Indiscretion: A Standalone Forbidden Romance Read online

  “My shin started burning like fu-, it hurts really bad,” the kid tells me when I step off the bleachers.

  “Have a seat and stretch it out for me to take a look,” I tell him, gesturing to the lower bench. “When did the pain start?”

  “Um, today. Ow!” he yelps when I prod the front of his right leg.

  “Did you do anything different? Try a new event?”

  “Yeah, how did you know?” the kid asks. “There was an open spot in the 10K, so I stepped up.”

  “Well, you probably overexerted yourself. Let me find you some ice. Rest it and take some ibuprofen tonight. Then come see me tomorrow, and we’ll try some range-of-motion exercises and see about some orthotics to help with your foot arch.”

  “Ah, okay,” he agrees before I grab an instant cold pack from my bag on the bench and return to him. “Just keep this on it for half an hour; then you probably need to head home.”

  “Thanks, doc,” the kids says.

  To keep an eye on him, I take a seat on the bleacher behind his outstretched leg and search for Sam. She’s finally on this side of the track, stretching her quads and getting ready to run one of her events. While the thin tank and shorts are the most reasonable attire for range of movement, they seem way too…inappropriate on her, probably because she’s several inches taller than all the other girls. Therefore, her shorts are minuscule compared to most other runners.

  When the girls all line up in the starting position and take off at the sound of the gun, I barely refrain from shouting out Sam’s name in encouragement as she races around the first bend. She easily takes the lead early on and then leaves the competition in the dust when she crosses the finish line. It doesn’t look like her ankle is causing her any problems, which is great, but also means there’s no excuse for me to be alone with her anytime soon.

  But that’s a good thing, right?

  While I watch, the second and third place winners from the visiting team receive high fives and hugs from a group of teammates, but Sam remains all alone other than a few claps and cheers from the stands. Possibly even from her parents, if they’re here.

  I watch several other events and realize that it’s just Sam that no one approaches after a win. Everyone ignores her like she doesn’t matter and didn’t just kick ass for her team.

  “What’s wrong with that girl? Why doesn’t anyone talk to her?” I ask the injured boy in front of me, even though I know full well I should keep my mouth shut.

  “Who? Samantha?” the boy asks me, and I nod. “Nothing! She’s fu-freaking perfect!”

  “So why the cold shoulder from her teammates?” I ask him in confusion.

  “Because for years there’s been a rumor going around that if anyone talks to her, Hunter, that big ass dude over there, threatens their life.”

  “What the hell? He threatens them?” I ask, trying to reel in my anger.

  “Yeah, with this big hunting knife he carries,” the boy nods. “Word got around, and now everyone’s too scared to speak to her.”

  “Even the girls?” I ask curiously.

  “Oh, well, they’re all just jealous. I mean, look at her. They can’t compete with Sam, so they hate her because Hunter’s crazy in love with her and they all want him or whatever. His pathetic puppy love bullshit always gets him laid while everyone thinks Samantha’s a bitch for blowing him off,” he says with a shake of his head. “But I mean, just don’t tell him I said any of that.”

  “Huh,” I mutter, trying to sound disinterested when the opposite is true.

  So, Sam’s platonic BFF is some sort of jealous dickhead who has been keeping guys away from her. It’s almost evilly genius to make sure she has no options but him. In fact, I think I sort of respect the guy for standing up for her, protecting her, even if I hate him a little. Hunter is the type of guy that’s much better for Sam. He obviously cares about her, is the same age, and… No. I just can’t consider the possibility of Sam with anyone else but me. It’s bound to happen, though, especially once she goes off to college. But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Grant

  Several weeks later…

  I shouldn’t have come.

  Coming here to Charlotte for the state championships to watch her was stupid.

  Fucking moronic.

  Seeing her down on that track should’ve been an enormous reminder that Sam’s still in high school. Instead, I saw her as the amazing, beautiful woman I know she is, and I wanted her.

