Tackled Read online

  The thought of his filthy words makes me flush hot even now in the privacy of my own room. Colton King is arrogant, crude, and completely disgusting.

  And he made me so wet I could barely make it through the tutoring session.

  I shimmy out of my panties and bra, reaching into the bedside table to grab my vibrator.

  I might be a virgin, but I'm not frigid.

  I'm so close to coming just from the tutoring session that I don't even bother to sit down. With one hand on the bed, I bend over and reach between my legs with the vibrator in the other hand, then slip the toy inside my already slick pussy. The sense of relief at the sensation is so palpable that I can't stifle the groan that escapes my lips.

  The vibration travels through my body, sending shockwaves of pleasure through me. Oh God, that feels good.

  Closing my eyes, I picture Colton sitting in front of me, his legs spread just like he was today, his cock hard underneath his jeans. He's hard for me.

  "You know that all you've been thinking about is how my cock would feel inside you," he says, standing and crossing the table until he's behind me. I tense, but not because I'm afraid.

  I tense because the attraction to him is so strong that I'm afraid I'll come the minute he touches me.

  He pulls my skirt up over my ass, his palm traveling over my cheek, and he groans low in his throat. "Tell me, Cassie. Tell me how badly you want me. Tell me that you've been touching yourself thinking about me. Tell me that, when I pull off those panties and slide my fingers between your legs, you're going to be soaked."

  I ache for him to touch me. Every part of my body is on edge as I wait for him to do what he said, to pull my panties down my hips and thrust his fingers between my legs. I don't just want his fingers, either.

  "I've been thinking about it, Colton," I whisper. "I've been thinking about how your cock would feel inside me."

  He yanks my panties over my ass and down the middle of my thighs, not even bothering to take them off. When his fingertips brush against my pussy lips, I nearly come. "Slick, wet Cassie," he whispers. "Trying so hard to be professional when all she wants is to feel me filling her up with my cum."

  I groan at his filthy words, and the groan turns into a long moan as he thrusts two fingers inside me. "Colton," I whisper.

  "I want to hear you call my name when you're coming, Cassie," he says, his fingers stroking me inside, playing me like an instrument, touching me at exactly the right spot.

  I feel dizzy from the sensations washing over me, consumed by my own pleasure. "Colton," I whisper again.

  "I'm going to make you come over and over and over," he says, his words edging me closer and closer as his fingers find a rhythm that takes me further along toward my climax. "When you're ready, I'm going to bend you over just like this. It won't be my fingers that you come on. You'll feel my cock throbbing inside you, pressing against you the way my fingers are pressing against you now."

  "Oh my God, Colton," I cry out. I'm so close, hurtling toward an orgasm with no ability to control it.

  "Do you feel this?" he asks, pressing his erection against my ass cheek. I can feel the pre-cum drip from his cock onto my skin, and the thought of him coming inside me makes me nearly scream. "That's what you do to me."

  I call out his name over and over as he brings me higher and higher, losing track of what I'm saying, rendered virtually incoherent by his masterful touch.

  "You're so tight and wet, Cassie," he whispers. "I can't wait until I can feel that pussy squeezing my cock and milking it of every last drop."

  The thought of Colton fucking me from behind, of him coming inside me, pushes me over the edge. When I come, it's harder than I've ever come before, my hand on the bed as I'm bent over, barely able to hold myself up. My pussy squeezes the vibrator, and I imagine that it's Colton's cock, his hands on my waist as he pulls me tight against him.

  I slide the vibrator from between my legs.

  Holy shit. I've never lost control like that before. My heart is still beating furiously in my chest, my pulse racing from the fantasy.

  A fantasy about Colton King. There must be something really wrong with me.

  I tell myself that it's just a harmless fantasy. One that I definitely don't need to have again. I need to focus on tutoring Colton. Not on his cock.

  I can't cross that line.

  "This would be your monthly stipend," Coach Walker says. He hands me a sheet of paper with the details. It's a larger monthly stipend than what I'd had in the Sociology department, that's for damned sure. Holy crap. They must really want these football players to pass their classes.

  "This is… awesome," I gush. I don't have any other word for it. Awesome. I sound like a cheerleader.

