Blindsided: Seattle Steelheads Football (Game on in Seattle Book 6)

by Jami Davenport

  “Take me in your mouth,” he ground out through gritted teeth.

  She’d read enough erotic romance novels—her guilty pleasure—to have learned a few tricks, even if only in theory. She swirled her tongue around the tip and sucked, drawing another tortured growl from him.

  He applied pressure to the back of her head, encouraging her to take him deeper. Emma opened wider, allowing him to slide further into her mouth. His girth stretched her lips tight. She pulled back, gasping for breath and took him inside again. When he hit the back of her throat, she gagged and withdrew, wiping the saliva from her lips and chin.

  Determined to make him come, Emma went back down on him again, mimicking the movement when they made love, only using her mouth instead. She bobbed her head up and down on his cock, reveling in how he felt inside her mouth.

  “I’m going to come,” he warned her after only a few minutes.

  Emma didn’t think she was prepared to swallow his seed, so she sat back on her haunches, pumping him unmercifully with her hands. He let go, calling out her name. Rather than being disgusted or mortified, Emma watched in amazement as his cum ran down her chest. She’d never thought bodily fluids could be so erotic, but this was Tanner.

  When he finished, she licked him clean.

  “You are amazing,” Tanner said, his voice low and lazy, the tension gone. He pulled her to her feet. “My turn. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

  She giggled and screamed when he tossed her over his shoulder and carried her to the bathroom. As she struggled to free herself, he gripped her thigh with one hand and landed a sound smack on her bare butt with the other.

  “Tanner,” she protested and squirmed. He smacked her again, harder this time.

  “Keep that up, and your bottom is going to be good and sore, honey. I’m in charge now.”

  Emma liked when he took charge. She liked it a lot. She’d never considered herself to be on the kinky side, more like the straight missionary type, but with Tanner, nothing was usual and mundane. He was a creative lover.

  He turned on the shower with one hand, adjusted the temperature, and set her on her feet. The warm water sluiced across her body and his. He pulled her under the nozzle with him, his mouth hard and demanding. She demanded right back. Tanner grabbed a bar of fragrant soap and spread the suds all over her body, paying special attention to her breasts and her thighs. Emma closed her eyes and leaned against the tile wall, letting him do as he pleased.

  She gasped when he reached between her legs and entered her with two fingers, curling them in just the right way to hit one of her sweet spots. When he sucked on her clit, she shattered.

  Dang, but she was easy.

  While she was still in the throes of an orgasm, Tanner placed her thighs around his waist and held her against the shower wall. He entered her with a swift, powerful stroke, sending little prickles of pleasure and pain through her body as she stretched to accommodate him.

  Buried deep inside, he leaned his cheek against hers, his breath coming in short, hot gasps.

  “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  “I’m fine,” Emma promised, altering the angle of her hips, experimenting with the different sensations.

  “You never cease to amaze me.” Tanner thrust in and out of her, sliding her up and down the wet wall on every stroke until she felt his shudder and knew he was coming. Only typical Tanner, he didn’t like to travel alone, so he reached between them and touched her in just the right place.

  A second later the two of them had liftoff.

  Emma was certain her little world could never look the same again.

  Chapter 16—Changing the Game

  No doubt about it. Tanner was distracted during practice. His mind kept drifting to images of Emma kneeling in front of him, taking his cock into her mouth, and wrapping those sweet pink lips around his shaft. He’d never seen anything so erotic in his life. She’d gone down on him to please him, but she’d enjoyed it, too. When she took him to the back of her throat and started fucking him with that sweet mouth, he’d been pretty sure he’d need CPR, if the paramedics could even bring him back.

  Not to mention, he’d pulled her out of her game, made her forget her mission to uncover his past. He’d dodged another bullet last night after having a nightmare or night terrors, or whatever those were called. Regardless of the label, he’d hated to see their return after he’d gone a few months without them. He chalked it up to his father’s phone call. Now he’d have to tell Emma the old man was visiting by giving her the least amount of information possible.

