Winning Pass - A Football Romance (10 page)

Y
ou’d think
that by the third physical therapy session with Paige, I’d know better. I’d know that nothing is going to happen between us because she’s too caught up in being the professional here, and nothing’s going to change her mind. Or that I’d know not to wear thin shorts where it’s so obvious how every time she massages my back, I get insanely hard. It’s too bad this massage table doesn’t have a hole for my dick to go.

I don’t think I can really stand having Paige’s soft hands rubbing out anything on my body unless it’s my swollen dick much longer. Once, I was a guy who only cared about football and the occasional glass of whiskey. I could hold a conversation about pretty much anything, but I didn’t want to. Now, I’ve been turned into this guy who can’t stop thinking about how Texas went down and how I’m dying for more of Paige. It doesn’t matter that I know I can’t give it to her like I did last time. I still want to try. Going home with blue balls each afternoon, only to throw my arm out trying to get rid of the pressure, was getting old really quickly.

That’s it. Her hands are feather-light around my shoulder, but I can’t stand it. I need more. “These sessions have been working really well, Paige. But . . .”

She freezes. “But what?”

I let out a long sigh and look up at her. “My back’s not the only thing that hurts. I’ve been having some issues with my legs too. I think it’s just from being so stiff everywhere else.” Whether she gets the double entendre or not, I don’t know, but she gives me a stern look before nodding back at me.

“Okay then. Let’s switch it up a little today. I can try and work on your calves and thighs if you want. Will that help?”

I consider it for a moment before shrugging. “We can start there, I guess.”

She stands at the end by my feet, but nothing happens. I’m just about to say something when Paige’s hands are suddenly on my left calf, kneading the muscle softly at first, but applying more pressure as she goes. I’ve never had anyone massage my legs like this before, and this is only the beginning. I can’t even imagine what it’s going to be like when she gets to my thighs.

I can tell she’s been keeping her nails trimmed because last time, she nearly cut into my skin trying to rub one of the knots underneath my shoulder blade. Usually, I’m into it, but when blood is drawn, I have to draw my own line. I open my eyes and kind of wish there were something on the floor to look at instead of just the boring-ass tile. But Paige digs her thumbs in even deeper down the middle of my entire calf, and my eyes flutter back shut. I could definitely get used to this.

She works up and down both my left and right calves, taking her sweet time. I know she’s taking her time, because I happened to overhear her talking with Stacey about how she’s moving back her regular 9:30 patient to 10 o’clock. I had to hurry and wipe the smug smile off my face when she came back around the corner into the room. I guess I am a special circumstance for her, after all.

Now, her hands have worked their way up to the back my knee, where she’s pushing her fingers up further on either side of my hamstring. It’s a muscle I used constantly in football, but you never know just how much you overwork the muscles in a contact sport until you take the time to ice them, or better yet, have them massaged by a sexy woman.

Paige’s hands are running up and down the middle of my thighs, still applying plenty of pressure through her fingertips. It’s like her hands are fucking magic or something, the way she can push in all the right spots, relaxing me to the fullest. Well, sort of relaxing me. Not every part of my body is getting that message.

I try to concentrate on the daily walk the room report that Kevon has been giving me, this morning being the earliest report since he was up for the last practice before the team’s first regular-season game. To say I’m jealous is an understatement. Of course, I’m only jealous because I am dying to get back on the field and I feel like if I don’t hurry and do so, I’m gonna somehow lose all my skills. Highly unlikely, but the thought is still there, running beneath my veins. I was made to play football, literally and figuratively. Although this isn’t a bad trade-off.

When her hands get closer to right under my ass cheeks, my eyes open wide and I tell myself to calm down. She’s just doing her job. That’s all. That is not remotely sexual.

Tell that to my dick, though, because now, I’m having to move around yet again, trying to get comfortable.

“You okay?” she asks me, probably noticing me fidgeting around.

