Busted Play: The Series (Players, Books 1-6)

by Stella Marie Alden

  All sleepy and warm, she purrs and her hands reach to the back of my neck, short nails digging into my flesh. Then she does this kind of swivel dance with her damp undies against my cock making me fucking nuts.

  Hissing, I rub my palms up and down the silkiness of her back and try to slow it down.

  “Mmmm… Hello, hotshot.” The centers of those beautiful blue orbs grow wide and dark as she raises her lids.

  “Hey, baby.” My hand drops past her navel, through her mound of curls, and I push away a tiny bit of thong fabric.

  When my fingertip finds her clit, she opens wider to give me access. Her breath hitches when I slide along her already slick path. Then, I slowly bother her nub until it grows hard. When she shivers, I press one finger into her, then two.

  She’s ready to come but I remove my digits and trace my calloused palms up her body, pausing at her breasts. Squeezing them makes her cry out for more so I nibble, making the rosy tips harden. With those lovely melons ripe from my kisses, I take my mouth to her navel, and lower to her core.

  The scent of her sweet pussy hits my nostrils and I have to taste her. Standing, I drag my thumb along her inner thigh, sliding off her wet undies. Then, I grab her knees and pink, glistening, swollen lips summon me.

  I kiss her left ankle, her calf, her inner thigh, slowly approaching the treasure. When she arches up, I lick around her nub but not touching until it swells. Then I take her pearl into my mouth and suck.

  “Oh. CJ. Damn.” Her hands grip my hair, pulling hard, causing a bead of cum to release on the tip of my swollen cock.

  I flick my tongue back over her clit and when she bucks and quivers, I back away. When her nub slightly lowers, I insert a finger back into her and slowly twist and curl a knuckle into her g-spot. At the same time, I press my tongue hard into her need.

  It’s awesome to see her on the brink while it rips my fucking heart to know this may be our last time. “Look at me, baby.”

  She opens her eyes, biting her lower lip, hands clenching the blankets.

  It’s so damn good that if I don’t enter her now, I’ll spill onto the sheets. Fuck it all. The condoms are in the nightstand. I open the drawer and grab one, brain barely functioning.

  I know she’s on the pill but can’t take any chances.

  Chapter 4

  Mel

  “Shit CJ. Move it!” I don’t get why he thinks he needs a condom and frankly, don’t care.

  Finally sheathed, he scrambles up my body and kisses me, lips tasting of my juices. Then, he grabs my wrists in one hand and tugs them over my head while the outside of his knees spread me open.

  “For God’s sake. Go.” I got no brain cells left, only zings of overwhelming lust.

  He chuckles, even though painful desire is etched all over his face. Then, holding my waist with his free hand, he places the tip of his cock where I want him most.

  “My way, tonight baby.” His feral voice growls deep within his chest causing goose bumps to run up and down my spine.

  I’ve seen this focused, controlled look on the football field but never in our bed. Slowly he presses into me until our cores touch, then slides all the way out, leaving my body with a sucking sound.

  I’m dying for release and I close my lids because it’s all too much.

  “No, Mel. Eyes here. On me.” His gaze holds me captive, more so than my wrists.

  When I glance down between us, his large wet, swollen penis is waiting to reenter. My God, what is he waiting for?

  “CJ.” I moan out his name and struggle, trying to get my aching nub to meet him.

  When his soft tip touches me, I shake uncontrollably, on the brink but not quite there. Then, with one solid thrust, he’s inside me so far that I swear that he hits the nerves of my backbone. With this, a tsunami of an orgasm rips across all my senses. I scream and buck like a wild-woman and wrap my legs around his waist. He thrusts into me repeatedly, keeping me high, not letting me come down.

  The room fills with our scent. I ride to heaven and beyond, unable to do anything but respond in a dance that’s so damn erotic, I’ll probably fall into little pieces from pure bliss.

  Suddenly, while deep inside me, all the muscles in his body tighten. Then he groans in a way that cuts me to the core. The sound reverberates into my chest as I milk him of every last drop.

  Heart thumping, his heavy body collapses onto my chest, and then he rolls me on top.

