Dirty Player(8)

“Privately.”

I held out my hand, wanting more than anything to wrap it around her elbow and pull her toward me, pull her into a dark corner where I could slide her knee to my hip and sink into her. She was short, and in sandals. I’d find a way to make it work.

But I didn’t. I kept my hand still, palm outstretched.

The first move had to be hers. I’d take care of the rest.

Slowly, she nodded. Her whispered “Okay” was so quiet I barely heard her over the clamoring of the kids in the background.

She slid her hand into mine and that same shock of electric energy swam and slithered up my arm to my chest.

It was unnatural. Scared the hell out of me.

I gripped her tighter and pulled her to me. My hand went to her hair, pushing it back so I could lean down to whisper in her ear.

“You know everyone’s watching this right now?”

She nodded once.

“You know what’s going to happen when I get you alone?”

She cleared her throat. Her nerves were evident in the rapid blink of her eyes. “Talking.”

I drew closer to her so my lips brushed over her earlobe. “We’ll talk. And then you’ll scream.”

She didn’t pull away. I was still being an ass.

I expected a punch to my back from Beaux at any moment.

But none of it came. Instead of pulling away like she should have, her chest pressed to mine.

“Then let’s go talk.”





Chapter FIVE





SHANNON



Almost every woman at the party stared as Oliver led me through the small crowd of players and their wives and girlfriends. They glanced at us once, quickly looked away, only to surreptitiously slide their gazes back to us as we passed them.

I swallowed hard in an effort to push down the apprehension and focused on the tingling in my stomach, the way my heart jumped and pulse pounded as he guided me inside the house. His confidence and the way he seemed to not care about what anyone thought of him—along with the sexual magnetism between us—flooded my veins in preparation for what would happen next.

What he wanted was obvious. The desire and need written all over his face from the moment we made contact was clear.

That look, along with Beaux’s permission to do whatever I wanted earlier, made me want to toss my morals to the ground and stomp all over them.

I’d never had the freedom other kids had.

Now, I was free to do whatever I wanted. Live how I chose without the risk of screwing things up for anyone.

First, it was Beaux. If I was too hung over, too caught up in the arms of a stranger, I could miss getting him where he needed to be. I could miss a game or a practice or a meeting with a college recruiter. I could miss giving our mom her meds when she needed them, or running her to doctor’s appointments.

My entire life had been spent taking care of my family, and then later, making certain I wasn’t screwing up anything for Patrick or his family.

I was so, so tired of the responsibility bearing down on my shoulders, I could break at any moment.

So why not throw it all away for a quickie in a stranger’s house with a sexy man whose confident and warm touch held the promise of pleasure and wild abandon?

Oliver led me through an enormous house with more floors and windows and doors than they sold in most home improvement stores until we reached a room at the end of a hall on the top floor.

I looked at everything from the incredibly fancy decor to the windows that overlooked the pool outside, to the overly dramatic chandeliers and woodwork so expensive and well-oiled it gleamed when the sun hit it.

“Kolby’s house is a mansion,” I murmured.

Beaux and Oliver could probably afford something like this. Oliver probably lived in something like this. With years in the league and millions to his name, he probably had houses and condos in fabulous vacation spots and private planes to take him wherever he wanted to go on whatever random whim he had. He had to travel all the time, whenever he could, to be seen in so many different places with so many different women.

“He needs a home, not a crash pad like so many of the other players,” Oliver said, not looking around or swept up in anything except his intended purpose with me.

I swallowed at the thought before I realized what he said.

“And your house? Is it a home or a crash pad?”

A muscle jumped in his cheek when he finally pushed open a door and tugged me through. It was a bathroom, not a bedroom, and my resolve to live free shook beneath my feet.

He couldn’t give me the courtesy of a bed?

My wants and my needs conflicted with my past and my choices and the way I’d always been.

I was a jumbled mess.

He pulled me flush against him like he’d done on the dance floor a week ago, surrounding me everywhere.

