Game Saver (25 page)

“Okay,” I whisper, letting his words and the strength behind them wash over me.

I put my hands on his hips and dig my fingers in, pulling him closer. His hands run down my elbows and rest on top of mine. Unable to help myself, I smile up at him.

“There it is,” he says quietly. He lifts his hands up to frame my face. “That smile, that light in your eyes—
that’s
what I was looking for.”

“What?” I whisper, my throat tightening.

“I knew something was wrong, but you weren’t letting me in. Thomas said last weekend that I should check on you but when I came over, you were fine—or just good at hiding it.

“I needed time.”

“Why? Tell me why you hid it from me.”

I lean into his hand on my cheek, deciding then and there to do it. I will say it all, tell him exactly what’s been eating away at me every time his parents do something against me. “Can I get my drink first?”

“Only if you pour me one, too.”

“Deal,” I whisper, my breath catching when his thumb sweeps my skin before brushing over my bottom lip.

“Whenever I have a bad day, I just need to see this smile to make everything worth it.”

“Cade . . .” My eyes soften, and my smile fades as tears sting my eyes.

“A patient can come in that’s too far gone and what gets me through is this smile,” he says huskily, his fingers flexing.

“You’re gonna make me cry and I. Don’t. Cry.”

A wicked grin curls at his lips. “Well, there was the time I gave you that triple orgasm. I swear there were tears in your eyes after that.”

“I want you to tell me everything and I promise, whatever it is, we’ll get through it. If we can survive my parents, we can survive anything.”

“You honestly believe that, don’t you? You believe in us that much?”

“I don’t need to believe in us. I
know
it’s true because I’m absolutely gone for you, Spitfire.”

My heart stutters, my stomach doing somersaults because I know then and there that I’m deeply in love with this man—evil family and all.

I glide my hands up his sides to rest lightly on his chest. “And I’m one hundred percent, head-over-heels in love with you too, Cade Carmichael Carsen the Third.”

“What are you doing?” she shrieks, her hands gripping my waist as I hoist her up over my shoulder and carry her down the hallway.

“We’re going to bed, and I’m going to work you up until you’re ready to burst, then do it over and over until you get it through your head that you were—and still are–everything I want and have been from the moment I locked eyes with you.”

She stops fighting me, her flailing limbs going limp, her hands now moving with purpose to my waistband and pushing down my sweats, forcing me to step out of them as I walk. At the same time, I repay the favor, flipping her back over my shoulder and throwing her—albeit gently—down onto the mattress. Then I’m lean over her, stripping her clothes off as I go before tugging my tee off and throwing it on the floor behind me.

“There’s more you need to know,” she says breathlessly.

“If what you have to say is gonna piss me off, you better be ready to wrap your mouth around my cock by way of an apology afterwards.”

Biting her lip, she looks away, and I know then that there’s no way I’m gonna like what she has to tell me, but at least the prospect of getting head afterwards will make the pain bearable.

Putting a knee in the bed, I lower myself down on top of her, snaking my hands under her body and kneading my fingertips into her ass cheeks, earning me a quiet moan. “Hit me with it then.”

“I had a visit at the club on Friday night. It’s kind of . . . well, it was the catalyst for me quitting.”

Two things hit me from that. One, she really wasn’t okay when she texted me and didn’t come over and two, I’m never going to hear the end of the fact that Thomas knows women and their actions better than I do. Maybe abstinence is turning him
into
a woman.

“Okay . . .” I reply slowly. “If you tell me it was my dad, I might first have to be sick, but then I’ll definitely be kicking his ass.”

“Not your dad, but potentially orchestrated by him.”

“Explain” I growl, my entire body now tense.

“It was Bryce.”

It takes a moment for the name to register. Her ex. The fuckwad who took her for a ride just so he could get high.

“Why was he there?” I grind out.

“To give me a heads up. A P.I. tracked him down and was asking after me.”

“Fucking Christ,” I mutter, my mellow mood vanishing in the blink of an eye. Moving my hands up to her shoulders, I roll over, taking her with me, pressing my body into her side and looming over her. Angry. I’m so fucking angry I don’t remember ever being so pissed off, even with all of my parents’ actions over the years.

“What did he say?”

“He said the P.I. asked him about me, my past, my life with him and basically said they’d make it worth his while to impart information that would help their ‘client.’“

“Same fucking shit. Did he threaten you? Make you quit? Because if you don’t want to quit stripping, then you can march right back into Roger’s office and take back your resignation.”

“No, I wanted to. He was waiting in a private room for me. Brandi said someone wanted a dance from me, paid a lot of money for the privilege. He told her not to say who he was or what he looked like.” She glances up at the ceiling above us, looking sheepish.

“What is it?” I ask.

