“Please, Levi. Please,” I beg him. I wiggle, trying to get friction against my clit where Zeke has pressed his thumb, but he isn’t moving it like I need him to.

“Tick tock, brother of mine. I don’t care if Erika is her friend. No one sees our girl like this and we’re running out of time.”

“Make her come,” Levi demands, not even a half second later.

“I knew you’d say that.” Zeke smiles as he moves his thumb and gives me what I need. “She begs so pretty. How could we not?”

“Fuck his fingers, sweet girl,” Levi says. “Pretend it’s my cock.”

I want to tell him that’s impossible. His cock is so much bigger than the two fingers, but I can’t find the words as my orgasm pushes down on me. I jerk against Zeke’s hand, coming for both of them. I try not to scream too loud in case others might hear.

I lie there with my eyes closed, enjoying the tingling running though my body when I feel warmth hit my pussy. My eyes fly open. I watch as Zeke jerks himself off. His hand is glistening with my orgasm as he comes all over me. He smiles down as his come coats me before releasing himself and rubbing it into my skin.

“You keep that on you until I wash you tonight,” Levi tells me through the phone.

“Only if I can wash you, too.” I want his game to be over already.

“Oh, you’re going to do a lot more than wash me, Livvie girl, after that show,” Levi informs me. “Don’t let her show up to the stadium in a dress, bro,” he tells Zeke, before telling me he loves me and ending the call.

“I don’t think you know what you’re in for, Livvie,” Zeke warns me. “After he’s done murdering people on the field, he’s going to be coming for you.”

I smile, knowing Zeke’s right. Levi’s coming for me and in me.

Chapter Two

Zeke

Levi always loved seeing Olivia in the stands for his games, but if he looks over here now, we may have a problem. I glare down at my girlfriend, who is blissfully unaware of how many fights she’s about to cause as she pumps her fist in the air at Levi’s most recent tackle. The motion makes her tits bounce and half the population of the student section appears to be staring at her chest and not on the field.

“How does he always know where the ball is?” she cries.

“I don’t know.” I cross my arms and wish she would do the same. “How do you find stores that sell shirts like that?”

The top she’s wearing is a T-shirt, like mine, but it’s all cut up. The collar’s gone, which makes the neckline stretch wide and low. The sides are sliced open and then retied into intricate knots that show little bits of flesh whenever she moves her arms. The only decent thing about the shirt is the back. Her entire back is covered and I can see the faint line of her bra strap. That tiny bit of elastic and metal is the only thing that’s holding me together. If she wasn’t wearing a bra, I might lay her out on the stadium bleachers and tear the damn shirt off with my teeth. Her pants aren’t much better. They’re tight, for one. Second, the sides are some kind of sheer mesh. She saucily told me her panties matched, too.

I had to take a break after that news was shared. I went to the bathroom and jerked off. It was the fastest and most unfulfilling masturbation experience in my life. Also, pretty humiliating since my girl was standing on the other side of the door. I just don’t have any damned self-control anymore. It’s like I was allotted only so much and I used it all up in those three years I waited for Olivia to turn eighteen.

Plus, I’ve had a taste of her—literally. Sometimes, when I’m working, I’ll rub my tongue against the roof of my mouth and it seems like the flavor is still there—spicy and sweet. Anyway, now that I’ve had her, I can’t keep my hands off of her and it shows.

Olivia is walking weird. Levi noticed it out the other day. We’re working her too hard.

“She’s new to this,” he said.

“So are we,” I argued.

“We just need to be more careful.”

And careful meant no more jamming our dicks inside her wet, hot heaven every five seconds. We needed to give our baby time to heal up. But she makes it so damn hard.

“Oh, he sees me!” She waves her hand wildly. The guys next to us start clapping and I know they’re not cheering the team. I swing around and pin them all with a death glare. The cheers stop and their gazes all fall away.

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