“Yeah, sure. I guess I’m just ticklish. Who would’ve thought?”

Is it my imagination, or did she just snicker?

And now her hands, oh God, yep. She is actually massaging my ass. Well, you don’t see that every day, although I certainly wouldn’t miss out on it if I had the chance. The way she is rubbing over and over at the top of my muscle there, I have to cough, trying to cover up the moan that I almost let out in front of her. It’s one thing to make all the sexy noises when we’re actually talking. It’s an entirely different story when she’s supposed to be massaging me in a professional setting. I don’t know why, but it just is.

I’m extremely hard now, and there’s no way I’m able to get comfortable. Not as long as Paige keeps running over all the right spots, digging her hands into the meat, so to speak. The woman has a gift, that’s for certain.

Actually, she’s got a ton of gifts—always has. Like the uncanny gift of being able to control all my thoughts without even realizing it. God, I’ve turned into such a fucking sucker for her lately. I’m not a total idiot. I get what’s happening here, to some extent. All these old feelings that I had for her are slowly starting to resurface. Except now that we’re both adults, they’re just a little bit more complicated. Now they involve a lot of sex, or at least, a lot of thoughts about sex with her. Mainly, that’s what I’m thinking about, but every so often, Paige does something that reminds me of the girl I used to consider my best friend here in North Carolina. I’d been going for a few walks by myself—thankfully, Dubs was cool with me just checking in every so often. I passed plenty of our old spots and couldn’t help but laugh each time I did. It’s funny how memories will sneak up on you when you least expect them, but they damn near flood open the access to your brain when you visit places like those. It’s like watching one of those old films without sound flipping in my brain.

With all the memories we have already made, it makes me want to try for new ones with her. And believe me, it’s something I thought about quite a bit ever since I came up here. The problem is that Paige is a little too good at her job. It’s like she really does have those magic hands. I can already tell that my shoulder is faring better and has a wider range of motion. Her physical therapy sessions are very helpful, and the more that we do them, the better my shoulder gets.

Why is that a problem, exactly? I don’t want to jeopardize that in any way. With her help, I’ve been able to heal quickly from the shoulder surgery, and if all goes according to plan, I might actually get in on the last couple of games before the season’s over. No “probably” for me this year, for sure, but to sit out a whole season . . . I just can’t do it. I can’t fucking do it. So I have to make sure that this works and that Paige helps me get back to Texas.

Except there’s the crazy fact that I don’t want to go back to Texas without her. I won’t admit it to anyone, not even myself, really, but the idea of just going back to life before Paige and I met back up is not exactly appealing. I’m not sure how I’ll be able to do it, quite honestly. I don’t throw around words like love and soulmate and that kind of chick bullshit, but then again, Paige has always been a little different in my book.

And to think about not going back to Texas? Not going back to the Longhorns or even football? I don’t think I can do that. Not to mention the fact that my father would probably have me murdered. I’m only half-joking, by the way.

She’s definitely put me in a tough position, or maybe I did it to myself. I’m the one who set this whole thing up between her and me, and I’m the one who got hurt in the first place. But dammit, did she have to be so . . . Paige? This would just be easier if she wasn’t the same girl I remembered growing up with—just way sexier. All I have to do to get myself going is just to think about those sexy, thick thighs of hers wrapped around my waist . . . and there I go again.

No, maybe I need to keep it professional like her, after all.

Paige finally finishes up and helps me to my feet. I’m about to thank her for another good session when I notice that the middle button to her shirt is wide open, giving me a full view of her cleavage. And she has no fucking clue.

I fight myself to not look back down again, not wanting to embarrass myself and get caught again.

“Well?”

Shit. Did she just ask me a question? “Um, what was that?” I ask lamely. There’s just no saving face on that one.

Paige dramatically rolls her eyes at me, biting her lip at the same time and driving me crazy. All those tiny little things she does, man. It’s a wonder I haven’t grabbed her face and kissed it yet.

