Stroker: A Bad Boy Sports Romance Read online

  Blake smirks, silently lifting the covers and sliding his head below.

  I reach under and try to push him away, but he won’t move, pressing my thighs apart and easing himself between them.

  “Blake!” but he’s not going anywhere.

  “Bla—” my voice catches when his lips press against the soft wall of my inner thigh, kisses trailing towards my increasingly aroused sex.

  I collapse back, arms splayed over the mattress, the heat of Blake’s breath drawing closer and closer to my molten core.

  “Blake,” I whisper again, but it’s fainter, almost an invitation, and maybe I do want this. No one’s ever gone down on me before. I’m curious, with years and years of sexual exploration to catch up on. I can think of no better teacher than the man between my legs.

  In contrast to the first time we made love, he draws my panties away gently, carefully unhooking them from my ankle before spanning my legs apart once more.

  His head lowers and I gasp. It’s all so intimate and hot, my most private space invaded and made his.

  My pussy is on display before him. He runs a hand down the silken swell of my inner thigh, cupping my ass and lifting me towards his mouth.

  When his lips press against the slick warmth of my pussy, I stiffen on the bed, mouth wide, staring at the campy chandelier above as he works on the bundle of nerves at the top of my sex. I shiver, sensation running in a hot highway up my spine.

  I whisper his name. It spills out of my mouth with a moan.

  He doesn’t acknowledge it, continuing to please himself with my pussy. He lashes my core with his tongue, sucking my clit into his mouth, every area of my sex lathed and showered in attention until I’m thrashing, barely able to keep my body under control. He holds my thighs tight, taming me, pulling me even harder against his face, my juices wet upon it.

  He groans, hungry, his tongue driving into my slit. “You taste so fucking good.” His words reverberate through my flesh. Deeper still his tongue runs, seeking out every crevice and wet nook.

  He pulls lightly at my lips with his teeth, the sensation so erotic I am immediately overwhelmed, teetering already on completion. He parts me again with his tongue. My blood surges, heat pounding against my chest. Deeper he goes, deeper than I ever thought possible.

  I grab my pillow, bracing my heels into the mattress, anything to anchor me against this onslaught. My mouth gapes out in a silent whimper. I am powerless before this man, my master.

  He concentrates on my clit, popping it in and out of his mouth, teasing at it, grunting with satisfaction as I thrust my hips towards him. I beg and plead, the release so close.

  “Please, please.”

  He holds me down with strong arms. I remain a prisoner to him, pleasure to give and take as he sees fit.

  I place my hands over myself and moan into them as the release floods over me, my thighs snapping together his head and my entire body caught in violent convulsions. I momentarily lift from the bed, levitating, and fall, drained and satisfied.

  Time no longer matters. I don’t know how long it is before I kneel up and push him over, how long before sense returns.

  “My turn. Lie back,” I command, reveling in this newfound sultriness.

  “Tia, you don’t have to…”

  I reach down and tug his pants down. Poor guy was in such a rush he isn’t even wearing underwear.

  I take his cock in my hand. There’s a single drop of pre-cum pearled in the slit. The closer I get to it, the more I smell the musk of his arousal. It merges with his cologne, an intoxicating mix that speaks of something exotic, something… dangerous.

  I use the flat of my tongue to run up the seam between his glans, flicking away the pearly fluid gathered there. I focus on this small indentation, rub and press into it with the tip of my tongue, getting to know its feel and depth intimately.

  I lave my way down his shaft and work my way back up, sucking gently on the thick head of his cock. He squirms at my touch, trying to maintain composure. It must be hard for someone so used to being in control.

  I gather saliva in my mouth and bathe the head of his member, letting him savor the wetness and warmth inside. I bob my head down, taking more of him in. I roll my tongue around his knob as I suck. My jaw strains with the effort, but I want him to enjoy this, to prove I can give as good as I get.

  I draw him all the way down my throat. I’ve never done this before, but I find I’m a natural, breathing through my nose easily and letting my throat muscles compress against his shaft.

