"I did," he says nonchalantly, opening the refrigerator and peering inside. He pulls out eggs and milk and sets them on the counter. "I hope you're not dieting. Because I like your ass the way it is."
"What are you doing?" I ask as he scrounges around the refrigerator, finding vegetables.
"Cooking."
"You cook?"
"My mama taught me something," he says.
I reach into the pantry and pull an apron off the hook on the wall and toss it at him. "You're full of surprises," I say.
"You ain't seen nothin' yet," he says, putting it on, then turning around with the front of his body covered and his ass is exposed.
I sit at the table and salivate the whole time he's cooking. And not because of the food.
Colton makes omelets – mine a normal size and his bigger than the size of my head — and we sit and eat. This time, there's no awkwardness, even though Colton is sitting on my kitchen chair with his naked ass pressed against the seat. This time, it's easy conversation, Colton telling me stupid stories about growing up on his family's farm out in East Texas.
"Five brothers," I answer when he asks me whether I have siblings.
"Say what?"
I laugh. "Abel, Ben, Carter, Daniel, and Elijah. I'm the youngest."
"No fucking way," he says. "Alphabetical order?"
"Yeah," I say, shaking my head. "I was supposed to be Frank, only I was a girl, and my mother hated the name Frankie. So they just said screw it when it came to the whole alphabetical thing and named me after my grandmother."
"You have five older brothers," Colton says. "How the hell do you know nothing about sports?"
I cock my head to the side and look at him like the answer is obvious. "I never said I didn't know anything about any sports," I say. "I just don't know anything about football."
"You thought football involved home runs," Colton says.
"I didn't say I knew anything about baseball," I laugh, then explain. "My brothers played hockey. And, trust me, when you have five older brothers who are obsessed with hockey, you don't learn anything about any other sports. Hell, I learned as little about hockey as possible, too."
When we're finished, he takes my plate to the sink, then reappears. "I'm hungry again."
"Again?" I'm pretty sure he just inhaled a dozen eggs in that omelet.
"Yep." He walks over to the chair and pulls me right up out of it. "Sorry, Teach. I have to eat."
We don't even make it to the bedroom. Colton's lips are on mine, his hands roaming my body the minute he pulls me to my feet, and we stumble into the living room. Literally, I mean.
Colton trips as he steps backward, pulling me with him, and we crash into the side of the sofa. I laugh as I fall against his chest. "Football players aren't the most graceful, are they?"
"It's a good thing we have big dicks to make up for it." He pulls me against him for emphasis, the apron the only barrier between us.
Until he yanks the fabric away, and there's nothing between us at all.
His cock presses against me, his skin against mine, and I moan aloud at the sensation. "You're hungry too," he notes, reaching between my legs.
"Starving."
Later, I lie in bed with him, my head on his chest. He runs his hand along my hair, his breathing and his heartbeat the only sounds in the stillness of my room. "I don't know why, but you make me really fucking horny."
"You're such a poet."
He grasps a handful of my ass cheek and pulls me against him. "I'm a dumb jock," he corrects me bitingly.
I feel a pang of guilt at the phrase. "I said that before I knew you." My hand moves lazily across his chest. "You're a lot smarter than you look."
Colton laughs. "Thanks."
"You know what I mean."
"You're still going to tutor me." It's less of a question than a statement.
"I don't… shit. I don't know."
"I can keep a secret, Cassie," he assures me. "It's not like I'm going to walk into Coach's office and announce that I'm seeing you."
"Are you seeing me?"
"You know what I mean."
I don't, actually. I don't know what the hell this is. And I don’t really want to know. All I know is that I want to keep doing it.
"Does this mean I have to incentivize you for getting good grades?" I ask.
"Oh, hell yeah, it does," he says. "I'm going to be the best fucking student you've ever met."
* * *
The loud ringing wakes me up in the morning. Not my ring tone. I pat my hand behind me, blearily reaching for whatever's making that horrible sound.
"That's not the phone." The baritone voice near my ear almost makes me jump. Colton presses his cock against my ass. "But you can keep touching it if you want. I'm not going to stop you."
Heat rushes through me at his touch, intensifying when his hand slides between my legs. "Is that yours?" I murmur, referring to the phone.
His fingers find my clit. "It is."
"Someone wants you," I say when it rings again.
"Damn straight," he growls. "You're wet."
"The phone."
"Fuck it."
"Answer it."
His fingers stay where they are, lodged firmly against my clit, while he reaches for his phone. "Hello."