Blitzed by the Brit: A Secret Baby Sports Romance (9 page)

“Faster,” I growl at her.

She pulls my shorts down further, and switches hands. Her spare hand clasps over my mouth in an attempt to keep me quiet, but I gently bite her fingers and she snaps it away.

Becky’s strokes get faster, but she keeps the same rhythm, steadily bringing me closer and closer to completion. She’d been nervous in bed with me, but she’s in her element now. I suspect she did this in the past to avoid committing to full sex, but I don’t much care. She’s experienced, talented, and she’s about to make me cum.

I want to reach out and grab her breasts, or her ass, anything really. I just want to touch her, but my hands are gripping the sides of the chair and I can’t let go without falling off in excitement. Becky looks up at me while her hand works on my cock. She’s still the picture of innocence, even while tossing me off. I try to keep looking at her, but it’s like staring at the sun. I have to close my eyes after a few seconds before they pop out of my head.

Now I see why teenage boys think this can make you go blind.

She leans in and kisses me on the lips. I’m so close.

And then she stops. I moan in her mouth as her lips linger on mine. Slowly, she pulls her mouth away, and the next time I feel her lips they’re wrapping around my cock. Her hot mouth embraces my shaft, lips sliding down as her tongue flips against my tip.

I want to stretch the moment out, but I’m already close to bursting. I grab hold of her hair and hold her lips in place halfway down my cock. Another deep groan escapes my lips as I erupt into her mouth, filling her up quicker than she can swallow. Some cum drips down my shaft, although she manages to swallow most of it. Not bad at all, considering I don’t give her much in the way of a warning.

Becky wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, and then licks her lips seductively. It’s almost enough to have me immediately hard again. Her cheeks are flushed, and the anger in her eyes has been replaced with pure passion. She needs this release almost as much as I do.

“Back to work,” she says casually, spinning her chair around and scooching back to her desk.

I grab the chair and pull it back towards me, after stuffing my dick back into my shorts. “No chance. I’m not done with you yet.”

“What do you—?”

I look around and spot a large desk that’s almost empty except for a few books. I sweep the desk clean and then drag Becky over, pushing her against it with a kiss while my hand reaches between her legs.

“No, we can’t,” she mumbles between kisses.

“There’s no way I’m not returning the favor and having you thinking British guys are selfish.”

“Someone will see.”

I go over to the window and adjust the blinds so that they’re fully closed and angled towards the ceiling. “There, no one can see in now.”

“I still don’t think—”

“That’s your problem; too much thinking.”

I unzip her trousers and pull them down to her ankles. She kicks them off while my fingers dive under the thin and soaking wet fabric of her panties. She’s so eager, her pussy practically pulls two of my fingers inside her. Her hips rock into my hand, and a low moan escapes her lips. She has a hand pressed against my chest, but she doesn’t try to push me away.

I pull my fingers out and lift her up onto the desk. She leans back on her hands, hooking her legs over my shoulders as I fall to my knees in front of her.

There’s a part of me that wants to draw the moment out, caress her thighs, and enjoy the beauty of her sex with just my eyes for a little longer. However, I’m helpless to resist her essence. Her scent brings me in, and I have to taste her immediately.

My tongue flicks against her folds, as I tease myself with her excitement. She slips back onto her elbows, and thrusts her sex into my mouth. Neither of us wants to go slow. Fine with me.

I slip two fingers inside her and let my tongue focus on her clit. I flick it, gently at first, and then press my tongue against it, stimulating as many nerves as possible at once. When my fingers curl up inside her, Becky collapses down on the desk and uses her hands to hold my head in place.

She wriggles under my touch when I take her clit between my lips and start lashing it with my tongue while gently sucking. It hardens in my mouth, and becomes increasingly sensitive to my touch. Every flick of the tongue now has Becky groaning and shaking.

I feel the orgasm in her thighs first, as they clamp in place around my back. Every muscle in her body tenses up, and she whimpers something incomprehensible. She might be screaming my name, but it sounds more like she’s speaking in tongues.

It’s a combination of my tongue on her clit and my fingers rubbing against her front wall that sends her over the edge. She can barely breathe as her muscles shake, all strength disappearing from her body. She’s cursing and taking in short breaths, while softly playing with my hair as I keep gently kissing her folds.

I hear footsteps on the old concrete floor outside.

Becky either hasn’t heard or no longer cares about being caught. Probably the former, and there’ll be hell to pay if we’re seen. I grab her jeans from the floor and slide them up her legs while she lies there struggling to breathe. There’s no time for the panties, so I shove them in her pocket.

Her hair’s all over the place, and there’s no mistaking the red flush on her cheeks, but Becky picks up on the urgency and within seconds, she’s sat at her desk as if nothing had happened.

I look around for any, uh, bodily fluids that might give the game away, but most of that ended up sliding down Becky’s throat, so we should be okay.

A guy bursts into the office in a hurry. He does a double take when he sees me, so at least he hasn’t seen anything through the blinds. He looks like what I would think of as a public school boy, but here I think the word is ‘preppy,’ or just ‘douchebag’ as the case requires.

“What do you want, Peter?” Becky asks irritably. She doesn’t like this guy. Her voice is dripping with contempt, much like it had been when she first spoke to me in the sauna. Something told me this Peter guy wouldn’t be able to win her around like I did.

“You’re not the only one who can come into the office on a Saturday,” Peter replies. His eyes keep darting from Becky to me and back to Becky again. He clearly suspects that something is going on between us. Good job it’s not any of his business.

“Well, just keep the noise down,” Becky says. “I’m writing an important article.”

“Doesn’t look like you’re doing much writing to me.”

God, I’d love to smack this guy in the mouth.

