Personal Foul (Moving the Chains Book 6)

by Kata Čuić

“If anything, I don’t understand how she’s lived with the guilt all these years. Dad did everything for her. I mean everything. He kept a full-time job, never missed one of her appointments, took over everything at home that us kids couldn’t handle. I’ve only seen the man cry three times—the day they got Davey’s diagnosis, the day Mom was diagnosed with cancer, and the day she was given the all-clear. He worshipped the ground she walked on. Still does.”

  I reach out to squeeze his arm, wanting to give him a tangible connection. “I’m so sorry that happened to you. I can’t imagine the internal conflict you deal with on a daily basis.”

  He squints at me. “Yes, you can. You’re a shrink.”

  “As a shrink, I think you’ve done a magnificent job of compartmentalizing all your past traumas in order to keep pushing forward in your life and be as successful as you are.”

  “Really?” He’s still squinting, but a smile plays with his lips. He drags me closer to him. His warm breath dusts across my face. “You’re not going to say that my career success is just a method of escapism? That I don’t have to face the demons in my mind if I constantly push my body to its limits?”

  “You are one of the most self-aware men I’ve ever met,” I whisper against his mouth.

  He doesn’t need me to tell him what he already knows.

  “You’re not even going to tell me that I used promiscuous sex to replace the love I suddenly didn’t believe in after years of wanting the kind of relationship my parents had?”

  I pull back a little. “Is that what you think you did?”

  His gaze slides down to my mouth as he licks his lips. “Maybe. Do you think that’s why I did it?”

  I don’t know if he’s asking me as his friend or as a therapist, but it doesn’t matter. I’m lying in his arms on his bed. “I think you saw something that a child shouldn’t have to see during a time in your life that was already extremely emotional and turbulent. I also think that since you were on the cusp of manhood you were curious about why that physical act could be enough to make someone break a solemn vow while they were fighting for their life. Once you realized how enjoyable sex is, you spent years chasing that physical high. You wanted all the pleasure with none of the pain.”

  He raises his eyebrows. “Is that your professional opinion?”

  “It is,” I murmur. I don’t feel so professional under his heavy gaze.

  He slides his big hand along my jaw until he’s holding my neck. Gently, but with enough pressure to make my pulse skip beneath his touch. He moves so slowly, I almost believe I’m imagining it. His lips brush against mine.

  Instantly, I’m transported back to a time and a place that I swear over and over I’ll never return to.

  I close my eyes and give up fighting.

  He licks into my mouth slowly, deliberately. Like he’s trying his best to drink me up.

  I let him.

  He slides his arm beneath my head and hauls me to him until we’re flush. With his leg over my hip, he pulls me so close that I’m swallowed up by his body.

  I moan into his mouth and steal my hand beneath his shirt to drift my fingers over his eight-pack.

  “Amira,” he pants against my lips. “I’m ready. I want this. I can handle the pain.”

  “Don’t,” I plead. It’s no use. My voice can’t possibly be firm enough when he’s sucking on my neck the way he is. “I have too much to lose now.”

  “You don’t have to lose a thing,” he promises against my sensitive skin. “Let me be the man standing beside you while you take everything you want.”

  His words bring tears to my eyes. If he hadn’t already ruined me for anyone else, he surely has this time.

  He pulls back to stare into my eyes. “Be with me.”

  I shake my head. “I’m already here with you.”

  “We can take our time.” He presses a kiss to my forehead. “There’s no rush.”

  “I’m actually up against a ticking clock.” I swallow the lump in my throat.

  He pulls my hand from his waist to press it against his chest. “I’ll be here when it runs down. I’m not going anywhere. I won’t run again.”

  “Again?”

  The door swings open, drowning out the panic in my voice.

  “Get dressed. We’re going to dinner,” my mother says. Along with a healthy scoff.

  The door slams shut.

  Alex leans up on his elbow. He looks at the door then down at me. “That is never going to happen again.”

