Men in Shorts: An Erotic Anthology (14 page)

"No," Phillip said, turning his full-blitz press conference smile on Kerri. "We have room. Stay and eat with us."

"Maybe the ladies have other plans, Phil," Ty said, trying to give Anna the out she seemed desperate for.

"We don't have plans," Kerri said hastily, scurrying around the table to sit next to Phil. She patted the space between her and Ty and looked to Anna.

"It's sweet of you to invite us," Anna said softly, but her reluctance was clear as she lowered herself into the seat.

"I don't see you in here very often," Ty said softly. Maybe polite conversation would get his mind off what she may or may not be wearing under her red mock turtleneck top. But it was too late. He'd already decided. Lace. The same color as her top. But thin enough lace that he could see her nipples bead through it as she got aroused.

"I'm pretty busy. Media day is in a week. It's easier to work through lunch," she said, never taking her eyes from the space of table in front of her.

"You know what I think?" He couldn't help himself. He put his fingertips to her chin and turned her to face him.

Her mouth opened in a small O and her tongue darted out to wet her lips.

Jesus
. He dropped his hand.

"Tell me," she said.

He swallowed and continued. "I think we make you nervous." He lowered his voice, and cocked his head, not sure why he was so determined to get her to relax. "But I promise you the guys are more nervous than you are."

Her gaze traveled the length of the table and her eyebrows drew together. "Why would I make them nervous?"

Ty laughed softly. "Coach Montane has put the fear of God into them. They're afraid to say something wrong to you."

Anna put a hand over her face. "He's a little overprotective."

"Nah, he just hasn't realized that his little girl is all grown up now."

From across the table, Drew Wethers flashed Ty a look that said,
What the hell are you doing?
It wasn't an unreasonable question. But, hell, he couldn't very well let the woman sit here feeling awkward and uncomfortable.

Because then she'd never come back
.

"Don't worry about my dad," she said.

Kerri peered around Anna to look at Ty. "Coach doesn't understand Roxy."

Ty stilled.

"Who's Roxy?" Phillip asked.

Kerri laughed and nudged Anna who was squeezing her eyes shut as if trying to wish herself somewhere else.

"Kerri," Anna warned.

Kerri ignored her. "Anna's real name is Roxanna. 'Roxy' is what we call the 'real' Anna – the woman her dad likes to pretend doesn't exist." She shook her head. "In his eyes, Anna's still twelve years old."

The guys started talking about feeling protective of their daughters and nieces, but Ty didn't hear them. He was too busy choking on his fantasy come to life.

Anna was Roxy.

Holy shit.

That meant that notebook was a product of Miss Priss's overactive and, dear God,
vivid
imagination.

Dear God, he was in trouble. He'd played like hell this morning, distracted by the words and fantasies of a faceless woman. But now he knew those visuals had been created by a woman about whom he'd already had his own fair share of fantasies.

And she was Coach's daughter.

* * * *

Roxanna locked her office behind her before heading for the elevators. She'd reached the end of another blissfully torturous week. She'd done everything she could for Media Day and now she was ready to go home. She'd pour herself a big glass of wine and draw herself a bubble bath. And if her thoughts happened to stray to a certain dark-haired, green-eyed running back? So be it. Her own hands were a sorry substitute for the real thing, but she'd made herself so damn hot thinking about him – those big hands, those eyes, that solid body and how it would feel over hers—

Okay, this train of thought was exactly the kind of thing that had made it so hard to do her work this week. And she knew it was just her under-sexed body feeding her overactive imagination, but she could have sworn his eyes were hot when he ran into him in her dad's office today. So, at lunch, when she should have been tearing her office apart to find her missing notebook, she'd thought about
him
instead. She's started a new notebook with an entry she'd simply called
The Desk
.

As she stepped onto the elevator, the images she'd scribbled down flashed through her mind. She took in a ragged breath as the doors slid closed.

She leaned her head against the wall and closed her eyes. The old elevator groaned, beginning its slow eleven-flight descent.

