Winter Miracle Read online

  “But your brothers don’t study law, do they?”

  “Hunter’s doing business, which is close enough. Colton’s an arts major, which figures. He always was a pansy-ass.”

  She pushes me, her hand a feather against my arm but her touch welcome. “Stop it. They’re your brothers.”

  “I have another, Mason. He works with Dad as an associate in New York, got sucked right into it.”

  “And you don’t want to?”

  “Fuck no. I’m here for sport-study, not study-sport, if you follow me.”

  “And Abbotsleigh doesn’t mind?”

  “It’s a lucrative business, college football, especially with someone like me bringing in the big corporate sponsors. They need me as much as I need them.”

  She looks confused. “So, why do it? Change your major. Study something you want to.”

  I laugh. “The old man would never go for that. Two sons bucking the trend was almost cause enough for him to pull the plug on our funding here. A third? That money would dry up faster than a sponge in the Sahara. We’d be fucked, out of the house for a start.”

  “It is a nice place.”

  “It’s been in the Beckett family since slaving days, a street away from the official campus boundary, which is, as you would probably guess, quite fortuitous for us. And what about you? Why are you studying law?”

  She shrugs. “Too many Boston Legal re-runs?”

  I laugh at that, shoving my hands in my pockets to stop them reaching for her. “It was always Ally McBeal for me. That Calista Flockhart…”

  “She’s fifty-two.”

  “And foxy as ever.”

  “You’re making me jealous.”

  I stop, staring deep into her rocky eyes. I can’t believe the way her hair shimmers in the sun out here, unable to decide what color it wants to be. “You have nothing to worry about on that front. Trust me.”

  “Trust Abbotsleigh’s biggest player?”

  “That’s a little unfair, don’t you think?”

  She smirks, winking again. “I don’t know,” she purrs, licking her lips. “I like a nice, big jock sometimes.”

  She walks away again, leaving me shaking my head. “How am I supposed to walk into that lecture with a hard-on the size of the Statue Of Liberty?” I shout.

  She spins around, laughing. “I’m sure you’ll find somewhere to put it.”

  *

  I’m not exactly studying law as much as I’m studying Indy’s legs as she sits beside me, the lecturer droning on and on, half the class asleep.

  It’s torture.

  I write on my notepad, ‘I wish I was inside you right now,’ sliding it to the edge of the desk and tapping my pen on it to get her attention.

  She looks up at me with wide eyes, before relaxing and adding her own line below: ‘Are you hard?’

  I nod slowly. ‘Are you wet?’ I write.

  ‘Always,’ she writes back.

  I pick up the notebook and pretend to fan myself with it.

  “Yes!” shouts the lecturer. “Up the back there. Mr. Beckett, is it?”

  All eyes turn towards me.

  I jump so hard I almost put a hole in the desk with my erection. “Sorry?”

  “Did you have a question?” the lecturer calls.

  The poor guy looks hopeful, that here, finally, is someone who is paying attention, eager to delve into the finer aspects of common law.

  “No, sir. Just…” Indy’s about to lose it. “Getting some air.” I wave the notebook again in demonstration, much to the collected amusement of those in attendance.

  The lecturer gives me a firm eye ‘tut tut’ and continues on.

  Indy elbows me in my side. “Nice one, hot shot.”

  We grab a quick bite at the co-op café downstairs, the kind of quirky campus establishment run by those who consider footwear and deodorant optional.

  Our waitress, fresh from the pumpkin patch, places down two paninis and coffees. “Enjoy.”

  “I’m starving,” says Indy, pulling her plate across. “All that physical activity…”

  “There’s more where that came from.”

  “There better be.”

  She looks down at her plate. “Damn. They forgot to cut it.”

  I pick up my knife and hand it towards her. “Here.”

  She continues to sit there.

  I shake the knife. “You going to take it or leave me hanging?”

  “You’ll have to put it down on the table first.”

  “Why?”

  “Because.”

  I place the knife down. “O-kay.”

  She picks it up, smiling again. “Thank you.”

  I lean back. “Is that another superstition thing?”

  She cuts through the — organic, double toasted, wholegrain, almond-something super food — sandwich. “Something like that. It cuts the friendship.”

  “I think we’re a little beyond simple friendship.”

  “Maybe, but I’m not taking any chances.”

  “You’re serious?”

  She nods, taking a bite of her panini and wiping her mouth before speaking again. “I am. I know these things seem stupid, but I have to follow them, these rules…”

  “Or?” I question.

  “Chaos ensues.”

  It’s weird, sure, but I can accept a bit of superstition if need be. I’d accept damn near anything to be with this angel, this shining beacon of hope for my otherwise damned soul.

  You’re a Beckett. You were damned the moment you were born.

  Having Satan for a father hasn’t helped. He’s gotten some of New York’s biggest scumbags off the hook. I’m talking true, bottom-feeding pricks, where even Hell itself wouldn’t be enough, and for what? So he can line his pockets, build up his empire.

  You’re using his money, remember. It’s paying for the clothes on your back, the shoes on your feet…

  Not for long. As soon as I hit the NFL, I’m out, on my own.

  I look to Indy. Or maybe not.

