The Game Afoot (Ch. 03)

She could have done it herself but not like this. Never like this. Marco's strong arm held her hip down, his hand cupped her mound, and his fingers played her. He used his rough palm to abrade her clit, and Sam vibrated at his touch, her orgasm rising and falling, rising again then falling, rising, rising, still rising, fuck, so good. Sam's head rocked back, spots filled her vision, and for a moment she thought she might black out. So fucking good! She stared up at the dark theater ceiling, sucking air, the diffuse light of the movie screen casting shifting shadows.

Finally, Marco's touches grew lighter. Sam calmed. Her breath came slowly, shakily back under control. A languid feeling of well-being spread through her. Her eyelids drooped. She stroked the back of Marco's hand, his wrist and forearm. His flesh was firm and muscled. His hand lightly cupped her, jealous and protective. She liked it there.

The scene on screen shifted away from the ocean to some strange hotel luau. Sam had no idea what was going on. Marco shifted, too.

"You're beautiful," he said softly into her ear as he drew his hand from between her legs.

She looked at him, his perfectly proportioned face handsome even in the strange half-light reflecting from the screen. A sexy, self-satisfied smirk slid onto his lips as she stared. Marco leaned back and put his arm around her again, the thick strength of him warm and comforting.

As the endorphins leaked away, a self-conscious feeling took their place. She'd never done that in front of anyone and certainly never in public. It had felt really good in the moment, but now she felt a little sick. What the hell was she doing? This was their first date, and she was letting Marco do whatever he wanted. Her throat constricted as she refastened her jeans. Was this part of the game? Did Marco win a point for making her cum? Was he going to tell his friends all about it, about how easy she was?

Fuck them. Fuck their games. She didn't have to play. Sam stared at the movie screen, not really seeing, a fierce anger growing alongside her mortification. Why should she be the only one manipulated? If they were playing a game, then why couldn't she play her own?

Sam slid her arm from beneath Marco's jacket, reached over the armrest, and laid her hand on Marco's belly above his belt. His abdomen tightened until it was as hard as rock. She could feel the ridges of his abs; there were deep grooves between the thick muscles. She wanted to run her hand over them and dig her fingers in, but she did what he'd done: she waited.

Marco didn't move. Sam glanced up at him. His expression was impassive. Did he not want her to touch him? Then, she realized her mistake. Sam lifted the leather jacket toward him; it was surprisingly heavy. Marco took the jacket, covering his lap. Smart. Someone walking the aisle would have to look carefully down their row to see anything. With jacket in place, Marco pulled Sam's hand to his belt. She undid it. Her hand collided with his as he unbuttoned his jeans. Then, he positioned her hand on his zipper.

He was calling her bluff. It was now or never. Was she really going to do this? She could stop now and decide not to play, or be bold and go where she'd never gone before. Marco rocked his hips, pushing his pelvis into her hand. He wanted her to unzip. Sam recalled one of her mom's favorite sayings when making a tough business decision: you can't win if you don't play. Well, here goes.

Sam unzipped the placket of Marco's jeans, then slid her hand under the waistband of his underwear. His skin was warm and soft. Fine hairs tickled her fingertips. She'd never touched a man here, and the novelty excited her. Marco squirmed in his seat as her fingers traced lower. Maybe she was tickling him. She placed her hand more firmly against his skin. He was hard here, too--a wall of smooth muscle lay beneath her fingertips. She reached farther and struck some coarser hair. Not much farther she encountered a thick tube of flesh rising from the plane of his abdomen.

His cock. Marco's penis. She was touching it. No time for cowardice. Sam wrapped her hands about the root. He was thick. She couldn't get her fingers all the way around him. She pulled gently and more of him filled her hand. How big was this thing? Sam ran her fingers further down his length and pulled again. A thick, long pipe flopped upward, his hot flesh slapping against her wrist and forearm. A soft hiss of air issued from Marco's lips.

Sam swallowed. Wow. He was huge. A lot larger than Roger. Granted, she'd never held Roger's dick like this, but she'd felt it under the fabric of his pants. It had been nowhere near this size.

Marco's cock throbbed against her palm. The heavy man cylinder flexed and thickened. Fuck, his cock was alive and growing! Sam didn't know what to do. What did men like? She'd overheard joking and bragging. Strangling the monkey or something. But, what did they like really? Sam wasn't sure, so she pet Marco's thick, hardening snake. She ran her hand over his hot flesh, caressing him like he'd caressed her: softly, teasingly.