  I wanted to kiss her and congratulate her on being the third fastest woman in the entire state, and I couldn’t. In fact, I was so worried that someone, anyone from our own school or one of the other teams would see us standing next to each other and know what we did together. What we were.

  And I fucking hate this.

  Now that it’s over and Edson High doesn’t have but one last competitor, I should probably pack my things and leave to head home. There are plenty of much more qualified medical professionals here to treat injuries. Yes, I need to leave. That’s the smartest idea I’ve had in a long time.

  Just as I’m throwing the last of my toiletries into my overnight bag, though, there’s a knock on my hotel door.

  Shit.

  I look through the peephole and curse again as I undo the lock and pull the door open for her.

  “Seriously, Sam! What the fuck?” I whisper under my breath as I stick my head out to check for witnesses. “What are you doing here?” I ask her.

  “I, um, I…” she stutters.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” I tell her before I step back and start to shut the door.

  “It’s my ankle, you asshole!” Sam hisses, making me freeze.

  Fuck. Of course, she’s hurt. Why else would she come to see the team’s trainer? Sam’s right; I’m such an ass.

  “Sorry,” I tell her on a sigh. “Come on in and let me have a look.”

  Holding on to the door frame, Sam hops in on her right foot, holding up her left, the same one she injured weeks ago. The one that brought her into my office the very first day.

  Avoiding the bed, thankfully, she takes a seat in one of the hotel chairs and props her ankle up in the opposite one.

  Shit, the damn thing is swollen up like a watermelon.

  “I think I sprained it again,” she tells me as I prod the inflamed skin with my fingers.

  “When?” I ask curiously, and she remains silent. Glancing up at her face, I ask her again, “When did you hurt it, Sam?”

  “During warmups, right before the finals.”

  “You shouldn’t have competed!” I tell her with a shake of my head.

  “I had to. I’m still trying to get a scholarship. And…I would’ve gotten first place if I hadn’t hurt it,” she answers with a small smile.

  “Yeah, you would have,” I tell her since she wasn’t but two steps behind the first and second place winners. “It was still stupid to run on it.”

  “The coaches for Carolina and State were here,” she says while I grab an instant cold pack and shake it. “The one from State came up to me afterward and said he might have room in the budget to offer me a scholarship and will let me know next week.”

  “Really?” I ask with a grin. “That’s great, Sam. I hope it works out. I know how important that is for you.”

  “Thanks,” she replies. “And now I have the whole summer to get my ankle back to normal.”

  “You probably have twelve weeks until school starts. That should be plenty of time,” I assure her.

  Even though I’m, of course, happy for her, a part of me is dreading having her leave town and go off to college where I’ll be quickly forgotten. She’ll meet guys her own age and date them, sleep with them, and make all the other mistakes college kids make.

  “So, um, how have you been?” Sam asks, interrupting our silence.

  “Good. Busy,” I answer, rather than admit the truth that I’ve been awful. “How about you?”

  “Crammin
g for exams and stressing about coming here.”

  “At least this part is over. You did great, by the way. Congratulations,” I tell her.

  “You watched?” she asks.

  “Well, yeah. I’m here for all of the school’s competitors.”

  “Oh,” she mutters, and her cheeks turn pink like she’s embarrassed for thinking I came just to watch her. I did, however; not that I’ll ever admit that to her, though.

  “These shorts are almost indecent on you,” I tell her, referring to her school issued uniform.

  “Yeah, I probably should’ve worn tights underneath, but it’s too hot,” she says, trying to tug the short shorts down as far as she can. They still barely cover her between her legs. I really shouldn’t be thinking about her between her legs. Now my cock is lengthening with interest in my pants, wanting an unobstructed view.

  Clearing my throat and trying to distract myself from those wayward thoughts, I ask, “Are your parents still here?”

  “No. My dad has to work in the morning, so they left right after the ceremony.”

  “Why didn’t you go back with them?” I ask.

  “I wanted to stay and watch Hunter compete tonight.”