  "This is the contract," he explains. "There's a standard non-disclosure agreement, of course, for anything you might be exposed to in the course of tutoring –"

  Anything I might be exposed to?

  I look at him with a quizzical expression.

  "It's standard," he repeats. "To cover anything a player might inadvertently tell you, behavior from a player, things like that. All of the players are public figures with public images."

  "I see." I don't see at all why we're talking about college football players like they're celebrities, but whatever, I'm going to get paid. I need this position. Desperately. If I don't land something, I'm totally screwed.

  "You'll be bound by the university’s professor-student rules," he says. "An inappropriate relationship with a player will result in termination as well as any separate consequences as your department sees fit."

  "No problem. I'm not going to be hanging out with a football player." I blurt it out without thinking. Shit. He looks amused. "I mean, no offense. I'm sure they're really nice and –"

  The coach holds up his hand. "The fact that you have no interest in football is why you're the perfect fit."

  Termination and departmental consequences. That's what would happen if I were to cross that line.

  I'm not going to cross that line, I reassure myself. Just because I thought about Colton that way doesn't mean I'm going to act on it. It's harmless.

  Fantasy. That's all it is.

  * * *

  Colton is sitting in his chair in front of the desk, leaning back, his legs spread out. "Hey, Teach," he says, looking up from his playbook.

  "Don't call me Teach." The word reminds me of the tutor-student rules. And the fact that the last time I thought about Colton, it was with me bent over my bed and a vibrator in my pussy.

  Nope, nope, nope. Not going to think about that.

  Definitely not thinking about that.

  I set my bag down on the floor and take out a notepad. Mostly I'm trying to hide my face because I swear what I did must be written all over it.

  He's going to know. How am I going to look him in the eye?

  "Did you get your paper back from your history class, yet?" I ask. "Hopefully the suggestions I gave you were helpful."

  He doesn't say anything, but when I look up, he's watching me expectantly.

  "What?" I ask, my hand flying up to my mouth. "Oh, God, do I have something in my teeth? I was eating a sandwich on the way here because I was running late and – "

  Colton laughs. "Nope. I just have something for you."

  I eye him warily. "If you're about to tell me you gift-wrapped your penis or something totally inappropriate, I'm not looking."

  Colton grins. "This is innocent," he assures me. "But I like where your mind is."

  "My mind is nowhere," I lie. Certainly not on the way Colton looks right now, in worn jeans and flip flops and a t-shirt that stretches tightly across his chest. I wonder if the fabric is soft. It looks like it would be really soft. I clear my throat. "My mind is on the fact that you have a ton of work to do."

  "Relax," he says. "It's nothing inappropriate. Don't worry. I'll be sure to get you something inappropriate, though."

  "Thanks, but no thanks," I say, except my mind wanders
straight to what Colton means by inappropriate.

  "I wanted to show you this." He reaches into his bag and pulls out a paper.

  "Your history paper," I say. My eyes scan the first few sentences. It's good. Much better than when I saw it before. I jump to the bottom of the page. "You got a B!"

  Colton grins. "I know it's not an A," he says, shrugging, "but I felt like you should work a little harder before you get to come on my tongue."

  "Before I get to –" I say through clenched teeth. Then I stop myself. He just needs to be redirected to an appropriate topic. Like a small child. But I still have to cross and re-cross my legs again because my panties are immediately damp the second he says the filthy phrase. "Never mind. You got a B. That's great!"

  "No big deal."

  "It is a big deal. It's a good start, at least. It's more than what you need to make sure you're not on probation."

  "What's my reward?" he asks with a crooked grin.

  "The knowledge that you can be academically successful," I say primly.

  "I was hoping for something a little more interesting."

  I roll my eyes. "I'm not pimping myself out to reward you for your schoolwork," I say firmly.

  "Pimping yourself out?" he asks. "I was thinking it would be a mutual reward. You give me an incentive to keep getting good grades, and I reward you by giving you the best orgasm of your life, completely ruining you for future men."

  "There are so many things wrong with that statement that I don't even know where to begin," I say, my voice firm. Professional. "You're totally delusional to think that you'd be the best orgasm of my life. Which you won't be, because I'm not going to sleep with you, or let you put your face between my legs, or whatever totally repulsive suggestion you have next."

