The Jock by J.L. Beck Page 0,70

comes. It rips through me like a tornado, making me forget all about the pleasure we both just shared.

My still partially hard cock slips out of her, and I pull away and help her to her feet. I watch her face, looking for a wince, or even a little discomfort, but find nothing.

It doesn’t ease the guilt though. I fucked my rage right into her and let myself go. Even if she agreed, I shouldn’t have done it. I should’ve walked away, let myself cool off.

“That was intense,” she whispers with a shy smile on her lips.

Keeping my eyes downcast, I whisper, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have taken you so roughly.”

Feeling the need to do something, I pick up her yoga pants and panties and hand them to her. Even looking at them makes me sick to my stomach. I can’t believe I let my anger for my father flood over into my feelings for Blair. That I took her so savagely. If it was anyone else, I probably wouldn’t have cared, but she is different. She is everything and more, and I don’t want my shit father to taint what we have.

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see her pulling her clothing back on. I can sense her eyes on me, feel them on me like little pieces of glass etching into my skin.

Blair is like the wind to me. Even when she isn’t nearby, I can still feel her presence. I’ve never experienced that with anyone, and it makes me want to keep her forever, to lock her away inside my heart and destroy the key.

I doubt she’ll want that after what she just saw.

After how I treated her.

I don’t deserve her, but I don’t think I can ever let her go.

21

Blair

He looks down at the ground like he’d kicked my dog and didn’t just give an orgasm that made my eyes roll to the back of my head. I know he’s fragile right now, and like a pane of glass, he could shatter at any minute.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Cage. Yeah, it was rougher than usual, but it still felt amazing.”

“Still, I shouldn’t have taken my anger out on you. That’s not me.” He runs one of his mammoth hands through his dark mop of hair. “You did nothing wrong, and I—”

“Stop! You didn’t hurt me, so stop acting like you did. I can’t stand to see you beat yourself up over nothing. Now, let’s go get your nose cleaned up, and you can tell me what that was all about.”

Those perfect emerald eyes widen, and his lips part, but I don’t wait to hear his response. Grabbing his hand, I tug him toward the bathroom. I instruct him to sit on the toilet, which he grumbles about, but still does.

“Do you have a first aid kit?” I ask, opening one of the drawers.

“Under the sink.”

Pulling the cabinet doors open, I find a white box stashed in the back, and I grab it and set it on the vanity.

I’ve barely cracked the box open when Cage’s sober voice reaches me. “I didn’t want you to have to see that.”

Pausing, I glance over at him. He’s looking at the floor still, his angelic features harsh and angry and so incredibly sad.

“We don’t get to pick our family, and it’s not like you planned on him coming. You looked pretty surprised.”

“I hate football.”

I freeze for a moment, then sigh and continue getting out the stuff I need. “I know.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t admit it before. You were right. You were the only person who ever saw it. I hate football, and I only play because of my dad.”

My heart breaks for him, and all I want to do is wrap my arms around him and tell him it’s going to be okay, but I also want him to continue talking. I want him to share with me his secrets, the way I shared mine with him.

“Why don’t you quit so you can concentrate on school?”

I peel open the small pack of alcohol wipes and start cleaning the tiny cut on the bridge of his nose. He doesn’t even wince as I clean it, and then wipe the rest of the blood off his face. It must hurt. It’s already swollen and turning blue.

“I’m on a football scholarship. My father pays for the rest. He’s an asshole, but a rich one. If I quit ball, I have nothing. No money, no education, nothing. As