Welcome to Sunday Snog, this week a sexy moment from Scored, my erotic football (soccer to US folk!) novel…
The concierge was an elderly gentleman in a neat navy suit with gold trimmings, almost military style. I checked his name badge. Lewis had text me and said that I must only speak to Bohdan. Luckily this was what was engraved on the polished gold rectangle pinned to his jacket.
“Hi,” I said. “I’m Nicky Thomas. You’re expecting me?”
He hesitated for the briefest of moments then nodded. “Absolutely, Miss Thomas. If you would come this way.”
He turned and I followed. We went through a doorway, around a desk littered with paperwork, then through another door, into a corridor. The walls were a dull gray, the floor green linoleum. There was nothing plush about it. I was no longer in a public part of the hotel.
“We will use the service lift to get to the Presidential Suite.”
“Okay,” I said, tugging my holdall and wondering what on earth Bohdan must think of me. I guessed it didn’t matter, or if it did I would worry about it later. Right now all I could think of was not running into Fellows or any of the other players or physios or coaches, or anyone at all, actually. An invisibility cloak would have come in mighty handy right now.
The elevator whizzed upwards, condensing the nerves in my stomach into a tight ball. I studied the walls to distract myself. It was devoid of any of the finery the lift Lewis had kissed me in. No brass bar around the edge, no smoky-mirrored doors. Just plain dull metal and dusty corners.
When we reached level seven Bohdan spoke again. “Wait here. I will check all is clear.”
He pointed to a button with opposing horizontal triangles and I pressed it to keep the elevator where it was. Bohdan disappeared through a fire door opposite and I was left looking at two maid trolleys stacked high with linen and towels.
Oh God. What the hell was I doing? I was being smuggled in to Lewis Tate’s room by a bribed concierge. How had life got so crazy? I was supposed to hunt out sports stories, not become part of one myself. Which I would be if England’s winning streak came to an end and Fellows pointed the finger at me.
I jumped when Bohdan appeared again.
“It’s all clear, miss. Please, come quick.”
“Yes, of course.” Hurriedly I followed.
Instantly I was immersed in the decadent surroundings I’d come to associate with the Donbass. Thick carpets, elegant pictures in ornate frames and a fresh, flowery fragrance that lingered in the air wherever I went.
Bohdan stopped at the second door on the right and pushed it open. “There are four suites on this lower level. To get to the Presidential Suite you must go through here and up the staircase to the very top of the hotel.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Please, go quick.”
“Yes, yes of course. Thank you.”
He ushered me through and I heard the door click shut.
Before me was a wide carpeted stairway, royal blue, with a thick brass banister. Carrying my case, I turned two dog-legs before I reached a wide white door with Presidential Suite written on it in gold lettering.
Suppressing a wave of nerves, I knocked.
Shit. What if this wasn’t his room? What if Fellows was in there? Or maybe another player or a physic. What the hell would I do then?
I shouldn’t be here.
Nibbling my little fingernail, I glanced back down the staircase. Perhaps I should just go. Leave Lewis alone and let him get on with his job. My heart sank. Just the thought of not seeing him made me feel as though the blood in my veins had turned to lead.
It was no good. I had to take the risk. There was no getting off this crazy ride I was on. Not now. I was too far gone.
Suddenly the door pulled in on itself.
Lewis stood before me, dressed in a red T-shirt and navy sweats. He wasn’t smiling. His gaze just drank me up the way a predator does its prey.
“Hi,” I managed as that lead in my veins turned to neat lust. Damn, he was so good-looking he should be illegal.
“Did anyone see you?”
“No, well, just Bohdan.”
“Good.” He took my case and set it inside the room, leaning it against the wall. “Come in.”
I stepped into the suite, caught a general impression of grandeur before his arms were around me and there was a loud bang as the door slammed shut.
“Fuck, I feel like I’ve been waiting forever to have you alone,” he said hoarsely then kissed me, hard and fast, and backed me against the wall.
I grabbed his shoulders, hung on as air whooshed from my lungs.
“I need you, Nicky,” he said, grabbing my wrists and tugging them over my head. “I need you like I’ve never wanted anyone before.” He stared down at me, at my face, my chest and where his groin was shoved into my belly.
“Yes,” I gasped.
His need was evident; his cock was rigid.
“And I can’t take my time. Slow and indulgent will have to come later.”
“Yes, oh, Lewis, please.” I was helpless. Pinned to the wall and at his mercy. I adored it as much as I wanted to free my hands and grab his clothes. Rip them off and ride him like a wild thing.
He shifted and captured both of my wrists in just one of his big hands. Kissed me again, shoving at my dress and peeling down my panties as he did so. I managed to kick the knickers free, from one foot at least.
“Are you wet for me?” he asked into my mouth.
“So wet. So wet for you.”
“Good, because I’m going to fuck you now, like you’ve never been fucked before.”
Back Cover Information for Scored
Okay, so I eat, sleep and breathe football and reporting the beautiful game is my dream career. But that doesn’t mean I don’t have time for a major crush on the England captain, Lewis Tate. The bloke is sex on legs, hot with a capital H. Add in his awe-inspiring talent, his brooding good looks and what’s not to lust after?
So my excitement is sky-high as I set off with the official press team to cover England’s battle for the European Cup. But when a series of unfortunate, or as it turns out fortunate events, attracts Tate’s attention my way, who am I to say no?
Add in a misogynistic manager, an over-zealous colleague, two blue silk ties and some incredible ball-handling skills and it becomes clear the road to victory, for me, will be an intensely erotic journey. Determined to savor every moment, I hang onto my sanity as best I can while living the fantasy and wondering if it can ever become reality. Because once Lewis Tate has taken me to heaven and back, its clear no one else will ever compare.
And if you like sexy soccer/football players, check out my dedicated Pinterest board - yum!