  "Oh, I can guarantee that I'd be the best orgasm of your life, Cassie Rae," he says, leaning forward. The drawl is accentuated now, practically dripping from his words. Why does that drawl make everything he says sound like sex? When he leans forward across the table, I watch his lips as he speaks. He's close enough that if I were to just move a little bit, I could touch my lips to his. But I don't.

  And I remind myself that I don't want to. Not at all. Colton King is an arrogant jock. And a player. And my student.

  Kissing him would break all the rules.

  I clear my throat and force myself to slide back in my seat, purposely putting space between us. Space is exactly what I need.

  Space and an ice-cold shower.

  Except that even after the session is over, what he says plays on a loop in my brain over and over and over: I can guarantee that I'd be the best orgasm of your life, Cassie Rae.

  10

  Colton

  "How the fuck did you land her?" Dillon, a cornerback on the team, catches up with me in the athletic center outside of one of the tutoring rooms. He eyeballs Cassie's retreating figure as she walks toward the exit door, well out of earshot. She's wearing tight jeans and flip-flops and this tank top that skims over her waist and hangs to the top of her ass, but doesn't quite cover it.

  Which is why I'm standing here ogling her as she walks, her hips swaying slowly.

  I swear that she's the most effortlessly sexy woman I've ever laid eyes on. I don't think she has a clue how hot she is.

  It’s been two weeks of tutoring sessions – professional, appropriate tutoring sessions – and I should be congratulated for behaving myself because it’s damn near impossible being in the same room with this girl and not ripping her clothes right off her.

  Dillon says something again.

  "Huh?" I grunt absently, watching the automatic doors in the lobby open and Cassie disappear outside. I wonder where she's going, if she goes out with friends or goes out on dates.

  The thought of her going out on dates makes my jaw clench.

  "Her," Dillon says. "How did you land the hot chick as a tutor? I thought the tutors were all ugly as hell. Or nerdy guys."

  I shrug. "She's not really that hot," I mutter casually. I don't know why I say it, exactly. It's not true at all. She's the hottest thing I've ever seen.

  "She's a great lay, isn't she?"

  "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" I snap, turning to look at him. I've never liked Dillon, not since I met him. He's one of those guys who's just a little off, you know? Dead behind the eyes and shit. He might be my teammate, but that doesn't mean I wouldn't put his stupid head through a wall.

  He puts his hands up, laughing as he takes a step backward. "Don't be so touchy, man. I was just asking if you hit that yet. Because if she were my tutor, I'd be all over her shit."

  "Well, she's not your tutor," I growl.

  "Oh, she turned you down," he says, laughing. "Well, hell, I'll take a shot at her then."

  "Take a shot at her and we'll have a fucking problem," I say, my tone serious. I'm going to have a huge issue if he thinks he's going to get with Cassie.

  Dillon whistles. "Didn't realize you had a girlfriend," he says, his voice a sing-song.

  "She's not my damn girlfriend," I grumble as I put the strap of my bag on my shoulder. A couple of people in the athletic center are staring at us, and I realize everyone in the quiet lobby can hear our conversation. And if I stay here a minute longer, I'm going to wind up punching this guy.

  "Whatever you say, man."

  I head for the door. It's a good thing I'm going to the weight room this afternoon, because I need to work out some pent-up shit.

  I'm not sure if it's more pent-up anger or sexual frustration.

  * * *

  Blowing off steam physically didn't work at all. Neither did running home after lifting. I think I'm wound up worse than I was before the gym. Now I'm just sweaty and wound up.

  Normally, I'd take care of this shit by finding a girl who's more than happy to spread her legs for me. Except right now, that doesn't exactly appeal to me the way it always has in the past.

  Now, it feels disgusting somehow.

  I exhale heavily, stepping into the shower with thoughts of Cassie running through my head. Cassie, with her dark brown hair pulled back into a ponytail, sitting across from me at the table, her lips just barely open and looking like she's intentionally being seductive — except I know that's not true. She just has no idea how sexy she is.

  The hot water pounds on my back, but does nothing to relieve my stress. Or the boner I have now. I stroke my hard cock and think about Cassie.

  "Incentive?" she asks. "What kind of incentive are we talking about?"

  "The filthiest kind."

  She drops to her knees between my legs without me saying another word, like she's been thinking about doing that for a