  Whatever I’m doing, it has a profound effect. He’s thrusts up, his hips lifting off the bed, his face webbed in sweet agony. As I work his cock, I can taste his salty desire. I coat his shaft with it, teasing him with my tongue until he’s desperate to work his way back into my throat.

  I suck him a little harder, a little faster, each time allowing his cock to run deeper and deeper. The sensual power I have right now is incredible. This man, this powerhouse, is putty in my hands.

  Blake thrusts his fingers into my hair, lifts and guides me. He lunges upwards, growing increasingly pained. With some effort I’ve managed to work my way down until my lips are ringed tight around the base of his cock. He’s filling my mouth completely.

  Slowly, I drag my mouth back until just the head of him is cradled there. I swipe my tongue back and forth across it, much to his pleasure.

  I know he’s close by the way his cock pulses. I pull it back into my mouth, dragging it deep down into my throat. The entire length of him stiffens there. His cock pulses, warm, creamy ejections following. He draws back, cum filling my mouth rich and salty. I drink it down, don’t allow a single drop to fall from my lips.

  “Fuck,” he groans.

  Too loud.

  “Tia?” comes a voice down the hall.

  We both freeze.

  I swallow the last of his arousal.

  I hear Dad’s door open.

  Holy shit.

  “There!” I point to the wall. “Go!”

  Grabbing his junk with his hands, Blake leaps out of bed and presses himself flat against the wall next to the doorway just as the door itself swings wide, a pajama-clad Coach Reed-slash-Dad standing there looking in, a wooden baseball bat in his hand. “You okay? I heard noises.”

  Oh. My. God. Another step into my room and Dad will see Blake for sure. I can’t even look at him without giving his position away as he stands there flat as he can, balls and cock cradled in his hands.

  For a moment I can’t even speak.

  Dad starts to move forward. “Tia?”

  “I dropped my phone. It’s fine. Go back to bed.”

  He eases but doesn’t seem convinced. “You sure?”

  I put on a smile, my pussy continuing to pulse and throb. “Thanks for your concern, Dad, but I’m okay, really.”

  I can still taste Blake in my mouth, the warmth of his release against the back of my throat.

  Dad scratches his head, yawns. “Okay, but I’m right down here if you need me.”

  “I know.”

  “Good night.”

  “Good night.”

  The door closes and Blake silently creeps back up to the bed. “I’ve had some close calls before, but that…”

  He lies down beside me. How his cock is still hard I have no idea.

  He runs his finger down the side of my neck. “What are you going to do when I go to the Olympic Games? You’ll have to learn to pleasure yourself, or get really good at phone sex.”

  I reach over and smooth his chest with my hand, the bumps of his abs rigid corrugations. “You know what they say about the Olympic Games, don’t you?”

  “It’s the pinnacle of human performance?”

  “It’s a giant orgy. During the London Games they handed out something like one-hundred-thousand condoms. ‘Let the games begin’ alright.”

  He laughs. “You’re worried I won’t be faithful, is that it? Because I have to say I’m a little offended.”

  �
��You’re going to be surrounded by super-hot athletes with their hormones running wild, emotions high.”

  “I’m not familiar with this Tia, sorry, Tia the self-conscious. Like I’m ever going to find an ass like yours again.”

  I roll my eyes. “Charming.”

  “That’s what I do. You’ve got nothing to worry about, trust me.”

  “But you’re already the ‘bad boy of swimming’. The headlines write themselves.” I kiss him and drag the covers back over myself. “Now go, before Dad comes knocking again and finds you Frenching his daughter.

  Smiling like a goofy idiot, Blake leaves, closing the door silently behind him, blowing a kiss in his wake.

  When he’s gone, I collapse back onto the bed still delirious from the tongue-lashing I’ve just received. If that’s what it means to be with Blake Johnson, bring it on.