“I thought it was you surprising me. I walked down the corridor and into the room feeling giddy—excited even—that I’d get to give you a lap dance.”

“Sweetheart,” I murmur, lowering my mouth to gently brush my lips against hers, my eyes not leaving hers for a second.

“Then he was there, looking all together and healthy and clean. He was all cocky smiles and sparkling eyes, and all I could think was that he wasn’t you.”

The warmth of her words ebbs away at the anger I’m harboring for my parents, but remembering that this isn’t about me or how I’m feeling. This is about the woman beneath me, the one I put in this position, the one I’ll break my back for to keep out of my parents’ web.

What I should’ve done all along.

“Is that the first time you’ve seen him since you broke up?”

“Yep. First and last time, too.”

I study her, looking for any sign of uncertainty but—as only Abi does—she stares straight back at me, letting me see deep inside, reassuring me that she means what she says.

“Does the fuckwad need a reminder to stay away from you?”

Her eyes widen, her lips tipping up on one side. “I think I made my opinion on that topic very clear.”

I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling, raking my face with my hands.

“Cade?” she calls out before the mattress moves and she’s all I can see, filling my line of sight.

“They’re fucking with you. Even after I warned them not to.”

“You’re important to them. They knew I’m important to you, even before we admitted that what we have is real.”

“That may be true but what kind of parent threatens their children’s partner and hires a fucking investigator to look into them? That shit is not right.”

“It’s not, but I gather this isn’t the first time something like this has happened?” she says, raising a brow.

“Dad made overtures that it wouldn’t take a reporter long to look into you and your past.”

“God, he’s a fucking dick.”

“Say what you really mean, Spitfire,” I say wryly, struggling to hide back a grin while discussing something so far from funny.

“Can I ask you something?” she says, pressing her breasts into my bare chest, sending my thoughts in a different—definitely more enjoyable—direction.

“Anything.”

“Why did you think I’d take money from your parents?”

I don’t hesitate with my answer. “Because it wouldn’t be the first or the last time my parents have offered payment to make a problem go away.”

“A problem or a person?”

“Both.”

“She did offer me money to stop stripping when she cornered me at the homeless shelter. Wouldn’t let me get a word in edgewise. Said that her husband and sons liked things that were bad for them, effectively saying I was no different.”

I bark out an empty laugh, and she frowns. “Funny that it came from a woman who—together with my dad—is a prime example of people who are ‘bad for me,’ and she was saying it to you, the best thing I’ve ever had, bar none.”

Her breath catches and she melts into me, leaning her full weight against me while she runs her hands through my hair and down to rest on my jaw. “The best?” she whispers softly.

“Bar none,” I repeat.

“Cade . . .”

“Is my Spitfire losing her spark?”
That
gets me a bite.

“Does the good doctor want my oral apology around his cock?” she asks. “Because you don’t seem pissed off enough.”

“Reneging on a promised blow job would piss any man off.”

“Maybe I should withhold my talented mouth until an apology is warranted.”

“I think it’s me . . .” I kiss her, touching my tongue to her lips but not breaching them. “ . . . who should be apologizing to you. I’m sorry for thinking you’d even consider taking their money.”

Her breath catches, her mouth opening, and I don’t hesitate in sweeping my tongue inside.

I shift my hands to her hips and move her up and over so my hardening cock presses between her legs. “But maybe I’ll work you up long and hard until you’re desperate to wrap your mouth around me.”

“Deal.”

There have been many times over the years—my childhood included—when I’ve been angry with my parents. Their actions, their behavior, and especially the expectations they pushed onto Callie, Cam, and myself were the primary causes.

Lying in bed last night, Abi told me everything—my mother’s offer and disparaging comments at the shelter, and her ex’s visit to the club. As soon as she mentioned the P.I., I knew my parents—which one I can’t be sure—had been doing what they do best—trying to control anything and everything connected to me.

Even sleeping on it, my anger has not waned. Once everything was laid out between us last night, the conflict I’d seen in her eyes during the last few days disappeared. She was back, all tension, nerves, and uncertainty gone. What I hadn’t realized was how out of sorts I’d been knowing something was wrong with her but not having the first clue how to fix it.

Last night, though, we let everything out, and it was exactly what needed to happen for her, for me, and for us.

Abi reluctantly left me in her bed this morning, having been called into work by her boss for a meeting, whispering in my ear dirty promises she intends to deliver on when she gets home tonight. Which brings me to now, video calling the one person who I know can help me navigate the anger threatening to eat me alive.

“Hey,” Cam says when the video feed connects.

“Hey. How’s Baghdad?”

“Hot and dirty, and not in a good way,” he replies, making me chuckle.

“Bet you’re itching to get back Stateside.”

“You better believe it. Three weeks and four days, I’ll be home.”

“And I’ll get to see your ugly mug in person,” I muse.