His Sexy Cheerleader

“We went someplace, bought some things and ate food. Qualifies in my book. What else is missing?”

“The opportunity to round first base?” I suggested and she barked a laugh.

“Like that was going to happen.”

“Can’t blame a guy for trying.”

“You know, you’re good,” she said, eyeing me with amusement. “If I wasn’t onto your style, I’d almost fall for your game.”

I frowned. “Who said I’m playing games?”

“Oh, you’re totally playing a game.”

I folded my arms across my chest, interested to hear her theory. “Please, enlighten me. I’m dying to hear what you think I’m doing.”

Layla chuckled, surprising me when she came toward me. “How about I show you?”

“Okay? I didn’t know you were into improv theater.”

“So, basically, first you make a girl feel, oh, so special,” she said, curling her arm up around my neck, molding her body to mine. I automatically closed my arms around her waist. She fit perfectly against me. “You say the right things, make her laugh, get her to drop her guard, make her think, ‘maybe he’s not a bad guy, after all’.”

“I’m not a bad guy,” I said, agreeing, though my hands slid down to cup her ass, squeezing and pressing her against my erection. I wanted her so badly. I was suddenly resentful of the layers of clothing between us. “Go on, I like your theory so far.”

“Oh, I’m sure you do,” she chuckled, rubbing her free hand down my chest to land at my hardened cock. I sucked in a tight breath as she rubbed at the length behind my jeans. “But that’s part of the game.”

“I told you, I don’t play games.”

“I beg to differ. You’re playing games right now.”

“If I’m playing games…what are you doing?” I asked, my breath harsh. “Jesus, girl, you’re killing me…”

Layla smiled, slow and sexy. “You came here, offered to play the hero, played the gentleman, and now, you’re plying the charm, because the thrill of the chase is what you’re all about. You’re in it to win it, never to keep. You lose interest once you’ve tasted the conquest. You’re the quintessential playboy.” She brushed a lingering kiss across my lips, leaving a tingling mark behind and a raging hunger for more but when I reached for her, she pulled away, stepping out of my grasp.

Her gaze narrowed as if with pity and disdain at the same time. “You only want what you don’t have. You use people. I’m not about to let you do that to me, Oz. You’re not going to get in my pants. Ever. Although, it’s too bad you’re such an asshole,” her gaze dropped to my now-painful erection “because you look like you’re packing an attraction worth riding.”

And just like that, any inroads I’d thought I was making with Layla, went up in smoke like a fucking vampire in the midday sun.

Chapter 5

Layla

That kiss was supposed to be just making a point but damn, if I hadn’t turned myself on in the process.

Yeah, like wow, Oz had a pretty big cock hiding behind those jean zippers. Okay, I might’ve already known that. Not that it would’ve mattered, I’m not a cock-chaser. In my experience, guys with big cocks were notoriously bad lovers because if they were swinging big dicks, they thought they didn’t have to do anything else.

I’d much rather take a guy with an average-sized dick but a superb skillset with his tongue and fingers than a guy slinging a baby’s arm who didn’t know how to use it.

But something told me Oz knew what he was doing.

If I were being honest, I’d caught a little gossip about Oz once from one of my cheer sisters.

I remembered it very clearly.

Junior year.

Jazelle Manriquez had “dated” Oz for about a month, if you could call it that, and all she could talk about was how he fucked like a God.

It was kinda nauseating.

“…he does this thing with his fingers and his mouth on your clit…OH MY GOD, I think I saw stars,” Jazelle had exclaimed, moaning as if reenacting the scene for everyone. If I hadn’t been mildly envious I would’ve vomited. I kinda hoped she got herpes. “And then I came not once but three times. I kinda couldn’t stop. I had to push his head away or else he just would’ve kept going!”

“Why’d you make him stop?” another girl asked, confused. “If it were me, I’d have kept him down there until I passed out.”

Jazelle giggled, saying, “Because I wanted to hop on that dick. Have you seen Oz’s dick? Jesus, girl, he’s built like a horse. We had to use extra lube just to get it in all the way in. Well, I mean, I am extra small, too, there’s that.”

I rolled my eyes but kept my comments to myself. If a woman’s vagina could accommodate a human baby, it could handle whatever Oz was packing. However, I was more curious about what he was doing to make Jazelle come multiple times. That was some skill. I’d give him that.

So, after that day, I had to confess, I may have masturbated a few times thinking about Oz.

May have.

Okay, twist my arm, I’ve come pretty hard thinking about Oz but there was no way in hell I’d ever make that fantasy come true because my dignity wasn’t worth the pleasure.

Oz was fucking hot, no sense in lying about it and I liked fantasizing about fucking him but he was a dickhead.

He used women and tossed them aside. I hated everything he stood for. I hated that he had a trust fund and never had to work a day in his life.

I hated that he seemed to have a natural talent for making women’s clothing drip off and an even deeper talent for making them come.

He was already blessed in the genetic department, richer than an oil baron, it didn’t seem right that he should know how to turn a woman inside out, too.

Life wasn’t fair.

Ugh. I sounded like a bitter whore.

A hypocritical, bitter whore.

I jacked myself off to thoughts of Oz fucking me raw but I wouldn’t actually let him fuck me because I had principles.

Human beings were complicated idiots.

Speaking of…I grabbed my vibrator. Time to get to business.

My favorite fantasy — a guilty pleasure — was so exquisitely embarrassing that it made me squirm whenever I thought about it but my toes cur

led when I was in the mood.

Me, in my uniform, Oz, sweaty from the field, lifts my skirt and finds no spankies. Just bare pussy, wet and ready. He drops me to the fifty-yard line and buries his face between my thighs, drinking in my juices, my fingers threading through his wet hair as he drives me closer and closer to that moment where I fall into a shuddering mess of moaning cries.

I always come quickly when I think of Oz going down on me.

Hell, I’d even let him stick his finger up my ass if he wanted. In my fantasy, anything was fair game.

I don’t know if it was Jazelle’s story that influenced my fantasy or what but it seemed to work pretty well. It also made me insanely curious to know if the real deal would work as well as my fantasy did.

Just as I started to get going, my cell buzzed.

Unknown number.

I frowned, ready to send it to voicemail but I answered it anyway.

“Hello?”

“All I gotta say is, well-played.”

It was Oz.

My breath caught. I was holding my vibrator in my hand. Oz was in my ear. My heart rate kicked up a notch. After the way I’d left him, why was he calling? And why was I smiling that he had?

Nooooo, this was terrible. I didn’t want him in my ear when I was touching myself. This was all bad. And yet, sooo good at the same time. Tiny bubbles of arousal began to tickle my belly, warming my insides and encouraging me to do and say things I’d never contemplate in the light of day.

But God, he was front and center in all my dirtiest of fantasies and had been for a long time. He was my deepest, darkest secret. Not even Chrissie knew how often I touched myself with Oz in my mind.

How pathetic was I?

And now he was in my ear. So deliciously wrong and I was practically squirming with the urge to masturbate.

“You shouldn’t have called.”

“I do lots of things I shouldn’t,” he said. “Never seems to stop me.”