Second Shot K.O.K (The Brooklyn Bears: Season 1)

6. College

SIX

COLLEGE

Koa

W alking out of the locker room, I can’t help but smile at the message from Nalani.

Nalani: You’re amazing! I’m in the parking lot, chatting with the couple that sat with us.

I hit her back: I’ll meet you out there.

When I see her, she’s standing in the middle of a whole group of people, including my coach, the Lions’ coach, and a few of their players.

“There’s The Cock.” An older woman claps her hands. “Bravo!”

Coach Tallman pulls his hat down as he shakes his head.

I tip my head to the woman. “Thank you. We tried.”

“And a valiant effort at that.” She takes my hand. “This is Coach Kosta.”

I reach out and shake his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“Son, you don’t belong here,” he states.

“Jesus, Brad, right in front of me?” Coach Tallman snaps.

Kosta looks at him. “Damn right. When this kid goes pro, he’s gonna say Tallman was the man who took a chance on a kid who …” He pauses and looks at Nalani. “What was that again?”

She blushes, giving me an apologetic look. “I just said you were surfing on ice.”

Kosta clamps his hand on my shoulder. “You’re a beast and a natural. With a couple years, I can skate you off college ice and right into the NHL.”

“You’re losing your team at the end of this season,” Tallman sneers.

“I’m losing four seniors and my first line, all of them being courted by the NHL. I’m not losing my team. I have a center who can carry it just like this one does yours.” He pauses and looks at Tallman. “I’m giving you the opportunity to do the right thing. Tell him why he should play with us.”

“It’s not done yet. We have this season,” Tallman snaps.

Not one for confrontation outside of a healthy competitive sport, I walk over and pull Nalani under my arm, kissing the top of her head.

She looks up. “You should listen to them.”

“We have plans.”

She places her hand over my heart. “We’ll still have the same plans. Give them a minute.”

I look at Coach Tallman, who shrugs.

“There’s a possibility that we won’t have a team next year. They’re cutting costs. Since Hayward is more of an academic school, sports will be the first to go.”

“I’m here on an academic scholarship.” I look down at Nalani. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Son,” Costello begins, “you’d be given a full ride—housing and the possibility of endorsements?—”

“With a name like The Cock, you’ll make millions,” the older woman states.

I have no fucking clue how to reply to her. None. She’s older than my grandmother. She’s …

“You’ll have cock everywhere. Cock jerseys, cock tennis shoes, cock boxer shorts and tank tops. Cock stadium seat cushions will be under the derrieres of millions. People will be eating cock cookies and drinking cock energy drinks out of official cock cups, through cock-shaped straws.”

Nalani shakes in silent laughter, her face buried against my side.

“No disrespect, but the only person I want drinking my?—”

“Don’t you dare.” Nalani elbows me, and I can’t help but chuckle.

The goalie steps forward, holding out his phone. On the screen is a familiar sight. “Your parents own a business? A snack bar and surf and bait shop?”

I nod.

He lifts a shoulder. “Cock Bait will be everywhere.”

The older woman takes his face in her hands. “You’re a genius, Dean Costello.”

Holy shit , I think. “Not sure that’s something?—”

“Cock Bait,” she interrupts me, sweeping a hand across the air. “A little pop-up style snack stand, selling phallic-shaped snacks. It will bring more ladies to the arena and the gays from the theatre to the ice.”

“Grandma.” The goalie holds back a laugh while shaking his head. It’s obvious he adores his grandmother and a little fucked up that he doesn’t find it … well, fucked up to hear her slinging the word cock around.

“Oh please, Dean, hockey needs the gays. Imagine how fabulous it would be.”

“I’m not sure ‘the gays’ is the term?—”

She waves him off. “I have my pronouns in my Instagram biography, Dean—I know a thing or two.”

“How the hell did I lose this conversation?” Kosta mumbles. Nalani giggles, and he hones in on her. “You wanna help me out here?”

“I think it’s a great opportunity, but it’s his decision.”

“Mrs. Costello says you’re KET. We have a chapter at Lincoln.” He’s now dangling cock bait in front of her.

“That’s a lot to think about,” I say over the crowd. “But my lady and I have plans tonight.”

Coach Kosta hands me his card. “We’d love to have you next season.”

I take his card to be polite.

“Let’s get the hell out of here.”

As we step away, three players—Leo Stone, Evan Smith, and Bass Giulietti—walk over.

Leo shakes his head. “Seriously, man, Kosta is the best and has great connections. We’re all heading pro. Theo Rivera and you would be unstoppable.”

“Something to think about.” I shake all their hands as Nalani says goodbye to her new friend, Mrs. Costello. Then, finally, we’re heading to the parking lot.

As I unlock the door to the old Jeep I bought when I arrived, with money I saved over the last three summers, I can’t help but think about what endorsements would mean to my family, to me, to my community, and to the ability to take care of Nalani the way I want to.

I open the door, and she gets in. Before I close it, however, she turns toward me. “Talk to me.”

“That woman was a trip.”

“You have no idea.” Her eyes widen, and so does her smile. Then she reaches out and takes my hand. “We can unpack that bag later, but I just want to say, Koa, this could be life-changing.”