  I’ve never met a girl before that wanted to make me settle down, commit. I’m always so desperate to move on, to conquer, but Indy is the first to make those dormant instincts flicker to life. I’m seeing a fucking family with her, for crying out loud.

  “What’s after this then?” she asks. “The, what is it you called it, the NTL?”

  “I’m going to let that one slide, but yes, the NFL—the National Football League, the big time.”

  “Any particular team?”

  I pick up my sandwich. “I’ve always been a big fan of the Giants, but there’s no guarantee when it comes to the draft.”

  “Where are the Giants from?”

  And you’re thinking about spending your life with this girl? “New York.”

  Her eyebrows knit together. She places her sandwich down. “Oh,” she says, trying to remain upbeat.

  “Surely you know the Giants. Come on. When was the last time you went to an NFL game?”

  She lifts her shoulders. “I’ve never been to one.”

  I throw my sandwich down, almost spilling my coffee. “Are you fucking kidding me? Are you even American?”

  She laughs. “I can’t say I’ve felt the need. I’m not big on—”

  I stop her with my hand. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence. What are you doing later?”

  “I don’t have any plans.”

  I think it through. “I have to go to Troy this afternoon, run through some solo drills in prep for the big game with South Florida next week, but can you come around the house, say, six?”

  “For…?”

  “Two-and-half,” I calculate. “It should be enough.”

  “Again, for what?” she queries, looking so unbelievably fucking adorable holding that panini, she’s lucky I don’t strip her down right here and fuck her on this hipster pallet-slash-table we’re seated at.

  I smile back. “For your education.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  INDY

&nbs
p; Naomi’s listening to music on the steps leading up the dorm building.

  She takes off her headphones when she sees me approaching. “Someone’s looking pleased with themselves. What’s going on?”

  I hold the railing. “Not much.”

  “You got in late last night.”

  She’s really keeping tabs on me. “I was out, you know, seeing the sights.”

  And what a sight it was.

  She puckers her lips. “So you weren’t with a certain strapping football player?”

  Damn it. Why can’t I stop smiling? “And if I was?”

  I’d almost forgotten what happiness was over these last few months. In fact, this is the last place I expected to find it.

  She looks skeptical. “You were being careful, weren’t you?”

  I tilt my head sideways and eye her. “Are you my mother or my roommate?”

  She smiles back. “You’re right. I’m happy if you’re happy. Are you going up to the room?”

  I look to the dorm building and consider spending the next hour or so up there with Naomi facing another grand inquisition.

  I point behind me. “Actually, I thought I might go for a walk.”

  Naomi stands to collect her things. “I’ll come with.”

  I put my hand up, trying to be as gentle with this as I can. “I think I’ll go this one alone. I need to clear my head, you know, consider my actions.”

  That gets her. “Right,” she nods. “Good. Yeah, think it over.”

  “I will.”

  I turn and walk off with no real direction in mind—until I see the football stadium towering over campus, the mighty Troy.

  And Cayden.

  Here I come, ready or not.

  *

  I come to the end of the player’s tunnel, once more finding the stadium surprisingly lax as far as security goes. The cheerleading squad is practicing down one end of the field. I feel myself tucking deeper into the shadows. I naturally repel away from girls like that, and there were plenty of them in high school ready to look down on me.

  Thank god that’s over.

  The cutting-edge fashion Aunty sent me to school in didn’t exactly help, though I’d like to think I’ve improved on that front.

  Cayden certainly approved.

  I’ve never seen any guy look at me like that, like I was taking up all his attention, like he wanted to devour me right there on the spot.

  I focus on the other end of the field where Cayden is running between cones, leaping from left to right by himself. He’s in most of his gear, his helmet off, and his inky hair moving each time he shifts, leg muscles pushing against the tight fabric of his pants, ball cradled under his arm like I was the other night after… that.

  I didn’t think it was possible to come like that hard—a constant hammer of sensation so strong that for a small, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moment there was an actual consideration that ‘damn, I might actually die of pleasure,’ my body unable to take it.

  But take it I did—all of it.

  An idea occurs to me, something Cayden would never suspect, a way to prove I too am full of surprises.

  I wait until he finishes up, following him with my eyes as he heads into another tunnel on the far side of the stadium.

  I follow him in full ninja mode, keeping my distance as I enter what appear to be the locker rooms.

  I almost come through the door too soon, the surprise lost. I pull back around the corner as he undresses, stripping down to his jock strap, his giant cock comically too large for the tiny garment. He strips said garment off and I can’t help but gasp again.

  How the hell does it look even bigger limp like that?

  He heads into the next room and I follow, staying low, my heartbeat racing along.

  He steps under a shower and turns it on in full as I watch, peering around the doorway.

  We’re alone, as far as I can tell. I didn’t see any other guys out on the field.

  This is way out of character for me, sneaking around like something out of Mission Impossible.

  What if you’re busted in here?

  But I’m excited, excited and terrified, which is somehow making it even more delicious as Cayden turns to face me, hands in his hair, suds streaming down his body, into that beautiful vee.

  He cleans his cock, pulling its length.

  I place a hand between my legs, feel myself growing hot and damp there. Holy hell.

