Fair Game: A Football Romance (64 page)

I sense him searching for the right words.

“I need to see you, King, please.” The blindfold has been intensely erotic, but this is a moment teeming with emotion and I want to read what’s in his eyes. The blindfold is pushed up. I squint from the light and see King devouring me with his hungry eyes, fighting for control. His tenderness gradually falls away, the primal need to conquer builds, and I can’t hold on. My lack of experience is blatantly obvious when I give no warning. Arching my back in a fit of emotion and physical pleasure, I explode around King. Every thrust of his cock brings on another electric spasm, and the fleeting thought that I might die of euphoria steamrolls through my brain when another wave hits me and I cry out King’s name. My eyes roll back into their sockets as King claims my second orgasm. His roar bounces around the room, his cock is pulsing inside of me, my walls clench around him, and my life as I know it changes forever.

This isn’t average or normal. Nothing about what has been happening between us for the past thirty-six hours is ordinary or everyday. This is big, off the charts powerful, a full speed ahead, epic forever kind of thing. Even at the tender age of nineteen, I realize it. I just hope King does too.

He rolls us over, forgetting that my hands are bound as he closes his eyes and flops back, tossing his arms out to the side. I lay my head on his heaving chest, and with my arms above my head, I play with his silky hair.

“Let me get that for you,” he says, reaching up to release my wrists and massaging the circulation back into my arms.

“Better?”

“Yes, much.”

King wraps his arms around me, squeezing so tightly I can hardly breathe. When he loosens his hold, his chest rises and falls with a deep sigh. Reversing roles for the first time, I ask him if
he’s
okay.

Chapter Ten

King

Am I okay? Fucking no, I’m not okay. This creature, who is plastered to my skin with honey, has me tied up in knots and feeling things I’ve never felt before. It’s intense and frustrating, I’m a player, a self-proclaimed asshole. I don’t do love, but it sure as hell seems to be doing a number on me.

I’ve slept with hundreds of women—classy, trashy, addicts, mothers, daughters—and not one of them has felt so familiar in my hands. Holland is like a long lost ship returning to port after a dark, catastrophic storm. My life has been one long string of tragic, shitty circumstances. Sure, I’ve been given every material thing anyone could ever desire, but the need to be loved runs bone deep. Holland just smashed through a lifetime of pain and neglect, and she’s about to be flooded with more adoration than she’s ever known.

Lifting my head off the pillow, I nuzzle her nose with mine and gently kiss her full, swollen lips.

“I’m fine, baby, better than fine. I’m fucking fantabulous,” I say with a wink.

The shit I’m feeling for her is insane—intense, fervent even—but I don’t want to scare her. She’s such an odd combination of delicate and strong that I’m not sure how much of me she can handle. She strutted right into my existence and made herself at home, capturing my heart and practically turning me into her slave. I’ll never admit it, though. Ever. Holland could very well be my future, but I’m not sure she’s safe in my world. I need to make some very serious life changes if I pursue this woman. Some of the people I deal with use love as leverage. I love someone, and they automatically become a target—a weakness, a vulnerability that I can’t afford.

“Ready for a bath?” I ask and watch the honey ooze between our bodies when she rises to straddle me.

“Um, yeah. I don’t think I’ve ever been this . . .”

“Sticky, happy, satisfied?” I ask.

She giggles, and another link of the chain holding me securely to my anchor is loosened. I am such a fucking goner.

“All of the above,” she says, shaking her wrists fruitlessly. Nothing short of a good scrubbing will get the sticky goo off of her skin. I sit up and grab her ass to pull her closer while I work us toward the end of the bed. Standing, still connected, I’m already getting hard inside of her while I walk us across the hall for a bath. She clings to me and crosses her ankles tightly, digging her heels into my ass. I could press her up against any wall nearby and fuck her again right now. If she were any other woman I would, but Holland isn’t a cheap hot dog at a ball game that you wolf down without tasting just to curb your appetite. She’s a delicacy to be savored, nourishing a man for a lifetime.

