Before things had a chance to go too much further, the elevator pinged, and the doors opened to the deserted carpark. Not wanting to wait, I bent down and threw her over my shoulder, caveman style. Her arse was so close to my face I wanted to bite it and bite it hard. With my free hand, I dug into my pocket and pulled out the car keys. Clicking the fob, the car beeped. The moment I reached my SUV, I yanked open the door and dropped her on the front seat. As soon as she was tucked safely inside, I hurried around to the driver’s door and dived in.
Seems I wasn’t the only one keen. Before I could latch my seatbelt, Natasha’s grabby hands were on my belt.
“Wh-what are you doing?” I asked, panting.
With her head almost in my lap, she looked up through thick, dark lashes and smiled the most perfect, seductive smile I’d ever seen. This woman had me in the palm of her hand, and I didn’t even give a shit. “I told you, I’m starving.” I heard my zipper release and then warm fingers dove into the opening of my boxers and wrapped around me.
“Natasha!” I unsnapped the clip holding her hair back and it fell around my fingers and gave me something to hang on to.
“My friends call me Tasha,” she mumbled before wrapping her lips around my desperate and weeping cock.
While Tasha sucked my cock like a champion, I leant my head back and tried not to fuck her face. Chicks didn’t like that when it wasn’t expected. Forcing my eyes open, I looked down and saw the most perfect sight I’d ever seen. A beautiful girl’s lips wrapped around my cock, sucking the life out of me. Without noticing, my hips started to move of their own accord.
The familiar tingle started in my stomach and down my spine. I was about to blow my load and if Tasha wasn’t careful, she’d be getting a mouthful. “I…I’m gonna come,” I stuttered.
Undeterred, she just sealed her lips around me as her tiny fingers tugged at my balls.
“Fuuuuuccccccccccckkkkkkkk!”
Emptying myself down her throat, I thought I’d died and gone to heaven. It’d been the most powerful orgasm I’d had in way too long but watching her swallow down every drop then licking me clean had me already gearing up for round two.
When she sat up, a satisfied smile on her face, she smacked her lips. The world could’ve ended. The stadium could’ve collapsed on top of us and it still wouldn’t have stopped me from leaning over and kissing the shit out of her.
By the time I pulled back, I was ready to go again. “What was that all about?” I asked dumbly.
With a smart-arse shrug, one I was beginning to recognise was full of mischief, she answered. “I told you I was starving.”
“Well then, I better feed you.” Pressing the button, the car rumbled to life and I backed out of my spot.
“Where are you taking me?” she asked.
“My place.”
“I thought you were feeding me?”
“We’ll order in.”
“Oh.” The disappointment on her face was cute.
Not giving her a chance to think too hard about it, I quickly added. “After I return the favour, of course.”
Her mouth fell open, but she said nothing. Instead of continuing the banter, I pressed down on the accelerator determined to get us home and Tasha beneath me as quickly as possible.
***
Waking up the next morning, my leg was aching. I hadn’t done my stretches or taken the pain meds when I’d gotten home, and I was paying for it now. Instead I’d peeled Tasha’s jeans down her legs, pinned her to the front door and devoured her.
I had her once against the door, once bent over the arm of the chair before we wobbled into the shower and she’d surprised me with another mind-blowing blow job. Then after stuffing our faces with cold pizza, we’d finally managed to fuck in a bed before she passed out. Then when I thought the night couldn’t get any better, I’d woken in the early hours of the morning to find her climbing on top of me before riding me into oblivion. The memory alone of how her tits dangled in my face, begging me to suck her perky, pointy, nipples had my morning wood standing to attention ready for another round before breakfast.
Rolling over, I was expecting to find her tangled in my sheets still asleep. Instead, the bed beside me was empty. Trying not to panic, I waited patiently while I chose to believe she was just using the bathroom.