“I asked you how your legs are feeling,” she says slowly. “Are they still as sore as they were before?”

“Oh. No, they actually feel a lot better. Thank you for that. That was a . . . helpful session. What’s next?”

After she goes to get the warm compresses this time, I sit up straight on the table, wondering if maybe fucking her again will help get everything out of my system. Hey, it’s worth a try.

I
t’s become
total routine to wake up on Mondays, Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays, just to immediately masturbate in my bed. Sometimes, in the shower if I’m running behind. Seriously. That may sound a wee bit extreme, but if I have to stay on top of myself to behave while touching Elijah during his PT sessions, then I’m going to need an ace in the hole. Or a finger . . . or two.

The image of Elijah with his head full of dark hair between my pale thighs makes me reach my orgasm the quickest, mainly because during that whole night of sex in Texas (Sexas, according to Stacey), he never went down on me. I took it pretty personally after I thought about it for a while, but in the end, I figure he was just so busy fucking me every which way that maybe he ran out of time? Who knows? I guess it doesn’t matter now anyway.

After a rousing session of my own, I struggle to get ready and make myself a quick smoothie before heading out the door. This past week, Elijah and Dubs have been showing up a little early, so I want to beat them to the office, because who shows up to an appointment like that after their patient?

Here we are at the third week of Elijah’s physical therapy, and it’s still a little bit of a shock each time I see his tall, muscular frame walking into the office. Then again, anyone who’s into sexy men would be suffering from a tiny heart attack anytime he walked in the room.

“What’s on the agenda today, doc?” He asks me once we’re in the room. “Hot or cold?”

He makes a joke about my having to switch up the hot and cold compresses, and I play along. “I guess we’ll just find out when were done, won’t we? How have you been feeling over the weekend?” I don’t ask all the other questions in my mind, like
what did you do this weekend? Did you fuck anybody else this weekend? Did you think about me at all this weekend?
Those kinds of things, you know?

Elijah shrugs his shoulders. “I’ve been feeling okay. Nothing too exciting. I found out one of our teammates got injured in yesterday’s game, so that was pretty rough on him.”

“Oh yeah? What happened?”

“Torn ACL. Pretty nasty business. But he’s a safety, so there are a few more of him, and second-string safeties can step up too. No biggie for the team anyway. It sucks for Raymond though.”

I wince, not wanting to imagine any kind of torn ACL. “Yikes. I hope he heals quickly. Those are pretty painful injuries, from what I’ve heard.”

The concern in Elijah’s eyes melts my heart. “Yeah, me too. He’s a good kid. I don’t want this to affect the rest of his career because sometimes, these injuries can. Then again, I have a lot of room to talk, don’t I?”

I shake my head. “You’ll get better. I promise you that. You might even make it back into the season fully healed. That would be pretty awesome, right?” Well, for him, anyway. Not so awesome for me.

The smile on his face says it all. “Yeah, that would be pretty awesome. I feel so weird not playing football.”

I know how big of a deal it is for him to play, but I’ve only learned just how crucial football has been in Elijah’s life since he started opening up to me last week about everything that happened after his move to Texas. I get the impression that his dad is kind of weird, but the way Elijah portrays him makes him seem like he is downright psycho. I always keep those thoughts to myself though.

“I figure we can start with three totally new exercises, just to switch things up again. You don’t want your muscles to get too used to any one thing, as I’m sure you know. Have you been working on exercises at home like I told you to?”

Elijah leans back against the wall. “Oh, is that so?”

I fold my arms across my chest, even though I know he’s more than likely just messing with me. “Yes, dammit, it’s so.” I bite my lip because dammit, I’m supposed to be keeping it professional here. This isn’t exactly how I would talk to any other client.

His eyes flash wide, but he grins at me, knowing he’s striking a nerve. God, he can be such a boy sometimes. “Touchy, touchy? Yes, I have been doing the exercises like you told me to. At least, a couple of them. The one where I look like I’m jerking some guy off . . . not exactly my favorite.”

