His abs ripple with each labored breath he takes, and the glistening head of his cock peeks out from the band of the boxer briefs he pulled on to sleep.
He removes his fingers from inside me, and I whimper at the loss. Wetness trails in the wake of his touch as his bruising grip on my ass cheeks guides my movements.
“Quinn.”
The cords of his neck stand out in stark relief, and there’s a distinct jut to his jaw with each increasingly relentless grind of me on him.
He moves his palms down my thighs, his knuckles and my skin blanching of color at his punishing hold. “Fuck me, Quinn.” It’s not an exclamation. This time it’s a command.
I shake my head, my own hair a mass of messy waves as it moves around my shoulders. “I’m not going to Slam, purr, thank you, sir you for your first time.”
With him bracing a palm on the mattress, all those sexy lines of his ripple and flex as he pushes to sit up. We’re nose to nose, his hand taking me by the nape. “I don’t need candles and rose petals.”
His thumb strokes down the line of my throat, and I swallow against the touch. “I’m not saying that.” I shake my head again. “But first time or not, you deserve more than me having to rush out the door as you’re tying off the condom.”
His displeased growl has me tossing my head back as a new wave of desire rolls through me.
“Fine.” He flops back down, only mildly huffing but wildly cute.
I adore this side of him. He’s playful and uninhibited in a way I never could have imagined he could be with me.
He hooks his hands under my thighs and lifts, my ass losing contact with his body. Gravity has my shirt falling with me as he tilts me forward, the well-worn cotton pooling on my lower back. Goose bumps sprout along my skin as the cool air caresses it.
“Ride my face then, beautiful.”
My body goes molten, my core pulsing with both the memory of last night and how surprisingly deliciously alpha I’ve discovered CK to be.
“No,” I deny him, slipping out of his hold and shifting down his body. “Today, it’s my turn to have you in my mouth.”
That sound I love rolls through the back of his throat, and he’s fisting my hair in both hands. My scalp burns, and the sting of pain sends a bolt of pure lust pinballing through my nipples to my clit.
Slipping beneath the band of his boxers, I inch the material down, revealing him to my greedy gaze one inch at a time. With a similar squeeze of his hips like he’s done to me, I urge CK to lift up and tug the boxers over the curve of his ass.
I’ve grown more than acquainted with CK’s cock over the last week, but this is the first time I’ve gotten to be eye to eye with his one-eyed beast. My sigh is audible as I take in the shiny-with-precum head stretching toward his navel.
Balancing on my elbows, I make myself at home between CK’s spread legs, tilting my chin up to find his gaze already trained on me.
A bolt of apprehension hits me in the solar plexus and has me swallowing thickly.
“What’s wrong?” CK runs a thumb across my lower lip, his handsome features shifting when he reads something in mine.
“I want this to be good for you,” I admit.
“Isn’t that supposed to be my line?” He smirks.
“I’m serious. I don’t want you to be disappointed.”
He stretches his arm out, cupping the side of my face. “One, I’m embarrassingly close to coming by you just breathing on me. And, two, no matter what we do, I couldn’t be disappointed because I’m doing it with you.”
My jaw goes slack, and a pressure I’m quick to blink away builds behind my eyes. I know the famous movie quote is there’s no crying in baseball, but there’s no crying in blow jobs either. Well…I guess maybe there is if you’ve worked up one hell of a deep throat, but—
What the fuck?
I have a penis in my face, and this is where my mind goes? Shit, you would think I was the virgin.
Focus, Quinn.
And I do.
I open up my mouth, mentally shove my gag reflex to the side, and swallow every glorious inch of CK’s dick, delighting in every curse, hiss, and groan slipping off his tongue.
Talk about a cock-a-doodle-doo in the morning.
When most people think of cheerleaders, they think of pretty girls with high ponytails and short skirts waving pom-poms on the sidelines of sporting events. We’re the fluff, the added entertainment meant to accessorize the real sport you’re there to watch—football, basketball, etc., etc.
Now, sure…
Some of those facts are accurate.
My hair is tied back in the highest of ponytails, and I completed my hairstyle with a badass sequin-covered blue camouflage bow in front to match the sports bra I have on. And when I dress for game day as a member of the U of J Red Squad, my uniform does consist of a skirt and pom-poms.
But…
What those people don’t necessarily see is the athleticism that goes into crafting the routines they watch between downs played on the field.
Nothing irks me more than when a person tries to tell me cheerleading isn’t a sport. However, after cheering for over seventeen years, I know better than to listen to them. Plus, now cheerleading is an Olympic sport, so those naysayers better watch out.
Because when you get to the competition aspect of cheer? Well, that’s a whole different ball game.
Any amount of time spent in a gym for a club team, or what is more commonly referred to as all-stars, would prove it. The Barracks, the cheer wet dream of a gym, home to the New Jersey All-Star Cheerleading teams, or NJA for short, is a prime example of where to go. This place is a hundred-thousand-square-foot cheer mecca of excellence, and even having been an official employee of it for two months, it’s still hard to believe I’m standing inside it.
All around me, cheerleaders of various ages ranging from twelve to eighteen are spread across the blue mats working on their skills. For five-plus hours, I’ve helped coach them on their tumbling, jumps, pyramids, dance, and stunts alongside some of the best coaches in the sport. Seriously, I’m still struggling to accept that I’m considered one of those coaches as well.
“That’s great, Livi,” Kay says as she dismounts from the full toss stunt her twin brother Olly threw her into.
“Just watch your toss line on the way up, Olly.” JT automatically finishes the instruction for the pair.
“Again.” Kay circles a finger in the air, then counts them off.
My two friends work as one cohesive unit, training the next duo to take over the champion mantel they held for years. The whole process happens in a matter of seconds.
On Olly and Livi’s next attempt at a trick few partner stunt duos can even do, its execution is flawless.
I slow-clap and bow at my friends.
“When are you going to cut that shit out?” Kay rolls her eyes at my antics.
“Oh, leave her alone, PF.” JT slings a slightly sweaty arm around my shoulders, overenunciating Kay’s cheer nickname to a drawn out Pfff. “You know Q is my favorite fangirl.”
My cheeks heat, but I can’t deny the title. It’s strange to say I grew up idolizing Kay and JT since we’re the same age, but…that’s essentially the truth. In all my years of cheering, I have never seen a partner stunt pairing as solid and accomplished as them.