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  SACKED

  Copyright © 2015 by Tabatha Vargo

  All Rights Reserved. Printed in the United States of America.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events or real people are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  SACKED/ TABATHA VARGO

  Cover art by Romantic Book Designs

  Book design by Inkstain Interior Book Designing

  Editing Services Provided by Editing4Indies

  PRINT

  ISBN-13: 978-1519226570

  ISBN-10: 1519226578

  EBOOK

  ISBN-10: 0986117331

  ISBN-13: 978-0-9861173-3-6

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  Slammer

  On the Plus Side

  Hot and Heavy—Coming in 2016!

  Playing Patience (Zeke)

  Perfecting Patience 1.5 (Zeke)

  Finding Faith (Finn)

  Convincing Constance (Tiny)

  Having Hope (Chet)—Coming in 2016!

  Little Black Book

  The Wrath of Sin

  The Procedure

  Jack Hammer

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  Tittie-fucking a B cup is the equivalent of rubbing your hard cock against a cushioned wall.

  Seriously, a fucking wall.

  Granted, the wall moaned like a porn star and licked the slick off the head of my dick on occasion, but still, I wasn’t feeling it. I could have rubbed myself against a wall at home all alone and saved myself the gas money and the time.

  Luckily for me, the wall fuck only lasted five minutes or so before she decided to blow me instead. Otherwise, I might never have gotten off.

  It’s all about perspective and small miracles.

  Yeah, I said small.

  Fucking nonexistent was more like it.

  I wanted to bag her; blow her back out like a fire hose with all my pent-up fuck juice, but she wasn’t up for giving it the ol’ college try. My guess was it was her time of the month. Hell, it seemed as though half the women on campus were seeing red. The crimson wave was putting a serious damper on my dickly pursuits.

  In the end, it didn’t matter really. I didn’t have time to worry about getting her off and all that shit anyway. Sure, I could be a number one asshole, but I always made sure my lady went off before I did. It was only fair.

  It wasn’t happening, though. My pussy drought had reached epic proportions, and I wasn’t sure how much longer I’d last before my cock shriveled up and became a clit. Don’t get me wrong … a spit suck was sweet, but it didn’t glide like a lady’s insides.

  The poor condom in my pocket was probably going to go bad at this point. I imagined it being dry and cracked when I finally opened it—deteriorating in my palm and keeping me from playing dipping dick once again.

  I didn’t understand it.

  College was supposed to be all about football and getting college-girl ass. I’d watched so much college porn over the summer that I’d accidentally set my expectations too high. There were no half-naked girls running around campus waiting to show their school spirit, aka their tits and gash. No dorms full of horny females waiting to bounce all over my cock.

  So far, it was nothing of the sort.

  Instead of finding myself on a hot episode of College Girls Gone Wild All Over Sawyer’s Cock, I worked my balls off in class. I was trying to kick my freshman year off right. When I wasn’t drowning in work, I was trying to sleep. I say trying because I hadn’t had a decent night of sleep since I stepped foot on campus.

  Lectures, practice, and palm fucking myself in the shower before rushing to class.

  I was all about that life.

  Good times.

  After I blew my load down Wall Fuck’s throat, I tucked my deflating cock back into my boxer briefs and zipped up my jeans. With a quick kiss on her cheek, I left her alone in her room. I took the stairs out of her dorm two at a time and left faster than my boy Robby when he’s running the ball into the end zone.

  Basically, I was a bat out of hell.

  Not only was I going to be late for my first class, but I also knew if I stayed any longer, I was going to have to pull out the asshole card. Girls hated the asshole card, and I hated having to use it.

  It had the rules in small print on the bottom.

  No cuddling.

  No double dips.

  No girlfriend bullshit.

  Just no.

  Being a total douche wasn’t hard for me, but I was fucking exhausted with the whole game. I learned quickly that college girls expected snuggling and shit afterward. I’d been caught one too many times lying around too long after a blowjob. I was a three-minute cuddle … tops. Maybe four if my O face was strong with a chick. To me, there was nothing worse than holding a woman while silently wishing she’d fall asleep so I could leave.

  I wasn’t doing it.

  Hence, the asshole card and the small print rules.

  It was one of the few things I missed from high school. High school girls fucked for fame. They didn’t care about the sweet shit afterward. They just wanted the right to say they let the football star take a swim in their slippery stream.

  They wanted the attention, and I wanted the tang.

  It was a fair trade.

  The point was I was used to high school girls and getting sex when I wanted it. When you were the star quarterback in a small football town like Ninety Six, South Carolina, you were a god. I was a fucking rock star back home and usually had my pick of groupies.

  I’d earn my place on campus, too. I just needed a little time and the football. The rest would be a breeze. It wouldn’t be long before the girls were lining up for a deep dicking from Sawyer Reed.