  Too inwardly focused on Emma and his father’s visit, Tanner didn’t pick up on the defensive end barreling down on him through a hole in his line. They were playing an inter-squad scrimmage, no contact, but Tanner stepped right into Braedon Dawson’s path. Dawson could’ve held up, but he didn’t, and the crash was inevitable.

  Tanner scraped his bruised body from the turf, ready to do battle, and kick some major ass. Before he could launch his attack with both guns blazing, Coach Meyer stepped between Tanner and the team’s veteran defensive end, famous for his attitude on and off the field.

  Well, Tanner could show him some attitude, and his teammates wouldn’t make the mistake of calling him laidback again.

  “Sorry, Coach.” Dawson flashed his white smile in the coach’s direction, “I can’t seem to get out of my own way. Didn’t hurt you, did I, Wolfe?” He sounded hopeful.

  Tanner shook his head, still ready to wipe that smug smile off the asshole’s face. Dawson had been on the team the same amount of time as Tanner, and they’d never gotten along, having played as rivals in the national championship college game. Tanner’s best game to date, he’d shredded Florida State’s defense, and Dawson never forgot. Their dislike deteriorated into all-out hatred after Tanner warned him about his soon-to-be-wife.

  “Get back to work,” Coach said, not the least bit swayed by Dawson’s amiable grin.

  “Sure thing.” Dawson trotted off to join his teammates. Tanner’s frown deepened when he noticed some of the defensive players slapping Dawson on the back. Last time he’d looked, they all played on the same team. Dawson’s hatred could split the team in two.

  “He’s trying to get under your skin, get you to react,” Coach told him.

  Tanner shrugged, adopting his usual devil-may-care attitude.

  “You’re not doing yourself any favors by keeping your emotions in check all the time. These guys need to see you care. When you threw that interception in the last game of the season with seconds on the board, you walked off the field as if you’d just lost a game of street ball.”

  Tanner set his jaw, anger boiling just below the surface. Meyer had been famous for his outbursts and emotional displays, while Tanner did everything in his power to curb them and prevent a possible loss of control. No one knew how ugly that loss of control could be, but Tanner knew.

  “They want to see your passion for the game, Wolfe. Sure, you have a rep of being the first in, last out every night. No one analyzes film like you do, but they need to see those intangibles which make a good quarterback a great one. All the talent in the world won’t get you far in this league because everyone else is just as talented. You have the work ethic. You have the raw talent. Now you need that fire. You need to want the win more than you want to breathe. Do I make myself clear?”

  Tanner nodded. He did want those wins, but he forced himself to remain stoic when things went bad.

  “Good. Now get back to work. Next time that jerk nails you, knock him on his ass. Show him you can’t be pushed around, and you mean business.”

  Tanner blinked a few times, not sure he’d heard Coach Meyer correctly, but the coach was already walking away.

  Next time one of the guys gave him shit, Tanner wouldn’t hold back.

  His teammates would be shocked as hell when he let the real Tanner out of his self-imposed prison.

  * * * *

  Emma opened the door to a tall, thin man holding a
worn suitcase. He frowned at her, and she wondered if he’d come to the wrong house. Yet, he looked vaguely familiar.

  She smelled a faint whiff of something like whiskey. Despite it only being noon, the man appeared to be somewhat drunk.

  He leered at her and blinked his bloodshot eyes as if doing so might clear his vision so he could see her better. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

  “I don’t know who you are,” she stuttered, wishing for the first time their house wasn’t so isolated, or she’d learned self-defense moves from Bella.

  “That little shit didn’t tell you about me?” She could only guess the little shit he referred to was six-foot-four Tanner. Little, he was not. The shit part was debatable.

  “I, uh, no, I’m sorry.”

  He pushed past her, not minding when the suitcase rapped her in the shins. Emma hesitated in the doorway, debating on whether or not to run to the barn and get help.

  When she didn’t follow him into the house, the man stopped and tapped his foot impatiently. “Are you dumb, or what?”