  If I didn’t have such a great view of the best cleavage I’ve ever seen sitting beside me in one of the nicest restaurants in Orlando, I might be more pissed off.

  I ask her out to dinner? She refuses. Her evil mother barges into our room and demands it? She complies.

  “Shall we order dessert?” Mr. Deep asks no one in particular. Without a newspaper, he’s been hiding behind menus as often as possible.

  I have no idea why he wants to prolong the torture of dinner with his miserable wife.

  She sniffs. “Some of us do not need it.”

  I don’t like her tone. Or her implication.

  I lift Amira’s hand to my lips. “Do you want me to ask if they have pickles a la chocolate sauce? It might be an off-menu item.”

  Her eyes widen. She shakes her head subtly.

  “Do it,” I murmur against her warm skin. “Own your power.”

  Her black eyes flash with anger before she pulls her hand back to smooth over the napkin on her lap. She’s practically shaking.

  I prop my arm on the back of her chair to provide a little cover and hopefully enough support. The whole time we’ve been here, there’s been a phone pointed at us from one part of the room or another.

  Every reason Amira had for not going out to dinner together has come true.

  I’m not mad at it. I knew she wasn’t wrong. The pictures that are probably all over the internet right now honestly make me a pretty happy man. No one needs to see her fear though. Hopefully, no one’s close enough to hear this conversation. Or worse—to get it on video.

  “Ammi, Abbi… There is something I need to tell you.”

  For the first time, Mr. Deep gives someone his undivided attention.

  Mrs. Deep presses her frowning lips together. “What is it?”

  “I, um… I’m—” Amira licks her lips then raises her glass of water to chug it like she’s downing Patron.

  Oh, wait. That’s me. I do that.

  I squeeze her shoulder and lean over to press a kiss to her hair. “You’ve got this, sweetheart. I’m right here. Whatever you need, I’m ready and willing.”

  Her eyes ask a silent question.

  I nod.

  She licks her lips again before returning her attention to her parents who look less than amused by our public display of affection. “I am pregnant.”

  Mrs. Deep immediately opens her mouth, then thinks better of it. She glances around at the packed house of people who are enjoying their overpriced meals with portions that look like they’re for kids. She leans forward and hisses, “How far along?”

  “Almost four months,” Amira whispers, glancing down at her plate that she’s barely touched.

  Even I didn’t know that. Amira said she was probably due after the end of the season, but I never really did the math. No wonder Dr. Waters noticed. To a doc, she’s already showing. To the average person, it just looks like she’s put on a little weight around the middle.

  Mr. Deep sighs, but I can’t get a read on how he feels about the news. “Do you know yet if it is a boy or a girl?”

  Amira shakes her head. “That ultrasound is scheduled for next month.”

  I really want to be there for that appointment. She’s insisted on going to them alone so far, but maybe she’ll want me there for the big reveal.

  Hell. I’m excited. I hope it’s a boy. Girls get the short end of the stick too much in life. If it’s a girl, I can teach her where to kick to bring guys to their knees.

  “I do
not see a ring.” Mrs. Deep’s sour voice brings me back to the here and now with a verbal slap. “Are you planning to marry our daughter that you have so recently defiled?”

  “If she’ll have me,” I say since the question is directed at me.

  I half expect Amira to kick me under the table. Instead, she laughs. It’s that deep, husky, throaty laugh that used to get me hard in an instant in college. She throws her head back and lets it loose.

  Her parents exchange a glance. It looks like they’re thinking what I’m thinking—no way in hell does Amira want to marry me.

  She finally composes herself and takes a dainty sip of my water since she drained hers. Her smile is wicked. “He’s been defiling me since college.”

  I raise my hand for the server before her dad can kill me in public. “Check, please.”

  She’s still riding high when we close the door to our bedroom for the night. “Did you see their faces? Oh, I wish I’d thought to record the moment for all time.”

  “I always knew you had an evil streak, but that was some next level shit tonight. I’m proud of you, Brain.” I grin at her as I unbutton my dress shirt.

