Score: A Stepbrother Sports Romance (12 page)

“You’re welcome to tell me to stop anytime,” he growls into my ear, his fingers stroking deeper and faster and harder, and pushing me right to the edge of my sanity.

“I- I-” I’m gasping for air and searching for words, but there’s only one thought roaring through my head right then.

I’m going to come.

Dalton Cole has his fingers deep inside my pussy with his lips on my neck, and he’s going to
make me come
.

Hard.

“Cause I can stop, darlin,” he growls, his drawled voice like tobacco and honey in my ear. His finger slows to a maddeningly teasing stroke, keeping me
right
on the razor’s edge.

“I can stop all this
right now
,” he husks, his finger sliding from my heat and tracing lazy circles around my clit. “Just say the word.”

“Please,” I beg, my breath coming in gasps as I pathetically try and move my hips against him,
desperate
to come.

“Yes?” He growls into my ear. “Something you want to say, darlin?”

“
Please make me come!
”

The words come moaning from my lips, and the second they do, I cry out as I feel him push his finger deep back inside. He starts to finger me quickly with his big, powerful hand, his thick finger stroking me again and again, until the edges of my vision start to fade.

“Oh….
God-
”

The scream freezes in my throat, and suddenly, his lips are right there at my ear again.

“I want to watch you come, Hailey,” he draws out. “That pussy is going to come all over my hand, and then I’m going to lick it fucking clean.”

It’s
so
dirty, and
so
fucking crude that I’m suddenly crying out as the last shred of my sanity goes shattering away.

And I’m coming.

My fingers scratch at his shoulders, and I bury my mouth against his chest as the orgasm tears through me. I’m panting, slumping against him as the silence closes in around us.

Slowly, he brings his hand out of my panties, and as I look up from his chest, my eyes go wide.

True to his word, his eyes locked on mine, Dalton brings his glistening fingers to his lips and sucks them inside.

Oh my God
.

He’s so filthy.

So
dirty.

And I just want more.

I
’m a drinking man
, primarily.

Drugs - with a few ill-advised forays into cocaine when I was hanging out with all those models - have never really been my thing.

Except now. Now I’m fucking
addicted
, and the drug I’m hooked on is Hailey Garrison.

And like any good after school special will tell you, once you’ve gotten a taste of a drug, you just want more. Actually, no, “want” doesn’t quite cover it. It’s a
need
, a fucking c
raving
, a Goddamn
primal
urge.

And once you’ve gotten your hit, you start
chasing
that feeling down. Again, I’ve never actually
been
a “drug guy”, but I’d like to think I’ve seen enough movies to know what comes next. The supplier ducks out, or the heat closes in, and as soon as that first hit has faded, it’s suddenly
impossible
to get a second one. You’re left stranded, thirsty, craving more.

And basically, you’re fucked.

I think that basically surmises my thoughts on Hailey after that night at the gym.

Because after that night - after that kiss and that sublime fucking perfect moment of watching her
come
, that supply has shut. The. Fuck. Down.

By her, of course.

She clams up immediately after buttoning her shorts back up, her eyes widely avoiding mine as she pushes her hair back behind her face, that lip caught between her teeth.

And she says nothing.

Shit.

In fact, she says nothing the whole three-minute drive back to my mom’s house, to the point where she’s popping the car door open before the Escalade even shuts off.

“Hey-” I grab her wrist, furrowing my brow at the silent treatment. “We gonna
talk
about that at all?”

She bites her lip again, her eyes darting across my face but at least
looking
at me this time. “I- We don’t have to.”

She moves to get out of the SUV again before I roll my eyes and yank her back. “You okay?”

She takes a deep breath in the dark of the front seat, and this time, she keeps her eyes to herself. “You don’t have to be different with me.”

“Excuse me?”

“Dalton, I know what you are, and what this is-”

“Woah, hang on, Hailey-”

“And that’s
why
I just allowed that, okay?” She takes a shaky breath and then looks at me, forcing this smile to her face. “You
really
don’t have to worry, and you really don’t have to treat me any different than any of your other girls.”

My ‘other girls’. Jesus.

“Hailey, that’s-”

“I just wanted to see what the fuss was all about, alright?” She shrugs, tucking a stray lock of half-damp hair behind her ear. “Can we go inside now?”

I frown, “Uh, yeah, sure.”

She opens the car door and steps out. “Thanks for the ride.”

I watch as she runs from the garage to the house, holding her books above her head.

What. The. Fuck.

Part of me wants to high-five myself, or throw a fist in the air, or whatever to congratulate myself on another successful conquest. The untouchable, off-limits, ice-queen Hailey Garrison just came like a fucking hurricane on my fingers.

I should go up to my pad and crack a beer, or head out to a party or something to celebrate my victory.

But I frown, staring out at the rain trickling down the windshield of the dark Escalade.

So how come it doesn’t feel like a win at all?

* * *

T
hree days later though
, I’m out on that field with the bright lights, the feel of the turf under my knee, and the crowd roaring.

It’s the first game of the season, and
here
I can fucking
win
.

I can
taste
the energy as we step out of that locker room, the adrenaline pounding through each of us like a diesel engine. We’re ready to own that field, own that glory, and to tear some other motherfuckers limb from limb.

Ain’t competitive sports grand?

That right there is energy you don’t get from anything else in the whole damn world. Well, maybe from fucking, but even that’s debatable.

And when we step foot out the gate onto the field, I’m the fucking
king
of that stadium. There’s forty-thousand people screaming my Goddamn name, with my damn
face
up on the jumbo-screens.

