Page 66 of Blindsided By You

As a woman comes to collect the answer sheet Lexie’s waving in the air, Jenna and I exchange amused glances, and I’m secretly pleased to find an obsession with GBX Anthems is something else only we share.

“Just going to nip to the bathroom.” Jenna gives me a knowing look and a discreet tip of her head.

A moment after she’s gone, I follow. No one seems to notice. Lexie and Daisy are already deep in an argument about whether the answer to number five really was Ariana Grande. Troy and Calvin are both in line at the bar.

I arrive in the passageway to see Jenna loitering opposite the bathrooms.

“Queue for the ladies, huh?” I say.

With a quick shake of her head, her mouth widening in a wicked grin, Jenna beckons me forward. As I approach, I realise she’s leaning against a large door. I’ve seen it before, obviously, but never paid it any attention. It’s painted the same bland cream colour as the walls, almost camouflaged.

She quickly scans the passageway, turns, wrenches the door open, and disappears inside. I follow, pulling the door behind me. The distinct smell of beer tells me exactly where we are. Inside the gloomy room, kegs are stacked neatly on one side, while on the other a network of tubing attaches to more kegs in a single row. The cool air in the beer cellar squeezed between the bar and the passageway causes goosebumps to rise on my skin.

Something else in my pants starts to rise too, as Jenna fists my shirt and pulls me in close, laying a deep, demanding kiss on my lips. Ispin her around, backing her up roughly against the stone wall, my body hard with need for her.

I slide one hand under her skimpy top, gliding across bare stomach and upwards to one large breast, erect nipple straining against the flimsy web of lace that makes up what Jenna calls a bra.

She moans into my mouth as I work the peak between my thumb and forefinger, while sliding my other hand to ruck up that tiny skirt she’s wearing. It’s been driving me wild every time I admire her toned legs beneath it, and the way it moulds to her shapely arse, watching the sway of her hips as she goes to the bar. The tiny triangle of fabric between her legs is soaked.

“You’re all wet for me, baby?” I murmur against her mouth, plucking at the piece of string holding it up. I’ve learned to be more careful with Jenna’s pretty underwear, but damned if I just don’t want to rip it away and let my fingers plunge right in.

“Oh, yeah, so wet,” she whispers through her next breath.

When my hand finds its home, two fingers inside of her, my palm setting up the rhythm she likes against her clit, she moves with it. I’m so familiar with this body. I know I can make my girl come fast, or other times take it nice and slow, whichever I choose. Given we’re expected back at that quiz table in twenty minutes, now might be the time to give her what she’s begging for quickly.

Jenna’s breathing picks up speed in time to the friction of my hand, small whimpers springing from her as I use the other to tweak and tease first one nipple and then the next. She pants into my kisses, her tongue swirling, dancing with mine through urgent clashes of teeth and lips, warm and wet and delicious.

“Oh, God, don’t stop, don’t stop,” she’s pleading into my mouth when the door flings open, slamming into my back and pushing Jenna even harder against the stone wall.

Above the roar of chatter and loud music bursting in from the bar, there’s the flick of a switch and fluorescent light floods the space. Jenna and I freeze, not that we can do much else pinned behind the door. Her breasts are crushed against my chest, with my arm crammed in between us and I swear I not only feel but hear her heart thundering as hard as my own, and I don’t think it’s only from the orgasm she was barely two breaths away from.

We’re paralysed in place, one large solid wooden door away from discovery.

“Really?” The word comes out an exasperated sigh. “You gotta be kidding.” The voice is soft, feminine and familiar: Skylar. She gives another deep, annoyed exhale. The light disappears, and the door closes again with a slam.

We almost tumble back at the release of pressure, but I brace my feet to stop us falling. I gently remove my hand from beneath Jenna’s top, and the other from between her legs. She smooths down her clothing and in the dimness, as my vision returns, I attempt to tame the strands of hair sticking out in a wild halo around her face.

“You know she’s going to be back? Or someone else,” Jenna says.

“Yeah, they must need to change over a keg. I’m guessing someone thought she could do it. No way Skylar could wrestle one of those. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

I open the door and cast a look in each direction. Tonight, the gods have decided not to punish me for fucking my secret girlfriend in the pub cellar. It’s bloody ridiculous really that we should have to resort to this level of sneaking around like naughty teenagers just tobe sure her father doesn’t catch us out. So what if the old bastard has threatened to kick players off the team for messing with Jenna? I’m prepared to test how committed he is to that viewpoint. Even if my toiling away on the pitch—scoring a decent number of points too in our first few games—isn’t enough to convince him that’s a stupid move, surely he can see how much happier she is lately. I’m not vain when I claim it’s due to me.

I scan the passageway one last time. There’s no one in sight. We step out into the light and try to stroll back into the bar casually, as if we just happened to run into each other outside the loos. One of the bar staff, Simon, a tall bloke, bustles past us, heading for the cellar door.

“How did you know it was there?” I ask, hoping she’s not going to say she’s used the cellar for the same purpose before. I hate to think of her with any other guy, especially some local who I’m guaranteed to have to face, knowing he’s once upon a time had his mouth or hands, or worse still his dick, all over what’s mine.

“I was friends with Lana MacFee, the publican’s daughter. She used to pinch Bacardi Breezers from the bar fridge and we’d drink them in there.”

That was brave of them, knowing what I’ve seen of Rory MacFee and his famous temper, fiery as his bright red hair.

“And here I thought you were a good girl, Jenna Sharpe,” I tease, as we join the queue at the bar.

“Oh, I’m a very good girl,” she says, leaning in so the words brush against my ear, the breathy hiss of her voice sending a shiver through me. “But I think you know that.”

“Guess I do,” I murmur, eyes straight ahead. If I look at Jenna this minute, I’ll want to grab her and press that pretty mouth to mineright here in the middle of the bar, and to hell with blowing our cover.

She speaks again, in such a low whisper; at first I’m not sure I even heard it. “And you owe me an orgasm.”

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