  She reclines on the bed, propped up on her elbows. The position makes her tits look like they’re going to pop out of the top of her dress. Her black eyes turn blacker as she watches me peel off my shirt.

  “You’re horny from the power trip you’re still on, aren’t you?”

  She nods and bites her lip.

  Goddamn. That’s sexy.

  My eyes drink her in. She’s as gorgeous as she ever was, but there’s something about seeing this woman on my bed that does it for me. I don’t ever want her sleeping anywhere else.

  Sacred spaces and all that.

  She crooks her finger at me in a come-hither motion.

  As much as my knee screams from the steroid shot earlier this afternoon, I am one hundred and ten percent ready to forego the prescribed ice pack and crawl to her.

  Another argument in Aramaic filters into the room from the hallway.

  I put my finger up. “Hold that thought. I’ll be your sex slave in a minute.”

  I need to set the stage first…

  Amira’s gaze follows me as I head into the closet then return with one of my silk ties.

  What else? What else can I use?

  I don’t have any condoms in here. I haven’t had sex with anyone except Amira since I moved to Orlando. No lube. She’s always so wet for me, we haven’t needed it.

  I head back into the closet and dig around until I find it.

  Her eyes pop out of her head when she sees what I’m holding.

  “I thought you were going to be my sex slave?”

  “I am.”

  “Care to explain why you have a very realistic looking dildo hidden in your closet?”

  I don’t actually like the way she’s drooling at this piece of silicone. “It’s Mike’s.”

  “Excuse me?” Her lip curls into a sneer. At least she’s not lusting after it anymore.

  I throw the toy on the bed. It flops a little like a dead fish. “It’s a custom mold of his schlong. He had it made for his girlfriend when she got let go from her PR internship with the team and had to move back home to Virginia.”

  Amira blinks. “Why do you have it?”

  “I stole it from him at Rob and Evie’s wedding in the summer.”

  “This past summer? I thought they were already married.” She blinks again, but there’s a different expression on her face than confusion.

  It’s a look I hate to see. Especially because I’m the asshole who put it there.

  “If you hadn’t been sneaking around doing interviews with the Sharks behind my back, maybe you would’ve gotten to hear the whole story from me.” It’s a low blow. I’m hiding still. But, I’m not running.

  Amira narrows her eyes. She’s not running either.

  Maybe we can finally have it out and get rid of the elephant in the room.

  She points at the dildo. “I don’t want your friend inside me. Not even the mold of him.”

  Okay, so she’s still not ready to talk about it. That’s fine. I’m not exactly mad about what she did say.

  I grab the floppy dick and throw it back in the closet. “You’re right. I don’t want to give your parents the idea that I need help anyway.”

  “What?” she yelps, then slaps a hand over her mouth. She mumbles through her fingers, “What?”

  The noise in the hallway has died down, but I still hear them arguing. “Your mother is going to walk in here again tonight. I guarantee it. They were silent on the car ride home because she was planning the attack she couldn’t launch in public. This time when she walks in, she’s going to learn some boundaries.”

  “Why not just lock the door?” Amira suggests.

  “Revenge, mostly,” I admit as I approach Amira on the bed. “They’ve been hurting you for years, and frankly, I’m thirsty for blood.”

  “What are you doing to do?” She scoots away when I stand between her legs.

  I wrap my hands around her knees, then haul her to the edge of the bed. She likes when I press my weight against her, so I use it to my advantage. Her body relaxes beneath me. I kiss the tip of her nose.

  “Nothing you won’t also enjoy,” I promise.

  Her breathing picks up when I drag her hands above her head, then wrap my tie around her wrists. It’s been a hot minute since I learned how to tie different knots in Cub Scouts, but I remember the basics.

  “Is that too tight?”

  She shakes her head.

  “Can you free yourself?”

  She actually tries. “No. What are you planning?”

  I taste her lips. Not too much. Just enough to get my point across. “I’m planning to teach you how to trust me.”

  “I already failed the first course you taught me. You said so yourself.” She frowns.

