For Love or Money (13 page)

His
body stays stiff but he cracks a delicious smile. “My comfort level is you
being safe and happy and with me.”

I
nod. “Then we’re on the same page.” He lowers his face to kiss me, but I pull
back, regardless of how badly I want to kiss him. “But you still haven’t asked
me out on a date.”

He
scowls, hovering over my lips. “I asked you to come to my soccer game and watch
me kick ass. I will be gracing you with the gift of my mad skills.”

“You
call that a date?”

He
presses his body into mine and lowers his face all the way, scooping me up into
him. The kiss is slow and delicate. Not hurried or fervent but passionate and
drawn out. His tongue caresses mine as his fingers dig into my shorts, kneading
my ass.

The
scent of him is intoxicating. It’s sweat and deodorant and him, all mixed to
make a musk like no other. It swirls in my nostrils, pushing my body into
senses overdrive. He could become my next addiction. His teeth drag down my
bottom lip as he settles onto his bed with me in his lap.

I
grind into him, hoping the surprise I’m feeling is as awesome as my estimation
says it is. He’s rigid and thrusting lightly, massaging his cock against my
clit through my clothes.

I
pull his shirt off, basking in his manly post-workout aroma. When my teeth bear
down on his shoulder, he sucks in sharply, wincing like a little girl.

Uh
oh.

Somebody
likes to be in charge besides me.

I
sit up, licking the salt from my lips and grin. “Do we wrestle for who gets to
be in charge or paper-scissors-rock?”

He
flips me onto the bed fast, tugging my shorts and underwear down urgently.
“Let’s wrestle.” His face brushes against my belly on its way south. He kisses
my thighs, inside and out, only ever brushing his face against my pussy. I’m
half mad when he finally spreads my thighs, licking my slit and thrusting his
long tongue inside of me. Everything he does has a forced feel to it, like he’s
making you like it and in charge.

“You
like it when I lick you?”

I
nod, breathless and unable to decide if the dirty talk is him or my
imagination. Nice boys don't talk like that and he seems like a pretty nice
boy.

He
slides a long finger inside of me, rubbing the right spot instantly and
wrapping his lips around my clit. He flicks and sucks, while playing me like
his fucking guitar. Literally his FUCKING guitar. “You wanna come for me, Lana?
Huh? You want me to make you come all over my hand?”

A
sound escapes my lips and I would laugh if I could. I make a mental note for
later to remember to laugh because I sound exactly like Andy’s mom.

“You
wanna talk about fucking other guys and being Mistress Lana or whatever bullshit?
Or do you want me to make you come so hard you forget all about them, Mistress
Lana?” His accent is thick and lazy and I want to answer, but I can’t. I’m
coming and it won’t stop. My whole body is convulsing. I didn't even know I was
climaxing, but I realize I’ve been doing it for minutes.

He
flips me over, pressing my face into the bed but still pounding me with his
fingers. I hear a condom crinkle, but I can’t get over the wave of pleasure.

He
bends forward, pinning me with his huge body, all while somehow still finger
fucking me. “You like it in the ass, Lana? You wanna be dirty? I can play
dirty.”

I
am about to argue the ass question when he pulls his finger from me and his
legs kick mine apart as his cock thrusts into my sopping-wet pussy. It takes a
second to adjust to the girth—it’s as big as I was praying for, at least.
He drags some of the moisture from my pussy up to my ass, sticking his long,
thick finger in, slowly. He lets me adjust to the size and then pushes in a
little more.

My
eyes won’t open and I can’t stop making the sound from the short thrusts of his
finger in my ass. He’s pumping both, but not at the same speed. He’s like a
fucking magician, and I don't know what’s going on. His finger thrusts in my
ass have me, I don't even know—ass coming, which I didn't even know I
could. His long thick cock has me drooling out the left side of my face and
bleating into the bed.

“You
wanna talk dirty then—I’ll play dirty.” He bites my back softly, thrusting
harder into my pussy. His body slapping against mine makes whatever he’s doing
to my ass better. I keep moaning and moving against him, breathing in spurts
and gasping when it all starts again.

He
pins me to him with his hand on my abdomen, pulling me back into him as he
jackhammers me. A long, steady moan escapes my lips as he comes with me,
shoving his cock in hard and holding for each ejaculation.