Marco's dick grew harder, thicker, and longer. Sam couldn't believe it. It was absurd to have something like this between his legs. Sam was interested in anatomy, and she couldn't see how a penis this large made any sense. She squeezed his great organ and it seemed to like it, flexing against her hand and growing even harder. How hard would he get? How big? Would he keep growing? Sam wrapped her fingers about Marco's dick, measuring, shocked at his size.

Sam traced the length, her fingers stroking down several inches until she reached two large globes of flesh tucked tight against the base of his cock. Testicles, where sperm was produced and stored. She ran her fingers over them. They were hard, too. Big and swollen. Marco shifted again. His jaw was set and his nostrils flared as he drew in a sharp breath. His lips were curved in a sexy smile, though, and his eyes flashed when he glanced back at her.

Sam ran her hand up his impressive length to the head of his cock. She cradled the heavy ball-shape in her palm and ran her fingers over the soft skin. Marco grunted and a warm liquid spilled onto her wrist. She didn't have a chance to contemplate that, though, because Marco's free hand suddenly closed over hers.

"Enough fucking torture," he whispered softly.

With his hand wrapped about hers, Marco showed Sam how to stroke a cock. He twisted her palm almost painfully around the head of his dick, collecting more of that slick liquid, then clamped his hand over hers and stroked the heavy shaft with long, driving movements. To Sam it seemed almost violent. His hand squeezed tight, and his cock was really hard.

Marco added his hips, his pelvis driving upward as he drove their combined hands down his dick. The seats creaked in protest, and Sam looked down the theater. No one had turned around. On screen, the characters had returned to the beach, which she hoped meant more loud ocean sounds. It seemed like they would need them. Urgently.

"Shit," Marco said, and not softly. Sam saw another patron turn to look, but no one came to investigate.

A wave appeared on screen, huge and blue-green, froth above and below, sunlight glinting. It was nothing compared to the wave about to crash next to her.

Marco's body grew rigid. Even in the low light Sam could see thick threads of muscle rippling beneath the soft cotton of his shirt. The arm about her shoulder tightened, bulging with heavy muscle. Sam felt very small. Her hand remained trapped beneath his callused one, rough skin atop soft skin below, stroking, his cock hot and hard, getting hotter and harder, stroking, and, damn, getting even larger. His expression narrowed. His grip grew even tighter. Marco's eyes closed, opened, and then focused on her. He moaned softly, green eyes glittering, then his lids fell closed again. His handsome face contorted--a look almost of pain--and then he exhaled a soft pleasurable grunt. His hips snapped and held. His cock spasmed and spasmed and spasmed and hot liquid spilled over Sam's wrist and seeped between her fingers. The hand at her shoulder squeezed, his fingers digging painfully into her flesh, holding her tight. He kept stroking and pumping, hand clasped over hers, breath coming in huffs and grunts and thank god the surfers were paddling and the jet skis were rumbling because Marco kept cumming, soft growls emanating from his broad chest, hot cock hard and huge and convulsing.

He finally slumped into the seat, chest heaving, breathing deep, eyes still closed. When he opened them, he turned toward her and the smile on his face was relaxed and sensual beyond belief. He caressed her shoulder massaging what were surely bruises from his strong grip. Meanwhile her hand remained trapped, clasped around his still shuddering cock. He had softened somewhat but was still shockingly large, overspilling her small hand. He turned and captured her lips with his, the kiss feather soft and gentle in contrast to what had come before.

The nice thing about buttered popcorn was that eating it required a lot of napkins. Marco muttered a rueful "sorry" as he passed her several. Sam wiped her hands as the surfer heroine emerged triumphant from the sea and everyone cheered. Marco mopped up the small ocean of cum he'd unleashed, taking advantage of the last moments of darkness to zip up. He leaned forward and put his jacket back on. The house lights came up as the credits played. Sam busied herself collecting their half-eaten bags of popcorn, avoiding the gazes of the other moviegoers.

Once they were outside the theater, they headed to the bathrooms--man cum was sticky. Sam returned to the lobby to find a spectacularly hot, muscular bad boy leaning against a wall near the concession stand. For reasons she couldn't fathom, he was waiting for her. The lobby was busy again and dozens of eyes assessed the stunning man in the leather jacket. His eyes, however, locked on Sam as she approached. She forgot her attire and self-consciousness as she returned his gaze. He seemed to be assessing her anew--perhaps as a new player at the table? She couldn't tell. She liked that he had eyes only for her. When Marco offered her his hand, eyebrow raised in invitation, Sam took it as naturally as if she too had been anointed Ballister College royalty.

