Page 97 of The Pass Protection
His chuckle is a welcome vibration against my center as he drapes an arm across my hips, holding me in place. With his free hand, he slips it beneath my sweater as he begins tweaking my nipple. The sensation builds as I feel the precipice closing in.
“You taste so perfect, Rebel.” He licks down my center before plunging his tongue into my opening, his nose brushing my clit. “So fucking perfect.”
With hard flicks of his tongue against my clit, he pinches my nipple, which has me nearly screaming my release. Head tilting toward the ceiling, I begin to chant indecipherable words as Crew keeps his pace before biting down on my clit.
Wave after endless wave of pleasure rolls through me as he sends white-hot pleasure coursing through my body. Slipping his hand frommy boob down my stomach, his tongue continues to lap at my arousal as he draws the orgasm from my body.
“Look at me.” His words are rough, strained. Chest heaving, I try to catch my breath as I meet his hooded gaze. “I love you, Bret.”
“I love you, too.” Crew stands and cups my face in his hands before leaving me with one last toe-curling kiss before stepping away. I stare at his erection pressing against his zipper and want to take care of him desperately, but time isn’t on our side. Not that he would let me do that. The man is insatiable when it comes to getting me alone and devouring me.
Sliding off the counter, I bent down to slip my thong and jeans back on before doing the same with my shoes.
“I’m going to sneak out of here and head back downstairs. Are you good?”
“Yeah, I’m going to clean up in here. Maybe my supposed date has left.”
He lets out a deep chuckle. “Don’t count on it. He has googly eyes for you.”
Rolling my eyes, I groan. “God, don’t remind me.”
With a parting wink, Crew leaves, and I’m left alone. Cleaning up the bathroom and fluffing my hair to make it look less manic, I spritz an air freshener to get the smell of orgasm out of the bathroom.
I make my way back to the party and dread the conversation I will be forced to endure.
This year, I have a lot to be thankful for. I am grateful for a fresh start away from drama and scars and for the friends who quickly became family. Without them, I do not doubt that I still would have worked on finding myself, but they’ve brought out a new side in me—a more unrestrained side.
And for that, I’ll always be thankful for my year at Central Texas University.
The locker room was a whirlwind of noise and chaos, the air charged with a mixture of frustration and determination. We are up by one touchdown against our rival, the Lafayette Gators, as we play in the season’s biggest game. There is no love lost between our two schools, as each year, we battle it out for bragging rights until the next season. Currently, CTU is on a five-game win streak against the Gators, and we have no desire to end that streak today.
From where I’m lying on the trainer’s table, I watch as my teammates pace the room, their cleats clinking against the tile, while others sit with their heads between their shoulders. The energy is palpable as everyone is feeling the pressure to win. The sound of ripping draws my attention as I glance at my feet where the athletic trainer works on taping up my ankle.
With two minutes left in the half, I jumped for a catch and came down wrong on the defender’s foot, tweaking my ankle. The trainer wanted to work on it then, but I refused to leave the field until halftime. There was no way I was showing my cards to the defense and letting them think I was hurt.
“We need to tighten up our defense.” JP sits with his elbows resting on his thighs as he stares around the room.
“The blitz is killing me,” our center adds.
Grant stands up from his locker bench and moves over to the whiteboard. Uncapping a marker, he jots down x’s and o’s, symbolizing our offense and defense. He points his pen as he taps the marker against the board. “We’ve got to exploit their weak side, and we’ve got to tighten up our defense to stop giving them easy yards.”
Internally, I smile as I watch my friend take charge and coach us based on what he’s seen on the field. Grant Campbell has the coaching gene like his dad. He has a way of seeing the field, understanding the players, and providing feedback in a likable manner while still making sure the point isn’t missed. Grant will make an excellent coach one day.
The coaches enter from their adjoining conference room. Coach Campbell claps his hands as the room silences, and he captures everyone’s attention. “Gather around and listen up!”
“We’ve got to stop letting them push us around out there,” our defensive coordinator says. “This is our house, and they’re controlling it like it’s theirs.”
“It’s a dog fight out there, men. One that they’re more hungry for.” Coach’s voice is stern with a mix of authority and encouragement. “This isn’t how we play our game. We’re playing theirs, and we are lucky the score isn’t worse.”
Other coaches give their feedback as we work out our game plan for the second half. The trainer finishes taping my ankle and helps me get my cleat on my foot, where she added an additional wrap of tape. Luckily, it isn’t anything serious, and I can continue playing in the second half. Last season, I got a real sense of winning, and I’m hungry for it.
“This is what we work for.” Coach’s voice breaks through my thoughts. “Rivalry games are challenging. They bring out the best in everyone and our desires to win. We have to keep fighting and dig deep,men. These games are won by heart and grit. Who has the drive to win?”
“We do!” Harris shouts, standing on his feet. His eye-black is smeared down his face from sweat. Everyone follows his lead as we circle up. “This is our house! This is our game! Eagles on three. One. Two. Three.”
“Eagles!” Cheers follow our shouts and screams as we work to hype each other up.
As I walk down the aisle, Coach stops me with a hand on my shoulder. “You good, Riggsby?”