I have to laugh, because I know exactly what he’s talking about. “Whatever you say. Let’s get started.”

We joke and banter back and forth, chatting about the most mundane things sprinkled over with some deeper things. I try to keep it light with Elijah, especially when I’m trying to get him to relax, but I forget sometimes that it’s so easy to talk with him.

“Yeah, college wasn’t exactly my finest moment in life. I felt like a huge whale, to be quite honest, and I was sucking at school pretty badly. After all the hard work that both me and my mom tried to put in just so I could go to begin with . . . I felt a huge failure. My mom would never tell me that, of course, but you know how she was. So quiet, so thoughtful.”

Elijah finishes his next round of the exercise I’ve shown him. “How is your mom doing, by the way? She’s still living around here, right?”

I swallow loudly, because it’s still hard to talk about. “We um, had to put my mother into a home. She has . . . early onset Alzheimer’s. Completely came out of left field a few years ago.”

Elijah freezes, the frown pulling across his face in an instant. “Jesus, Paige. I had no idea! How come you’re only now mentioning it?”

I back up against the wall, trying to pull myself together, because at some point, everyone always asks. I just have to learn to get through it with the answer. “I don’t know. It’s not something I like to talk about, I guess. You know how it goes when people mention your mom, right? It’s sort of similar. She mainly remembers us, but there are plenty of times where she forgets that I’m Paige and my sister is Stacey. She’ll confuse us pretty easily, plus, she was getting kind of violent with herself, frustrated all the time, and we thought it would be best if someone was able to stay with her constantly. She was with Stacey and her husband for about six months until she pulled a knife on herself and then ended up trying to hit Stacey. Yeah, Stacey wasn’t thrilled with that. They couldn’t just watch her twenty-four seven like a child, so we both made the decision to sell her house, and we’re using the money to help pay for her stay. It’s not an ideal situation, but it’s the best we can do with what we have.”

After I make my admission about my mom, Elijah is very quiet, every now and then trying to make me smile. It’s not forced, like pretty much anyone else would make me feel. I’m never uncomfortable in Elijah’s company, even when I’m dying to touch him more.

Watching him work through his exercises and watching him work through the pain are hard on me, because on one hand, I’m very proud of him and what he’s managing to do, given the pain he’s dealing with, but on the other hand, I hate seeing him struggle. Somehow, though, watching him push through it all so determined is kind of sexy. And those thoughts always see down the wrong path, because I’ve had to come face-to-face with the reality here.

Maybe it was just lust at first, and the idea of a reunion with my childhood best friend sounded almost like a fairytale, but it has grown into something much more. I keep pushing back my heart and telling myself not to get all bubbly and hopeful inside, because Elijah is going back to Texas when it’s all said and done, but it’s hard to see him every day and not develop some sort of feelings for him.

I’ve been wondering if it’s a good idea to get those naughtier thoughts of Elijah out of my head with a little hands-on training.

When it comes time to work out the knots under Elijah’s shoulder blade, I let my thoughts run wild in my head, even though I shouldn’t. His breath across my skin, Elijah’s mouth on my hip, his hands pulling my crazy tangle of hair up while he kisses the nape of my neck . . . all those thoughts rush back in the moment I open my eyes. I grasp the side of the table and nearly miss, the overwhelming sense of lust making me stumble.

With my own hands, I break the code I committed to and slide them along the inside of his thighs. It’s not exactly the first time, but this time, my intention is completely different. Elijah responds by parting his legs naturally, thinking I’m going to do the usual. He jolts when instead, I slip my hands inside the loose fabric of his long shorts, my fingers skirting along his warm skin. I drag my nails upward, smiling when I reach the round curves of his firm ass cheeks. He’s not wearing any underwear under the shorts, and it’s already driving me crazy.

