Get hurt, the grind doubles. More hours with trainers. More rehab.
Last game, one clean hit dropped me. Now I’m hobbling, nursing a twisted knee and pulled hamstring. When I say pulled, I mean it hurts to walk. And yet, I’m sucking it up, pushing through, doing my best to get back out there with my teammates.
Tonight, the trainer gave me the worst news a college athlete ever wants to hear. Benched for the season. My knee is the biggest concern, even though it’s not as painful as my hamstring. From here on out, my practice time shifts to physical therapy. The goal: rebuild strength, heal right, and be ready to play when spring season starts.
Dragging my tired arse inside, I sling my backpack against the wall. “Fuck!” I scream and let the words echo off the walls. “I hate my life.”
“Want to talk about it?” Darius’s voice cuts through the condo, and I nearly leap out of my skin. He’s usually not home until later.
“Shit.” I flinch and pain shoots up my leg. “Fuck,” I cry out.
Hot tears burn down my cheeks. I’d held it together in the trainer’s office, nodded through the coach’s disappointment, swallowed every emotion. I’d planned to save this breakdown for later when I was alone. In private. Not in front of him.
“Not really.” With no energy left to keep it in, I say exactly what’s on my agenda. “I was planning to have my pity party and get really drunk.”
Sucking in air to endure the pain, I limp toward the bar he keeps stocked. I don’t take two steps before I’m lifted off the ground. “Put me down, please. I can walk.”
“Not a chance. And until this is healed, you’re done walking to and from class. I’ll drive you, or I’ll have one of my guys drive you. It’ll never get better if you don’t stop being so damn stubborn.” Darius’s tone is sharp and unyielding as he carries me to the couch.
“You don’t get to tell me what to do.” I moan as the pain spikes when he lowers me to the cushions. “I’m not your responsibility.”
Dropping onto the couch by my feet, he places them in his lap. “Says who?”
“Me.” I try to move, but then he begins to rub my feet, and it feels so damn good. “It’s true.”
“I know you believe that. However, I disagree. I’m your boss, and I need you to be healthy enough to work. I’m guessing you received bad news today.” He presses hard into my arch, and I swear to all the gods as I try not to moan in pleasure. “My weekend is free, and I think it’s time I finally see if I can prove a few things to you.”
He brings my foot to his lips and kisses it. Heat travels up my leg to my very needy lady bits. “Darius, please don’t toy with me. I can’t deal with games right now.”
“I know.” He shifts onto his knees, towering over me. “No games. Just me enjoying myself while I win you over to my side, all while I ensure you take care of yourself better.”
“How?” My voice drops to a whisper, his face only inches from mine, those eyes burning into me. “You’re going to break me. I can feel it.”
“I will not break you,” he counters, running his knuckles along my cheek. “I’ll show you just how much I want you… how much I care. These last several weeks, coming home to you, they’ve made me a greedy man. I’ve been patient. Too patient. Maybe it’s time I gave you a little nudge.”
I squirm, nerves sparking at the meaning behind his words. “Are you going to kiss me or just tease me?”
The most adorable dimples appear when his lips quirk up. “I’m going to kiss you so good you’ll beg for more. But not yet. I need to feed you first.”
He brushes his lips over mine, feather-light. The kiss is soft and tender. Until it’s not. Hunger takes over, twisting from soft into desperate. My hands trace down his back, slip to the waistband of his jeans, glide forward to the button. I pop it open and work on the zipper when his hand closes over mine.
“What are you doing?” The gravelly nature of his voice, deep and resonant, is intensely sexy.
Slapping his hand away, I keep going. “I believe I owe you. It seems only fair after you snacked on me. I’ve been thinking about paying you back ever since.”
When my hand slips under his silk boxers, he growls. “Fuck. You don’t have to do that. Your leg. No way am I letting you get on your hands and knees. But if you want to keep doing that… fuck me, that feels amazing.”
He’s thick and heavy in my palm. I knew that when he pinned me against the door, grinding his hard cock into me. I’veimagined it over and over again. And now that it’s in my hand—no imagining required.
Thinking about what he can teach me sends a shiver through my body. My previous partners were quick about it. Didn’t stick around. Always a disappointment. Boys. They were inexperienced and didn’t care to consider other options or strive for better results.
Darius is far from a boy. His body is a sculpture, hard lines I’ve traced with my eyes more than once. I may not have liked who he was when I met him on spring break, but that didn’t stop me from noticing. He’s dangerously handsome. Women clock him the instant he walks into a room. Charm drips off him like sin. And now, with my hand wrapped around his cock, I don’t just want to touch him. I want everything.
“Take your jeans off. Actually, take your boxers off too and straddle my chest. It’s time I got a look at the weapon you’ve been hiding.” I shift once he lifts off me, so there’s room for him to do just that.
He stands and strips with practiced ease, keeping his back to me. “My weapon?”
“That’s what I said. Turn around so I can…” My breath cuts off, stolen by the sight of his knob—large, thick, protruding high, the head nearly touching his stomach. I swallow hard, voice breaking into a whisper. “Sit.”
