Page 90 of Return Policy
I glance up at her, and the seductive smile on her face has me biting my lower lip so hard I almost draw blood. With slow movements, I push the jersey up so it rests on her hips and drag my fingernails down her thighs. “I can’t decide what I want to do to you,” I rasp out.
She lets her head fall back, arching her pussy towards me. Her sweet smell draws my mouth toward it like a magnet. I glide my tongue against her clit, and she squirms beneath me.
“More,” she begs, and I pull away slightly.
Our eyes connect, and I lick her taste off my lips. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll take care of your needy little pussy.” I dip back down, flicking my tongue over her most sensitive spot, and slide a single finger into her.
“Elijah,” she moans just as the front door swings open. My head snaps up to see Theo standing in the doorway with a relaxed, amused expression. Sophia gasps and clutches my shoulders, her fingernails digging into my skin. Luckily her back is to him and the only thing visible are her exposed thighs. I stand up so he can’t catch a glimpse at the places only I’m allowed to see.
“Damn, bro, pussy for breakfast?” He smirks and looks at the stove. “I'm gonna go take a shower. Make me some pancakes when you finish your appetizer.” I give him a death glare as he continues to his room. “And Elijah, don’t leave a drop of sweet syrup on that plate.” He turns around, standing in the door frame, and stares at us. “We don’t need another lousy review.” He shuts the door, leaving us alone in the kitchen as his muffled laughter echoes through the walls.
Sophia stares at me, her mouth dropped open and a mortified expression on her face that quickly turns to laughter. “Well, that’s a boner killer.”
My forehead drops to hers, and I rub her hand against the front of my shorts. “Sweetheart, the whole damn team could walk through that door right now, and I’d still be this fucking hard for you.” Reaching over, I turn off the stove, then grip Sophia’s hips, pulling her flush against me. She wraps her legs around my waist, and I lift her by the ass, making the way to my bedroom.
“Want to finish your appetizer?” she teases.
“Appetizer?” I lick my lips, stepping through the threshold of my room. “Baby, you’re a whole damn meal.” I kick the door shut behind me and toss Sophia on the bed to finish my all-you-can-eat buffet.
* * *
My muscles ache as I pull on clean clothes after our bitch of a Monday practice. Coach made us run drill after drill in the ninety-five-degree weather as the sun baked down on us, and I’m whipped.
“Anderson!” Coach Porter shouts, and I snap my head in that direction. “My office, now!”
My heart races as I make my way toward it, the guys grinning at me with stupid ass expressions all saying the same thing: you’re in trouble.What the hell could he want from me? I threw a forty-seven-yard touchdown pass during practice today.
I pop my head in the doorway to see him sitting at his desk. “Yes, Coach?”
“Take a seat.” His tone is stern, which only heightens my anxiety. I do as I’m told and sit down in the seat facing him. A heavy sigh escapes him as he folds his hands on top of the desk.Shit. Maybe I am in trouble.“Do you know why I called you in here?”
My knee bounces anxiously. “No.”
“I spoke with Professor Mintz about the last test you took… How the fuck did you get a fifty-two on a damn world history exam?”
A fifty frickin’ two. Are you kidding me?
“Shit.” I run my fingers through my hair and sigh heavily. “I swear I’ve been studying, Coach. I even have a tutor. It’s just… He’s a hardass. I’m trying, I swear.”
“And what about your statistics class? You have a C minus. If you don’t pass your finals for both classes, your GPA is going to drop, and I don’t need to remind you what that means.” He cocks a dark brow, folding his arms over his broad chest.
“No, Coach.” My elbows rest on my knees, and I stare at my feet.How am I gonna get out of it this time?
“Listen…” His tone turns sincere, bringing my gaze back to his. “I know you’ve had a tough year. I’m sympathetic, I really am, but you’ve gotta get your grades up or I’ll be forced to bench you.”
“Bench me?!”
I want to scream.
I want to throw up.
I want to punch something.
I’m finally getting a decent amount of playing time, and now Coach wants to freaking bench me.
“I have no choice, Elijah. Pass both classes or you’re benched for the rest of the season. And hopefully you’ll still be with us next year.” My eyes burn as tears threaten to develop from frustration.
At my professors.
