A big warm hand reaches across the table and tugs. “You done?”
I look down and see I’ve shredded a paper towel. “Yeah.”
With a concerted effort, I loosen my grip and let Masters pull the towel out of my hands. He stands up, throws a few bills on the table, and hustles me out of the restaurant.
The September night is warm, but I feel chilled inside. Jack’s poli sci class and the trouble with the team quarterback make me uneasy.
“I wondered why Jack went to juco. He’s too good of a player not to get a D1 scholarship.”
I lick my very dry lips. Maybe if I tell Masters it will put him on notice—at least alert him to potential trouble.
“I once dated the quarterback for Ward High School—the punk ass bitch as Jack likes to refer to him. Travis was pressuring me into having sex and I refused. He told me it was fine and that he wanted to wait too, but went off and slept with as many girls as possible behind my back. Someone finally told me and I dumped him. I was humiliated and angry that he’d cheated so obviously on me but I wasn’t sorry to see the ass end of him.” As I tell him the rest of it, Masters face grows dark. “Jack found him the next day and roughed him up.”
“Good for Jack.” Masters nods with approval.
I sigh. That was Jack’s response too. I didn’t agree. “Jack got a one game suspension. Next year rolls around and Travis decides that Jack doesn’t need to be thrown the ball. Ever. Maybe in another school Travis would be yelled at or even benched, but Travis’ father was the coach. So Jack got about ten passes his junior year and less than that his senior year. Jack didn’t have the game film to convince a quality school to give him a scholarship,” I finish.
“I’m sorry that happened,” he says gruffly.
I peek at him under my lashes and his jaw looks tight.
“Jack says it worked out for the best because he’s with the Warriors now.”
“He’s right. Still doesn’t mean it didn’t suck.” We exchange grim smiles. “What happened to the QB?”
“He flunked out of his first semester at USC because he drank too much.”
“Sounds like it couldn’t have happened to a better person.” Masters stops outside my apartment building and pulls me around to face him. “Jack’ll be fine here. The team will be fine. Coach wants to win more than anything, and he won’t crater his own chances because one of his players is sleeping with his daughter. Trust me on this.” He strokes a bit of my hair behind my face and tips my head up. “Everything is will be fine here. For both of you.”
“Just let you take care of everything?” I ask wryly.
“Nah, I’m not saying that. I’m saying worry about the things in your control.” His hand keeps sweeping across my forehead and his face lowers until it is only inches away from mine.
“Are you saying I have other things to worry about?” I ask hoarsely.
“Yes. Right now you should worry about getting me inside your apartment before we shock everyone in the building.” He smiles, but it’s a dark one full of promise.
I gulp but grab his hand and pull him inside. We don’t talk. There’s nothing to say, or at least nothing I want to give voice to. Masters must feel the same way. He grips my hand tightly, but stays slightly behind me as if he’s willing to let me lead.
The apartment is quiet and dark. A slight hum can be heard from Riley’s bedroom. I note the sound and give myself a little reminder to be quiet. These walls are paper thin.
Masters shuts the front door behind him with one hand and jerks me against him with the other. His mouth is on mine in an instant. It’s wetter and hotter than the bookstore kiss. I fist my hands in his T-shirt, pulling it up and over his head. Our lips separate for a second and then we’re back, fused together with our tongues doing battle. My hands rub themselves all over the ridges and valleys of his tightly defined chest and abs. Holy Jesus, he is ripped. My knees go weak.
His hands feel just as hungry. They cup my breasts, squeezing them, molding them together, and then releasing them to roam across my back and down to cup my buttocks. He lifts me upward and I jump on him, wrapping my legs around his waist until I’m flush against his hard erection. It feels bigger than it did when he jerked off in the bathroom—and back then, it looked like a monster. God gave with two hands when it came to Masters. His arms are as big as my thighs and they hold me up effortlessly.
He swings me around and presses me against the door, grinding that big body against mine.
“My room,” I croak out. I need to be horizontal. I need to have him driving that large powerful frame into mine. I have never felt so alive and full of need as I have in this moment. I’m wet between my legs and feverishly hot. I rub against him and repeat my plea. “My room. The bed.”
We stumble toward the room still fused together, not wanting to separate for even a second. The door latches shut, but once inside the dark, small space, lit only by a low light on my desk and patches of moonlight streaming between the cheap mini blinds, he doesn’t immediately fling me to the bed.
Instead, he drops his head to my neck and then my shoulder. He drags his mouth down my shirt and then lowers to his knees. He’s so tall that even in that position, he still seems massive. I rest my hands on his shoulders because I don’t have the strength to stand on my own.
He tilts his head up and an impish grin appears on his face. “You tell me if you don’t like something. It’s my first time, you know.”
He lowers himself even more to kiss my thigh. I lock my knees and pray for some strength. His first time? Holy mother, those words are an incredible aphrodisiac. His tongue licks its way up toward my sex and then feathers down the opposite leg. There’s nothing tentative in his touch. No lack of surety when he pulls down my panties and pushes my short knit skirt up to my waist.
There’s a heavy groan. I look down to see him biting hard on his bottom lip.
“Sweet Jesus, baby, you are so gorgeous.” He places a big palm over my trimmed hair and rubs. The heel of his hand places exquisite pressure on my clit. I start to shake. “You like this?” He glances up for approval.
I nod and then nod some more, feeling like a bobble head. I’m only capable of one motion right now.
“Can you get off with just this?”
I’m so close I could get off with him holding me.
“Then how about this?” He replaces his hand with his mouth and the moment his hot breath and wet tongue makes contact with my skin, I go off. I shove my fist into my mouth as he lashes me with his hard tongue. My knees completely give out but his right hand shoots up to brace my butt while the left reaches up to squeeze my breasts. If this is how good he is his first time, I might not survive the second one.
My heart pounds against the thin wall of my chest and I fear it will burst out. Every surface of my skin feels like it’s on fire, and I’m a hot, needy thing filled with incoherent sounds and pleas for more. He doesn’t relent. He doesn’t ease off as my body trembles from one high into another. He keeps feasting on me as if he’s never had anything better touch his tongue.
“You taste so fucking good,” he groans. “So wet and tart. I could stay down here all week.”
I’ve given up stifling my own sounds. I push my hands in his hair, tugging on his short strands while he still holds me up, exposing me to his ravenous mouth. I feel greedy but I want more.
“Masters,” I whisper. “I need you.”
He pauses, mid lick, mid suck, and draws back.
“What’d you say?” His voice is gravelly and rough and rubs across my sensitized skin as surely as his hand.
“Let’s go to the bed,” I beg. He lets me sink to the ground in front of him. I kiss the side of his neck, salty with his sweat. When his still body doesn’t move, I sense something is wrong.
“What is it?” I ask.
He frowns. His face glistens from the moisture of my body and I feel both embarrassed and aroused.