I freeze, my heart rate rocketing back up as Sloane’s voice carries through the door.
“Yeah, fine. Just wanted to get out of my wet clothes.”
“Oh, right. Okay.” Her voice wavers and she sounds disappointed.
“I’m jumping in the shower, but I’ll be quick.”
“Take your time,” I yell back, covering my naked dick even though I realize she can’t see me through the door. Still, hot embarrassment flames through me.
I really, really hope she didn’t hear anything.
No way could she have heard that, I’m sure I was quiet.
I clean up as best I can, the close call further solidifying the plan. The sooner I get picked up by another team, the sooner I can get out of Thunder Creek. And that will be best for everyone involved.
I lay low the rest of the night, doing my best to avoid Sloane. Finally Monday rolls around and I sneak out early, hanging around town until it’s time for practice. I head over to the high school, a mix of nerves and excitement pinging through me.
Apparently, it doesn’t matter if I’m playing in the pros or with teenagers at my high school alma mater because I’m as nervous walking onto the Thunder Creek High field as I would be jogging into any bigger stadium in the nation.
Probably because I have as much—if not more—to prove here right now.
Dumb? Yes.
Irrational? Yes.
Still fucking feeling all the things? Hell, yes.
Pulse racing, I hustle over to Coach. He’s heads-down, staring at the clipboard and planning out practice.
“Crawford!” He barks my name, and there’s a totally different vibe on the field than we had on Saturday when it was just the two of us. It’s as if he’s setting the standard for the team, the entire upcoming season, which I can appreciate.