  “Oh,” I reply, now knowing the embarrassment Sam felt, because I wrongly assumed she wanted to stay and see me.

  “And I needed you to look at my ankle.”

  “Right, of course,” I say. “You need to keep ice on it for thirty minutes, and then we’ll see about wrapping it, if the swelling goes down.”

  “Should I go back to my room?” she asks, her big, fern green eyes patiently waiting for my response.

  “You can stay here if you want,” I tell her as I stand up to move to the bar. If she stays, which I’m assuming she will, then I’m going to need lots of alcohol to try and douse my arousal. “No reason to walk on it more than necessary until the swelling goes down,” I say as I grab a random airplane bottle, unscrew the lid and start chugging it.

  “Okay,” Sam agrees. “Mind if I stretch out on the bed? My lower back is twinging too.”

  “Sure,” I say.

  Lay down, get comfortable, hell, take all of your clothes off… I think to myself, because I am so fucked.

  …

  Sam

  I should leave.

  I don’t.

  My back has been spasming like crazy all day, and I think it’s from sleeping on the shitty hotel mattresses over the weekend.

  Lifting the ice pack, I hop the three steps to Grant’s bed and climb up on it, lying down on my stomach to stretch my back out while keeping my ankle off the bed.

  “Ugh,” I groan in relief. “It’s been a rough couple of days.”

  “I bet,” Grant says. “Want me to, um, you want me to work on your back?” he asks, sounding hesitant.

  “Sure,” I say because I’m a greedy slut and I want his hands on me.

  I watch him loosen his tie and lose his dress shoes before he climbs on the bed and straddles my hips.

  “Oh God,” I moan as soon as his magical hands start kneading the knots in my lower back.

  “Here?” Grant asks unnecessarily.

  “Uh-huh.”

  My eyes close as he lifts the bottom of my track tank to get to my skin. The last few weeks I had forgotten how good it felt to have his hands on me. The longer he works, the looser my limbs become, and I start melting into the sheets that smell like Grant’s cologne.

  “Better?” he eventually asks, and I consider saying no, so he’ll keep going.

  “Yes,” I decide to answer honestly.

  His hands don’t stop massaging.

  Instead, Grant pushes the material of my tank up and begins rubbing my upper back, which also feels amazing, and then my tense shoulders. I start to grow drowsy thanks to the exhaustion of the competition and the sweet relief he’s providing. Right up and until Grant’s big, strong hands slip between the front of my body and the bed to squeeze both of my breasts. At first, I try to tell myself that it’s purely a therapist thing, but then I feel the hard length of his cock in the crease of my ass and know it’s more than that.

  Grant’s fondling my breasts, and I like it. All the tension he just worked out of me returns as I hold my breath with anticipation of where he might touch me next. Will he jump off of me and yell at me to get the fuck out of his room? Please don’t let that happen.

  “Sam?” he whispers in my ear, his hands still cupping my breasts. “Are you awake?”

  “Uh-huh,” I mutter softly, afraid to do or say anything that would make him quit touching me.

  “Do you want me to stop?” he asks.

  “No,” I answer right away.

  “Then roll over, sweetheart,” he tells me.

  I only hesitate for a moment, worried that once we’re face to face, Grant will change his mind and remember the reason I shouldn’t be in his room. But the need for him is greater than the risk of rejection, so I push myself up and roll to my back.

  Grant’s lips crash down on mine, frantic and desperate like he’s been holding back for too long and can’t help himself.

  “I’ve missed you,” he says against my lips. “I didn’t want to, but I did.”

  “I-I’ve missed you too,” I tell him between kisses.

  Finally, he lowers his body down on top of mine, and I moan into his mouth at how wonderful it feels to be underneath him once again.

  “I want you so much,” he says, burying his face in my neck and leaving a trail of kisses there.

  “Make love to me,” I beg him, untucking his white shirt so that I can feel the skin along his muscular back.

  “Are you sure?” Grant asks, holding himself above me to look down at my face.