  We just lie there forever, joined as one, letting our heart rates slow. Eventually he exits, leaving me bereft. When he comes back to bed, I play with the small hairs on his chest figuring this is as good a time as any to broach the subject of the baby growing within me.

  “I love you.” I kiss his warm, sweaty chest.

  His lips cover the top of my nose. “Love you more.”

  I take a deep breath, then ask, “You ever think about having kids?”

  For a second I think he’s pissed until there’s this pain around his eyes and his voice cracks, “We can’t.”

  Oh shit. That is so not what I wanted to hear. “Why not?”

  “Because I’d be a horrible father. I’m sorry.”

  How could he change his mind about something so important? Then it dawns on me, that despite meeting his whole family, we’ve never even mentioned his father.

  Having my own daddy-issues, I never thought about it, until now. “I’m guessing he wasn’t exactly the best of role models?”

  “Something like that.” His eyes close with brows creased and mouth drawn tight.

  “But that doesn’t mean-”

  “Can we not talk about this? No kids. Not now. Not ever. Okay?”

  “K,” I manage to whisper and turn over.

  Oh shit, but it’s not okay. What am I supposed to say now? Too late, bucko?

  He’s going to think I tricked him. He’ll never believe that I got pregnant while on the pill, not even if I explain how I missed taking a few because I got kidnapped. Oh man, why the hell didn’t I read the directions better?

  With my back turned to him, he spoons me close, kisses the top of my head, and drapes an arm around my waist. I wait until his breathing goes heavy then slip out of bed and head to the kitchen. My boobs are more sore than usual after sex, and I’m so damn sad, I could die.

  Alone at our kitchen table, I make a cup of chamomile tea, a million thoughts rattling around in my brain.

  What am I going to do?

  Chapter 5

  CJ

  Leaving Mel this morning was like no other hell I’ve ever endured. I was dying to take her into my arms and explain everything. Instead, I kissed her like it was any other day and split. I’m just going to have to deal with this alone.

  Shit happens. No one gets a free ride. Eventually she’ll thank me for leaving. She’s a hell of a lot better off without me.

  Sitting on the Giant’s chartered jet, my ears pop as we level off. I just need to clear my mind, to focus on winning. I always reserve the trip back to think about other stuff. In a strange way, I have my Dad to thank for my ability to compartmentalize. At a young age, I learned how to hyper-focus on one thing. Back then, it was all about staying alive. Now it’s the game.

  We’re so close to number one, I can actually feel the heavy Super Bowl ring weighing down on my hand and picture the trophy displayed on my mantel like a big dick. Then, closing my eyes, I live each of the plays in our book, visualizing perfect passes. When the imagery is crystal clear, it becomes my reality.

  Jeni, the waitress, knows better than to interrupt my concentration as she lowers a tray of carbs in front of me. I’m a calorie-burning machine, bred and trained to be the best.

  I’m so deep into the zone that when the plane touches down, I’m fucking certain everything I touch is golden. Sure enough, during the game, every pass is faultless. Some are caught, some are not, but my aim, my velocity, and my grip on the ball couldn’t be better. Maybe knowing you’re at the end of your career will do that to you.

 
; The coach is fucking giddy and my teammates are eyeing me like I got some kind of voodoo magic but it’s all good. We win by a mile. Then, on the flight back, I allow myself to hash through the shit demanding my attention. Unfortunately, I fall asleep before I can figure stuff out.

  The next thing I know, I’m a kid and my father is banging on the bathroom door. Andy is there too, screaming for me to press 911.

  This isn’t right. I’m not a kid anymore.

  Still, I go through the motions as I have a thousand times before. It’s weird knowing I’m in a dream and yet unable to wake up. Today, instead of a flip phone, it’s some hi-tech i-Phone. I only know droids and because of that, can’t even find the fucking power button.

  Suddenly Andy’s in the bathroom, fully grown like he was yesterday. He’s standing next to me all pissed off, shouting. “What? You stupid or something?”

  I’m not stupid, I’m dyslexic and he hasn’t called me that in years.

  Well no wonder he says that because when I look again, it’s not Andy, it’s my father. How the hell did he get in here?