  It was going to take me a while to gain that kind of stardom around the university, but I knew once football season kicked off and my face was plastered all over ESPN, I’d be riding the celebrity high again. Getting whatever and whoever I wanted, whenever I wanted.

  It was all about control in my world. I loved the power that popularity gave me. I needed the freedom to rule my world how I saw fit and the fame of my football skills made that possible.

  When I got to the small off-campus house I was sharing with three other teammates, I went upstairs to shower and shave. Lifting my chin, I checked myself in the mirror one final time to make sure I didn’t miss anything. My shadowed eyes passed over my reflection and sadness briefly moved through me. I didn’t want to admit it, but I was feeling a little homesick. I couldn’t let those feelings get in my way.

  Emotions were bullshit.

  Feelings were for pussies.

  I hadn’t saved every penny from the time I was fourteen just to get away from Ninety Six and become a homesick piece of shit. I worked and saved so I could be away from all the sad memories of home—so I could put everything behind me and live my life how I chose.

  I didn’t have time to think about any of that, though. Today was going to be my day. Then again, lately every day’s been my day. Shit was going good, with the exception of the pussy drought. I was living my dream as a true freshman first-string quarterback at my choice school. I’d stepped onto the team and snatched the title from Marcus Wayne. He’d been the quarterback for the last two years but no more. I was in town now, and I was going to blow his numbe
rs away.

  I’d been practicing hard, and already, the commentators on ESPN were talking about how good my arm was. It wouldn’t be long before I was bringing in millions in the NFL and leaving all the old bullshit behind.

  Money and pussy for days and the control and freedom I deserved.

  I finished getting dressed and snatched up my books on the way out the door. Climbing into my four-wheel drive, I cranked it and the big engine roared to life. My big truck was useless on campus, but the muddy roads of home required it.

  My mud tires sloshed through a deep puddle, soaking the parked car next to me as I pulled out of my driveway, and then I headed to my first class with a smile plastered across my freshly shaven face.

  I was running a little late, and the classroom was silent when I entered. All eyes went to me and hushed whispers filled the room when I stepped inside, interrupting the silence. It didn’t bother me. I was used to all eyes on me. I was used to being the topic of many conversations.

  Words were scrawled across the dry erase board reminding me how much I hated literature classes. Professor Watts stood tapping his shiny, black shoes as he waited for me to take my seat.

  He was a fuck face … period.

  There wasn’t really a nice way to put it, but the man was in need of a good, relaxing fuck. He was uptight, and I could tell by the way that his lips curled when he looked my way that he didn’t like me.

  Not that I cared.

  I wasn’t losing any sleep over it.

  I smiled to myself as I moved slowly through the room, feeling all eyes follow me. My classmates didn’t know me well, but now that football season was kicking off, I’d soon own this school. Soon, they’d be screaming my name from the stands and painting my number, number ten, on their skin.

  I couldn’t wait.

  I slid into my desk just as the professor began. His voice hummed throughout the room about literary bullshit I couldn’t seem to wrap my brain around. I rolled my eyes and prepared to sleep as I tossed my bag to the floor at my feet.

  I’d thought signing up for Literature and Film was a smart move. I hadn’t even read the course information, automatically thinking it would be a bird course. I pictured the class watching movies, eating popcorn, and talking about the actors while I flirted with cute girls.

  Netflix and chill in the back of class sounded like a plan to me.

  It wasn’t until a week into the course that I realized I was in way over my head. Professor Watts talked about shit I’d never even heard of or was even remotely interested in, and no movie screen existed in the front of the class the way I’d pictured it. I was fucked, but what was done was done. I didn’t have time to deal with switching classes.

  English classes, in general, bored the hell out of me, but I needed my English credits. I was a math and science man. If I could touch it, see it, or count it, then it made sense to me. The literature shit was annoying and pointless. I knew how to talk. That was all the English I needed.

  Slouching in my seat, I could still feel the heat of roaming stares on me, yet everyone was facing the professor.

  I knew the feeling well.

  I was being watched.

  My eyes moved around the room, bouncing from one person to the next, taking in shitty haircuts and sleep-crusted lids, until my eyes clashed with the set staring back at me.

  I’d seen her before, even checked her out once or twice in passing, but we’d never talked. Hell, I didn’t even know her name. I just knew she was in my Lit and Film class and she was hot.

  She openly stared, lifting a questioning brow as if to ask what my problem was.

  I wasn’t the one with the issue.

  She was.

  She suffered from a serious staring problem. Not that I minded. All eyes on me … just how I liked it.

  Looking behind me and beside me, I checked to make sure she wasn’t looking at someone else, but there was no one.

  When I faced her again, I copied her expression, lifting my brow in question. She smiled and shook her head. Then her face changed. Her smile twisted, her bottom lip sliding to the right, her top lip to the left, and she tilted her head to the side while crossing her eyes.

  She looked totally ridiculous.

  What the fuck?

