The Games We Play - Chapter 13: Chapter 13

I never truly understood the saying "deafening silence" until I was in a damn study room with a sulking Wesley Reed.
It's completely quiet.
The only sounds are the faint hum of the overhead lights and the scratch of a highlighter against paper.
We're in one of the smaller study rooms—barely enough space for the table and chairs crammed inside—but it's private, exactly what Wes wants. I booked it specifically for him.
I should feel relieved. After all, it's easier to concentrate without the background noise of the library. Plus, he's actually listening to me for once, following exactly what I say like a perfect student.
It'd be great and all—except he's not one.
Wes sits across from me, his chair angled slightly as he leans over his textbook. His highlighter moves steadily, his focus entirely on the page in front of him. He pauses every now and then to type up his thoughts on a certain point on his laptop.
He's wearing a black boxy tee, loose denim jeans, and he's freshly showered—which means he smells like one big, delicious weakness.
It takes me a while to realize I'm biting the end of my pen while basically eye-fucking him across the table.
What is wrong with me?
I blink and shake myself out of my daze, clearing my throat and straightening my posture.
"So, your first assignment is coming up quick," I bring up casually—momentarily afraid I'm speaking too loudly, but it's just that the room is so fucking quiet.
Wes nods while keeping his eyes on his book. "I know."
"It's a thousand-word essay. Nothing major—but Grady loves to score harshly just to fuck with the students." I chuckle lightly, trying to ease the tension with a joke.
But I get absolutely nothing from Wes. Just another slight nod.
"Next session, we'll focus on creating a rough structure for the essay, yeah?" I try to keep my tone calm and collected, even though I'm slowly creeping toward a Britney-level meltdown.
He mumbles, "Can't be any different from the ones I've done before."
Then why the fuck are you here?!
I want to scream at him, but instead, I force a smile on my face and grip my highlighter tighter.
"It's a little different. Grady's really particular about certain things," I counter, surprising myself with how professional I sound. "Font size, style, referencing. He doesn't exactly state it either, which is just amazing."
"Got it," he hums, scribbling something down.
I sit back in my chair, tapping my pen against my notebook. This isn't right. I don't need him to flirt with me or get under my skin—but this... this eerie calm? It's so much fucking worse.
I tilt my head. "Any topics that you find interesting yet?"
"A few."
Oh, come on.
I dip my head forward in question. "...And those are?"
"Art. Lines. Perspective." Wes sighs as he finally looks up at me and runs a hand through his hair. "I'll have more of an idea when Grady tells us what we can write about."
The way his eyes clash with mine has my stomach performing Olympic-level flips.
I nod slowly. "...Well, alrighty then."
I notice Wes's jaw clench as he stares at me a little longer, like he's going to war with himself over whether he should say something or not, before he returns to his reading. I shake it off again, leaning my arms forward onto the table.
I sigh, running a hand over my scalp, picking up my hair and flipping it all over to one side. I lean on an elbow, lifting my fingers to the curve of my exposed neck and running the tips up and down the tense muscles there.
Wes's highlighter stops for a second, and I glance over my laptop at his book to see him holding the poor pen in a death grip—his knuckles a ghastly white.
The silence stretches between us, and it becomes so suffocating that I can't take a single second of it anymore.
"Is something wrong?" I ask candidly.
He pauses, looking up again. "What do you mean?"
"You're behaving yourself," I say, trying to keep it calm and light and easy-breezy Covergirl.
Wes shrugs. "I thought that's what you wanted."
I blink. "What?"
"You wanted this to be professional. You wanted boundaries. I'm just respecting them." He shoves my own words right down my throat, and it tastes awful. His tone is calm but sharp-edged, and it doesn't sit right on my skin. "Saving myself a few five-dollar bills too."
"Well, yeah," I reply, flustered. "But professional doesn't mean silent treatment."
His mouth quirks up in the faintest of smirks, and I want to scream.
"Sorry," he says, clearly not sorry at all. "Just trying to follow your rules, Teach."
I grit my teeth, pointing my pen at him. "Don't call me that."
Wes puts up a defensive hand and repeats, "Sorry."
The room feels smaller than I thought possible.
Fuck. I didn't want it to come to this.
"Okay," I sigh, crossing my arms and narrowing my eyes at him. "Is this about Hudson?"
"Who?" He tilts his head.
"You know who," I groan at his cocky little smirk. "You've been sulking all session."
He scoffs. "I don't sulk."
