TackledP: A Sports Romance(44)

“I brought peroxide,” I say, holding up the bottle. I kneel down between his legs on the chair, and try to ignore the fact that I’m between his legs right now. I especially try to ignore the fact that his cock is inches away from me. “This is going to sting a little.”

I dab the peroxide on his knuckles.

“Shit! That stings a lot," he complains.

“Don’t be a baby,” I whisper, cleaning up his hands the best I can.

And avoiding eye contact because he makes me nervous. My body seems to do what it wants when I’m near him.

And what it wants to do is Colton King.

“Cassie,” he murmurs. He slides his fingers under my chin and tilts my face up. “I’ve never hooked up with the same girl twice."

“Okay." I definitely don't want to talk about Colton King's sex life right now and how I'm one of many notches on his bedpost. It's not like we've fooled around much at all. So it's probably half a notch. More like an eighth of a notch.

“So I'm…” he pauses. “I'm not real good at… whatever you do after you hook up with a girl.”

“What happened to your hands?” I ask, changing the subject.

“I punched someone.”

I stand up and set the peroxide and washcloth on the table. “Who’d you punch?”

“An asshole.”

“At the party?”

“Yeah.”

“I take it he looks worse than you?”

“I hope so.”

“Why did you punch him?”

“No reason.”

I look at him for a long moment, and he doesn’t say anything. Then he bends down and picks me up, hoisting me over his shoulder like I weigh nothing at all and carrying me down the hallway.

“What are you doing?” I protest.

“What I’ve been wanting to do since the first time I saw you,” he says, opening the door to my bedroom and throwing me on the bed. “Before you even say it, don’t.”

“Before I say what?” I sit up, half-annoyed by his flinging me over his shoulder like a caveman and half-distracted by the fact that he’s stripping off his t-shirt and dropping it onto the floor.

My eyes linger on his hard chest before meeting his gaze.

“The tutor-student thing,” he says. “Don’t give me the same crap about the stupid rules because we both know that’s not why you’re hesitating. At least be honest about it.”

I slide off the edge of the bed and stand, irritated by the implication that my concern about getting caught is completely unwarranted. “And your pooh-poohing my concern about the rules is patronizing and dismissive.”

“Say more big words. I love it when you use big words." He grabs the fabric of my tank top and pulls me against him.

"Misogynistic."

"You're making me hard." He pushes his cock against me to demonstrate.

“You’re a child.”

“None of those are big words, and you’re lying.”

“What am I lying about?" I ask. “You just think rules don’t matter at all.”

“You’re scared.”

I let out a laugh. “I’m scared? You’re the one who's never hooked up with the same girl twice.”

“And you’re the girl who hasn’t hooked up with anyone at all.”

“Not true,” I say. “I just haven’t fucked anyone.”

“Because you’re scared.”

“Am not."

I’m not scared of screwing someone. Maybe of having my heart broken, but I’m not in danger of that here, because Colton King isn’t in danger of taking it.

“Why did you get in a fight?” I ask him.

“I already told you. No reason,” he mumbles. His hands move down my back, his touch gentle as well as demanding.

“Now you’re lying.”

“Someone was talking about you and I didn’t like it.”

“Talking about me,” I say flatly, working it out in my head. Oh, God. Someone at the house saw the two of us and had to be talking about the student-tutor thing.

Colton shakes his head like he can tell what I’m thinking. “It wasn’t that,” he says without even asking. “It was someone running his mouth about wanting to nail you.”

“Wanting to nail me?" I'm unable to stifle my laugh. I'm not the girl that guys talk about wanting to nail.

“I didn’t like it.” He shrugs like it’s self-evident.

I put my hand against his chest, halfheartedly pushing him away. “So you got into a fight with someone in an attempt to defend my honor? This isn’t the fifties, in case you weren't aware.”

“I wasn't defending your honor,” he says, wrapping his hand around my wrist and pulling me tightly against him. His other hand is on my lower back, pinning me against his growing hardness, and when his hand slides down further under the waistband of my pajamas, I inhale sharply.