Tackled Read online

  better when it’s a hands-on experience. You should know that, teacher."

  "Tutor." She slides down, her head on the pillow, stretching out beside me like a cat, one arm above her with a hand behind her head. "Is this how you always teach football?"

  "Never had to teach anyone before," I admit. "In case you hadn't noticed, I'm kind of a big deal. The only women that hang around me are women who know about football."

  Cassie snorts. "Your ego is certainly a big deal."

  "And this is why it's easy hanging out with you," I say. "Even if you're uptight."

  "I am not uptight," she protests. "Anymore."

  "You're much less uptight than you were."

  "Why is it easy being around me, exactly?"

  "Because you know nothing about football. So you knew nothing about me."

  She laughs. "You find that easier to be around than your little groupies and football fans?"

  "Yeah," I say. "No expectations."

  I'm not sure she gets what it's like to be a player at my level, and that's not cockiness talking, that's just a fact. There is more expectation and pressure than I know what to do with sometimes. And being in the public eye means everyone wants a piece of you. It's hard not to feel like every little piece of you is for sale.

  And it's only going to get worse.

  This year, everything that I've worked for comes to a head.

  "You don't even talk that much about football," she says. "I thought it was because you thought I was an idiot when it came to sports."

  "Only when it comes to football. But now I'm going to educate you," I smile as I trace my finger across the top of her breasts and down the side of her stomach to her pelvis, then up the other side. "This is a football field."

  She pulls the corner of her lower lip between her teeth. "Football field," she says. "Got it."

  "The most important part is the end zone," I say.

  "I'm not sure where that is," she says, her voice innocent.

  I draw a horizontal line with my finger across her lips. "There are two, one at each end of the field. One here, and the other…"

  I trail my finger down the middle of her stomach and between her legs. I pause with my finger on her clit, then slide it down lower, pressing against her entrance. "Right here."

  "Mmm-hmm. I'm getting more interested in football by the second."

  "What do you think the goal of the game is?" I ask, keeping my finger right where it is.

  "To get into the end zone," she whispers.

  "That's always been my goal," I admit, sliding my finger into her already slick pussy. "Getting the ball into the end zone is how you score points."

  "Uh-huh," she murmurs as I stroke her slowly inside. "Points."

  "But it's not as easy as that," I say, pulling my finger from her pussy. She whimpers when I trace my wet finger across her clit and over the top of her mound. "If it were easy, it wouldn't be any fun."

  "Of course not."

  "Both teams try to block each other from scoring," I say, sliding my finger down again. She squeezes her legs together, preventing my hand from moving. "Exactly. You're a quick learner."

  "What do you do?" she whispers, her thighs pressed firmly together.

  "I try to get my sexy as hell tutor to spread her legs," I say, pushing her thighs apart.

  Cassie giggles. "I meant on the field."

  I growl. "I try to get right here," I say, sliding down and touching my tongue to her wetness. Her taste is sweet and light and familiar and new every time. I want to bury my face between her legs forever.

  She pulls at my head. "I thought you were teaching me football."

  "I am," I say. "Don’t question my methods."

  She whimpers again. "Your methods are unorthodox."

  "They're effective." I explore her with my tongue, lapping her until her breaths become short.

  "How do you get a touchdown?" she asks, whimpering at the end of the question.

  "I can't tell you that." I slide up her body until we're face to face. My rigid cock presses between her legs. "I'll have to show you."

  "That sounds promising," she says, arching her back up and sliding her hands to the back of my neck. My lips press against hers and my tongue finds hers hungrily.

  I slide into her, her pussy's slickness making it easy. "This would be a touchdown."

  She grasps my ass cheeks, and rocks her hips against mine. "Remind me why I thought football was boring?"

  "You just haven't had the right teacher."

  "I have to disagree with the touchdown thing," she says.

  I thrust inside her, gaining momentum quickly, the way I know she likes it. "Why?"

  "I think a touchdown is when you go all the way," she says, locking her ankles and holding me against her. She squeezes her pussy tight around my cock.

  "This isn't all the way?" I ask her as I thrust deeper inside her.

  "Not yet," she whispers.

  I hit the spot that I know makes her toes curl, and she practically purrs as she looks at me. "There?" I ask.

  Her breath catches and she lets out a little moan. "Not yet."

  I fuck her harder, my cock pushing against that same spot until she's practically breathless. "Almost?" I ask.

  Shit, I'm near exploding in her tight little pussy. It's hard not to when she's making the expression she's making right now, the one where her eyeballs are practically rolling back in her head.

  "Uh-huh," she moans. "Fuck me harder, Colton."

  I fuck her harder, barely hanging on as she whispers in my ear. "He shoots, he scores," she breathes.

  Her pussy squeezes tightly around my cock and she comes hard, calling my name loudly. I let go, thrusting inside her as I empty every last drop of my cum into her tight little pussy.

  When she opens her eyes, my breath is still ragged, my heart still racing. "That was basketball," I tell her.

  "What?"

  "'He shoots, he scores'." That's basketball, not football."

  "Touchdown didn't flow as well," she says. "Not when we're talking about you shooting your load into me."

  "Shit, Cassie, your mouth is filthy as hell. What have I done to you?"

  "I don't know," she says, bringing her lips to mine. "But whatever you did, you should keep doing it."

  34

  Cassie

  "What would I do if I didn't play football? That's a weird fucking question, Cassie," he says. We're lying in the back of his truck looking up at the stars like we have nothing better to do even though its finals week and Colton has an exam tomorrow.

  I'm a terrible tutor.

  "It's not a weird question," I say. "You said you liked hanging out with me because your identity isn't entirely defined by football when you're with me."

  Colton laughs. "I definitely didn't say it like that."

  "What?"

  "You make it sound… smarter."

  "That's all you, Colton," I say. "I'm just rephrasing what you said. You're so much smarter than you think you are, you know."

  Colton laughs. "Nah. I'm a dumb jock."

  I roll over onto my stomach, my arms on his chest. "I hate that I said that," I groan. "It was before I knew you. You're not a dumb jock."

  "I know my strengths," Colton says, his hand gripping my ass cheek. "School is not one of them."

  "You have an A in English and a B in History."

  "That's all your doing."

  "No. You're doing the work, Colton. I'm hardly helping at all."

  "Football is my whole life," he says. "I've always known I was going to be good at it. I'm not saying that just to be an arrogant asshole. It's the truth. You know how you do something sometimes and it just clicks? That's always how football has been for me."

  "What did your dad think of it?"

  "He was proud of me and Drew," he says. "Drew played it for a while, but baseball ended up being his thing. He's smart, though. He's on a scholarship but he doesn't really care about going pro or not. Money was al