  I fucking hate this dream.

  Shaking, I back up into the corner behind the toilet and curl up into a little ball. It’s going to be bad this time and don’t dare look up into his face. Better that he hit the back of my head than break my nose. From experience, I know how it bleeds like a mother-fucker.

  When my father raises his fist, I brace for the blow but it doesn’t come. Surprised, I open my eyes and I’m standing tall, looking down onto a little kid huddled on the floor beside the toilet.

  Shit, now I’ve turned into my father and the kid on the floor is Mel.

  I close my eyes, hoping to wake up because I’m about to beat the shit out of my wife and I can’t make myself stop. One slam with my fist and she cries out, looking more like my mom. My twelve-year-old brother is pulling on my arm, trying to make me to stop.

  “Dad, don’t hurt her.”

  Me? Hurt Mel? I’m not my dad. I’d never hit a woman or a little kid. Big as I am, I could fucking kill them but here I am pounding on the woman I love more than life itself.

  I throw the phone at Andy. “Call 911. Do it.”

  There’s sirens and flashing blue lights and handcuffs. Then I’m sitting in the back seat of the squad car while paramedics come out of the apartment with a body bag. I’m asked to unzip it and I’m four again.

  Oh shit. Mel? Baby?

  Suddenly, I’m back in North Carolina the day she almost died because of me and I’m giving her mouth to mouth resuscitation, breathing life-giving air into her. This time it’s different. She doesn’t cough and come back to life.

  It takes four cops to hold me back as they zip up the black bag.

  “Nooooooo!” Oh hell, someone kill me. Get me the fuck out of here.

  My eyes pop open where Hacksaw is sitting in the seat next to me and raises a brow. “You alright, dude?”

  “Never better.” Shaking, I grip the edge of my seat and pray to find reality real soon.

  Dammit all, I’ve drawn the attention of my stewardess and a couple of my teammates. I hope the coach didn’t hear anything or he’ll schedule me with the shrink. I know I got some heavy shit to deal with and could use a couple sessions to talk it out but not right now. I can’t let it slip to anyone that I got chronic ensepho-brain.

  Shit. If it wasn’t before, the message is pretty clear from my subconscious. I can leave my wife or end up killing her. I need to put some distance between us, starting now.

  When we land, instead of going to the apartment in Brooklyn, I tell Jack to take me to my Manhattan place. Maybe, if I don’t see her for a while, the sharp stabbing in my heart will lessen.

  Chapter 6

  Mel

  My cell phone’s bright digits tell me it’s around midnight so I roll off the couch. CJ’s text says he’s staying in the city. That’s weird. Sometimes he needs to be alone but only after a loss. The guys are on a miraculous winning streak.

  Then, as I ready for bed, my thoughts whirl in endless circles. I wanted so much to tell him about the baby but he made it pretty clear last night how he feels.

  Outside, the city’s pretty quiet except for an occasional siren, and the backfiring of delivery trucks. I try counting over two hundred sheep and then do it again. Finally, I kick my pillow onto the floor and stomp into the kitchen where I stand staring into the open refrigerator trying to find something healthy to eat.

  All I really want is ice cream with hot fudge.

  I settle for warm chocolate milk and pick up my phone again. CJ’s probably asleep but I text him by the light of the microwave.

  Me: Hotshot? U awake?

  CJ: Hey baby.

  Me: I miss you

  CJ: Yeah. Me too.

  Me: Everything, okay?

  CJ: Not really.

  Me: ???

  Nothing comes back so eventually I pull my mug out of the microwave. A layer of icky skin on the top needs to be thrown into the sink. Yuk.

  Sipping, I imagine all sorts of bad things, mostly involving CJ in bed with another woman. And then come the tears. Seriously? He probably just fell asleep. Jeesh. If this is what being preggo is like, I’ll be certifiable before the next six months is done.

  Back in the living room, I pick up a book I got from the library, Preparing for Baby, and flip to the chapter titled, Calm Down. In it, there’s some pretty decent tips. I try the meditation thing and pretty soon I’m tired enough to go back to bed, turn out the light, and snuggle under the giant covers.