"Yes, you do," I return in a pointed, sharper tone. "So I'll ask again. Is this about Hudson?"
"Should it be?"
"Oh, fu—you're impossible," I say, closing my laptop lid and picking up my tote bag. "I'm cutting today's lesson short. I've got things I need to—"
"Is his dick big too?" Wes's question has me stumbling to a halt. "Is that why you like him?"
I gape at him, completely thrown. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
"Nothing," he says, his tone infuriatingly casual. "Just curious."
"Curious?" I scoff at his audacity. "Not that it fucking matters—but I don't know. If you're so damn curious, I'm happy to ask on your behalf."
Wes's grin breaks through, slow and wicked. "While I appreciate the gesture, the only person I'm interested in seeing naked is you."
"Yeah, well, you're gonna have to find some new interests because that's never happening again," I explain quickly while trying to shove my laptop into my tote. It doesn't go in all the way, and I pathetically fight against it, too overwhelmed and flustered by everything.
"Ain't that what you said last time?"
My eyes slice to him. "...Yes. But this time I mean it."
"Sure you do, baby."
"I do," I say, pulling the strap of my tote bag onto my shoulder and standing from my chair. "But I'm not going to sit here and argue with you over something as stupid as this. I'll see you on Thursday."
I should've planned for a dramatic storm-out before I chose my seat at the table.
Because now I have to walk past Wes to get to the door.
And of course, it gives him ample opportunity to reach out and grab a gentle hold of my wrist as I storm past him.
I stop dead in my tracks, my eyes on the door, Wes sitting down at my side.
His tone is soft. "Cam..."
"What?" I snap as my gaze slices to his, and I suddenly want to take back everything I've said in the past five minutes.
His blue eyes are so soft and big and sparkly.
"Why are you so damn against this?" he asks, his fingers already slowly caressing the inside of my wrist and causing me to lose my mind.
I yank my arm away. "Because I need to be—I'm not looking to date or get involved with anything like this."
"Who said this had to be anything?"
"Because..." The loops my mind has to go through to find an excuse are crazy. "Because things always turn into things!"
Wes blinks, visibly stunned. "Huh?"
I pause for a second—not even sure what the fuck I mean by that either.
"Nothing is ever that simple, Wes," I shake my head and sigh. "There's too much going on in my life right now, and adding all of you into it would be like adding gas to an already out-of-control dumpster fire."
He laughs. "It can't be that bad—"
"It is, Wes. It is. But you don't know because you don't know me." I point a finger at my chest.
Wes turns in his chair. "But I want to."
The words hit me harder than I expect, and for a moment, I can't think of a comeback.
Wes leans closer, his voice dropping. "We don't have to make this complicated, Cam. You don't want to date, I don't want to date. It's the perfect equation."
"Oh, lord—now you're talking about math," I sob in frustration as I run a hand through my hair. "It's too much, Wes. I can't. We can't."
"Why not, Cam?" Wes asks as he pushes to his feet. "Give me some truth, because all I'm hearing are just damn weak excuses."
I have to take a step back because he's just so damn large and towers over me. And why the hell is it making me wet?
"You want a reason?" I say as I fold my arms. "Fine—I'm horny. Like, all the time. If we do this, you'd be having sex with me constantly. Is that what you want?"
He blinks. "Fuck yes."
Shit. Did not think that one through.
"Cam," he laughs as he takes a step toward me, his big hand landing on the curve of my waist. "You're fighting this so hard, and yet you're the one who keeps on coming back to me. You feel it. Every time we're in the same room—even when we're not."
I keep my eyes focused on his chest, on the glorious titties beneath loose black cotton.
Wes continues softly, his hands on my hips and slowly moving upward. "This doesn't have to be anything. Just us."
I shake my head, trying to ignore the heat pooling in my stomach. "This isn't a good idea."
"I'm not asking for a good idea," he says, his voice low. "I'm just asking for honesty here, baby."
"Honesty?" I echo, my tone sharper than I intended, my eyes flickering up to his.
"Yeah," he says, leaning even closer. "Admit you want this as much as I do."
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.
He pulls me in tighter. "I can make you feel good, Cam. Real fucking good. No strings. No expectations. Just you and just me."
The weight of his words sends a shiver down my spine, and my resolve snaps like a damn wire.
My tote bag hits the ground, and I'm instantly wrapping my hands around the nape of his neck, bringing him down to meet my mouth.
He envelops me in his big arms, holding me so tight against him, and yet I need him closer.
