Dirty Player: A Rough Riders Novel Page 5

  “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.”

  I did exactly what he asked. I’d walked into this knowing what would happen. My body primed before he even held out his hand on the patio.

  I twisted toward the bathroom mirror, legs shaking, wits scattered all over the marble floor.

  “Hands on the counter.”

  I did what I was told, unable to think. I was pulled to the look in Oliver’s eyes. Surly expression still in place like I’d made him angry. Like the thought of wanting me pissed him off.

  “Oliver,” I whispered. His gaze flickered to mine in the mirror. I looked wild, reckless.

  He appeared firmly in control.

  “Do it,” I dared him when I saw his hands flex into fists at his sides.

  He reached out and pulled down on my cover-up. The cheap, tube top cover I’d bought at Target just the day before fluttered to the ground and I was in front of him, barely dressed. Strapless bathing suit, twisted between my breasts, low-rider bottoms. It wasn’t a bra and underwear. It actually covered more than my usual panties.

  His gaze traveled down my back and my backside and then switched so he could look at me in the mirror. He stared at me like I was already naked. He made me feel like I was already naked.

  “I want to see your breasts.” He said it mostly to himself, but I still nodded. My silent approval. “I want to see everything.”

  “Okay.”

  His hands slid up my back, taking their time, trailing large circles over my skin. His thumb flicked over the clasp at the back of my suit. My hips rocked forward in response and the surliness in his expression faded to something else…something scarier. Something that looked like rapture mixed with desire.

  His thumb rested on my strap again, tightening at the clasp. I inhaled a steadying breath while he deftly worked to undo it.

  “Tell me. Are you wet for me already? After a kiss and some touches?”

  Pink burned my cheeks and chest. “Yes.”

  I was past the point of being embarrassed, too turned on, too needy to care.

  “When?”

  “When what?”

  He finished working on my suit and let it drop to the floor. I stared at my breasts in the mirror, knowing that was where he was looking.

  His hands slid from my back to the sides, fingertips brushing the sides of my breasts, and I gasped.

  “When did you get wet?”

  He stepped closer to me, until I could feel him at my back. He was so tall. This position would never work. I opened
my mouth to answer when his hand covered my breast and he brushed the side of his thumb over my nipple.

  A delicious scrape. It sent fire to my sex.

  “When did you get wet?” he asked again, moving to my other breast, my other nipple. “Tell me. I want to know. When I kissed you? Before?”

  “When I saw you talking to Rudolph.”

  His smile lit up the small bathroom like I’d pleased him.

  “I didn’t even have to touch you?”

  It was teasing, a hint of maliciousness, like he knew how easily he could have not only me, but any woman.

  “Yes.”

  “Good.” His hips pressed against me again and he bent his knees.

  His cock nudged against my ass and my head fell forward, unable to bear the weight of the sensation.

  Shit. He was huge. Thick. I licked my lips.

  “I’ve been hard since I saw you at training camp. A fucking week, Shannon, and I haven’t been able to get you out of my fucking head.”

  “Oh my God.” His truth burned my skin, lava rolling down my spine.

  I needed that. This tryst in the bathroom meant nothing, not long term. I still needed to know he’d thought of me more than just when he’d seen me.

  “Oliver.”

  “You need something?” His hand ran across my stomach, his other still at my breast, lazy flicks over my hardened nipple. “Need something more than this?”

  In reality, I could have orgasmed from the breast play and his words alone. It didn’t take much. Never did—at least, not until the last couple of years.

  My hips rocked forward, seeking his hand at the top edge of my swimsuit. “Yes.”

  “My fingers? Do you want them inside you?”

  God, the asshole was going to make me work for this. My lip curled in frustration when he trailed along the edge of my swimsuit, teasing me.

  His eyes gleamed with satisfaction.

  “Make me come, Oliver.”

  “My fingers or my tongue. Your choice.”

  Oh God. Just the idea of him dropping to his knees either behind me or in front of me sent a full body shiver rolling through me.

  His fingers brushed against my swollen and hot center and he groaned. “Fuck this,” he muttered and yanked down my bottoms.

  “I want you too much. So fucking hot and wet for me, I can feel it through your suit. I’m going to torture and tease the hell out of you later, though.”

  It was a warning.

  It made me smile.

  The smile immediately vanished when he pressed his fingers against my clit and slid them through my wetness.

  “Fucking soaked,” he growled, his eyes on mine in the mirror. I saw him watching me before my eyes dropped to his hands.

  One gripping my breast, the other fingering me, sliding through my flesh, teasing my clit before he pressed one finger inside me.

  “Oh God,” I moaned, my mouth going slack. “So good. More.”

  “So fucking greedy.”

  Yes. It’d been months since I’d had sex with Patrick—a clue I should have recognized, since previously we’d frequently had sex.

  I brushed the thought out of my mind.

  “More,” I mewled again and let out a satisfied sigh when he pressed another finger inside of me. His hand at my breasts squeezed tight, finger and thumb playing with my nipple.

  I rocked against him as he began fucking me, holding me in place with his touch on my breast. Every move forward rocked me into his hand, his thumb brushing my clit. Every pull back shot fire from my nipple.

  His fingers slid out of me, causing me to cry out. He dropped his shorts before settling himself against me.

  “Not fucking you here,” he said, when he saw my eyes go wide. “But fuck if I can’t wait to feel you against my skin.”