“Hold on a second.” Regretfully, I peel her from my chest and slide out to help her stand beside the tub as I grab my robe from a hook on the wall. “Put this on, and I’ll turn up the heat and run some water.” She has her arms wrapped around her waist, so I help her on with the robe. Her skin is sticky so it’s difficult, but when it’s wrapped tight around her, I start the water and cross the large, royal bathroom to turn up the thermostat.

I always shower immediately after a workout, and I keep it chilly in here to help my body cool off quickly. It also keeps me alert—something that’s been deeply ingrained in my mind since birth. “Be aware of your surroundings, son.” “Always look over your shoulder, King.” “Never let your guard down.” My father’s words are always on repeat, but I’m weary of being alert. I want to fucking relax and enjoy someone’s company. I want to have a normal life where I can wake up in the morning, roll over, and see my beautiful wife. I want to listen to my kids messing around in the kitchen, trying to fix breakfast, while the dog barks at the fucking mailman.              

My life is so dark that it’s almost impossible to consider settling down, but with Holland, anything seems possible. She is exactly the thing I’ve been searching for to lead me into the light.

Chapter Eleven

Holland

King just waltzes around his ridiculously royal bathroom—naked, with a huge hard on—like he’s at the grocery store shopping for milk. I wonder if all men are so comfortable in their own skin? No way, most men don’t hold a candle to King’s physique. I watch as he leans across the black stone island to turn on the water in his gold bathtub. The tile under my feet begins to warm me, and the heat from the steamy water rises from the tub. I can’t wait to get in and wash all of the tacky stickiness off of my skin. After a few minutes of fussing with bath salts, lighting candles, and piling huge towels on one corner of the tub, he saunters up behind me to help me peel off his robe.

“Sorry, it’s kind of a mess now.”

“It’s fine. I don’t use it much anyway. I’m hot blooded.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“Come on, I’ll help you.” King takes my hand tightly and leads me to the tub. The swooping gold railings go unused as he has a death grip on one of my hands, and his other hand is firmly on my waist while he guides me up the steps.

“You’re squeezing my hand,” I gently complain, and he loosens his grip . . . but not much.

“I don’t want you to fall. It’s slippery up here.”

And he’s right. It is very slippery, but I’m safe in his hands.

“I trust you,” I say. King steps down into the water, never releasing my hand, and turns to help me in. He stares, drinking me in until a shiver runs through my body, snapping him from his trance, and he helps me into the hot water.

“You’re cold. Let me warm you up,” he says as we sink down until only our heads are above the surface. His hands slide up and down my arms, working the honey and cream from my skin. King’s tub is more the size of a hotel hot tub than a private bath. It’s deep enough that we can kneel facing each other and be completely under the water.

“What are you thinking?”

“I was thinking about how this is so . . .”

“Overwhelming.” He ends my thought, and I watch as his face clouds with concern. His arms circle my waist, and he turns me away so my back is to his front.

“That’s the second time you’ve said that I overwhelm you, Holland. I don’t want to. I don’t mean to, but like I’ve told you repeatedly, you’re irresistible. I find myself doing things I’d never do, things I’ve never done . . . things I’ll never do with anyone else. Let me tell you a little secret, and I apologize ahead of time for being overwhelming.”

He presses his lips to my ear, and I shiver when I feel his warm breath on my damp skin.

“I don’t care about people in general. I told you, I’m a loner.” He pauses to nip at my ear.

“But I care about you. A lot.” He kisses the area he previously identified as
spot number one
just behind my ear, making every hair on my body stand on end.

“I can see myself with you.” He stills, waiting for my reaction. A soft gasp escapes from my lips, and it’s just enough to allow him to relax around me.

“You, Holland, are a very special woman. You’re ethereal, unique, beautiful, and your talent—Lord help the world, your talent is prodigious. I’ve never been so moved listening to a musician play. Today you blew me away, and that’s not an easy thing to do.”