***

"Triple cheeseburger, large fries, and a chocolate shake," Marco said, "and whatever she wants."

"Make it two," Sam said.

The high school kid taking their order--Nate, his name tag said--leaned across the threshold of the Eat Shack's window. He gave Marco a dubious look. Marco shrugged.

"Gotcha," Nate said. "I'll go make your shakes."

Marco eyed the diminutive Sam. Was she even five feet tall?

"You didn't let me eat much popcorn," she said by way of explanation.

A small smile tugged at the corner of Marco's mouth. He hadn't, had he?

Nate reappeared with their shakes. "Your order number's 33."

Marco handed Sam her shake. The Eat Shack was an institution in Ballister, a classic 1950s-style roadside ice cream shop and diner. Rows of picnic tables spilled out haphazardly from the small building. They were jammed with patrons, both college students and locals. Marco threaded his way between the tables, eventually finding one open.

Sam took a seat across from him, glancing over at a nearby table where a man and a young boy, probably father and son, were eating ice cream cones. The kid had stopped eating his cone to stare at Marco. The father followed his son's gaze. He nodded to Marco and called his son's name to redirect his attention.

"You get that a lot, don't you?" Sam asked in a half-whisper.

"The staring?"

She nodded.

"Comes with the territory."

The staring did come with being Ballister College's new quarterback. But people had looked at Marco for years, and especially since he'd fully grown into his broad, six-foot, four-inch frame. Not many men could compare to his size and strength and even fewer to his looks.

Sam nodded at his comment and sipped her shake. Marco hadn't expected to take her out after the movie. He'd wanted to impress her but leave her wanting more. She'd surprised him. Walking back to the car he'd realized he didn't want the night to end.

A crackly voice called their number over the Eat Shack's loudspeakers.

"I'll get it," said Sam, rising quickly to her feet.

Marco shook his head. "No, I can--."

She put her hand on his arm, halting him halfway up. "Your job is to guard our table." She was on her way to the shack before he could reply.

Marco settled back in his seat. He looked over at the nearby table. The older man had watched the exchange.

"My wife's like that," he said, tone conspiratorial. "Spent the past ten years keeping up. Wouldn't trade it for anything."

Marco nodded his thanks. Maybe that was it. Sam was keeping him guessing--he wasn't getting bored.

"Can we share your table?"

Two young men, one with a shock of red hair, the other a dirty blonde, stood at the other end of the picnic table, a shake and a hot dog held in each fist. Marco wanted to say no, but he knew this was the only table left. He nodded.

"Thanks," the blonde guy said as he wedged his long frame onto the bench next to Marco. He looked vaguely familiar.

"You're Marco, right?" the redhead asked, sitting across from his friend. "The new quarterback? I'm Zane." He stuck out a meaty hand.

Marco nodded and politely shook, noting as he did so that Zane had a reddening bruise extending across one cheekbone. It looked like he'd been in a fight. Marco resisted the urge to inquire; he didn't want to encourage a conversation. The blonde-haired guy spoke up again, offering his hand as well.

"We've actually met," he said. "I just joined the football team. Alec."

"Right," Marco said. "I remember you from team meeting."

The clatter of a plastic tray drew Marco's attention to the end of the table. Sam stood surprised and a little wary.

"Oh," she said by way of greeting.

"Hi," said Alec.

Sam looked between Alec and Marco, not saying anything.

"Wait," Zane said, filling the awkward pause. "You're..." He trailed off, reddish eyebrows knitting together.

"Sam. We went to high school together," Sam said, jerking into motion. She doled out the burgers and fries. "You probably don't remember me. I wasn't really into games, sports, whatever." She winced and looked at Marco. "Sorry."

"Don't apologize," Marco said. He added a warm smile, which seemed to help Sam relax. Why was she so nervous?

"No way," Zane said. "I--. Sorry, I didn't know everyone in our class."

"Sam goes to Ballister now," Alec interjected. "We're in the same program."

"No shit," Zane said, appreciatively. "Are you an athlete, too?"

"Only if eating is a sport," Sam said, lifting her sizable burger. It was nearly the size of her face, and it seemed to Marco like she wanted to hide behind it.

Zane and Alec laughed. Marco watched with some amusement as Sam tried a couple angles before finding a way to wedge the huge sandwich into her mouth. She eventually succeeded, closing her eyes as she chewed.