She'd written about Tyson again. Always Tyson. But this time, they were in her office.

The images she'd painted with words flashed before her.

Tyson coming around to her side of the desk, hiking her up onto it. Tyson pushing his fingers inside her and whispering in her ear. The threat of someone walking in, or of someone on the field below looking up and seeing her, legs spread, her sex exposed as he worked his fingers inside her.

Her fingers brushed her own cheek, slipped down to her breast. Her nipple reacted to the slight touch through her silk shirt and the thin lace of her bra.

He'd work her with his fingers until, when she couldn't stand it anymore, he'd slide into her, thick and hard and—

The elevator stopped too soon and she started, dropping her hand. The doors slid open. Hadn't she been the last to leave the offices tonight?

Then the object of her fantasy walked came through the doors, and a small, tortured moan slipped from her lips.

His lips twitched in amusement when he saw her.

What was so funny? Could he read her mind? Did her flushed cheeks give away that she'd been fantasizing on her elevator ride?

She waited for him to turn around and stare politely at the numbers above the door like any normal person would.

Instead, he crossed the small space, coming straight at her, reminding her too much of another fantasy – the last one she'd scribbled into her notebook before losing it. She'd called it "The Elevator."

Her mind was reasonable. There must be an explanation for his proximity. Maybe he needed to tell her something. Maybe she had a piece of lint on her shirt he was going to remove.

But her body wasn't so reasonable, and when he stood before her, mere inches separating their bodies, her stomach started acting like a gymnast on speed, flip-flopping every which way. Thick, liquid heat pooled in her center, settling lower, creeping toward the muscles that were already quivering between her legs.

The doors slid closed.

"Hey, T-Tyson," she managed.

His eyes darkened to the deepest, darkest emerald. Was he angry? His uncompromising gaze locked with hers…then slipped to her lips.

Dear God.

Her tongue shot out instinctively to wet the lips dried by his scorching gaze.

He reached out, and his thick fingers were suddenly at the buttons on her starched white shirt.

She swallowed as the faint, pulsing ache between her legs became an insistent throbbing.

What was he doing?

With a flick of his fingers, he freed the top button and his eyes returned to her, challenging her to stop him.

She didn't dare.

He traced her collarbone with rough fingertips of one hand while the other went to work on the next button. She stood stock still. Afraid to move. Afraid to breathe. His fingertips dipped lower, grazing the sensitive skin between her breasts. Her breath caught. There had been nothing this innocent in her elevator fantasy …and yet…

The captured breath escaped as a soft moan. His fierce expression turned almost playful for a moment, but turned serious again as his eyes followed his hands, which had already progressed to the button at her navel. His gaze traveled down the length of her, then back up, studying her white lace bra.

Her breathing was heavy now, and she was desperate. There was only a single button before she'd be free of the shirt – only one button until his fingers could move on to much more important tasks.

He was eyeing the ruby in the ring at her navel. He fingered it for a delirious second and then smiled for real. Then he shocked the hell out of her as he dropped to his knees and sucked the little jewel into his mouth, tugging lightly, making her head swim and her knees buckle.

His tongue dipped into her navel, tasting her, teasing her. She threaded her fingers through that thick, dark hair and held on as sparks of pleasure shot through her. But, God, she wanted more. Much, much more.

As if reading her mind, he suddenly stood. He shoved her shirt off her shoulders where it pinned her arms to her sides, hiked up her skirt, and pulled her legs around his waist. He wasn't inside her. No, that would be too easy. That might end this torture. Instead, he pressed her against the wall and put his hand between them. Just as his palm cupped her, she saw the elevator door slide open behind him, and the wildness of it, the taboo of being caught half naked and halfway to orgasm made her fly apart before she was ready.

She threw her head back and unabashedly rocked against his hand as she rode out her orgasm.

Maybe she should have been ashamed – ashamedshe'd done this at all, embarrassed that she'd come without him so much as putting a finger inside her. But when she came back down, she saw his eyes. The heat and lust there couldn't make her anything but hungry for more.