He has a unique way of making me feel like so much more than I believe I am. Playing the violin is just a part of me, like my toes or my hair. I’ve never done anything to deserve my talent. It’s just always been there. If anyone deserves credit for where I am today, it’s my parents for pushing me to be the best musician I could be. My parents . . . shit. I was supposed to let my mama know I was spending the night at Savannah’s. I’ve been so distracted, I forgot to call or text her. She’ll be going across the street to look for me at Savannah’s house herself if I don’t do something fast.

“What’s wrong, Holland?” King turns me in his arms so I’m facing him again. I naturally slide my legs around his waist and feel his thickness against my core.

The lines between right and wrong are so blurry that I can’t figure out what to do in the simplest, most obvious situations anymore. Get out of the tub and call your mama—easy, right? Not when King is involved. He’s every temptation I’ve never had to resist balled up into one seriously complex experience.

“Every muscle in your body just locked up,” he says, holding my face in his hands. Staring into my eyes, he searches for the cause of my sudden stress.

I stammer and scramble for a good excuse to get out of this tub and make a phone call, but I’ve got nothing.

“Um, I just remembered I was supposed to do something . . . important.”

His brows lift, and his eyes dart back and forth between mine with concern.

“Well what is it?”              

Two deep frown lines form between his eyes. What am I supposed to say? What on earth could be important enough to distract me from a moment like this? With no better ideas, I go with the truth . . . well, sort of the truth.

“I need my phone. I was supposed to make a phone call . . .” Lame, lame, lame. We’re sitting in a luxurious, sensual bath on a Saturday night at ten o’clock. Who the hell would I be calling? His face is a mixture of concern and suspicion, but I’m surprised when the little frown between his eyes relaxes. He moves to position me on the seat behind him, and without a word, he effortlessly lifts himself out of the water on the opposite end, away from the stairs. I watch the water sluice down his chiseled, muscular backside, leaving a trail behind him as he confidently strolls out of the bathroom—without a towel—to find my phone.

Chapter Twelve

King

I can’t imagine what the fuck could possibly be so important that it interrupts a moment like the one we were just having. I’m about to find out, though. I’ll bring her the phone, but I’m not leaving when she makes the call. Women don’t think of phone calls when they’re naked in my arms—at least, I never thought they did until now. Certainly no one has ever admitted to it, anyway. It’s kind of an ego crusher that I didn’t have Holland’s complete attention.

“Sir?” Sebastián’s voice comes from the door of my bedroom, where I’m just about to rummage through Holland’s purse for her phone.

“Sebastián, what the fuck are you doing here?” I turn, and he averts his eyes when he answers me.

“You couldn’t be reached by phone, and there is a serious situation going on in Miami,” he says, staring at the floor. I don’t know why he feels the need to look away. This is hardly the most compromising position he’s found me in. Sebastián has been with me for . . . well, for as long as I can remember. He knows more about me than anyone on earth.

“Sebastián, do I look like I give a fuck about what’s happening in Miami? Handle it already,” I bark, but he holds his ground, looking me directly in the eyes.

“I can’t handle this one. Multiple deaths require the club owner's presence. The police want to speak directly to you.”

Fuck. That’s all I need, cops running around my club, investigating multiple murders.

“What the hell happened, and how many people are dead?” I ask, dropping Holland’s purse onto the bed and heading to my closet to dry off and get dressed.

“Six. Two women and four men, all gunned down in the VIP club.”

Now that information stops me in my tracks. VIPs killed in my Miami club . . . that is extremely bad for business in so many ways. I can’t even fathom the repercussions.

I grab the closest thing within my reach, which happens to be one of two stupid crystal letter K bookends that Crystal gave to me for my birthday. I hurl it across the room. Sebastián ducks when it shatters into a million pieces against the wall next to him. He knows it’s not personal. He’s dealt with my temper for years.

“I’ll have the jet ready for you in fifteen minutes,” he says calmly, as if I hadn’t just lost my shit. I grunt something inaudible and enter my closet to dress. The fucking universe is screwing with me tonight. I just wanted to spend an evening with Holland, and instead, I’ve had interruption after fucking interruption.

I drag my fingers through my wet hair and make my way back to the bathroom when I’m dressed to tell Holland I have to abandon her. Fucking gang bangers probably shot up my club, and now I have to fly to Florida to deal with cops. This is absolutely the last thing I want to be doing right now.