He
breathes into my back, lifting my ass and slowly removing his finger. I watch
him drag a condom off of it and nod. A pro just fucked me. It makes me smile. I
don't keep track of guys. I stopped counting at about twenty last summer so I’m
probably just shy of twenty-three. But I have never been properly
fucked—serviced—by a man. He pulls his cock out of me and drags
that condom off too, before he lifts me up and carries me to the bathroom.

His
lack of talking suddenly makes his chatty-ho talking awkward as sin. I swallow
hard and look up at him and drag my shirt off. “So—that wasn't what I
expected.” It comes out as a laugh as he starts the shower and pulls me in.

“Come
on. Let’s get cleaned up.”

I
laugh harder. “I don't think that's actually possible. I don't think I’ll ever
be clean again.”

“You
weren’t clean to start, Mistress Lana.”

It
stuns me. It all stuns me. “You’re really good at that.”

His
cheeks flush. “And this is why I don't have sex with college girls, so I can
leave without the weird talking afterwards.”

I
let myself collapse into his chest as the water runs down on us both. “Can we
do that again after I eat a steak or something?”

He
squeezes tight. “Next time I wanna see the Mistress Lana side of you.”

I
look up to his gleaming green eyes and smile. “I think I might need a couple
weeks to come up with a routine that would compare to that performance.”

“That
wasn't a performance.”

I
roll my eyes. “You weren’t trying to impress me?”

“Hell
yes! I’m not coming to the table with Lana Webber, the infamous Lana Webber,
with any weak-ass shit.” He bends his face and kisses my like a gentleman, like
a gentle man. It warms my heart.

He
pulls back and sighs. “Will it ever bother you that I don't really make love?
I’ve tried it a few times and it just felt like less. I’m not looking for less
ever. I always want more.” He kisses me again before I can answer, and then
mutters next to my lips as he kisses my cheeks. “And I know one thing is for
sure. I’m always going to want more of you.”

Yo
momma

James

She
has a way with my head that I don't think I’ll live through.

I’m
still lost in the feel and smell of her when coach slaps me upside the head
with the clipboard.

“Holland!
Did you bring enough daydream for everyone to share?”

I
glance up. “Uhhh, sorry coach.”

He
hits me again. “Jackson is going to keep seventy-two busy and I need two goals
from you. Yale wins this and I’m buying their coach dinner downtown, along with
his five kids.”

“Yes,
sir.”

We
huddle and Jackson gives me a wicked smile. “Heard you slapped Andy around.”

I
don't like to kiss and tell so I keep my mouth shut.

Shane
nudges me. “I heard he’s pissed ‘cause you stole Lana from him.”

My
eyes dart up to the stands where she’s sitting. She looks insane in her white
jacket amongst all the crimson. “Yeah, well I think we all know how easy it is
to tell Lana Webber what to do and who to date.”

The
circle of guys chuckle and put their hands in.

I
nod at Jackson. “He did go down like a sack of potatoes. It was almost unfairly
similar to fighting my little sister.”

Shane
smacks me in the ass. “Well, I hope you saved some energy for this last five
minutes because you’re gonna need it.”

I
shake my head, sighing. “I don't know boys, fighting Andy was pretty
exhausting.”

Jackson
laughs. “He was talking about wrestling Lana.”

We
break, laughing whereas the other team breaks strong with pride.

I
head down to the middle of the field, waiting for the ball to come in. Jackson
stands alongside the big guy from Yale who seems to have the mission of dry
humping me up and down the field.

Starkey,
our defenseman with the best throw, lobs the ball in, straight to Paganini. He
chests it, juggling with his knees and getting it down the line. I run with
him, pointing at the spot. He knows to disregard whatever I point at.

I
cut into the middle just as he fakes and side passes right to where I am running.
They think I’m going to take the shot, but I launch it into the air back at
Paganini who heads the ball into the net.

The
crowd goes wild. Paganini runs at me, arms out and screaming.

Yale
boos in the crowd as a player calls me a lucky twat.

I
wink and point at him while running to the middle of the field.

The
ref puts the ball down and blows the whistle. Yale’s center forward passes and
Starkey runs toward the guy with the ball, putting the pressure on him.

Jackson
intercepts the pass but the big guy elbows him hard. Of course the ref doesn't
see it, but the crowd goes wild. The big guy turns with the ball, not passing
to his mates at all, and instead taking it up the field to our goal.

Shane
shakes his head, pointing out the holes in the defense, but he’s ready. When
the big guy shoots for the right corner, Shane launches himself into the air. I
don't even have to look to know. I turn and start running for their end as the
crowd goes crazy again. Shane is the best keeper ever.