His mouth is on me, his tongue is in me. I'm moaning at his touch, the feeling of his growing erection poking at my lower belly.
Shit. He pisses me off and turns me on so much.
I cannot take it.
I have to fuck him. I just have to.
I plant my hand on one of his shoulders and push back. I could almost laugh at the way he moves his head forward in search of my lips.
In search of more.
My breath is labored, and his eyes flick to mine. "How far away is your truck?"
He grins devilishly as he pulls me back in and devours my mouth.
☆☆☆☆
I don't even want to know what Wes's blue Ram looks like from the outside.
All I can think about is what's happening on the inside.
"Shit, baby," Wes groans out as he tilts his head back against the headrest.
I continue to grind against him, straddling him on the driver's seat. He's reclined back, pushed away from the steering wheel, giving me ample room to move. His jeans are at his ankles, mine are on the passenger seat along with my panties and our bags.
We really did not fuck around the second we climbed in here.
My tight, ribbed tank top is pulled high up over my tits, my bra yanked down, and my bare tits spilling out between. They bounce in his face wildly, Wes' eyes completely transfixed on them.
I place one hand on his shoulder, the other behind me on his thigh, and I ride him like a damn mechanical bull.
"Fuck—Wes—so good," I cry out, my eyes closing momentarily as I sink my teeth into my bottom lip.
"That's it," Wes breathes out as his cock nudges against a special spot inside me. "This is all for you, baby. All yours."
"Nghhh." My eyes flicker open again to see him staring up at me, head tilted slightly back, but his eyes focused entirely on me. His gaze pierces me, rips me open, and devours me until there's nothing left.
I move my hands to his lower stomach, bracing myself there and pushing up his black tee to reveal those glorious abs. They tense hard beneath my touch as his cock moves so deliciously deep inside me.
It rubs up against that special spot, and my breathing shudders, toes curling, and knees digging deep into the leather at his hips. My tits are pressed tightly between my biceps, and I tilt my head down to see over them—to see where we're joining.
His hands are on my hips and ass, squeezing the soft flesh and moving my hips faster. His dick pounds me from beneath, pounding my pussy over and over again.
"Fuu-uuu-uck me." My voice bounces with every thrust, every roll of my hips.
He's fucking me like it's nothing, like I weigh nothing.
"So fucking beautiful," Wes seethes through his lips, his eyes focused on where my pussy takes him and his massive fucking cock.
I should've just taken him at his word and trusted him.
But then I wouldn't be able to feel this crazy amount of pleasure.
This cannot be real.
I whimper, my eyebrows drawing together. "I'm—I'm gonna cum."
I clench his cock inside me, juices gushing as I slide up and down.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," I push out with a breath, my stomach caving as my muscles begin to lock up. I move my hands up to the headrest above his head. "Yes—shit."
"On my cock, Cam," Wes grits out as his fingers dig into my flesh hard enough that it's probably going to bruise. "Only on my cock."
I'm gone.
I lock up, going stiff as I coat his cock and lower stomach in my release.
Fuck—never done that before.
My hips twitch, my lungs completely devoid of air, my skin buzzing with electric tendrils.
Ecstasy fills my veins as Wes remains buried deep inside me, still moving, still fucking me through the orgasm, drawing it out just to watch me like his own personal porno.
"Hold onto me," Wes tells me as I collapse onto him, unable to keep myself up, and slide my hands behind his neck.
He pounds me from beneath, violent thrusts hard enough to shatter me entirely. My pussy is so fucking sensitive and swollen right now, so every drive into me has me moaning deep into his ear.
"Ohhhhhh—Wes," I whisper out, and it seems to drive him wild, fucking me so deep and so damn good.
Over and over, his cock hits my violated g-spot again and again.
He drills in two final thrusts before he's cumming—with me too.
A stronger orgasm hits me, my eyes rolling into the back of my head.
We moan out together, our rough voices filling the cabin as Wes empties himself into the condom deep inside me. He shudders and inhales, his breath coming back to him as he tucks his face into my hair and neck.
I swallow thickly as the world teeters and spins. I'm definitely lightheaded, stars still exploding in the corners of my vision. I slide my arms out from behind his neck, planting my palms on his shoulders and pushing myself back.
"I'm starting to suspect that's the best way of apologizing to you," Wes chuckles as I hover over his face with my own big smile.
I scoff. "If only you learned this fast in our sessions."
