Once Upon A Half-Time 1(53)

I came and came and came, each crippling wave fiercer than the last. I let the pleasure consume me. No sense denying the thrill, the connection that would forever bind Lachlan and I as one for as long as we both lived.

I collapsed, and Lachlan growled his pleasured relief. He stayed hard, gently moving within the hot, sticky mess we’d made of me. Only once we became too sensitive did he pull me into the water. I clung to him as he washed away the sweat, dirt, and slickness from my body. He cradled me against his chest, and I rewarded his soft touch with murmurs and kisses along his shoulders.

But Lachlan wasn’t done. He grinned and pulled me in for a kiss. I didn’t trust the mischievous brightness in his eyes.

“You know something, Red?” His hands traced to my slit once more. “Maybe tubing isn’t so bad after all.”





12





Lachlan





The ball didn’t slip through my fingers. Jack’s pass nearly broke my goddamned hand.

I hissed and flicked my wrist as I jogged to a stop. The whistle blew.

Fuck. That didn’t mean the drill was over. It summoned me back to the line. The new team policy stated that players weren’t done with a drill until they had successfully completed it.

So far I was the only idiot to screw it up.

I hustled to the line, rubbing the sweat from my eyes with the hand that didn’t sting. A camera flashed. Elle grinned at me.

“You’ll get the next one.” She adjusted her lens. “But make it really dramatic. I need an epic photo for the Facebook posts today.”

Easy for her to say. “Your wish is my command.”

“See, boys!” Jack pointed at me with the football. “He’s got this husband thing down now. Nod your head, Charming. Give her whatever she wants.”

“Yeah, Lachlan,” she said. “Whatever I want.”

Elle’s skirt hugged her hips, but the ends flared out, whipping in the breeze to reveal a sinfully smooth leg. How was a man supposed to get any work done when she lingered around the camp wearing a tiny scrap of a baby-doll t-shirt? It hugged her curves, and the bright white material contrasted with the inch of bare belly the shirt didn’t cover.

The guys were right. She was all tits with a camera.

And for that, I’d give her anything she damn well wanted.

If I could catch the fucking ball first.

Elle snapped another picture, and the camera clicked louder than the trill of the whistle.

I sprinted fifteen yards down the field and counted the seconds in my head. The route was a timing pattern, and I had to hook back at the right moment for the ball that would already be in the air and aimed for me.

Three. Two. One.

I turned. Too soon. The pass flew over my head. I leapt to grab it. My fingertips grazed the edge, but I fell to the grass. The ball bounced away.

Son of a bitch. That was two missed passes.

The offensive coordinator blew the whistle sharper this time. Any more of this bullshit and Coach Thompson would leave the sled drills with the offensive line to tear me a new asshole.

“What’s wrong, Charming?”

I didn’t need the attitude from Ray, one of our veteran receivers.

He nudged Elle and winked. “Baby, you gotta let him get some rest before practice. Can’t be sexing a man up all night and expect him to do good work in the morning.”

Elle never needed me to defend her. She gave Ray a bit of attitude. “Don’t hate on my man for going all night just cause you nut in three minutes.”

“It’s not about the time, baby.” Ray thrust his hips. “It’s about the ride. I buck my woman like a rodeo stallion.”

“What? Done in eight seconds?”

The team laughed, but I set up for the next pass. Last thing I needed was my wife sticking up for me. I gritted my teeth.

Jack slapped his hand on the ball. “If you miss this one, Charming, you owe us a steak dinner.”

Jesus. How could these fuckers think of food now? I’d blown three hundred dollars in donuts for them this week, but in this heat, constantly running these goddamned drills, I was lucky to have eaten at all. Nothing tasted better than pride, but mine went rancid too quick.

Elle aimed the camera. “Okay, never mind the epic catch. Just nab one, and I’ll make sure you look good.”

Jesus Christ. Now she was patronizing me? What the hell was going on?

Since when couldn’t I run a goddamned route?

I’d been playing football since I fit into pee-wee shoulder pads. All-fucking-state in high-school. Offered a free ride to any college I wanted. I had a Heisman Trophy proudly displayed in my mother’s house.

So why the fuck did my hands turn to bricks? My legs didn’t communicate with my head, my brain fogged on the damn play, and the pressure beat on me harder than the burning sun.