Ten minutes later and she still hadn’t emerged. Tugging on a pair of gym shorts I found on the desk, I shuffled towards the bathroom, my legs as stiff as my cock. I nudged the door open; the bathroom was empty. Last night’s wet towels in a pile on the floor.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” I groaned as I kicked the door, slamming it shut.
Pissed off, I stepped under the water and washed her scent off me. It barely took the edge off, I stewed in my anger. After getting dressed, stripping the sheets off my bed and tossing them in the machine, I grabbed my gym bag and headed towards the club. There was only one way I was going to calm down. And it involved the weight room, a treadmill and sweating the frustrations right out of my system. It was either that or track Tasha down and fuck my anger out. And if I had any idea of how to find her, I’d have taken option two.
CHAPTER EIGHT
TASHA
Falling through the front door, I kicked off my shoes, dropped my bag on the floor and headed straight for the bathroom cabinet. I needed painkillers and I needed them now. My head pounded from the lack of sleep, and muscles I didn’t even know I had were deliciously sore. Grabbing the cup on the sink, I filled it up, dug through the cabinet until I found the packet of pills and swallowed a couple. After brushing my teeth, I stripped off and filled up the bath before lowering my aching body into the bubbles.
Leaning back, I closed my eyes and within minutes my mind was replaying the events of the last twenty-four hours. It’d certainly been a whirl wind. And now, in the quiet, peace of my bubble bath, it was the first chance I’d had to start sorting through it. My afternoon with Robbo had been eye-opening. Call it naivety, call it blissful ignorance but I’d had absolutely no idea what I was getting myself into. Thanks to Robbo’s tricks and trips, now I had half a clue.
Then there was Logan. The guy was tying me up in knots and he didn’t even know it. When I’d woken up before the sun this morning, rolling over I saw him lying there sleeping, and I knew I had to get the hell out of there. I shouldn’t have been there in the first place. This guy was beyond dangerous. Especially to my crazy, out-of-control hormones that seemed to forget all sense of rationality the moment he popped those lickable dimples. When he let out a half-snore half-moan, the sore spot between my legs tingled, and I knew I was in a hell of a lot of trouble.
It took less than ten minutes to be dressed, my bag tucked under my arm and my shoes in my hands to sneak out the front door. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t tempted to stay. Only an idiot wouldn’t be. With the sheet draped low across his hips, showing off that ‘V’, I felt myself caving. Forcing myself to stay strong, I escaped out the door and found myself standing on the street. When I’d dug my phone from my bag, ready to grab an Uber and end this walk of shame, I tried to power it up only for it to remain blank.
“Fuck it!” I swore as I forced my tired feet back into my shoes and started trudging down the footpath silently cursing the world.
After two trains and an expensive taxi ride home, I finally made it. Exhausted, aching and more confused than ever.
By the time I cracked open my heavy eyes, the water was cool, and my fingers had turned wrinkly. After changing into my favourite fluffy sloth pyjamas, I went in search of food. Finding the cupboards depressingly bare, I grabbed what was left of the box of cereal and poured myself a big bowl.
While I ate, I upended my bag onto the bench. Plugging my phone in, I stared around the room noticing all the things I had to do. The fridge needed cleaning, the couch was buried under a mountain of clean laundry waiting to be folded and put away, and a vacuum wouldn’t go astray. But all that could wait until tomorrow. Today, I had an articl
e to write.
Setting my bowl in the sink, I grabbed my laptop and started typing like a maniac. Two cups of coffee and tired fingers later, I hit send. The moment I did, my anxiety started building. Waiting for Gerard to reply was more painful than watching paint dry. Refreshing my email every five minutes, I cleaned like my life depended on it. By the time his reply finally came in, I’d reorganised my wardrobe, cleaned out the pantry and scrubbed the grout in the bathroom tiles until it shone.
Holding my breath, I opened his reply, not sure what I was expecting. I know it wasn’t what I got. I guess I’d thought he’d give me notes, make suggestions and tell me how impressed he was with my first attempt. Instead, my heart sank as I read his short reply.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: RE: First Article
What’s this? Where’s the ‘T’ sass I recruited you for?