I keep going, not sure if I can stop even if I want to. I massage his glutes firmly, but my fingers are much closer to his balls than before. When I ghost my fingertips across the sensitive flesh of his, he groans. I think he’s starting to get it now.

Something fuels me within, and I stop what I’m doing and turn around, making sure to be extra quiet when I lock the sliding doors behind me. When I turn back, he’s lying on his side with nothing but pure lust behind his eyes. If I were a cat, I’d be purring right about now.

“What are you doing?”

I can’t answer him. I can’t tell him that I’m being slowly driven insane by having to touch him without
really
being able to touch him. I don’t want to tell him that all I can think about is what I really want to do to him and how it has nothing to do with making him any better. It’s all for selfish reasons. I want Elijah’s body, and I want to use my power do things to it until he comes, begging me for more.

Biting my lip, I stand here, unsure of what I want to do next. He sits up, though, and it gives me direction. I need to kiss him.

It’s an odd balance of restraint and passion that drives me, but I walk up to him and wind my hand into his hair and lean in. Our breath mingles together, but Elijah keeps quiet.

“I have been having one hell of a hard time with this, so I need you to trust me, okay?” My words aren’t frenzied or rushed. They’re slow, sultry, even. They captivate Elijah in a way that gives me the power I want.

And I kiss him, long, hard. His hands are groping my ass, and we’re pulling each other tightly against one another until we can’t get any closer. His tongue dances in my mouth and his parted legs are telling me I was right. He wants this just as badly as I do.

Elijah carefully reaches out with his good arm to start pulling my scrub top up, his hand sliding up my soft belly until he’s rubbing his thumb over my ribcage. God, to have his mouth on my nipples again would be heaven.

That’s not what I have in mind this time, however, and I push his hands away before pulling the rolling stool up to the table. My face is only inches away from his hardening length, and it’s taking a miracle to restrain myself long enough to look at him before he sits up and slides his shorts off. They pool on the floor, and I wrap my hands around the soft skin covering his hard cock, hungrily taking him into my mouth.

“Fuck,” he mutters, his head tilted upward as his hips jut forward. I hold my mouth open wide and close it all around him so he can go at his own pace. His wide cock head is hitting the back of my throat, but I don’t care—this is all I want right now.

Elijah takes my long hair out of its bun and winds it around his hand, lightly pulling it upward and sending chills down my back. I look up at him and suck harder. I love the way he’s watching me so intensely, biting his own lip and groaning when I start kneading his balls in my free hand.

“You are a pro at sucking dick. I never would have thought that. It’s no surprise with those lips of yours—I think you were made for sucking my dick. Fuck yes, harder like that, baby.”

It’s the dirty talk that makes me whimper around his thickness. I’ve never heard him call me baby, but now, I’m suddenly obsessed with it. I drag my nails down his rock hard abs, teasing him when I pull my mouth back.

“Oh no, you gotta keep working your mouth on me. It’s so warm. That’s right, baby, wrap those sweet lips around me and suck.”

I squirm in my seat, wishing I had a way to touch myself. It’s pure agony, but at the same time, pure bliss. I moan around him, feeling the way his balls tighten in my hand and knowing it’s time.

“Fuck, Paige, I’m going to come. No, don’t stop, honey—suck me faster!” He yells out, maybe a little too loudly, as ropes of his hot cum coat the back of my throat. I slowly lick every last bit of him, smiling at the dazed look on his face. I may be screwing myself over in the process, but all I really want is to screw Elijah.

“I think your new method is working well,” he says after we both catch our breath. “But there might be some minor adjustments to make.”

Oh no. There’s no way I heard
that
right. Did he really just say I need to work on my dick-sucking skills? “Excuse me?”

Elijah laughs to himself before sliding off the table. “What I mean to say is that I think there are some adjustments to be made to my sessions that we could maybe work out at your place. Or my hotel room. Whichever you’d prefer.”