  *

  Blake’s busy at training the following morning, so I take time out to head down to the gym and see Lacey. She sees me coming, leaping down from a stack of mats.

  Something’s wrong. She’s not her usual, bubbly self. No ‘Hey, gorgeous’ or ‘How’s it hanging?’.

  “Lacey?” I question. “What’s wrong?”

  She scratches her arm. “I wanted you to see this in person.”

  A tendril of dread works its way into my gut. “See what?”

  “Look.”

  She takes her phone out of her bag, fingers working before holding up the screen to my face.

  It’s the Fuckbook website, back in action, and guess whose front and center. The dread suddenly becomes overwhelming.

  I’m staring at the Polaroid Blake took after we first had sex. Thankfully, I have a hand over my breasts, my legs crossed, but I’m still naked, I’m still exposed—exposed to the world.

  I sit down. “No. He told me he deleted the website.”

  Lacey falls beside me, arm around my shoulder. “I’m sorry, babe.”

  I stare at the phone and notice I’ve been rated a one out of five. Blake wouldn’t do that, would he? This can’t be right.

  Lacey shakes her head. “You’ve been played.”

  No, I refuse to believe it, but the evidence is right there.

  I pass the phone back, standing, furious.

  “Tia, where are you going?”

  I start to run towards the doors. “To kick some ass.”

  *

  I run into him coming out of the pool. He opens his arms up. “Hey, what a surprise.”

  I shove him as hard as I can in the chest, my eyes wet and my nose running freely. “You fucking asshole!”

  He barely moves, raising his hands. “What’s going on?”

  I take out my phone and push it into his face. “This.”

  He looks at the phone, eyebrows drawing downwards. “Tia, I didn’t do this.”

  “You took the photo, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, but…”

  “You said you deleted the website.”

  “I did.”

  I shove him again, the tears falling freely from my face. “I fucking trusted you, Blake. I trusted you.”

  “Tia…” he goes to grab me, but I spin out of his grip. “No, fuck you. Delete everything, do it properly, and stay the fuck out of my life.”

  I run away as fast as I can, my name fading and with it any chance I had of the happiness that only yesterday seemed so close.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  BLAKE

  The apartment’s empty when I wake. I check my phone, but every message has gone unanswered. My finger hovers over the screen, but it’s useless trying to call her again. What I should be doing is working out how the fuck that website got back up and how that Polaroid found its way onto it. Only squad members had access to the site, and there’s only one member who’s got something against me.

  I’m headed to the door when there’s a loud knock.

  I look through the peephole. It’s Coach. I try to gauge his mood, but he’s good at hiding his emotions.

  I grab the doorknob, pause. Can’t really get any worse, can it?

  I open the door.

  Bad idea.

  The second the door pulls back, Coach draws that damned baseball bat from behind his back and swings. I manage to duck just in time, the side of the doorframe splintering under the impact.

  I back up, hands out. “Whoa!”

  He swings again, the bat catching my shirt as I jump back.

  I’ve never seen him so furious, and that’s saying something.

  I keep stepping back and he walks forward pointing the bat. “You know why I’m here?”

  No use hiding it. “We can talk about her. Put the bat down.”

  “Like hell.” He charges again with the bat high above his head, bringing it down hard like an axe. I duck sideways, the bat smashing into the coffee table, glass exploding around the room.

  I might be out of range of the bat, but Coach manages to swing with his left hand, his fist connecting deep in my chest.

  I gasp, bent in half, still holding up a hand in surrender. I struggle to get out words. “It’s all a misunderstanding. Listen.”

  He swings with the bat again, but this time I manage to catch it in one hand and pull it from him, tossing it into the corner.

  He rolls up his sleeves. “All the things I’ve done for your sorry ass—your scholarship here, putting a roof over your head, even your dipshit brother’s, and this is how you repay me, by betraying my trust? I’ll rip you apart with my bare fucking hands if I have to. I’ve done it before. I’ll do it again.”

  “Stop,” I plead, unable to comprehend how this has all gone so wrong, but I knew this day was coming. This was always the way it was going to go down.