  A chuckle broke from my lips, making the professor stop talking. His squinty eyes moved over me, and he sighed in aggravation. The entire class turned my way, trying to figure out what the disturbance was.

  Hardening my expression, I met Professor Watts eye for eye, daring him to say something about my disruption. Sure, he was older—a lot fucking older actually, and sure, he had control over whether or not I failed his class. But looking him in the eye, I think we both knew that his say so wasn’t the final one. As long as I was bringing the school glory, which I would be doing very soon, his words were shit.

  A few seconds of a stare off and he was back to teaching his bullshit.

  Harper Lee this.

  Shakespeare that.

  Blah fucking blah.

  My eyes shifted back to the girl who’d been staring, and I grinned when I saw that her eyes were still on me.

  Girls stared at me a lot. I knew I was a good-looking dude. Hell, I worked out more than any other guy on the team. My body was my temple, and I was more than willing to let a multitude of women worship all over it.

  All.

  Over.

  It.

  I knew my eyes made panties wet, and my smile made clits throb. It was just a prequel of what I could do with my hands, and I made sure they knew that by the time I had their asses naked in my bed.

  It wasn’t always women, though. I’d even caught a few pretty boys taking in my ass and cock. It was all in all a good day, but this chick was going about it differently. Instead of the usual flirty smiles and batting lashes, she was making fucked-up faces and crossing her eyes.

  If she wanted to get my attention, she’d definitely done it.

  The remainder of the class was spent making faces at each other and not paying attention to the professor. My cheeks ached from smiling so much by the time we were dismissed, and I stood from my desk clueless if we had homework or not.

  Quickly, I shoved my stuff in my bag and prepared to go over and talk to the chick who had amused me for the entire class, but when I turned toward her desk, she was gone. Lucky for me, a friend of mine from my Prob and Stats class, Chris, was sitting right beside her.

  “Hey, man, what’s up?” I asked when I went to his side.

  Sliding his books into his bag, he zipped it with a sigh. “Same ol’ shit, different day. You? You ready for the season to start?”

  “Hell, yeah,” I answered. “So the chick who was sitting beside you,” I started, tapping on the top of the desk where she sat. “Do you know her?”

  “Who, Gretchen? Not really. She’s hot, though, right?” He grinned and nodded.

  Gretchen.

  The name fit her well. It was one of those names that could go both ways—like it could be the name of a German dominatrix, but also a sweet Swedish nun. I could go for either. I wasn’t picky, although the dominatrix sounded infinitely more exciting.

  “Yeah, she is.” I leaned casually against the desk beside him. “What’s her last name?”

  A knowing smile split his annoying face, and I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand.

  “Why? You trying to hit that?” he asked.

  I chuckled and shook my head. “Come on, man. Give me her last name.”

  He laughed. “I knew it. Fine, her last name’s Cole. Gretchen Cole.” He bumped my shoulder. “I get full details after you take a dip in that.”

  Fucking pervert.

  I couldn’t even respond to that. I didn’t fuck and tell. Sure, it was shitty to get in a girl’s pants without the intention of anything more, but I always made sure the girls knew the deal before I went dick dipping. Still, worse than a fuck and run was telling your boys about it afterward. That shit was uncool.

  I
nstead, I nodded and stepped away from him.

  “Thanks, man.”

  Gretchen Cole.

  Her name rolled over my brain.

  “No problem. Have fun with that,” Chris said.

  He tossed his bag over his shoulder and left me standing there with a stupid grin on my face.

  Getting laid was as easy as breathing for me usually. I hadn’t put in much effort with any of the girls I’d met so far this semester, hence my sexual drought. I didn’t have time to focus on one girl, not with football taking up most of my time, but I’d make time for this particular girl. I’d make sure to expend an extra effort for this one, which meant if it were up to me, Gretchen would be in my bed before the week was over. I just hoped she didn’t cross her eyes when I was fucking her senseless.

  Maybe I was different from other girls. Maybe I was totally clueless when it came to the opposite sex or something, but I didn’t see what the big deal was. I’d heard about the legend that was Sawyer Reed before I’d even stepped foot onto campus. Expectations were high before I’d even saw his face, but honestly, I was let down in a major way.

  Supposedly, he was sex on a caramel-covered stick. He was eager to please and could bring a girl to her knees with just a wave of a finger. He was supposed to be gorgeous with eyes that could melt your soul and a smile that made panties drop instantaneously.

  Yeah.

  These were actual words from the lips of girls who were supposed to be smart.

  Nope.

  The force wasn’t strong with these girls.

  I started my mission afraid of Sawyer. He was supposed to be a tractor beam for girls like me. I worried that maybe I didn’t have the willpower I’d proudly claimed—that I’d be drawn in by his magnificence and then zapped by his game like a bug flying into an electronic insect killer. I expected to walk into class and see half-naked women throwing themselves at him—their panties being tossed to the floor at his feet while he sat in his desk with a smug smile and a monster cock.

  Not so much.