TackledP: A Sports Romance(2)

In the backyard, more topless girls bob about in a pool — there seems to be an endless supply of half-naked women here — and people gather around, hollering to the idiot on the roof at the top of a questionably-engineered wooden tarp-covered slide that runs from the edge of the roof all the way down to the pool below.

He’s buck naked, his muscled body glistening in the sunlight. Actually, it’s glistening an awful lot.

Is he covered in lube?

Heat rises to my face when I realize my eyes linger a little longer than necessary on his package. I mean, he’s left it all hanging out. And it’s definitely not small.

Next to me, a girl squeals. “Isn’t he hot?” she asks. “I mean, look at the size of it! That’s why they call him the King.”

Oh God, I think, watching as he whoops loudly before sliding off the roof and into the pool, lubed-up for speed.

That naked idiot on the roof with the giant cock? That’s my new student.





2





Colton





That was awesome.

A lubed-up slide off the roof of the house into a pool full of half-naked chicks, any of whom are totally willing to do anything I want. Fuck yeah.

This is the fucking life, man.

I’m twenty-one years old, a star athlete with a one-way ticket straight to the pros. I just finished a stellar run during my junior year, which means that this summer and senior year are the only things standing between me and a shitload of money.

This summer is supposed to be about pulling up my GPA after a shitty academic spring term. I can't complain much, though — summer in Texas is always hot, which means girls here are more than happy to take their clothes off.

A blonde slides in front of me, wrapping her arms around my neck and pushing her enormous tits up in my face. “You want to get out of the pool, Colton?” she asks. “I’ll help you dry off. But don’t worry … I'll stay wet.”

My cock jumps at the thought. It’s such endless buffet of pussy now, I can’t even imagine what it’ll be like in the pros. Pussy, cars, big houses, and money, money, money. Followed by more pussy.

That's my life plan.

I grip the blonde’s ass, and she grinds her body against mine. I’m burying my mouth between her tits when my gaze falls on the chick standing by the side of the pool, looking awkward as hell in a black skirt and a short-sleeved purple button-down shirt. I stare at her because she looks so damn out of place.

But the longer I look at her, the more I realize how hot she is – in that weird, nerdy kind of way. Her brown hair is pulled up into a high ponytail on the back of her head, and black glasses perch on the tip of her nose.

At first, I think she might be a professor, but she's too young for that.

"Colton King?" she asks, walking toward the edge of the pool.

"Give me a second, sweetheart," I tell the blonde, dropping her into the water before I hear her answer. From behind me, I hear her whine my name, which automatically annoys me. That's a deal-breaker, even for a hookup. I don't do whiny. I have some standards.

Now, the librarian … she's a hot piece of ass, nerdy like the kind of girl who doesn't realize she's hot. Those girls are usually grateful to get with athletes.

I think I'll be the one to initiate her into the real Colton King fan club. The private one.

"Who sent you, darlin'?" I ask, exaggerating a Texan drawl for effect. Chicks dig the drawl. "No, wait, don't tell me – one of the stripper agencies. Maybe the Blue Orchid? Well, don't feel like you have to keep your clothes on, on my account."

Hot Librarian blushes. She actually blushes. Shit, I haven't made a girl blush in years. The girls I hook up with aren't the kinds of girls who are embarrassed by anything. I get a rush from it, a perverse sense of satisfaction from the fact that she’s blushing because of me.

She wrinkles her forehead and purses her lips before crossing her arms in front of her chest. I think she's self-conscious, trying to hide her figure, but hell, crossing her arms like that just accentuates her tits even more. "You think I'm a… a stripper?" she asks. Disbelief practically drips from her lips.

Well, after the blushing, I definitely don't think she's a stripper.

I pull myself up and out of the pool. Naked. Just because I have the irresistible impulse to see her blush even more.

And she does. Her cheeks turn a deep shade of red, almost burgundy, as she attempts to look cool and collected.

She also tries hard not to look down.

"Are you a stripper?" I ask. "Because you're wearing way too much clothing for a stripper."

"And you're not wearing enough," she says, her voice icy.

"Well, it would be a shame to hide my best feature," I say, giving her my cocky grin. Women totally dig the grin. It gets me into – and out of – so much trouble.