Bad Boy’s Revenge(67)

Hot.

Strong.

Close.

Every movement explored my body and demanded my pleasure and stole from me the last defenses I cast for Jack. I could hide nothing from him while his cock stretched me and tormented me and delighted me. I never imagined experiencing such a passionate intimacy with him.

I never thought I’d enjoy it so much.

That I’d need it so much.

That I’d love it so much.

I came quickly for him, trembling against my own sudden realizations.

It would be far too easy to fall for Jack Carson, to want the untamable and risk breaking my heart for the arrogant trouble-maker.

I’d have to be careful I only gave him my body.

I couldn’t risk giving him my heart.





Chapter Twelve – Jack



The team cheered as I dropped back, let loose, and threw a bomb that hit our receiver mid-stride for a sixty yard completion.

Had it not been training camp—had we actually strapped on our pads and gone to work at a real game—it would have broken my personal record.

Just gave me something to aim for this season. It was a good pass. It felt good. It looked good for the screaming fans and press attending our training camp.

I could feel it. This was going to be my season.

My year.

My championship.

Bryon finished his stretches and hooted at me. “Baby, you kicked it up a notch this offseason.”

“Fuckin’ know it.” I took the bottle from the trainer but dosed myself with the cool water. Goddamned August was killing me, and it was only the first week of camp. “Just a preview of what’s coming, gentlemen.”

Bryon revved the team up. “Watch out!”

“Better start working up new nicknames. Play-Maker’s gonna become the stuff of dreams.”

The guys laughed. Bryon mocked me, hands in the air. “Preach it, Jack.”

“I’m the baddest motherfucker on this field. You best be calling your mommas on Monday. Ain’t no one rocking you to sleep Sunday night after you get fucked by me.”

The team cheered, my offensive linemen heralding the charge with another blitz of profanity. My back-up nudged me.

“Dude, there’s kids over there.” Matt wasn’t a stick in the mud, he was all the dirt in the damn pile. “Better watch your language.”

“Jesus Christ, it’s a practice. Like they haven’t heard this shit before—”

Coach Thompson’s voice was a shrill as the whistle. It silenced the field. “Carson!”

What the hell. I was in a rhythm. Why the fuck were we stopping?

I abandoned the practice and jogged to the coaching staff, strategizing over the playbook. The rest of the team buzzed the field, some running laps, some doing plays, most of the new recruits shitting themselves while trying to make a good impression.

I guess I was in that position too. My contract renegotiation hadn’t started yet. I doubted they’d let me wallow through the last year of what I originally signed. It’d be a monumentally shitty idea for the team, especially after how good I looked at this year’s training camp.

I was bigger than last season. Stronger. Fitter. I knew the offense better than the layout of my house. And I had a reason to win—not just because I was the most insanely gifted quarterback to enter the league in twenty years.

I had my pride to regain. A lost game to forget. And they knew it.

“Carson, you’re gonna watch your motherfucking mouth on that field.” Coach Thompson pointed at me with a pudgy finger. “In fact, you’re gonna shut that mouth. Throw the damn ball and do your job.”

The insult cracked deep. I narrowed my eyes. “Haven’t I done that?”

“You showboat when you got a ring on your finger to show what hot shit you are. You brag in the minutes after that final win. As of now?” He tapped his watch. “New season, Play-Maker. You’re on my time now, and there ain’t no winners or losers yet. You gotta prove yourself, same as anyone else.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

The coach was a beefy man, a former lineman that forgot he wasn’t burning thousands of calories in exercise a day anymore. He tried to intimidate me. Didn’t matter how many clipboards he held in front of his face, he wasn’t pissing with me.

I took another drink and hoped it was the heat that made me so fucking irritable. I pitched the water bottle at my feet and turned back to my team.

Coach Thompson snorted at me. “You think you’re special, Jack?”

I’d shove that whistle down his throat. I faced him, eyes narrowed, every muscle in my body tensed and ready to prove that I was a one-in-a-million athlete that wouldn’t tolerate his bullshit much longer.

