Hustle Page 3

  I'm panting. I can hear myself, but I can't seem to stop. He's wreaking havoc on my senses, a delicious high from his touches, his scent, his closeness, his gritty voice. But I can't move. My hands are stuck to my side.

  “Are we done talking?” He asks as his lips brush my chin. I turn towards him and his mouth crashes into mine, overtaking me.

  My hands lift to his chest, curling the fabric of his shirt into my fists, the heat of him still on the cloth.

  He's leaning over me, one hand gripping my hair, pulling it tight to angle my face as his tongue circles mine. His other hand though, oh, his other hand is grazing my inner thigh, and rising higher. I shift under his touch, my hips wanting to move towards him as his fingers make me crave more. His thumb skims the edge of my underwear and sweet heat builds there. It's thrilling, and I don't know whether I'm shaking from pleasure or nerves.

  His fingers slip inside my panties, and he groans into my mouth. “You’re already wet, baby.”

  He widens my legs with his body, pushing me back onto the couch as he hovers over me. His sweatpants are smooth against my thighs, but allow me to feel everything, including his hardness, all the way to my stomach. It shocks me.

  “Stop.” I'm pushing on his chest. “I can't do this. I'm sorry. It's— I don't know what I'm doing. That was too fast”

  He's off of me, sitting beside me, not touching me. “Too fast?”

  I pull my skirt down, looking at my knees. “Yeah.”

  “You're going to make me work for it?” He's laughing. At me.

  I'm burning now, only made more embarrassed by the ache still between my legs. I rise to my feet. “I'm going to go.”

  “No wait. Sit back down. I'll take it slow.”

  For once I don't sit when he tells me to. “Okay. Good. But I still think I'm going to go.” I don't want to be only wanted for something physical.

  “What if we talk?”

  “I thought you didn't want to talk?”

  He grabs my hand, pulling me down to sit next to him. “That's when I thought we could do something else. But if you won't let me fuck you, then I'll take talking to you over you leaving.”

  “Really?” I don't know what to say to that. It probably wasn’t even a good thing, but I’m not sure of anything around him. Yet, I stay seated.

  He doesn't respond to my question, just grins. And I know I'm in trouble because one glance at that smirk makes me dizzy.

  I cut my eyes to his hands; he's pinching off a piece of green bud between his fingers and leans forward to fill the bong.

  “Don't you need to wash your hands?”

  He raises a brow and pauses to ask, “Why?”

  “Because…” I can't say it. I shouldn't have mentioned it, but I could feel the slickness between my legs still, where his fingers had been.

  “Why, Brook?” His dizzying smile becomes teasing and heart stopping as he runs those fingers over his lips, innocently enough, like he's considering something, but his green eyes deepen as he watches me.

  My hands fly to my face, covering my embarrassment. “Forget I said anything.”

  His warm touch wraps around my wrists, and he pulls my arms down. His laughter is louder than the blood rushing through me.

  “What's wrong?”

  All my focus is on his grip until I look up into those eyes. That strong jaw softens with his laughter and his dimples show.

  “You know why. You can't just go around with… on you.” I cringe with a groan. “And now it's on the weed, and you're going to smoke it. Oh my—”

  He's full on laughing now.

  “I don't know why you think it's so funny. You need to wash your hands before you touch anything else.”

  He drops my wrists, but his hands slide to my thighs, tugging me towards him. “When we're done, I will. I've barely touched you, but I like you on me. I don't want it off. I want more.”

  “You said we'd talk.” My stomach clenches and heat surfaces, prickling my skin.

  “We're talking. We'll keep talking. But I don't think I can keep my hands off of you.” The tips of his fingers skim under the edge of my skirt. He lifts his gaze to me, and I don't know what he sees because I'm equal parts on fire and frozen. Scared and excited. About to flee, but about to tackle him, too.

  His hand leaves my thigh to lift my chin, making me meet his eyes. “Is that okay? That I keep touching you?”