He was only wearing a thin T-shirt, a hint of chest hair peeking through the top of his collar, and bright red board shorts. Leather flip-flop sandals adorned his perfect feet and I’d smiled when I first saw them. Seeing him casual was an illusion.

As he touched me, his hand brushing through my hair again and then trailing down my arm, he was anything but casual.

Determined. Intense. Focused.

I blinked and swallowed down my nerves.

“I’ve thought about having you beneath me for a week now. The first time that happens won’t be in Kolby’s house in a strange bed where I’ll never be able to picture you there again.”

“Oh.” The lump in my throat returned. I tilted my head back to see him looking down at me. “You wanted to talk.”

“I was an asshole before.”

“I have a feeling you’re always an asshole.”

I might have wanted him, but apparently I hadn’t become a complete doormat.

My words made him laugh. It was beautiful—deep and husky and rolled over me like gentle waves.

“Touché. I’m usually an asshole, just maybe not as obvious as I was to you. I’m sorry for making judgments and treating you like that.”

“Why?”

His hands were still moving on me. Thick and large with calluses from years of hard work. Gentle yet firm—teasing. He brushed the pads of his fingers along my arms and shoulders to my upper back. He was everywhere, all over my exposed skin, making me shiver and tremble beneath him.

“Women around football players want one thing.” His hips pressed against me, drawing me closer. That bulge in his shorts, the one he’d let me see him adjust earlier, pressed against my stomach. God. He was large. He was tall and big everywhere, so it wasn’t a surprise.

My need grew.

“Two things, actually. It’s easy to give them what they want, knowing they’ll disappear afterward. When I saw you touching Beaux, and then dancing with Kolby, I didn’t like it.”

“That’s absurd.”

“I know. Can’t explain it, don’t really want to, but I’m thinking that we should get this attraction between us out of the way. I’ve got a season to focus on—nothing else can have my attention.”

He was being honest.

I had to give him that.

“So a quickie in the bathroom and then I’m forgotten?”

“No.” The word was clipped, showing his tension and restraint. It made my blood begin to boil beneath my skin. “After I take you here, I’ll take you to my place so I can live out the fantasies I’ve had of you for the last week.”

He’d thought of me. Fantasized about me. Somehow, that filled me with a power, a sense of control in this crazy, messed-up situation that I hadn’t yet known I had.

The idea didn’t seem as scary or as bad as it might have last week. After all, he had a season to focus on. I had a new job to get off the ground.

Neither of us had the time.

“Doesn’t seem fair,” I whispered, finally reaching out to touch him. I slid my fingers along the veins popping on his forearm. “To only get the night for you to fulfill your fantasies of me. What about mine of you?”

“You’ve thought about me?” His lips twitched…from humor or victory I didn’t know.

Dishonesty had no place in my life, and I resisted the urge to hide behind lies now. “For years.”

His hands were on my cheeks, pulling me to him. I had to roll to the tips of my toes for balance. “Tell me,” he whispered, right before his lips pressed against mine. “Tell me all of them.”

I couldn’t. He stole my breath and my sense of decency when his warm lips brushed mine and I opened to him. His tongue slid in, not seeking or gentle. I inhaled his scent as we kissed and knew I’d always remember the fresh spice of his cologne. He smelled like summer and excitement, and I suspected some of it was just him.

He plundered me. He sent me off balance with a kiss and his firm hands pressing back to my scalp. It pulled my hair, making it sting and making me tremble beneath him.

The man was tall and strong, able to break me with a breath, a twist of his hands, and yet the bite of pain made me lean closer, crave more.

His kiss unraveled me as our tongues twisted, taking and hunting but not giving, and I succumbed to his touch, to his idea.

To the thought of him, for one night, where we could play out whatever we wanted and walk away.

It wouldn’t be enough. I was smart enough already to know it based on the heat rolling off his skin, the tightness in his muscles as he devoured me.

I was also smart enough not to say anything as he pulled away, both of us gasping for breath when he harshly growled, “Turn around. When I make you come, I want you watching.”