"God, I needed that," she said after swallowing. She opened her eyes to find the three men staring at her. "I didn't have lunch."

"There's no way you're going to eat all that," Zane said.

"You wanna bet?" Sam said.

Zane looked to Marco, then to Alec.

"I wouldn't bet against her," Alec said.

"You're definitely going to eat all that," Zane said.

Sam acknowledged Zane's capitulation with a nod and wrapped her small hands around the burger once again. The men followed suit and for a few minutes conversation stilled as they ate. Marco wondered at the dynamic around the table. It was probably just some small town high school thing.

The nearby father and son stood to leave. Before his father could collect him, the young boy stepped up to Marco.

With great seriousness he intoned, "You're giant."

Sam lowered her half-raised burger and burst out laughing.

"Sorry," the father said, corralling the boy.

"It's okay," Marco said, watching the father and son retreat.

He turned back to find Sam watching him, a twinkle of mirth in her eyes. She had a blob of ketchup at the corner of her mouth. Marco caught it with his thumb.

"You're messy," he said, using the boy's solemn tone.

Sam snorted a short laugh and blushed, her gorgeous blue eyes dropping to the table before rising again to shyly meet his. Marco wished they weren't sitting amidst dozens of people--he wanted Sam on his lap, pressed against him, moaning his name.

The loud thunk of a paper cup striking the table drew Sam's eyes to Marco's bench mate. Marco turned to Alec, but the blonde man avoided his gaze, turning his head to look off at the parking lot.

"Sorry," Zane said. His surprised expression turned into a pained one as he addressed Sam. "Um...we didn't know you're on a date."

"It's fine," Marco said, surprised at the sudden awkwardness. "Really. It's a busy place."

"Yeah," Sam said, "there's no--."

She broke off as Alec stood. "We should let you enjoy your table," he said, not meeting anyone's eye. "C'mon, Zane."

Zane stuffed the last bit of his hot dog in his mouth, mumbled a "nice to meet you" around the mouthful, and hurried to join his friend who was already walking away.

"What was that about?" Marco asked.

"I have no idea."

"Did you?" Marco nodded toward the retreating pair.

"Go out with them?!" Sam said with genuine shock. "No way. I mean, they were, like, the biggest jocks in school, which--. I mean, there's nothing wrong with jocks, it's just--. I wasn't, you know--."

"You didn't move in their circles," Marco offered, enjoying her consternation. She was really cute when flustered.

"Right," said Sam, taking a breath. "Exactly. Definitely not in their circles."

"Their loss. You're beautiful."

She snorted. "Yeah, sure. In my dumpy work clothes."

"Even in your dumpy work clothes."

Her luminous blue eyes met his, and Marco had to grip the bench to keep from launching across the table. Fuck, he really wanted her. It didn't make sense. Was it the handjob? It wasn't his first and wouldn't be his last. No, there was something different about Sam. She was open and genuine and brave and funny. Being with her was real and refreshing.

"This--." Sam broke off and started again. "I've had a good time. Thank you. It was--. You were nice to still go with me."

"Want to do it again sometime?"

She nodded.

"Sometime soon, maybe?"

She nodded again, a light flush coming to her cheeks.

"Good." Marco couldn't keep the idiot smile off his face. What was wrong with him? "Still eating?"

Sam looked down at her basket; there was still about a quarter of the burger left. "Are you kidding? Of course I'm still eating."

"Dude," Zane said, catching up to his friend. "What's going on?"

"She's fucking perfect," said Alec.

"What do you mean?"

"Don't you see? It's like she was made for us."

"Um..."

Alec unlocked his truck, and the two men clambered inside. Zane waited for Alec to pull out of the parking space before speaking again.

"I thought we were going to try--."

"That's not going to work."

"But--."

"No, she's not right. Too fucking prissy."

"Okay," Zane said, pausing. He knew Alec wouldn't like his next suggestion. "Then, maybe we could--."

"I already told you no. I need a--." Alec stopped mid-sentence. Zane watched, wondering what was going on inside Alec's calculating brain.

Alec struck the steering wheel with his palm. "Fuck! If I'd only noticed her sooner."

"Sam?"

"Yes! Who do you think?"

"I'm trying to catch up here."

"She's so right. Bold but insecure."

"Pretty."

"Really pretty. Those eyes. Holy hells," Alec said, the truck swerving slightly with his exclamation. "She got so fucking cute. And she has no idea."