My heart sank. I’d tried to sound smart and professional and not like some half-arsed student who had no idea what decent journalism even looked like. And I’d crashed and burned. I was humiliated. While the tears streamed down my face, I peeled off the ugly yellow rubber gloves I’d been wearing, dropping them on the bench, and went straight for my bed. The moment I flopped down on the covers, I grabbed my pillow and hugged it tight as I cried my heart out. I felt like a failure. My one chance to impress Gerard, to show him what I could do, my chance to prove to him he’d made the right choice and he’d hated it. Actually, I couldn’t even be sure he’d even read it. It’s not like he gave me any real feedback. Just asked where the ‘sass’ was? I didn’t even know what that meant.
When I woke up a few hours later my eyes were itchy, my throat was sore, and I was starving. Dragging my arse out of bed, I tightened my hair tie and headed back out to the lounge room. Picking up my phone, I noticed a barrage of missed calls and unread messages. Ignoring them all, I ordered Thai takeout before yanking up my big-girl panties and opening my email again. After rereading Gerard’s reply for the millionth time, I sat down and punched out a reply. My fingers flew over the keyboard and I made that many typos I should’ve been embarrassed. My thoughts were coming faster than I could type. The doorbell rang and I hit send, closed the lid of my laptop and pushed aside all thoughts of it and focused on my food.
Opening the door, I was shocked to see Giselle standing there with the plastic bag dangling from her fingers. “Dinner’s ready.” She smiled.
“I was expecting Thai.”
“And here’s your Thai.”
“And what’s my dinner gonna cost me?”
“It’s going to cost you a full, detailed explanation as to your whereabouts last night, why you haven’t returned any of my calls, AND why you’re walking around bow legged.”
Fuck it! That was the thing about best friends. They knew all your secrets and they weren’t afraid to exploit them given the opportunity.
“Fine. But I want my food first!” I grumbled, pulling open the door and letting her breeze through looking like she just stepped out of the pages of a catalogue shoot, as opposed to me who looked more like I’d just been dragged out of a cardboard box.
After dishing up the food, I’d hefted the washing onto the dining room table and I was curled up on the lounge stuffing my face with spicy noodles.
While Giselle ate like a lady, I shovelled forkfuls into my mouth. I don’t know if it was because I was starving that I was acting like a pig or if I was trying to avoid the onslaught of questions I knew would come the moment I stopped chewing. Probably a bit of both if I was being honest.
With the best girl group countdown playing on the music channel, I tried to figure out what to say. I had no idea. I didn’t even know what I was thinking. Actually, that’s not entirely true. I knew exactly what, or more accurately who, I was thinking about. Logan fucking Oliver was scrambling my brain and without even knowing what he was doing, he was turning me into the one thing I never wanted to become. A girl completely intoxicated with the sexy football god. The only difference between those teenage dreams and those decidedly more dirty ones, was I knew what it was like to have the object of my affection hover above me, the smell of his sweat on his skin, the taste of his lips on mine and his brute strength as he drove me to the brink of ecstasy only to throw me over the edge into bliss.
Wiping her face with a napkin, Giselle sat her bowl down on the counter, grabbed the cushion from behind her, settling it in her lap and turned towards me. I had nowhere to run and nowhere to hide.
“So…” she invited, her stare unblinking.
“So,” I replied coyly. If she was insisting this happened, then she was going to have to work for it. No way in hell was I giving it up that easily.
“So, you look tired. Big night?”
“Nah, not really.”
“What’d you do after the game?”
“Not a lot. Went to bed early.”
“Alone?” I didn’t answer. I didn’t have to. Guilt was written all over my face. And the hickey on my neck was a pretty obvious giveaway. “What the hell did I miss? I thought you were going to the game for work,” she added.