  “Yes,” I tell him with a nod, swallowing past the knot of worry in my throat.

  When he sits back on his knees, I think he’s putting on the brakes. Instead, he undoes his tie completely and pulls it off; then he starts, unbuttoning his shirt.

  Thank God!

  To help him along, I get to work undoing his pants while I wait. I run my palm over his shaft through the cotton of his white boxer briefs and give his cock a squeeze.

  “Take it out and get reacquainted,” Grant orders with hooded eyes as he works his way slowly down the buttons of his shirt.

  Grabbing the elastic waistband, I jerk the front of his boxer briefs down and let his cock bob free. Fisting his velvety flesh, I squeeze it hard, just like he showed me. The longer I touch him, the longer and thicker his shaft gets.

  “That’s it…fuck, yes,” he groans, thrusting his hips forward into my grip. “Let me look at you,” he says, raising my tank top and pushing it and my sports bra over my head. “So perfect,” he mutters before lowering his mouth to take my left nipple into it.

  I’ve missed his mouth on my body even more than his hands. When he starts kissing his way down my stomach, I can barely resist shoving his head down to where I’m desperate for him to taste me.

  “What do you want, Sam?” Grant asks, looking up at me while his tongue licks my salty skin.

  “Your mouth,” I tell him, lifting my hips to shove my shorts and panties down my legs.

  “Show me,” he orders, tonguing my belly button and making me want to cry out in frustration as the pressure builds in the pit of my stomach.

  Unable to wait any longer, I run my fingers through the sides of his jet-black hair and push down while raising my pelvis until the two finally meet.

  “Yes!” I shout, my back arching with pleasure, my legs falling shamelessly open in invitation, begging for more of Grant’s wet mouth.

  “Need you soaking wet and ready for me,” he says before flicking the tip of his tongue over my clit while easing a finger inside me. “Mmm. So tight. Can’t wait to finally get inside this sweet pussy.”

  It doesn’t take long for his mouth to cause the world to spin and my legs to shake.

  “Oh God! Oh God! Ohhh!” I shout when my body jackknifes and shatters apart, cradling Grant’
s head to my core as the waves of pleasure shudder through my entire body.

  My eyes are still closed when I hear the crinkling of a wrapper, and then the blunt head of Grant’s cock pressed against my opening.

  “You ready, sweetheart?” he asks, rubbing his shaft through my wetness.

  “Yes,” I say on a gasp.

  “Open your eyes, Sam,” Grant orders, so I blink them open to look up at his face hovering above mine. He pushes forward slowly and pulls back before repeating the motion, going a little further each time, easing into me gently. “You okay?” he asks, and I nod since I just want more. All of him. “Almost in. Damn, you feel so good.”

  Grant thrusts forward further, and I gasp at the sharp sting.

  “That’s it, baby,” Grant says, lowering his chest so that we’re as close as we can possibly get and brushing his lips over mine. “You’re mine now.”

  “That’s it?” I ask, letting out the breath I was holding.

  “Yeah,” he answers with a smile.

  “I like oral better,” I tell him, making him chuckle and causing me to gasp again when I feel him move inside me.

  “I’ll try my best to change your mind,” he says. Then he pulls his hips back and thrusts inside me again and again, a little harder each time until I’m squeezing his upper arms tight to hold on. “Relax, sweetheart,” Grant orders. “Work your hips on my cock like you do when my fingers are fucking you. Or my tongue.”

  The reminder of his tongue between my legs causes my inner walls to clench around his thick shaft.

  “Fuck yeah, Sam. Just like that,” Grant groans before his mouth crashes down on mine. Our tongues mimic the increasing rhythm of our lower bodies until we’re panting and clawing and pulling at each other to try and get closer with every pleasurable thrust.

  The familiar tension in my legs is the only warning I get before my body quakes with another orgasm, one so intense I’m scared it’ll rip me apart before my muscles all turn to jelly, and I’m left sweating and panting underneath Grant’s heavy body.