“What the hell is your problem?” I pointed to the field. “I have fifty-two men I’m leading back to the championship. And you know what I’m gonna get?”

“A win this time?”

“Re-fucking-demption. Don’t tell me I gotta prove myself. I know exactly what I need to do.”

He nodded at the other coaches, backing them down as I felt my temper baited, checked, and about to rage. He patted my shoulder, but the son of a bitch didn’t have a right to rile me up just to shit on me when the urge came over him.

“You’ve been doing good these past few weeks, Jack. Staying out of trouble.”

“Don’t patronize me.”

“Don’t give me a reason to treat you like a child.”

I knew better than to say a damn thing. If I let loose, I’d be overheard by the media hanging too close. They always descended when they thought there’d be fireworks.

Fuck em. I wasn’t giving them any fodder to take to Leah. It was bad enough she still dealt with the car accident and the camera incident. Those scandals complicated my nights with my publicist, when she had to bitch at me before I tossed her in bed and tried to knock her up.

It had been a good couple weeks of attempts though. Leah’s pussy was great stress relief. Something about getting a girl like her in trouble—even if she gave me permission—was sexy enough to get me hard every minute of every day.

Coach Thompson grabbed my shoulder. It was a bad move, but I let him pull me back.

“Listen to me, Jack. You’re keeping your head down. You’re doing good work. You’re on time. And you weren’t with Bryon when he got into that mess with the slut downtown. You’re doing what you’re supposed to be doing. You understand me?”

I did, so why was I resisting it? “Yeah. I’m the league’s newest lapdog. You taught me not to bark in the house, but you still want me neutered.”

“Damn right, we do. You’re gonna stay on this path.”

“I am?”

“Yes, you are. I don’t know why this is always a fight with you.” He pointed to the field, watching as the men ran plays without me. “You are one of the most gifted athletes I’ve ever seen, but you refuse to cooperate with anyone. You’re aggressive. You throw temper tantrums. You insist on using your cock to make your big decisions.”

Couldn’t argue with that, but when had my cock led me wrong?

“This past month, you’ve been behaving—and yes, I say behaving because you’re the only goddamned adult I have to treat like a teenager. I got kids at home, Jack, I don’t need another crew of ungrateful shits here, you get me?” He looked me over, but he still didn’t try to respect me. “You haven’t been partying as much.”

Yeah, cause I was balls deep in Leah at night, trying my damnest to make her orgasm so hard she’d pass out on my dick. Every man had a dream. This one was new. Didn’t involve a championship game, but it took up a lot of my nights.

“You’re focused, Jack,” he said. “You’re concentrating. You’re in great shape. You’re not hiding in your sunglasses cause you have a raging hangover. You understand now? You’re ready to lead this team the way it should be led, and you’re becoming the man you were supposed to be three years ago. I don’t know what changed, but something flipped that switch in your head. It’s going to bring us to victory.”

I didn’t change. Nothing changed. Christ, people were so fucking desperate to see connections and stories in my behavior. Nothing happened unusual.

Nothing except Leah.

Nothing except pretending to be in a relationship with a cocoa-skinned goddess. A woman of class, grace, and absolute sensuality who wanted nothing more than for me to take her again and again until I seeded her with my child.

I guessed that was different.

Coach Thompson waddled onto the field to yell at the defense. Coach Wallace, the quarterback coach, winked at me. He patted my shoulder before grabbing a playbook to consult with Matt.

“Jack, you are playing better. Considerably. Don’t you feel it?”

Yes. “I guess.”

“Then I’d keep doing what you’re doing regardless of who it pleases. So long as you get the results, what the hell does it matter if it keeps the league and Coach Thompson happy? Keep that good luck charm or the new exercise routine. It’s working.”

Except it wasn’t luck or me.

It was Leah.

Holy shit, they were right. It wasn’t just my image. It was Leah.

I grabbed another bottle of water and sprayed off the sweat. My eyes searched the crowd. Enough people and press, kids and fans crowded around the outdoor practice facility. Training camp was a big event, and a lot of people came to watch the open practices.