Player (A Secret Baby Sports Romance)(48)

She stands there, defiant, holding her ground, not giving in, and not doing what so many other girls I know would do here in this moment.

And that’s when it hits me.

I want her because she doesn’t want me.

I move closer, and I can’t even stop myself.

“Austin-”

Her eyes dart across mine as she clutches the sheet in her fists.

“What are you-”

“Saying goodnight.”

And then I’m kissing her - kissing her harder and fiercer than I’ve ever kissed a woman in my entire life. I’m pouring every single thing I have no fucking clue how to say into that kiss as she melts into me.

It’s fierce, and wild, and she’s moaning into me, kissing me back.

But there’s something missing, and I know it. This is need, not want. Her tongue is sliding into my mouth, and my hands are moving down to cup her perfect, bare ass. And I’m roaring inside for this. I’m tied up and twisted in her arms with those satin lips against mine.

But it’s not quite right, because she’s right with what she said before.

There’s a power dynamic here that feels fucked up and wrong. Because damn if she isn’t kissing me right back, and molding that tight little body against mine through the sheet, but I know it’s because I’ve pushed and teased and wound her up to this moment.

And with literally any other girl, I’d be more than fine letting this happen. Anyone standing here basically naked in my arms and I’d be bending her over that bed, tangling my hand in her hair, and sliding every thick inch of my cock deep inside of her.

But this isn’t working, not like this.

Not with her.

Because I want her to want me, not just give in to me.

Every other part of me but that one traitorous thought screams at me to shut the fuck up, but it won’t be ignored.

She has to want me.

And that’s going to be the fun part, if I can survive it.

She’s sucking at my lip as I pull away, moving my mouth to her ear to brush against the lobe there.

“Natalie.”

“Yes?”

I growl into her ear. “Natalie.”

“Austin-”

“Goodnight.”

She freezes as I pull away, grinning.

She blinks, her breath coming in staggered gasps and her lips bright red and marked from my kisses.

Her eyes narrow at me. “You are ridiculous.”

“This isn’t happening until you want it to happen.”

Her face goes flushed red as she clutches the sheet tight against her body. “What the hell do you think that just was?” she says heatedly, her cheeks flushed and pink.

I shake my head, stepping into her again and feeling her shiver against me as I move to her ear again. “This is going to wait until you’re begging for it, princess.”

Her whole body tenses before she moves back from me, her whole face wild and angry. “Well then you’re going to have a rough time,” she says icily.

I turn and head to the door, gritting my teeth at what a fucking moral high-ground idiot I’m being. I pause just outside her door, turning.

“Look-”

The door slams in my face.

Nice job, dick.





23





Natalie




Two frosty days of ignoring Austin later, duty calls.

It’s the first day of team practice, which is apparently a big deal if you’re into that sort of thing.

And I’m not.

But - as Austin so handily reminded two nights ago in my room, this is a job. This is a role, and so here I am, playing the part and dressing the part of the big sports star’s wife. I’m painted up, coifed, and dressed to the nines - Dior top, Chanel skirt, Louboutin heels, at ten o’clock in the morning standing on astroturf along the sidelines of the stadium where the team is running drills.

I might be out of place on a football field, but dressing a part and looking perfectly put together is something I was born doing.

Thanks, Mom.

I can clean up. I might roll my eyes at it, but my mother groomed me for this life and circumstances such as these where I’m here to smile and look pretty in order to support “my man.” And even if I never really wanted that, here I am anyways.

God, she’d be thrilled.

This is literally her dream - her darling daughter standing poised and put together, smiling at the right times, “engaged and yet unobtrusive, like a lady ought to be.”

Of course, my mother’s dream might involve a bit more horse racing or polo, but I’m sure she’d be pleased nonetheless.

The sidelines where I stand are crowded with managers and PR teams, media cameras and reporters, coaches, agents, and of course, other players’ wives looking about as interested in what’s going on on the field as I am. Being here hits every single pressure point in me for uncomfortable situations, though. People I don’t know, a place I don’t understand, and a thing I’m not familiar with.