Normally when I went to the games, Giselle was dragged along behind me, often bribed with hot chips and cold beer. This time, though, she’d stayed home while I went to the game. For the next twenty minutes I told her about everything I’d learnt. The tips from Robbo, the trip at half time down to the function room that was filled with ex and injured players. Although I avoided names, Giselle latched on like a leech.
“Run into any particular injured players?”
“Actually no. Didn’t have time. I barely had enough time to get a drink.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. The room was so crowded I could barely wind my way through. I ended up hiding in the corner watching while Robbo went to the bar.”
“What the fuck? You stood in the corner like a loser? Tell me you didn’t.”
“I didn’t look like a loser.”
“If your back was touching the wall and you weren’t talking to anyone, I’m sorry to say sweetheart, you looked like a loser.”
Ouch! She wasn’t holding back. My face must have given away how hard that hit was.
“Hey, perk up, pumpkin! You still got the guy.”
“I guess.”
“See! I knew I’d get it out of you. Now spill. I want to know everything.”
“I’m not sure you can handle everything,” I teased.
Before I could say anything else the cushion she’d been hugging was flying through the air and smacking me in the face. “Bitch!”
“You know you love me. Now tell me.”
I fed her the highlights. No way was I getting into specifics. I may want to be a journalist eventually, but I had morals and ethics. There was no way I was sharing anyone’s underwear preference with the world, let alone Logan’s.
“And then you snuck out?”
“What was I supposed to do? Wake him up and ask him to cook me breakfast?”
“No! You were supposed to wake him up and tell him you were breakfast!”
“You’re terrible,” I told her, feeling my cheeks burn. While I could definitely see the appeal of her suggestion, my choice was the safer option.
“So, what are you going to do now?”
“What do you mean?”
“You and Logan Oliver? Are you a thing? Am I going to see you on the front cover of the gossip rags?”
“What! No way! Not in this lifetime anyway.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Firstly, look at me.”
“What exactly am I looking at?”
“Me. I’m not gossip-rag worthy. It doesn’t even matter how cheap and trashy they are.”
“Firstly, bullshit. But what else have you got?”
“Fine. Logan and I aren’t together. We’re not even friends. We’re nothing.”
“And there’s the second bullshit. How are you two nothing?
The first time you saw each other, my panties were soaked just watching you guys get down and dirty on the dance floor. If you think you two aren’t something, then you, Natasha North, are kidding yourself.”
“He doesn’t even know my last name.”
“Yet he does know how you squeal when you come.”
Embarrassed, I dropped my head in my hands. “I can’t believe I told you that. And it was only one time.”
“Sure, it was. The bigger question is why he doesn’t know your last name. Or I’m guessing your phone number.”
“You know what, Giselle? You’re not just a pretty face.”
“No. I most certainly am not.”
Jumping up, I headed into the kitchen and snagged the emergency bottle of wine from the fridge and a couple of glasses. These conversations always required wine. Or vodka. Or when desperate times called for desperate measures, tequila.
“Ooh. Bringing out the good stuff. I must’ve hit a nerve.”
“Can’t a girl just be thirsty?”
“A girl can. You, however, only drink when either I drag you out, you’re hiding something, or you’re trying to forget something. Or in this case, someone.”
“I hate you.” I pouted.
“No you don’t. You just wish you did.”
Taking a sip of my wine, it helped cool my boiling blood. Talking about Logan was almost as bad as dreaming about him. When I took another sip, I started to choke. While I coughed and spluttered, my eyes watered, and I could barely get any oxygen into my lungs. “Shit, Tash, are you okay?”
“Ye-ye-yeah,” I managed to splutter. Wiping the tears from my eyes, I took a few deep breaths. My head was spinning. “Back in a second.” I excused myself and headed into the bathroom. After splashing some water on my face, I swallowed a couple of painkillers; something that proved to be more of a challenge than it should’ve been.
“Hey, Tash?” Giselle called out.
“Yeah?”
“You need to get out here.”
“Why? What’s up?” I dabbed my face with a towel and pulled my hair out of my face and tied it back.
Marked (Playing Games Book 1) Page 6