  I kiss her again. Deeper this time. “You have a PsyD. You’re one of the smartest people I know. Stubborn as fuck, too. When you’re ready, you’ll ace this course.” I sigh against her lips. “Just like the last time.”

  “I don’t have the luxury of failure this time,” she whispers. “It’s not about only me anymore.”

  I slide down until I can kiss her stomach. My heart jolts in my chest. Not in excitement. For a missed play. “Wasn’t it you who told me that I love Rob and Alex like my own brothers? That they’re my family by choice?”

  She blinks a few tears away. “Wasn’t it you who told me they’re your blood brothers, too?”

  I nuzzle my face against the resting place of a tiny human that’s no bigger than the size of a grapefruit. Yeah, I’ve been doing my own online reading. “Your parents’ first question was whether we’re going to get married. I learned the hard way that marriage doesn’t make a family. Blood or paper makes no difference. Family is about choices.”

  “You learned not to believe in love.” The agony in her voice stabs me in the chest.

  “You taught me I was wrong,” I insist. It’s all I can say for now. She’s not ready to hear the words, and I’m not quite ready to say them to her.

  “Whatever happens between us, being a parent isn’t something I take lightly.” She hiccups. “If you truly want this, I would welcome another person to love this baby completely. A child can never have too much love. This is a lifetime commitment though, Alex. This isn’t something you can change your mind about if the pain outweighs the pleasure.”

  Her words hit the target, but I shake them off. I deserve that arrow. I kiss the little fruit again, then let Amira know where my head’s at. “I’m hoping for a boy, but I already have the perfect name for a girl. I’ll teach him how to catch and throw, and I’ll teach her how to kick a guy in the nuts. Our parents will never do to this kid what they did to us. I won’t allow it. If they don’t follow our rules, then he’s still going to have a big family. Uncle Jimmy will teach him how to play an instrument. Uncle Davey gives awesome hugs, and he’s a reall
y good listener. Uncle Mike will teach her how to do makeup.”

  “What?” she interrupts.

  “Never mind. Long story. He doesn’t even know that I know.”

  “I want details later,” she insists.

  I’m down with that. Later is good. I want all her laters.

  “And Uncle Rob will teach them how to be a sensitive chickenshit.”

  Her brow furrows in confusion before her expression drops. “What about Aunt Evie?”

  “Aunt Evie will teach them Greek. He or she will be quadrilingual. We’re going to talk about that,” I promise. “We don’t have the time we need to get into it right now though.”

  Amira closes her eyes on a sigh. “We don’t need to talk about it.”

  “Yes. We do.”

  This subject might as well be one of her clients. She’ll take my not-so-secrets to her grave if I let her. I’m not going to let her. I’m going to push her past her comfortable limits. The same as I want her to do to me.

  She opens her eyes again when I tug the collar of her dress down enough to expose her lacy black bra. “I’m not really in the mood anymore, Alex.”

  “I know.” I get it. I’m not either. Part of being a team is showing up even when it’s hard. “I’m just setting the stage for when your mom inevitably walks in.”

  “What if it’s my father?” she challenges with a raised eyebrow.

  I hike up the hem of her dress to drape strategically around her thighs. I don’t want to expose too much. Just enough to get the point across. I stand up and survey the scene. Everything looks good. Honestly, it’s pretty vanilla. For her parents though? This is probably going to seem like hardcore BDSM.

  “Sweetheart, have I ever told you about my no biting rule?”

  She rolls her eyes. “I know enough of your backstory to figure that one out on my own. It doesn’t take a PsyD to recognize the significance of that rule.”

  “Do you enjoy teeth?”

  It’s a hard limit for me, but I’ve already broken all my rules for her.

  “I don’t know,” she admits. She tries to press her thighs together, which tells me all I need to know.

  “Nuh-uh.” I spread her legs apart then straddle her. My knee fucking screams in pain, but I’ve got my eyes on the prize. “Daddy’s in charge now.”