  It's beyond me to say no, but I'm not sure I can't say yes either.

  “Have you been touched before, Brook?” It's a lusty whisper.

  He needs to stop talking. He needs to stop saying my name. He makes it sound intimate and dirty. It's driving me crazy. And his intense gaze lights me on fire, heating me to combustion.

  So I try to change the subject “Weren't you going to smoke? I didn't think football players could. Do you do that often?”

  He drops back on the couch and his hands leave me. The absence of his touch is felt everywhere.

  “We can't. I don't do it often. There are only a few days a year where I can.” His eyes narrow. “Why, you going to tell on me?”

  “No.” I squeak with the accusation. “I was just talking. I wouldn't—”

  He waves me away and picks up the bong. “I’m just fucking with you. It'd be your word against mine, nothing you could prove anyways.”

  I watch, sinking in silence, as he puts the opening of the bong to his lips. The tube fills with thick grey smoke. His breath seems endless as he sucks it down, then he leans back and releases it in slow swirls. A pungent, earthy, scent fills the air.

  He's still watching me with a critical gaze. He said he was joking, but everything feels different now.

  “Maybe we should go back out there with the others.” I look towards the door, not wanting to end it like this, but not knowing how to save it.

  “You know, if I didn't know better, I'd think you didn't want to be around me. You keep trying to run away.”

  “I'm just not sure how this goes.” My fingers grip around the cushions, holding me in place.

  “Don't overthink it.” He brushes the hair off my shoulder and relaxes back in his seat. “I don't want to be around them tonight. This is my one night off; I'm taking it. You can stay with me or go out there, your call. But I want you to stay.”

  “You do?” I close my lips on my over eager words, cringing at how needy I sound. “I mean, it's your night off, and if you'd prefer to be alone, you won't hurt my feelings.”

  “Stop. Relax.” He pats my knee as he sits up and picks up the bong again. “I don't want to be out there because I'm always with a group, always on. Tonight, I'm relaxing, and yeah, I want you here. You're nice to look at.” He winks at me and hesitates before putting his lips back on the bong. “Fun to play with, too.”

  Like a fool, I only focus on the compliment. He thinks I'm pretty. A bubble of delight forms in my chest. I sit back, and he turns to me, blowing smoke into the air.

  “Did you want to try?” He sets the tall glass on the coffee table. “Your call.”

  When I hesitate he demands, “Say no.”

  “No.” And his returning smile puts me at ease, but my desire for his approval leaves me unsteady.

  “Where are you from Brook?” A smile pulls on his lip as his gaze lingers over me.

  “Here.” I let out my breath but stay tense, nervous about the new direction. “Well actually, Kingstree, two towns over.”

  “Did you go to a private school?”

  I shake my head. “Did you?”

  “For a little bit, but you seem… different.” He stares like I'm different, something to be studied.

  “Why? Because I haven't smoked?” All my confidence from his earlier compliment vanishes, and I drop my eyes to my hands tangled on my lap.

  “There it is again. That innocence. You don't even try and hide it.”

  “Oh, I'm trying to hide it. I'm just not very good at it. You are making me nervous.”

  His white teeth shows as he laughs
, and his hand lands back on my thigh. “I can tell.”

  “I can't be the only one. I imagine you make lots of girls nervous.”

  “Not really.” There's a playful spark in his eyes that's dangerous, that could talk me into anything. “Not when we're alone anyways. But those aren't virgins. You are a virgin, aren't you?”

  Since I'm clearly see through, I nod, determined not to be embarrassed about this.

  His reaction is painful. The way his eyes shut, and he swipes his hand over his face is louder than anything he could say. All that's missing is a groan.

  I'm about to stand when he sits up and grabs my hand.

  “How the hell does that happen?” His eyes run down my body and back up. “You're sexy, guys had to have noticed you.”

  “I want to be more than noticed.” But the truth is, I wasn't noticed, not in that way. All people noticed about me was my sister. Which is probably why I’m still sitting here now, clinging to the attention he’s giving, it has nothing to do with her.