  But the sheets smell of CJ and all I can do is picture him the first time we met. He was so damn arrogant when he showed up for physical therapy. He didn’t think a woman could possibly help him get back into shape and made no bones about saying it out loud in front of everyone.

  I sure showed him.

  Then I recall how he offered to be my fake groom so I could furnish my apartment after my ex stole everything I owned. Chance never judged me. Neither one of us was prepared to fall in love. Maybe that’s the problem. The honeymoon is over and his lust is wearing off.

  Only after I was kidnapped did he ask me to marry him, like some kind of post-trauma thing. He said he never again wanted to worry about me, threatened to keep me under house arrest. Perhaps I should’ve waited so we could get to know each other better.

  When I wake, I feel like shit, and wonder if coffee is on the list of no-can-do’s.

  I Google it and moan. I’m not supposed to have a cup of joe? Are you fucking serious?

  Who the hell would purposefully get pregnant knowing no sweet, lovely coffee for nine months? Well I’m going to wean off slowly because otherwise I’ll get one mother of a headache and with no painkillers where will that leave me?

  Jeesh.

  I check my phone but still no word from my husband. I bet he’s just tired and hyper-focused on winning. I shouldn’t worry but I do. I hate not having him with me and I hate not being able to share my news.

  Then, it happens. Baby makes itself known. My stomach churns and I almost puke. Luckily, stuff stays down while I make peanut butter toast which feels okay. Then I get dressed and head out to work.

  The walk is not quite a mile and I usually put the time to good use. Today I don’t know why I think it’s a good idea to call my sister. Maybe it’s because I’m pregnant. Maybe I figure she’s had time to absorb the fact my father abused me as a kid and is ready to talk.

  I plug in my earbuds, find her number in my contacts, and press enter. “Hey Steph, it’s me, Mel.”

  “I know who it is.” Her frigid tone could send the world into another ice age.

  Mine, however, stays calm and conciliatory because I really want this to work. “Can we talk?

  “Go ahead.” She might as well have said, fuck you.

  “I just want to say that I miss you.”

  “Then you shouldn’t have lied about Dad. You need to tell everyone you lied. You’ve ruined everything.”

  “Whoa.
I didn’t lie.” I should’ve known our conversation would go like this but I want my family back, especially now. I want my baby to know her aunts and uncles.

  “You are such a horrid, awful, person. I can’t believe you would say something like that about Daddy.”

  Huh? My fist tightens around the phone and I stop walking. “Excuse me? He was the one who abused me, not the other way around.”

  “You need to get some help. You’re obviously a very sick woman.”

  I am getting help but not the way she implies. Damn it. I am the victim here. I can’t believe this is my older sister, talking. Sure, she was always bossy when we were kids but there was love behind it all. Now there’s only venom.

  Think before you act. Isn’t that what Dr. Kendall is always saying. Why the hell had I bothered to pick up the phone this morning?

  “Listen. I just called to say I’m pregnant.” Of course, it begins to rain so I open my umbrella.

  “That’s it?” She makes no happy noises, no sounds of encouragement.

  Shit. My own sister hates me. It dawns on me that I may never reconnect with my family in Iowa. I’ll only have CJ and his family.

  “Yeah. That’s it.” It’s so damn sad and yet for the first time I get what my doctor has been saying all along. Sexual abuse does not happen in healthy families.

  “You need to come home and make things right. Tell Dad you’re sorry. Mom’s a mess, too. Just tell them that your therapist made it all up because she wanted the money. I read somewhere they do that all the time.”

  “Jesus, Stephanie. Why the hell would I make something like this up?” Now my ears are buzzing, I’m so pissed off. “If you Googled it, you must also have read that women don’t make up being abused.”

  “Don’t use that horrid word.”

  “Abused?” The wind picks up and the rain turns to ice pellets.

  “Daddy did not. He wouldn’t.”

  “Did he touch you, too?”

  There’s a long, long silence, followed by a hiss. “Don’t ever call again.”

  Halfway to work and desperate for a friendly voice, I call my one cousin out west that’s still talking to me.