He
catches and kicks down the field. Their defense is smarter than their forwards
though. They haven’t come to midfield. They knew Shane would catch it.

Starkey
has run hard, staying with the big guy, giving him the unnoticed elbow as
Shane’s kick lands right in front of Jackson. He passes fast to Paganini who’s
actually hurt and nearly loses the ball in the pass. But Paganini is a star. He
leaps and scissors the ball to me, mid-air. I chest it, looking at the two
defensemen coming my way, and dribble toward their end. I fake out the first
one and run hard for the second one. He doesn't see that he’s blocking the
vision of the keeper. I get a blur of crimson in the corner of my eye. I side
pass as the last defenseman launches himself at me. I spin, letting him blow by
me but not take me down with him. Nick has caught my pass and is taking it to
the goal. He fakes a shot, forcing the goal to move but side passes right back
to me. I leap into the air, not stopping the ball or controlling the kick, but
launching it straight into the goal with a mid-air kick.

The
stadium screams in unison as the whistle blows and the game is called.

Nicks
runs at me, hugging and lifting. We end up in a swarm of screaming men. Jackson
and Shane are crying. It’s their last game at Harvard against Yale and they
have won with dignity and ferocity.

My
ears ring with the screaming joy bursting in the sea of crimson bodies, but my
eyes are drawn to the glimpse of the girl in white. She is jumping up and down
and screaming like a savage. She grabs the person next to her, shaking him and
screaming some more. Not what I expected, yet again.

We
do our victory lap around the field, arms out for the fans and then form the
line to shake hands.

The
captains and keepers meet at the front of the line. Yale looks smug and actually
pretty pissed, but they behave like gentlemen-ish, until they reach us
midfielders. The captain grins and shakes my hand, muttering, “How’s Lana? Tell
her Danny Anderson says hi.”

I
crunch his hand in mine. The next guy does the same thing. On the third guy I
wince, “Ohh, she doesn't speak highly of you, sorry about the cock, friend. I
heard even young men can take Viagra.”

He
tackles me to the grass, punching me in the side of the head.

Instantly
the lines mix and the brawl is on.

But
it doesn't matter, they started it.

I’m
punched in the stomach by the guy whose dick has been insulted, but I manage to
kick him in the chest, and when I get on top of him I punch twice, stopping
when I see he’s had enough.

Nick
has the Yale captain on the ground and is beating him. I pull him off as a body
jumps someone else right in front of us. Shane has two guys down. The stands
are filling with fighting and screaming, and our victory is slowly slipping
away from us.

I
grab the captain of the Yale team, standing him up and wiping him off and look
back at Nick. “We have to stop this.” Nick looks at the captain. “He’s an
asshole. Why are you helping him?”

The
captain, Danny Anderson, shakes his head like he’s saying no, but he’s in fact
trying to get steady. He looks up and nods at the stands. “You’re a fucking
asshole, and you can lick my balls like your girlfriend already has.”

I
wrap an arm around him and smile. “I feel like maybe you’re reading my mind. I
was just about to say that very thing to you. But I think you missed one thing
while you were rooting around in my head.” I turn and smile as wide as I can.
“I fucked your mom last spring, she was at that vacation house your dad hates
in Martha’s Vineyard. We went there for a concert, me and a bunch of guys. And
I fucked her, nasty too.”

His
face turns beet red, but I see something he doesn't.

He
turns and punches me hard, but he only gets one hit in before the police grab
him and he’s pinned to the ground.

He
looks up at me, wild eyed. “I WILL KILL YOU!”

I
wave and look up into the stands where the girl in the white jacket is shaking
her head at me.

I
put my hands up, but I get dragged back into the fight.

In
the locker room, coach has a fat lip but he raises a beer to his lips, resting
it against the swelling. He gives us a look. “I don't know what started it, but
we finished it, lads. Now drink up and get the hell out of here. I have dinner
downtown, and I plan on it being a big meal.”

I
suck back my beer and give Jackson a grin. “A game to end your years here with
pride?”

He
nods. “I think it’ll be a highlight for the rest of my schooling here.” He
leans in with Nick, hesitating but then just says what’s on his mind. “Did you
really sleep with Danny’s mom?”

I
shake my head.

His
face loses some of the zest.

I
beam when I mutter, “But Andy did.”