* * * *

Anna was even sexier than he'd imagined even Roxy could be.

After fighting it all week, Tyson had decided he was going to give her back the diary. And let what happened happen. But first he was going to ask the coach for permission to date his daughter. He didn't expect that would go over very well, but it was the right thing to do and Coach would respect him for that…eventually.

But his plans had been shot to hell when he'd stepped onto the elevator tonight and she was there. She'd had sex written all over her face. He hadn't even thought as he'd approached her, as he'd slowly unbuttoned her. He'd just listened to every instinct he'd been ignoring the whole week.

And now, after coming apart in his arms, she was rocking against his hand again, daring him to do more.

He leaned forward and kissed the birthmark on her collarbone. "Roxy," he said, murmuring the name that had been running through his head all week.

She took in a sharp, ragged breath. "What'd you call me?" The question came out in a desperate whimper.

"Roxy," he repeated.

She smiled and ran her hand over his chest. "Only Kerri calls me that."

He raised a brow. "No, I think I call you that, too. At least, you like to imagine I do."

She shoved at his chest with the flat of her palm and he moved back, smiling down at her, watching it dawn on her face.

"You stole my notebook," she whispered.

"Found it."

"Give it back."

"Don't pretend you're sorry now." He wouldn't believe it anyway.

"No," she said, unwrapping her legs from his waist. "I'm disappointed."

He raised a brow. "How's that?"

"If you read my notebook, then you know what I really want."

And before that could register, her hands were at his waistband, her fingers searching for his zipper.

Oh, Jesus
.

Her mouth was against his ear, her breath hot, her words raspy. "If you read my notebook," she said, freeing his cock from his pants and wrapping her hand around it. "Then you know I want you inside me."

He groaned and moved with her hand, loving the feel of her fingers around his erection. "I can't."

"Oh, yes, I forgot you were a paragon of self-control," she said in his ear.

"Your dad—"

"Isn't here."

"He—"

"Would never let me keep this job if he knew what I made you do to me."

"And what, exactly, do you think you're going to make me do?"

She swallowed. "I think you already know."

He chuckled. "Oh, no, you're not getting off that easy."

"Please?" She dug in her purse and handed him a condom.

He slid it on and abandoned all his carefully laid plans as he leaned forward to whisper in her ear. "I think you want me to fuck you," he said, sliding her panties from her hips.

She stepped out of them and arched her hips, looking for him, but he didn't enter her.

"I think you want me to fuck you right here, right against this wall."

She moaned, pulling him to her, rolling her hips and rubbing herself against his dick. "Please."

"I think you want me to fuck you right here where anyone could walk in and see just how freaky you really are." He slid her hands around to her ass and lifted her, positioning her. Then, as he lowered her onto his shaft, he said, "I think you want me to make you come."

She screamed in pleasure, shattering the instance his cock pressed deeply inside of her. Her pussy squeezed him so tight, he almost lost control in that moment too, but he held on. He drove her through that orgasm and the aftershocks, bringing her body up through another. Only when she came the second time did he let himself go, let himself lose control to the blissful rhythm of her pussy throbbing around his cock.

She ran her fingernails up and down his back lightly and kissed his shoulders before extricating herself from their embrace.

She kept her eyes down cast as she buttoned her shirt and adjusted her skirt back down around her hips. "Thanks."

He cocked his head and tilted her chin so she was looking at him. "Thanks?"

She smiled, but it was forced. "Sure."

His smile came easily. "So you're saying you're done with me."

"Right. Just hand over the notebook and there's no reason we ever have to talk about this again."

He nodded slowly, watching her face as she avoided meeting his eyes. She was such a contradiction. Anna-Roxy. Who was she, really?

He couldn't wait to find out.

He walked over to the bag he'd dropped by the elevator door and unzipped it. When he pulled the little notebook from the bottom, she reached for it, and he stepped away and held it from her reach.