Out of Bounds

Which I realize is quite convenient since hand jobs require lubrication. Fortunately, I’ve got the best kind of lube. The all-natural variety. As I kiss him hard, I dip my hand between my legs, bring some of my own wetness to my fingertips, and return my wet hand to his cock. He moans in my mouth when he realizes what I’ve done.

“Your hand is fucking magic,” he says, and then I grip harder, my palm flying up and down his length, slick with my own orgasm, until he’s thrusting hard, fucking my hand, and kissing my lips like he’s going to devour me. He bites down, and groans long and loud. When he releases my lips, he groans against my mouth, “Gonna come.”

But there’s no need to get his beautiful pants messy or his gorgeous car. Nor my hand for that matter. In an instant, I take him in my mouth as he comes, wrapping my lips tight around him. He grunts and grabs my hair, rocking up into my mouth, and the combination of his noises and thrusts is so fucking sexy that I swear I almost come again just from him climaxing. He pulses in my mouth, his dick hot and throbbing, and I can’t help but think how amazing it would be to feel him move inside me.

When I release him from my mouth, he cups my cheek, looks in my eyes, and says, “Why the fuck are there unwritten rules against this?”

I can’t help but smile. “You’re supposed to like rules. Isn’t that what your job is? That’s what the game is. Rules.”

“And finding a way to get around them. As you should know, Miss Lawyer. Isn’t that what your job is?”

“Touché,” I say with a small smile.

Then he presses a tender kiss to my lips. “Stupid rules,” he mumbles when he breaks the kiss.

“But we have to follow them,” I say softly, my voice a little sadder than I expected. “It’s too risky. I just don’t want to be the person who brings more scandalous attention. The front-office personnel dallying with the new star player. I’m sure the press would find a million ways to make this look like the next Chuck-and-Bambi. They’d probably have a field day with the fact that I’m older than you.”

He wiggles his eyebrows. “I know I’m having a field day with it.”

I laugh. “So you’ve got a thing for this huge four-year age difference?”

“Absolutely,” he says, his eyes drifting down to his crotch. “A huge thing.” He zips up his pants. “So was that our last hurrah?”

I laugh. “More like first hurrah and last hurrah. Technically, we would need more hurrahs for it to be the last.”

He laughs too. “Damn shame we didn’t have more. I sure liked hurrahing with you.”

“The only thing better would have been a full hurrah.”

“That would have been fantastic, I bet,” he says, as I straighten my skirt while he starts the car to drive me home.

Soon enough, we arrive at my house. Cutting the engine, he takes a breath and stares out the window into the dark of the night. I don’t make a move to go, though I know I should.

Without looking at me, he says, “I don’t feel friendly toward you, Dani.” He turns to meet my eyes. I can see the heat in his. “Fact is, I’m even more turned on than before. Didn’t think that was possible.”

“Me too,” I say, my voice feathery.

He tips his forehead to my home. “You better get inside then, before I try something like making you come so fucking hard on my lips that you’ll be whistling a happy tune when you walk into work tomorrow.”

“Just so you know, I’m about to get in bed and enjoy that image you just planted.”

He grins. “Just so you know, you’ll be on all fours on my bed in a few minutes.”

And that image does the trick quite nicely for me too.

But some other part of me, the saner part, the professional part, knows I must erase these thoughts of him going forward. We had our first and last hurrah, and no matter how far and fantastically the aftereffects of the traffic jam spread through my body, it’s time to let it go.





Chapter Seven

Drew

Resisting her is easy for the next two weeks. The season starts and I’m in the zone.

The first game is at home and we play like a well-oiled machine. I put the team ahead in the second quarter with a forty-yard pass to Elkins, who turns that into an absolutely beautiful touchdown.

The crowd goes wild, and the sound of their cheers is such a high. When Elkins chest-bumps me on the sidelines, we’re both grinning like fools. It’s early in the game, but it feels so fucking good.

“Nice work, man,” I say, and he does a little dance, then flexes his arms.

“Told you I’d get it in the end zone. You get it to me, and I’ll bust my ass to put that ball where it belongs.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

He points to his socks. “Lucky socks.”

Maybe he’s right about the footwear. He nails another catch in the third, and our top running back drives it home on first down.

We finish with a twenty-four–fourteen victory, and it’s both a thrill and a relief. After Los Angeles’s topsy-turvy record last year, and its slew of off-season problems, the tight game play is all anyone could ask for, the coach included.

The next week, we travel to Arizona, and we’re on fire in the desert too. When we win our second game with a running touchdown in the fourth quarter, Coach pulls me aside on the way to the locker room.