Page 50 of Dirty Filthy Boy
"He askedyouto the function, not your friend."
"Actually, he asked us both. After Marigold found out that Tony Landon would be there, she practically begged. They're coming by this afternoon so Mar can pick up her things. Hope you don't mind."
"Nope. I don't mind." Sitting back, he wraps an arm around me and tucks me against his side. "I figured I'd give you your first football lesson this while we watched a game."
"Okay. Do you have a notebook I could write on? I found your shopping list pad this morning, but it's too small."
"Yeah, I do." He rises and disappears into the hallway. A few minutes later, he returns with a notebook and hands it to me before sitting back down. "Now, tell me what you know."
He spends the first quarter explaining positions, starting with his, of course. But soon he's moving on to the other players.
"Now the tight end there." He points to a player on the TV who's lined up at the end of the line.
"That's kind of personal, isn't it? I mean his heiney is pretty toned, but to call him that seems rude."
He stares at me like I've grown an additional head. "That's the position he plays."
"Oh." Blushing, I duck my head and write that down.
"Now the fullback and the halfback? They run the ball."
"So if they're fullback and halfback, are they more important than the quarterback?"
"Hell, no. No position is more important than the quarterback. I call the plays, throw the ball, manage the players on the field. Shoot, they'd be dead in the water without me." His Texas accent emerges, something that seems to happen when his emotions enter the picture.
"Uh." I cringe when one of the ball carriers gets tackled. "But they're the ones getting hit."
"Believe me, I get hit plenty. Got a concussion once."
"That explains it, then."
"Explains what?"
"Never mind." I bite down on my lip to keep a smile from breaking out.
But, darn it, he notices. "You messing with me?"
All innocence, I widen my eyes. "No, Ty. I'm not."
He looks at me askance, but doesn't push me for an answer.
During half time he takes me outside to demonstrate the 'finer points of the game.' Before I join him, I throw on my coat. No way am I going out there in only jeans and sweatshirt. He lobs a couple of balls, makes a few moves. I'm supposed to tackle him. Fat chance.
When we come back inside, the third quarter has started so we make our way to the couch. But he pays no attention to what's happening on the television. Instead, he cups my face between those big hands of his. And softly, so softly, brushes his lips against mine. I shiver from the contact. Who would've thought he'd be so gentle?
From the corner of my eye, I spot a double reverse. "Oh, look at that."
"I'd rather look at you."
"But—"
"Hush, I'm kissing you." Boy, for someone who doesn't usually smooch, he's aces at it. His kisses are everything I ever dreamed about—soft, tender. I throw my arms around his neck and kiss him back. He nibbles my lower lip. He doesn't invade or force himself on me, but licks the seam of my mouth as if he's asking for permission. Eager for his taste, I grant it to him. Gently, he pushes me down on the couch where he proceeds to taste every corner of my mouth. He's so big, so strong. I curl my hands around him and enjoy the feel of Ty against me.
He rips off my top, the jeans I threw on. All that's left are my bras and panties. Leaning in, he smells me like a feral creature out in the wild scenting his mate. "You wet, MacKenna? I bet you are. I bet you're soaked down below. Shall I find out?"
"D-don't." But it's too late. His hand skims up my thigh to my panties. He tugs them off, and suddenly he's there. At the place where I can't lie. His finger slides into my slick pussy.
"Ooohhhhh."