"But then I wouldn't spend as much time with you," Wes grins, and I roll my eyes, slowly sitting back with him still inside me. I reach down, pressing on my stomach, and instantly feel him grow harder again.
I moan out and bite my lip.
"Shit, baby, you like how that feels?" he asks as I nod my head, my hand still rubbing my lower belly where I can feel him poking through. He breathes out with a small grin. "How the hell are you real?"
My gaze lazily drags from him, turning to look out the window, where I spot movement out the back of the football facilities.
We had parked under a tree in the back parking lot—the one rarely used, mainly just for stadium overflow and media trucks. It's rarely used during the day, Wes had said.
Except for when the head coach of the Charlotte Colts needs to take a call.
One of the many exit doors that line the back swings closed as Harlan Fletcher stands there, his phone pressed to his ear and his eyes on the truck. He's far across the parking lot, but I swear I lock gazes with him.
No—I know it because he freezes suddenly, his gaze on the driver's side window. With me in frame.
With my fucking tits out.
I instantly throw myself down onto Wes, and he chuckles in surprise, his hands coming up to wrap around my bare back.
"What—"
"Your coach," I say, my chest heaving in panic as I tuck myself into his body.
"Huh?" Wes asks with a small chuckle. "You sure it was him?"
I groan. "Tall, big salt-and-pepper mustache, in a Colts polo. Who else could it possibly be, Wes?"
Wes pushes up off the seat with me still pressed to his chest, and I grip onto him. He holds me steady at my lower back as he turns to the window and looks back toward the door.
I risk a glance as well, the two of us just catching the exit door slam shut, leaving the area completely empty.
"Yep—that sounds like Fletch," Wes chuckles as he collapses back down onto the seat.
"You think this is funny?" I shove him before picking my hips up and sliding myself off him. I wince because of the sensitive skin and the fact that he's sporting a semi.
Wes sobers his chuckle, but his smile is still there. "Relax, Cam. He might not have seen you."
"We're the only car back here, your front windows aren't tinted, and he looked me right in my damn soul," I say, poking two fingers toward my eyes as Wes chuckles, his fingers running up and down my spine.
I cover my face with both hands and peek at him through my fingers.
"I'm so embarrassed."
He chuckles softly, his hands busy removing the condom from his cock lying back against his stomach. So damn big.
He wraps it in a tissue from the middle console like a little gift.
Wes shrugs. "Well, I doubt he's gotten any action since his wife's been in the hospital for a mastectomy."
"Wes!" I gasp and slap his shoulder while he laughs at my reaction. "There's something really fucked up in your brain."
He grins. "I know—it gives my tutor a headache."
"I'll pray for her," I scoff, holding his shoulder for support as I climb back over the console to the passenger seat.
His hands follow me with a confused frown on his face.
"Hey, c'mere." He beckons with those big puppy-dog eyes of his, and I pull my tank top back down over my tits and stomach.
He pouts but gets the message.
I spin around on the seat, bringing my knees up as I slide my underwear back up my legs. "I have class in twenty minutes."
"Skip it. Stay here with me." He flicks me a dark grin while pulling his own underpants up.
The semi still pokes through, growing harder and larger by the second, it seems.
"Not everyone has money and a golden spiral, Wes," I scoff, struggling to get my boyfriend jeans up my legs in this seated position.
I lift my ass and slip them up and over my hips, leaning back in the chair to button them up.
"Some of us need our college degrees."
"I'm sure my tab could buy you a two-bedroom home by now," he counters as I shake my head and begin to slip on my socks and Adidas Gazelles.
The laces were loosened earlier in the haste to get them off, making it much easier to slide them on now.
"That rule only applies to our study lessons," I explain, moving my focus to the other foot. "When we're alone like this, you can touch me all you want."
Wes buttons his own jeans up, and I try not to look at his semi-hard cock pushing through the material. "You're making it real hard to let you go."
"Hmm, making you real hard too," I say with a smirk, slipping my tote bag up onto my shoulder as Wes's lips perk up at the corners. "I'll see you later, Wes."
I open the passenger door and slip out into the sunshine, my shoes landing on the cement after a small fall because the truck's cabin is so stupidly high up.
"Hey," Wes calls, and I turn around, squinting slightly from the sun. He pauses for a second, just sitting there and staring at me with a slightly heaving chest. He looks like he wants to say something but then changes his mind at the last second. "Learn heaps."
Idiot.
I giggle and shake my head. "You're so fucking weird."
He smiles back at me as I close the door to the truck and walk across the parking lot, back toward the main area of campus.