  His smile is slow forming. “So how far have you gone?”

  “That's not—” I shake my head, his clouded gaze dries up my ability to talk. “You can't ask that.”

  He dips his head, looking up at me through thick lashes. “I need to know. Before we take this farther, I need to know.”

  “We're only talking, and I think I shared enough for now. What about you?”

  “I think you know I'm not a virgin.”

  “That's not what I meant.” I laugh too loud and slap his arm, overly excited to release the built up tension. It’s like a train wreck that I can't walk away from. “How long have you been at Eastern? Did you live in Florida all your life? Any after college plans?”

  “Are you serious? That's what you want to talk about?” His smiles have vanished, but this new hard look is as sexy as it is intimidating.

  I shrug. “We can talk about something else.”

  “Always lived in Florida, until I came here. I'm a junior, and it's the NFL after this.” He stares at me like he's sizing me up. “But you already knew that.”

  “Not really. I mean, maybe I should have. I could have guessed most of it.” I shake away my confused response, reaching for a safe topic. “When did you fall in love with football?”

  The lines in his jaw ease, and the corner of his lip tugs up some. “Fall in love? That's one way to put it.”

  “What would you call it?”

  He moves in slow motion, dropping his eyes to his fingers as they slide to my leg again. “It's what I was made for. It's what I live and breathe for. I didn't fall in love with it, it possessed me. It's who I am.”

  “I'm sure there's more to you than that.” I cover his hand on my knee; I don't even think he realizes it’s there.

  “Not anything that matters,” he states it like it's a simple fact.

  “What about your family? Do they—”

  “So many damn questions? What the hell is this? An interview?”

  “I just—”

  “You're just nosey as hell.” He pulls his hand away, his knee bouncing. “And this twenty questions is getting fucking annoying.”

  “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to.” It takes a moment to calm myself from his angry outburst. “I was curious about you, but it wasn't my intent to offend you or upset you.” I'm frozen in place as I apologize, and only take a breath when he turns to look at me.

  “Fuck. Now you're going to make me look like the asshole here.” His hands scratch through his hair, setting the short, loose curls wild. “Do you have to be so polite?”

  “Would it be better if I traded insults with you instead?” I lift my hand with the question, honestly confused. “There was no need to snap at me in the first place. If I'm getting too close, just tell me, I'll back off.”

  That dangerous glint is back in his eyes, but I can't look away, it sucks me in. His anger is covered with something else now, something heated and intense, and he inches towards me, voice just as slow. “I don't want you to back off.” His hands grip either side of my waist, and the fabric of my shirt bunches under the flex of his fingers. “I've been trying to get close all night.”

  He tugs me forward, and I fall into him, unprepared. I brace my hands and forearms on his chest as he wraps his arms around me, one hand sliding up my back to my neck with a wave of heat and electricity that has my heart dancing. His other hand drops lower, gripping my butt as he pulls me onto his lap. It all happens in one breath, and just that quick, he has me straddling his lap, and his lips are sucking on my neck.

  My gasps are a mix of pleasure and shock as his hands continue to move me, melting me. I never realized someone could mold me so effortlessly.

  His hair is thick and silky between my fingers as I run them over his scalp, something I wanted to do since I saw those wet curls earlier. But as his teeth scrape my collarbone and his chin pushes down my top, I curl my fingers in his hair and pull his head back, off of me.

  “Whoa.” I need to catch my breath, but the look in his eyes make it hard, his hands on my hips, holding me against him, make it damn near impossible. “This isn't what I meant.”

  A sly smile glides across those lips that had felt great on my skin, and his fingers bite into my hips as he rubs me against him. The friction there makes me squirm, and I have to close my eyes or lose control.

  “Then tell me to stop.” But he doesn't stop; he tests my weakened grip on his hair and dips his head, licking up my neck.