  Emma bristled a little at his attitude. “No, I am not. I’m not accustomed to strangers barging into my house without explanation.”

  “We won’t be strangers for long, honey,” he said with a yellow-toothed grin, but at least he had all of his teeth.

  Emma shivered and shrank back toward the porch.

  He laughed. “I’m not going to hurt you. I can see why he picked you. You’re a timid, complacent thing, aren’t you?”

  Emma’s temper flared. “No, I am not.”

  “You still don’t get it, do you? Obviously my fuckhead son didn’t tell you I was coming.”

  Emma’s mouth dropped open, and she struggled for words. “Um, uh, no, he didn’t.”

  “Where should I put my things?”

  In a daze, Emma showed the man to the guest room. She tried to contact Tanner, but he’d be on the practice field and wouldn’t be reachable for hours. She’d have to make the best of this. Maybe Isaac would come over and run interference for her.

  Then again, Isaac hated his father, so not a good idea.

  A few short minutes later, Mr. Wolfe descended the stairs. “I’m hungry,” he said bluntly.

  “I could make you a sandwich and bowl of soup.”

  “Fine.”

  He followed her to the kitchen and sat down on a counter stool, watching her so closely, Emma felt little bugs crawling up her spine.

  “I don’t get it,” Mr. Wolfe finally said.

  Emma forced herself to remain polite. “Excuse me?”

  “You. You’re nothing like the starlets and celebrities he prefers. Bet you thought you struck gold when he proposed this ridiculous sham of a marriage to you.”

  Emma held her anger in check, even as she felt the sting at being reminded her marriage hadn’t been from love but convenience, and it appeared Tanner shared that fact with his father.

  “But then, I know my boy. I’m sure he’s doing exactly what he’s always done and to hell with anyone else.”

  Emma declined to comment and placed the plate in front of the man. He dug in as if he hadn’t eaten in weeks. She turned away from him and his disgusting manners. When he finished, he wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

  “Got any whiskey?”

  “I think so.”

  “Good, pour me a strong one, and make it quick.”

  Mr. Wolfe strode out to the deck and lit a cigarette. Emma filled a glass with ice and poured some whiskey. She carried it out to him.

  He stared at the drink for a long time, not taking it from her outstretched hand. “What’s with this pussy drink? I need a man’s drink. Not a thimble-sized shot.”

  “I’m sorry.” Emma retreated to the house and filled a tumbler, returning to him.

  “That’s better. I thought Tanner would’ve had you trained better than that. My sons can hold their liquor. I taught them how at a young age.” He grinned as if proud of his admission.

  Emma was appalled. “You taught your sons to drink?”

  He laughed a very cruel laugh. “Sure did. Made them drink until they threw up. Pretty soon they learned to hold it.”

  Emma couldn’t conceal her disgust, and he read her like a novel.

  “Don’t judge me, little girl. Not when you don’t have a clue.”

  She didn’t judge him, she abhorred him. No wonder Tanner didn’t talk about his father, but the least he could’ve done was warn her.

  “You’re a lot like my Karen. Sweet and pliable most of the time but annoyingly self-righteous about certain things.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “Tanner married his mother. Makes total sense. Just know your place, or you might become expendable. She did.”

  Emma fought back a wave of nausea at the man’s smug smile.

  * * * *

  Tanner stopped at the grocery store on the way home and picked up a pizza and some flowers for Emma. He parked in the garage and entered the house, pausing in mid-stride when he heard a man’s voice. He frowned, wondering what man would be in his house when he wasn’t home. Jealousy rushed through him like a flash flood in a rainstorm.

  In the next beat, dread replaced jealousy as he recognized the voice from his nightmares.

  What the hell was he doing here? Tanner specifically asked him to call. Besides, the game wasn’t for another few days. His father never came just to visit. He always had an ulterior motive.

  Dropping his duffle in the hall, Tanner hurried toward the voices, finding Emma and his father on the deck. Dad was drinking whiskey and Emma sipped on a glass of wine. She sat on the edge of the chair, stiffness and tension radiating off her in waves of discomfort.