  He jabs right and manages to collect the side of my head, quick as lightning, he follows it with a sucker punch that lands square in the middle of my face. I stagger back, blood hot and coppery in my mouth. I snap, hooking in and smacking the side of his jaw.

  His head jerks sideways, but when he comes back, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth, he’s smiling. “Is that all you’ve got? I was a fucking SEAL, son. I used to eat little pricks like you for lunch.”

  He drives again but I snap right. He might have been quick once, but his reflexes are slow. He rounds on me again. “Come on, you fuck. Show me you’ve got a pair.”

  “I love her,” I offer, but it only makes him angrier. He runs forward, head smashing into my torso, driving me against the wall so hard I feel the plaster break against my back.

  I shove him away. “Enough!”

  He shakes his finger at me. “How dare you put her on that website? How fucking dare you.”

  I spit out a wad of blood. “I didn’t. Ethan did.”

  Coach laughs, puffing out his chest. “Don’t blame this on someone else.”

  “You’re right. It’s my fault, but I’m telling you, Tia isn’t another girl to me. I’d never do that to her.”

  Coach sits on the back of the sofa, runs a hand through his spattering of hair. “I fucked up. What the hell was I thinking letting her live here with you two? What kind of a father am I to let a fuck-up like you take advantage of her? I promised her mother. I fucking promised her on her death bed I would take care of our daughter, and look what happened?” He wipes his nose with the back of his hand.

  I take a cautious step forward, glass crumpling under my heel. “Let me make it right. Please.”

  He looks up, shaking his head. “I’m going to make this very simple for you, son. End it.”

  “But—”

  “You love her?” he laughs. “You couldn’t possibly fathom what love is.”

  I’ve had enough. “And you do? Abandoning your only child? What the fuck’s up with that?”

  He stands, coming forward to stand chest to chest with me. I hold my ground, ready myself for the blow, and I want it. I want the pain, the chastisement, but he backs off, and it’s worse, much worse. “You’re a fucking disappointment, Blake, a real fucking waste
of space. End it,” he says, “or I end you”. And with that he walks out.

  Fucking hell.

  I collapse onto the floor and don’t get up until Billy gets back from his morning run and takes in the room.

  He steps over part of what used to be the coffee table. “He found out, didn’t he?”

  I nod. “He sure did.”

  He sits beside me, stretching his legs out and kicking fragments of glass away. “I had the website taken down, for good this time.”

  “Ethan?”

  “I suspect as much, probably had a backup of the whole thing.”

  “And the Polaroid? How did he get hold of that?”

  “He’s got a key to this place too, bro. We all do, remember?”

  I do. When Coach got us this place we couldn’t believe our luck, a pad where we could bring home whoever we liked, do whatever we wanted. I had a key made for each squad member, even Ethan, and why not? At the time we were brothers, all of us. How fast things can change.

  “What now?” Billy asks. “We’ve got nowhere to go.”

  My phone rings on the counter. I leap for it, swiping to answer expecting Tia, hoping I can somehow repair this mess, but it’s not her.

  I let the voice talk into my ear, barely take in what they’re saying before hanging up.

  Billy stands, brushing himself off. “Who was that?”

  I place the phone down, the black, blank screen of my phone a perfect summary of where my life is headed. “The Dean’s office. He wants to see me.”

  *

  I know the look on Dean William’s face. I saw it so many times growing up, the ‘I should have known better’ look. I brace myself. Here we go.

  “Do you know why you’re here?” he starts.

  “I don’t think it’s hand to me a Nobel Prize, is it?”

  “We found your little website, Blake.”

  There’s no point pretending I don’t know what he’s talking about, but I’m not about to let the other guys take the fall. If anyone should, it’s Ethan, but linking him to it is tenuous at best. The whole thing was built around anonymity. I try the legal approach. “There’s no way you can connect it to me.” I’m right. Our faces and real names never appeared.