I open the door see my beauty patiently waiting exactly where I left her just a few minutes ago. My cock twitches and my chest aches when her innocent, gentle eyes connect with mine. Just one step inside the bathroom, and I have to grip the doorknob, drop my chin to my chest, and take a deep breath.

“King?” she says, her voice laced with concern. Great. She must have heard the glass breaking.

“I’m really sorry, Holland, but there’s an emergency at my club in Miami. It’s very serious, and I have to handle it personally. I’d like you to stay until I get back, though, if you will.” She fidgets on the seat of the tub before nodding in agreement. I expected some sort of negative reaction—a few sarcastic words, or at least a question or two—but she says nothing. Crystal would have given me the third degree, demanding to know what exactly happened and where I was going to stay in Miami. Not Holland, though. She doesn’t show any signs of annoyance. In fact, I could swear she looks a little relieved, and that makes me uncomfortable.

“So you’ll stay?” I want her to stay, but something tells me she’s not going to be here when I get back.

“How long will you be gone?” she asks.

“No more than twenty-four hours,” I say. She shifts her eyes to the left a fraction and back. I knew it . . . she’s leaving. If it were anything other than a murderer, I’d pack her up and take her with me, but this could be dangerous. No matter what she says to me now, I know she won’t be here when I come home.

“I have practice tomorrow, but we could get together later when you get home,” she says, drawing her knees up and wrapping her arms around them. I round the tub and reach over the edge to rub her shoulders and softly bite her earlobe.

“I’ll be counting the minutes, sweet Holland.” I breathe into her ear and feel her smile against my lips. That’s better.

“I can have Sebastián give you a ride home tonight if you want, but I like the idea of you sleeping in my bed.”

“I’ll stay tonight then.”

“Mmm, good. I’ll text you. Keep your phone close and let me know if you change your mind.” She nods and I slide my hand across her delicate neck to her chin and guide her mouth to mine. Sliding my tongue between her lips, I kiss her, no holds barred. I want her to think of me and nothing else while I’m gone. I already know that’s unlikely, but I do my best to make it as memorable as possible anyway.

A knock at the door quickly switches my boiling blood from desire to anger. Fucking Sebastián is trying to rush me, dammit, and just when Holland has relaxed. The arms that were protectively clutching her knees are now roaming around my neck, her fingers threading through my hair, and when I open my eyes, the sight of her perfect breasts bobbing just above the water has me thinking homicidal thoughts regarding Sebastián.

“You should go,” she says, breathless and flushed.

“I don’t fucking want to.” I growl and slide my hands down her chest and over her slick breasts, and I cover her mouth with mine again. My God, she has jurisdiction over me. My business is my life, and a terrible tragedy is going down in one of my establishments, and all I can think about is peeling off my clothes and climbing back into the water with Holland to worship her. The knock comes again, firmer and more insistent this time, and I seriously consider opening the door and slamming Sebastián’s head in it to make him stop.

“Maybe you should answer that,” she says with her lips brushing against mine, eyes closed, still gripping my hair.

“Yeah, I have to go,” I say, sighing deeply, and I untangle her fingers from my hair. Like pulling off a bandage, I step away quickly and start for the door. I’ll never get out of here if I don’t just get on with it.

“I’ll see you when I get home tomorrow,” I say without turning around. I pull open the door roughly, just enough to slip out. I know Sebastián wouldn’t be trying to sneak a peek at Holland, but I’m not risking an accidental sighting.

I shoot my short, fifty-year-old, muscular head of security a death glare, but he doesn’t look away. Sebastián is more than a little aware that he is the levelheaded one in this situation, and with that knowledge, he stands his ground.

“I’m fucking coming, Sebastián,” I hiss.

“Yes, sir. I see that,” he snaps back. The only man on earth who will stand up to me quickly turns on his heel, heading down the hall, carrying my overnight bag like we’ve just had a casual, friendly exchange. After a few frustrating, pissed off seconds of standing alone in the hall, I roll my eyes and follow him down to the parking garage.