I motion between us. “This is life-changing. I’m not willing to walk away from you.”

“We have plenty of time to figure out what’s best for you . Right now, you should kiss me?—”

“Not here. I won’t be able to stop.” I step back and start to close the door, putting the distance needed between us due to where we are.

Smiling, she turns in her seat. “Then let’s go.”

“Who’s home?” she asks as I walk briskly toward the house, trying to be mindful that she’s a foot shorter than I am and that there is no rush.

“No one. We have the place to ourselves for three hours.”

She tugs on my hand, and I stop and look back. “Then, why the race?” She points down at her feet. “These boots have killer heels.”

I grab her hips. “I like you in flip flops.” I then lift her up. “Wrap those legs around—” I pause when she does and moan, “Yeah, just like that.”

She grabs my hair and pulls me toward her.

I’m not sure whose lips touch whose first, but there’s no slow build-up to this. A fucking bomb goes off, one that changes me forever.

Her mouth is hot and sweet— so fucking sweet —and again, I’m faced with the fact my imagination is shit. But damn, do I look forward to being continually proven wrong by her.

I’m unsure how we make it in the house, let alone up the stairs and into my room, but we do. I even manage to get her boots off of her while we’re tasting and devouring one another.

I set her on the bed, pull her shirt over her head, and toss it to the ground. “I can’t wait to taste your tits.”

She pushes down my track pants and gasps.

“Yeah, the tour.” I chuckle. “Forgot to mention it.”

She grips my cock in her cold, tiny little hand, yet it still feels insane.

“Fuuuck.”

“It’s pierced.”

I can’t see her face—her hair is curtaining it—but I don’t miss her tongue swirling around the tip of my dick or her sucking on the barbell.

“Fuck yes,” I groan. “But hold up.” I lift her up from under her arms and stand her on the bed. She glares down at me. Then I unbutton her jeans and laugh. “I’ve been dreaming about devouring your pussy for years. I get to go first.” After I remove her jeans and hot pink thong, I try to grab her.

Stepping back, she says, “Get naked.”

I do so, and I do it with a swiftness.

“Now, lay on the bed.”

I arch a brow, not sure I like the power play she’s pulling, but not sure I don’t either. So, I seek clarification. “This how it’s going to be?”

She rolls her stunning brown eyes as she stares down at me. They’re a smoldering fire. They’re dark shimmer waves that flicker like she has a secret she wants to tell me in ways other than words. They hold an unspoken intensity that makes me not care who holds the power. I ache for the connection no matter where our bodies meet.

The intensity does not break as she moves to stand over me, pretty pink pussy staring down at me.

I groan and look back into her eyes. “Fuck yes.”

She turns and faces the end of the bed, lowering herself.

I breathe out, “Goddess.”

Our mouths are on each other, feasting, pleasuring, taking and giving, and when she comes, I bury my face against her, lapping up her wetness and bathing in her essence.

I try to stop her when my balls draw up.

She sucks down my length, grips the steel ball at the end, and gives it a tug, then asks, “Clean?”

“Fuck yes,” I groan.

She doesn’t relent; she swallows everything I give her and doesn’t stop until I’m bone dry. Then she moves off of me, pushing her hair over her shoulder and swiping the back of her hand over her lips. My heart briefly stops.

“I could lie here and look at you forever.” I curl up to a seated position. “I’d give my left nut to do just that.” Gripping the back of her head, I pull her into another kiss, expecting it to be less heated than the first, and quickly realize it’s just getting hotter.

I wrap an arm around her and position her on her back, loving the hungry way she looks up at me as she reaches between us and grabs my cock, which has not softened one damn bit, and drags it through her scorching hot, wet folds.

I hold the sides of her face, looking into those eyes. “I’m not ever leaving you.”

The pause should cause concern that I may be coming on too hard, but there is no other way to do it. Wading in fucked me last time.

Her words obliterate every bit of worry. “I know.”

Seven words between us mean more than the three words some people wait their entire lives to hear.

“I need to get a condom.”

She grabs my hips, her nails sinking into my flesh just enough to bite a bit, and that drives me almost as crazy as the words, “I’m on the pill.”

“Never gone raw.” I push in slowly. She’s so tight, so hot, so wet. “I wanna die buried inside your pussy.”

Her moan, the way she bites into her plump lower lip, and the slight roll of her eye surge me forward.

“You feel exquisite.”

“You’re”—she whimpers—“huge.”

“Am I hur?—”

“Doesn’t matter.” She grinds against me. “I was meant for you.”

“Fucking hell,” I groan as I bury my face in her neck and thrust in fully.

“Not ever going to be able to hold back with you,” I groan out, seated deep inside her, before pulling back out and slamming in again, needing to be in deeper.

“Better not.”

We find our rhythm, meeting each other thrust for thrust, slowing when we need to, hitting harder when we’re both at the point of no return until we both come again. This time, we do it looking into one another’s eyes.

As we lie sated, still touching each other’s bodies, she whispers, “I think you should consider Kosta’s offer.”

“You’d be willing to take that shot with me? Because I was serious when I told you I was never leaving you.”

“Wouldn’t have suggested it otherwise,” she says, lips to my chest. “Next season?”

“Next season.”