Forget what I said, this might
definitely
be better than any sex
I’ve
ever had.

Of course, out of all forty-thousand people here tonight, there’s really only
one
I want to hear screaming my name.

She’s not.

I catch Hailey’s eye sitting up right behind the bench when we trot out. Her mouth is pointedly shut, and she suddenly appears to be
very
interested the blank scoreboard when I glance back at her.

I frown, and I want to go over there, throw her over my damn shoulder, and take her somewhere where I can damn well
guarantee
she’ll be screaming my name. But I’ve gotta push that out of my mind. There’s no space in my head for anything but
owning
this moment right now. Not with what this first game means, not with the level of expectation it holds, and sure as shit not with forty-thousand people on their feet chanting my name.

We line up on the field of battle and glory, and the ball snaps into my hand. I fade back, my eyes on the prize as I wind back and just
let go
.

And the crowd goes fucking
nuts.

* * *

“
H
ail to the motherfuckin’ King
, baby!”

The room goes fucking bonkers as Evan and Jason hoist me up above the crowd.

“Cole! Cole! Cole!” The living room of the fraternity house
pulses
with my name as three-hundred red plastic solo cups sloshing beer rise up as one to cheers me.

Fuck yeah
.

They drop me to the ground, ruffling my hair and slapping me on the back and a hundred sweaty frat dudes come up to tell me I’m the greatest thing since Jesus Christ.

Of course, behind them, there’s a hundred sorority girls, ready to
worship
me.

Coach pushes his way through the crowd and grabs my hand, raising it up in the air to another round of cheers like I’m the damn champion of the ring.

And let’s be real,
I am
.

I mean, sure, team effort and all that - and it damn well
was
. But if we’re being honest, that game was
mine
. I hit
every
pass, called
every
play, and dodged every fucking attempt to take me out.

And now I’m holding court, and I plan on reveling in it.

“Alright! Alright!” Coach is still wearing his windbreaker, and he holds his hands in the air as the rest of the team shushes the crowd.

“Y’all have fun tonight, because you damn well earned it.”

The crowd whoops again as Coach gives a thumbs up, before holding his hands up again. “But not
too much
fun, gentleman.” He points a finger around the room, grinning. “I’m lookin’ at you, players. Be good, boys, we got practice tomorrow.”

“Yes, Coach!”

The cheers turn back to the general madness of a party as someone kicks the music back up.

Jim turns back to me and drops a hand on my shoulder. “You did real good tonight, son. Own this win, and celebrate it.” He eyes the beer in my hand and gives me a stern look. “I’m going to turn a blind eye to that in the spirit of celebration. Remember what we talked about though, alright?”

I grin. “You bet, Coach.”

He gives me another pat on the back before he heads out, shaking hands on his way to the front door.

I sip my beer as another couple of frat guys come up to tell me how cool I am. I spot Jen - the Kappa house girl - across the room, wearing the world’s all-time sluttiest tank-top that shows more cleavage than most bras. She smirks at me, pulling her shoulders back and pushing her tits out as if my eyes needed
any
extra encouragement to spot them.

She’s got one of the other blondes from the drinking game in the basement with her - Cassie or Sarah, or whoever - and some vampy-looking black-haired girl wearing a skirt the size of a washcloth. Jen smirks at me from across the room, nodding her head at the two girls with her and wagging her brows suggestively.

Jesus, tact and subtlety are not in this girl’s vocabulary.

I hold up a finger to her as a few more fraternity brothers swarm over me. I’m turning away as someone presses a fresh beer into my hand when suddenly my eyes
lock
on the front door.

And right there, I’m not thinking about the game, or the beer, or the slutty sorority sisters that want to triple-team me.

Because right then, the rest of the people, the music, and pretty much
everything
else fades away as the world tilts off its axis for a second.

Because Hailey-fucking-Garrison is at a
football
party at a damn
frat house
.

And she looks fucking
good
.

There’s a heavy hand on my shoulder. “You got that thousand bucks together for me yet, Cole?”

I narrow my eyes as I glance back at fucking
Henderson
. He’s looking right past me, his eyes locked on Hailey and this evil little grin on his face.

“Fuck off, Henderson.”

He laughs. “Hey man, I’m just sayin. You might be this big rock-star, but you ain’t gonna be hitting that and you damn well know it. Might as well let me break ‘er in, right?”

I want to destroy him.

Not
fight
him
,
or even beat the shit out of him - I want to
destroy
him. And for a moment, as the red rage rushes up inside of me like this unstoppable wave, I think I might, right there in the damn frat house.

Breathe, man. Fucking breathe.

My blood boils like molten steel, and my hands clench into rock-hard fists. But Coach’s words from the other day rattle through my head.

‘You’re gonna have a lot of eyes on you.’

He’s right, of course. I’m under the damn microscope right now, and the last thing I need is to be beating the hell out of teammates - even pieces of trash like Henderson, and even when they say crude shit about Hailey.

I take another solid breath before I force the smile to my face. I pat Henderson on the back, resisting the urge to throw him bodily through the closest window. “Dream on, buddy,” I say with a fake grin on my face, shrugging easily. “Besides, it was just a joke bet, man.”

“Not gonna be a joke bet when I come to collect, pal.”

I smile once more at Henderson and pat him on the back, walking away before I do lose the last hold on my temper. I scan the room, and my eyes catch Hailey again.

Damn
, she does look good.

She looks
too
good.