Jackson
winces. “Oh shit. That's so much worse. He’s such an ass bandit.”

I
nod past the feelings of nausea I have thinking about him with Lana. “Yeah.” I
can’t talk about this. Standing and stretching my aching body, I hold my beer
up. “Night boys!”

Everyone
in the locker room cheers and drinks as I head for the door.

“Party
tonight, Holland. Don’t forget!”

I
wave back at them as I enter the corridor.

She’s
standing in the hall, almost exactly where I met her the first time. Only
instead of a spacey, stoned look, she is grinning from ear to ear. As I get
closer, her nose wrinkles. “You got beat up!”

I
nod. “Yeah. But I won so it was worth it.” I wink and wrap an arm around her
waist, pulling her into me and smelling her hair.

“What
started the fight?”

I
don't want to tell her so I shrug and tell her what ended it. “I told the
captain of Yale that I screwed his mom in Martha’s Vineyard last summer.”

She
pauses. “Did you?”

I
wrinkle my nose, recalling what she looked like. “No. Andy got drunk, realized
who she was and did her, a couple times. It was a little badass, even for Andy
who never seems to surprise me much.”

“Let’s
not do the whole ‘Andy’ talk again.” She steps up on her tiptoes and brushes
her lips against my cheek. “We have a show to win. Are you ready for LA?”

I
nod and press my face into the kiss. “I am, but I was sort of hoping you were
going to tie me up and tell me what a bad boy I’ve been.”

Her
face lowers with a throaty chuckle.

I
have to ask. “Did you ever sleep with Danny Anderson?”

Her
eyes narrow, not angry but thinking. She shakes her head but then her eyes
widen. “Oh, snap. The guy from Yale?”

My
heart sinks a little.

She
laughs. “No. He tried but when he undid his pants in the bathroom at the club
in Miami, I left.” She holds her pinky finger in the air. “I have standards and
he didn’t meet them.”

I
kiss the side of her head, hating that she even came close, but neither of us
has a pair of wings and at least she had sex for fun and not because she needed
tuition. If anything, we match perfectly.

I
look down, grimacing. “Wanna just have the talk and get it out in the open?”

She
scowls. “What talk?”

I
swallow, worrying more about her numbers than mine. “THE talk. The ‘how many and
who’ talk?”

She
pulls back. “You want to know?” She looks like I asked how much she weighs,
only I think she’d tell me that number without even blinking.

“No.
I don’t want to know, but I think because a thousand people say they have had
sex with you, I need to know.”

She
takes my hand in hers and pulls me to a park, the one I found her crying in.
She sits on the picnic table and looks out at the pond. I have a horrid feeling
she’s been counting in her silence.

“Twenty-three—four
people. Half are celebrities so I can’t say. Nine live in Europe so it wouldn’t
matter to you.” She turns and smiles, but I can see the pain in her eyes. “I
had a crazy summer last year. We took home a different guy every weekend.”

“You
and Nance Hensley?”

Her
cheeks burn. “Twenty-five.”

I
laugh. “Lesbian college stories? When we’re laying in bed later, if you need to
rehash any of those stories, I’m willing to take one for the team and be your
therapist.”

She
shoves me. “NO! God. I can’t do girls. I tried once, it lasted thirty seconds
and ended with a Korean chick telling me I was a dead lay, in Korean.” She
swallows. “The worst two were a guy in Vancouver, outside of a rave—I
needed a ride and so did he. It’s as close to prostitution as I have come. And
of course the very worst, Nance’s dad, freshman year. Beyond that they were all
my age and crazy, drugged-out nights.” She turns and faces me. “Apart from Chad
and Andy. I’ve maintained Andy as my booty call for all four years here.”

“So
none of the guys at this school except me, Chad, and Andy?”

She
nods. “I don’t like to shit where I eat. You know?”

I
shake my head. “No. I don’t even want to know what that means to you in this
context. And you picked up Weaver and Nick that night—you were going to
do them? Or me?”

“I
dumped Chad and needed a new booty call. And Weaver looked all angry. I like
distant guys.” She sighs, “So if you want to not do this, because my numbers
are so high, and people constantly lie about having sex with me and whatever,
it’s cool. I understand.”

“Fifty-eight.”

Her
head snaps around. “WHAT?”

It
doesn’t even shame me a little. “I only got paid for it by one lady, Andy’s
mom.”

“You
are a serious slut, my friend.”