  Crap. Crap. Crap.

  Tanner forced a smile appropriate for welcoming a beloved family member instead of the man he despised ninety-nine percent of the time. “Dad, what a pleasant surprise.” Tanner shook his father’s hand and grinned at Emma who glared at him. Oh, shit, he was in the doghouse. Tanner ignored the homicidal gleam in her eyes. He bent down to kiss her. She turned her head so his lips grazed her cheek.

  “These are for you, beautiful,” he said as he held out the flowers. They didn’t thaw her icy expression. She ignored him, leaving him to scramble to save face in front of his father, who raised one eyebrow that said it all—pussy-whipped.

  To hell with saving face, Tanner marched into the kitchen, put the flowers in a vase, placed them on the patio table, ignoring dear old dad’s disgust. Doing so gave him a measure of satisfaction until he glanced at Emma and was thankful they didn’t have a loaded gun in the house.

  “You neglected to tell your wife I was coming,” his father accused, saying the word wife as if it were as distasteful as whore or slut.

  “I told you it wasn’t a good time,” Tanner defended himself, casting an apologetic look in Emma’s direction. She lifted her chin and looked right over his head. He was really in deep shit. He’d never seen her this mad. Sweet, compliant Emma had her own hidden temper. He would’ve grinned if it wouldn’t have been for the current sticky situation.

  His dad downed the rest of his whiskey in one long gulp. “I have some places I need to go. I’ve been waiting for you to take me.”

  Tanner glanced at Emma. She stood stiffly. “I’m going to put these in water. Nice to meet you, Mr. Wolfe. I’m sure Tanner will show you a good time.”

  “Emma, why don’t you go with us?”

  Before Emma could respond, his dad interrupted, “This is men’s business. We don’t need a woman around.”

  “I’d rather stay here with Emma. You can take my truck.”

  “No, Tanner, I’m sure you two have some catching up to do. I’m meeting Avery for dinner and karaoke. See you later.” She gave him one of those looks, and he read it perfectly. She wanted to get away from his father. Well, that made two of them.

  But here he was. Stuck.

  Damn it.

  “Shit,” Tanner swore under his breath. The la
st thing he wanted to do was entertain his father all night. Reluctantly, he followed the man to his truck.

  An hour later, Tanner sat in a sleazy bar on Aurora Avenue in Seattle by himself. He nursed his now warm beer and drummed his fingers on the table. His dad had borrowed some money and taken off in search of cigarettes, leaving his second empty tumbler of whiskey on the table. Tanner glanced at his watch. The old man had been gone for a half hour. With a heavy sigh, he threw a twenty down and went in search of the old man, fearing the worst.

  Standing in the parking lot, Tanner surveyed the area. His laser-sharp gaze zeroed in on the one thing he’d missed when they pulled into the parking lot.

  A fucking strip club down the street.

  Tanner was all kinds of an idiot. Every time his father came to town, he insisted on father-son bonding at a strip club. Tanner hadn’t cared much for it when he’d been single, and he really despised it now. Pulling his baseball cap down over his eyes, he pushed open the double doors and entered. He paused to scan the room until he spotted the old man. His father sat at a table abutting the raised dance floor, as strippers paraded back and forth in front of him. Tanner slipped into the empty chair next to him.

  “What took you so long?” John asked.

  “This wasn’t part of the plan.” Tanner frowned and shot his father his meanest glare. Of course, the man was one-hundred-percent immune.

  “You’re whipped.”

  “So what if I am,” Tanner growled, all kinds of cranky.

  “Sit back and relax.” John signaled for a round.

  Tanner sipped on his beer and brooded, hoping like hell no one recognized him. That’d go over really well with his coaches and Reynolds, not to mention Emma. He debated his options. His father was a mean drunk, and he’d raise hell if Tanner tried to get him to leave before he was ready. Just what Tanner needed while trying to improve his reputation and play the part of a family guy.