“Charles is helping me with my article.”

“Sure he is,” Peter replies.

“Not that it’s any of your business,” I say, “but it’s true.”

“Becky has already made her contempt for football quite clear. I fail to believe she’s writing an article about you and your teammates.”

I’m surprised to hear Peter talk back so strongly, but he’s also keeping his distance. This is a man who is used to getting what he wants and talking down to people, but he’s not used to getting his own hands dirty in the process. I eat guys like him for breakfast.

“Just because I don’t like football,” Becky says “doesn’t mean I can’t write about it. I happen to be writing a critique of college football.”

“You’re writing an article against college football with the aid of this college’s biggest football star?” Peter asks incredulously. “Somehow I find that hard to believe.”

“Believe what you want,” I say. “It’s true. Now, how about you trot along and go back where you came from? A lot of information in this article is highly confidential right now.”

“I wasn’t born yesterday,” Peter replies. “I can see what’s going on here.”

“What do you mean?” Becky asks. Her cheeks have turned even redder, and her voice is uncertain. If he didn’t know before, then he does now.

“I think I’ll pop along and have a word with Professor Fenwick. I’m sure he’d like to know that a tutor is fooling around with her student.”

“Give it a rest,” I snap. “We’re not doing anything, and even if we were, she’s not my teacher. I’m older than her for Christ’s sake.”

“We’ll let Professor Fenwick be the judge of that.”

Peter turns and heads towards the exit. I look at Becky and can see she’s terrified of being embarrassed in front of a guy I presume is her boss. I still don’t think she has anything to worry about, but if it’s important to her, it’s important to me.

I quickly head over to the door and place my hand on it before Peter can open it. “Hang on a second. Let’s talk about this before you go and do something you’ll regret.”

“There’s nothing to talk about. I was wondering how you’d managed to make it to the first team. From what I heard, you flunked the entrance exam and have little chance of getting a passing grade in any of your classes.”

“Why does everyone keep going on about that damn entrance exam?” I mutter, more to myself than to him.

“No doubt Becky helped you get good grades in class.”

“Of course she helped me. She’s my tutor.”

“I think she did more than that. I wouldn’t be surprised if she did the work for you.”

“That’s bollocks, and you know it.”

Peter shrugs, a smarmy grin appearing across his face. “Maybe I do, maybe I don’t. I think Professor Fenwick should find out either way.”

He tries to pull on the door handle, but I still have the door held shut. I know of one sure-fire way to handle this, but my gut tells me Becky won’t like it.

“Get out of my way,” Peter snarls.

Screw it. I tried talking, and it didn’t work. Time for Plan B. I grab Peter around the throat and slam him up against the door. I hear Becky protest in the background, but I block her out. I’m not going to hurt him; I just want him to
think
I’m going to hurt him.

“Let go,” Peter says through short, panicked breaths. He has two hands around my wrist, but I’m not letting go. Not until he understands. He’s braver than I thought, but that’s just his arrogance. He’s probably never been hit before; he doesn’t know pain. If he did, he be terrified right now.

“You’re going to leave this office and go straight home,” I order. “If I find out you’ve spoken to Professor Fenwick about Becky and I, you and me going to have a little one-on-one time, and I don’t mean tutoring. Do you understand?”

I can’t understand the garbled noise that comes out of Peter’s mouth, so I loosen my grip slightly around his neck.

“Yes,” he splutters.

He still doesn’t look as scared as he should, but there’s nothing I can do about that right now. I’ve warned him. If he goes back on his word, then he will find out that it doesn’t matter how much money your parents have. When someone punches you in the face it hurts. When
I
punch someone in the face you end up with broken bones.

Peter scurries out of the room as quickly as he can without actually breaking into a sprint. He’s not going to talk to Professor Fenwick—at least not today.

“You should leave, too,” Becky says timidly.

“He won’t come back.”

“I don’t care. You need to leave. We can’t do this here.”

“Will you at least meet me after the game?” I ask.

Becky nods, and I resist the urge to press any further. She looks shaken up by the whole thing, and I get the distinct impression that the more I say, the more likely we will end up arguing. I need my head to be in the right place for today’s game, so arguing with Becky is the last thing I want.

Maybe I shouldn’t have been so hard on Peter. Maybe I should’ve been harder? Sometimes people break, and then you never hear from them again. Other times the anger and embarrassment builds up inside and they do something stupid.

Journalism is Becky’s number one passion—or maybe number two after me, if I’m lucky—so if Peter ruins things for her she will be devastated.

I’m not going to let that happen.

I
know
nothing about our opponents. I literally haven’t even heard of the college they represent, but judging by the talk in the dressing room, they will put up a stern challenge. One that we can overcome with a little help from myself.

During training, Coach deemphasized my role in the team and made it clear that everyone’s contribution is equally important. Now that the big day has arrived, he wastes no time in making me sound like the savior the team has been waiting for. It’s more than a little embarrassing, but I don’t let the pressure get to me.

I’ve played in bigger games than this before. I’ve played in games where the future of the club was at stake. Maybe this game is important too, but I still have no idea how the league table works. There doesn’t appear to be any system of relegation or promotion, and apparently journalists decide where each team finishes in the rankings. That seems utterly absurd to me, and I still think the team might just be playing an elaborate practical joke on me. It doesn’t matter—however the final standings are decided, winning games always help.

Despite supposedly being the most important player on the team; even more so than the quarterback, I don’t get to make a run once in the entire first quarter. Coach thinks it’s a good idea to lull the other team into a false sense of security. They know who I am, but have no idea what I’m capable of. We want to make them think I’m having difficulty settling in so that they stop heaping so much coverage on me.