  He shuts the shower off.

  Now.

  I make my move, stepping out onto the tiles.

  He sees me when he turns back around, momentarily startled. “Hello.”

  “Hi,” I reply sheepishly, telling myself to act sexier, to sell it.

  He starts to smile, making no attempt to cover himself up. “You’re going to get into serious trouble if someone catches you here. Have you met Coach?”

  I stop, letting my eyes drop and pushing my lips together. “Mmmm mmm.”

  “I’m not a burger and fries.”

  “No? How about some of that special sauce?”

  His chin drops to his chest. He raises an eyebrow. “And you said I am the one with the bad lines…”

  I start to walk forward, my eyes constantly wanting to pull down to that freak-of-nature penis and the way it’s defying gravity growing taller.

  There is no denying it. Cayden Beckett is a beautiful specimen of a man. I devour him with my eyes. Everything about him is cut and ripped, from his biceps to his forearms, coursing with veins that somehow are both sexy and angry at the same time. From his sculpted face to the sharp definition in his traps and abs, this is a man who knows how to take care of himself.

  And others…

  You can say that again. I’ve never been that satisfied sexually, not that I have much to go off, but being with Cayden feels right, like we are made for each other. I think even he was surprised how easily I took his length, the way it sunk so perfectly inside my depths. I grab his towel off the hook on the way and place it down at his feet, kneeling on it so my jeans don’t get wet.

  I reach up and take hold of his cock, now iron hard, its cherry red glans swept back. It twitches in my grip.

  I can’t get enough of the belt of muscle on the outer edges of his pelvis pointing to the primal appendage below.

  “You do realize anyone could walk in right now,” he warns. “Dean Smith might be heading this way for all I know.”

  I start to stroke him softly, my fingers struggling to close around his cock. “I’m a rebellious punk. This is the kind of stuff I do.”

  He watches me. “Far be it from me to bring an interruption to proceedings then.”

  “Now,” I state, “are you going to let me suck your cock or not?”

  “Suck away,” he purrs.

  I open my mouth and let my lips flare over the wide crown of his member. His hands run through my hair, pulling me to task.

  I hold him with both hands and lash the plush head of his cock with my tongue, alternating between sucking and licking until he’s bucking against me in silent frustration.

  Hot damn. I’m good at this.

  My confidence builds. I suck him gently before taking the entire head of him inside my mouth. His unique scent floods my senses, a vibration rippling through his body when I let his cock come from my lips with a smacking pop.

  I flutter my tongue against the underside of him, running the tip up and down his shaft. With one hand I fist the base of his cock, using the other to draw up to my mouth, pumping and stroking and sucking him until I’m rewarded with a warm flood of pre-cum.

  And I want more. I want to drive him completely crazy. The sweet and innocent Indy has gone on vacation. I’m not taking anything less than the full fifty shades now.

  I hollow out my cheeks and suck him deeper, taking him as deep into my throat as I can.

  It’s met with a groan, his fingers knitting tight into my hair.

  “Yes, god. Keep going. Just like that… Indy.”

  He star
ts to thrust forwards, trying to fill me. I let him, jacking him off harder, my mouth working and tongue flat against the velvety length of his shaft.

  He swells.

  I let go of his cock and hold his bulging thighs with my hands, desperate for his release.

  It comes sooner than I expect—a quick pull, a tension, before he bellows, his voice echoing off the tiles.

  He thrusts against the back of my throat, the initial discharge so substantial I struggle to swallow it all, struggle to breathe as his cock throbs and pulses into my mouth.

  I milk him dry, holding his cock away and enjoying the way even spent it continues to jerk and spasm in my grip.

  “Holy. Fucking. Shit,” he says, eyes popping open.

  “Was that okay?”

  “Okay?” he laughs. “If there was a sexual Olympics, you’d be taking home the gold.”

  I notice he remains hard. He could more than fuck me senseless right now, but I think I’ve pushed the risk factor here long enough. I wanted to do this for him, make him happy, make us happy.

  I don’t feel used or taken advantage of at all. No, I feel alive.

  *

  We’re headed away from campus in the Mustang. It’s bordering on twilight, the sky clear of clouds and fuss, only a muted haze of peach remaining.

  Cayden hands me a Giants jersey in the car. “You’re going to need this.”

  I hold it, looking across to him. “A bit of a hike to New York, isn’t it?”

  He nods knowingly. “It is.”

  I’m not so sure I should have agreed to this mystery date, but I must confess I am intrigued.

  I take in the scenery sluicing past the windows. “If you’re taking me back to that punk club…”

  “I thought that worked out quite well for me, actually. Until you flipped it, that is.”

  I lean away from him, aghast. “Flipped it? I had genuine cause.”

  “And now?”

  I let my eyes turn to slit as I examine him. “I’m seeing the Cayden Beckett who’s more than ‘The Damage,’ who’s more than big hands and a big,” I pause, swallowing. “Cock, as nice as said attachment is.”

  I’ve made sure my legs are parted on the leather of the bucket seat—inviting.

  Cayden looks away from the road to soak in my expression. “I’m seeing another side of you, too.”