  All the sensations, hot and cool, pressure and tingles, force out the moan that I’ve trapped in the back of my throat.

  His lips glide up into a large smile against my skin as his breath bounces in my ear, but his laugh cuts off when I find my voice.

  “Stop.”

  He freezes, lips still on my ear. “What?”

  “Stop.” I remove his hands from me and stand. “This was…” I take a breath and step away. “But it's too fast. I told you that.”

  He nods, watching me as he slides his hands over his legs, but he doesn't move to get up. He doesn't say anything as I continue to back away, not until I'm at the door. “Have a good night, Brook.”

  “Yeah, you too.” Everything in me is chaos, every inch of me is on fire, but I step out of the room, closing the door behind me. I gulp in the cool air-conditioned air and walk down the hall to the living room, gaining a little more control with every step.

  But the living room is empty, and the house is silent. Everyone is gone, including Rose.

  3: Truth

  I move around the small dorm room as silent as possible, but the drawers scrape and echo as I slide them open.

  Rose’s light snoring is muffled with her face buried in her pillow, but it’s steady, unaffected by the noise. She’d stumbled in a few hours ago, returning from the bar her, TJ, and the others from the house went to. She'd invited me to meet them there, after I texted her that I left Andrew’s, but I didn't go.

  I sigh just thinking about Andrew as I slide sweats on over my leotard for my 9:30 am Intro to Dance class. A freshman mistake, I've realized. I needed an art credit, but overestimated my ability to dance, and then I find out there's a required performance. That can't possibly be anymore embarrassing than what I've already done.

  Andrew. I can't get him out of my head. And I can't figure out why. I should write him off as a jerk, except I don't want to. Just thinking about him is exciting. My heart kicks up, butterflies explode in my stomach, all that crazy stuff I've only read about in books—just the thought of him does that.

  Plus, he stopped when I said to. He didn't push anything, not the smoking, not the touching, nothing. I couldn't find fault with him because it's not his fault I'm socially inept and inexperienced.

  I glance back at Rose one last time, debating if I should wake her, but her first class isn't till noon. I’ll come back after my dance class.

  * * *

  I'm texting with my mom as I walk into the studio in the basement of one of the older buildings o
n campus. She's always texting, but it's better than always calling. I somehow managed to get her promise to limit those to every other day, and so far so good, but it's only been a few weeks since I left home.

  The doors open, so I stroll in, sipping my iced coffee and debating how to reply to my mom's request to drop off supplies she picked up for my dorm room. Boundaries, I'm working on them, so I begin to type out that I'll come home for lunch on Saturday. Just like I did last Saturday. How do I keep this from being a thing?

  I glance up when the teaching assistant’s quiet voice tight with tension reaches me, and I nearly choke on my coffee. His back is to me, but the slight curl to his dark hair and broad shoulders are unmistakable, Andrew is standing there in front of her.

  “Fine, just go, but we're not done talking about this,” the flawless brunette orders low with her arms crossed.

  Whatever he says back makes her scoff, and he turns to walk out with an annoyed expression etched on his face.

  I step to the side as he leaves. When his eyes land on me, I raise my hand with a slight wave. But his gaze only flicks over me, and he ignores my greeting, never breaking his stride as he exits.

  Whatever that was, it was intense, and it still lingers in the air. I hesitate with my bag on my arm, unsure if I should leave and give the flustered girl a moment alone or stay like I saw nothing.

  “Brooklyn.” She makes the decision for me and smiles a big smile, with perfect white teeth showing, as she steps forward. “I'm glad you're early. Can you help me set up the barres for today's class? Victoria— I mean Mrs. Blanc— won't be in today, so it's just me.”

  “Sure.” I drop my bag in the corner of the room and follow her lead to pull out the ballet barres and line them in rows.

  She moves with ease and grace. Her long limbs are slim and defined, her cheekbones high, and hair smooth in a bun, the perfect image of a ballerina. And I know she doesn't mean to, but I feel short, squat, and clumsy just standing next to her.