Kicked by Celia Aaron

be touching, kissing, and much much more.
     

     
    “Mark off your position.” I crossed my arms over my chest as she backed away from the ball and took her steps to the left.
    Once she was set, I walked up behind her and lined up her trajectory toward the ball. I stood too close for coaching, but I had to be near her. The light scent of her shampoo floated around me, and the fine sheen of sweat on her skin glimmered in the fading light.
    Keeping my hands at my sides, I asked, “Why only two steps to the side?”
    “A fifteen-yarder from the right hash doesn’t need any more angle than this.”
    I smiled as goose bumps broke out along her neck and down her shoulder to her tank top. She clutched her hands in front of her, fingers wrestling with each other whenever I came too close. Her hair was tied up in a ponytail, and I had an excellent view of her tan skin and the tantalizing line of her tits. “Good.”
    Backing away, I kept in line with her to watch her movements. “Kick.”
    She dropped her hands to her sides and took a breath, let it out, then took her set up steps. She planted perfectly, her left heel in line with the ball as her right foot made contact. The ball soared through the uprights and slapped into the net.
    “You were a yard off center.” I snagged another ball from my gear bag and set it up for her.
    “I split the uprights.” She put her hands on her hips.
    I forced myself to meet her eyes instead of staring at her hardening nipples. “You can do better.”
    “Better than three points?”
    “Accuracy matters. It’s only going to get harder the farther you get from the goal.” I rose and towered over her.
    She glared back at me with a defiant tilt of her chin. “Do I get more points if it’s down the middle? No, I don’t. So I don’t see why—”
    “Take a lap.” I wanted to stop her mouth with a kiss and bend her backwards until she gave in to everything I wanted. One look at her told me that would end with me getting my eyes scratched out. Instead, I opted for run-of-the-mill sports discipline.
    “What?” Her mouth dropped open in an ‘O’ that had my cock trying to rise to the occasion.
    “Go on. One lap. Keep talking back and it’ll be two.”
    She clamped her mouth shut, gave me a murderous stare, then turned and started jogging. I watched as her fine ass with the perfect amount of jiggle headed toward the visitors’ side. Her long legs ate up the distance with ease. She turned and crossed the end zone, her ponytail swinging with her steady gait. My cock stirred even more, and I had to stop looking at her before things got out of control.
    “Hey, douchebag. What are you doing out here?”
    I turned to find Ethan walking up to me, a smug look on his face. As if I needed another reason to hate the asshole. He took every chance he could to nail me during practice, even when the coaches made it clear that for scrimmages, I wasn’t to be touched. My arm was what kept the team moving forward, but Ethan didn’t give a shit. He still went for me despite the coaches’ threats to bench him. He knew, just like the coaches knew, that he was one of the best defensive players in school history. The chances of him sitting the bench were about the same as mine.
    He scratched his balls through his athletic shorts. Any cliché about dumb or disgusting jocks fit Ethan perfectly. His dark hair was cut short against his shiny scalp, and his long chest hair was on full display in his v-neck tee.
    “I’m busy. Fuck off, Ethan.”
    He glanced down to the holder and the sack of footballs. “Looking to try a new position?” He grinned and kicked the holder out of place.
    I shook my head. “Wow. You really got me there, man.” I faked a loud laugh. “Really stuck it to me with that move. What are you going to do next? Throw my footballs over there?” I pointed a few yards away. “So I can’t get them?”
    His grin turned to a scowl, and he stepped toward me. “I’m tired of your rich