  I nodded once. I didn’t want to be fucked here. His fingers returned to my cunt, sliding and pushing, and then I was overwhelmed with sensation. His cock sliding through my crease, gathering wetness, his fingers rolling and pressing, his fingers squeezing my nipple.

  My whimpers became moans. All of it was overwhelming. He was everywhere, leaning over me, his chest brushing against my back, the press of his hips against my ass telling me he was just as close as I was.

  “Oliver,” I gasped, my body beginning to shake.

  “Come for me, Shannon. And fucking look at me.”

  My eyes flew to his in the mirror and then rolled back before I could focus on him, the gritted words he spoke, and the harsh lines around his jaw.

  I shattered when I saw him—when I noticed the pain it was taking him to stay in control.

  The way his body, his muscles, his fingers and hands, and his thick cock pressed against me.

  Chanted pleasure fell from my lips as my spasms began rolling through me. I quaked and shook and fell apart before his hand left my breast and went to his cock.

  I lost the ability to stay on my hands and dropped to my elbows so I could watch him, looking over my shoulder.

  He tugged and pulled on his erection, bigger and thicker than I had imagined, and I suddenly did want what he was going to do.

  “Wait.” I gasped, his fingers already beginning to slow inside of me.

  I pushed him back with my hips, spun, and dropped to my knees.

  I couldn’t help it. I wanted him in me, wanted the feel of him losing control inside of me ingrained in my mind, keeping me warm when he was just a memory.

  My fingers wrapped around his cock and he swore. “Fucking shit, Shannon.”

  I didn’t tease him. His balls were pulled tight, his thickness hardened steel covered in silk.

  I wrapped my lips around him and sucked him deep. Quickly, without pausing, I began taking care of him.

  His hands dug into my hair again, holding me in place but letting me do the work.

  He was heaven. Delicious and large in my mouth, I used my hand to help. His balls swung, hitting me in the chin with every thrust forward. I popped off his dick and stuck my tongue out, sucking them into my mouth.

  “Holy fucking shit, get your mouth back on me.”

  I complied after tugging on his balls one more time, feeling them rise and tighten, the flesh warm and rigid.

  My mouth went back to his tip and I swirled my tongue around him, playing with him and sucking him deep. His thrusts increased in speed until his fingers dove into my hair, tugging painfully.

  “Coming in your mouth,” he warned, his teeth pressed sharply together.

  I nodded as best as I could, not that he’d seemed to ask my permission.

  And then he pushed forward, gagging me at the back of my throat before he cursed and pulled back.

  “Fuck. Sorry. So good. Holy shit,” he chanted as the first spurts hit my tongue, holding me steady, his hips shaking from the stress of not plummeting into me again.

  I sucked him off, swallowing until he was done and his hands went slack on my head. I gave him a final lick, bathing his cock with my tongue and the taste of us mixed together.

  I was still coming down from my own high—my own orgasm and the power of giving him one he seemed to enjoy so much—when reality slammed down on me in the mere breath of a question.

  “Fucking hell, how in the hell are you single with a mouth like that?”

  I flinched and reached for my bathing suit, scrambling for it while on my knees.

  “My fiancé thought it was more fun to fuck someone else, I guess.”

  Chapter SIX

  OLIVER

  “What?” I reached for her as she stood, pulling her back to me.

  She jerked out of my touch, and I took the moment to pull up my own shorts. Fuck, that was hot. The last thing I’d expected was for Shannon to drop to her knees and suck me off like she’d been starved for it.

  I was still reeling from it. Still shaking and trying to catch my breath when the words slipped from my mouth.

  “I didn’t mean it badly.” I scrubbed my hands down my face. I had to get control.
“And any man who lets you go after that is a moron.”

  The irony wasn’t lost on me.

  She shot me a look over her shoulder that told me she thought the same.

  “I’m sorry. Give me a minute. I think you might have sucked my brains out through my dick.”

  She laughed, and I knew it was despite herself because she was still getting dressed like she couldn’t wait to get the hell out of there.

  Hell. I’d had blowjobs before. Lots of them. I wasn’t kidding when I told Shannon that women everywhere wanted to wrap their lips around an NFL player’s cock for the sole point of being able to brag about doing so.

  I can’t exactly say I’d been particular before, but nothing compared to her excitement, her lust for it. The way she’d acted like she had to have it inside of her.

  My dick hardened all over again just thinking about the way she looked on her knees. Eyes wide and watery. Lips stretched and bright pink.

  Damn it. I adjusted myself and put my thoughts in order.

  “Can I start over and say that was fucking amazing? And ignore the part where it hurt your feelings?”

  “That’d be fine.” She smoothed down her hair, running her fingers through it. It was useless. She looked well fucked and wild.

  What she didn’t do was look at me in the mirror.

  I wanted us back on track. Back to the talk of fantasies and filthy words she didn’t cringe from when I spoke.

  “I should go,” she said, turning to avoid me.

  I stepped in front of her, resisting the urge to shake her. If she thought I was letting her walk away from me now, she was out of her ever-loving mind.

  Besides, I was strangely curious about this fiancé. Not that I’d ask.

  “Come home with me. I want you in my bed.”

  She made a sound of disbelief, arms crossed over her now-covered stomach like I hadn’t had my hands all over her body moments ago.