Penalty Play

by Jami Davenport

  She was being an idiot worrying about Matt. She’d been with him a handful of times. That was it. The first had been that slam-bam on his kitchen counter with an orgasm interrupted by his mother, of all people. The next night had been merely to finish what they’d started. The rest had been her sneaking into his room after midnight to screw each other’s brains out for an unspecified amount of time. He’d made no mention of anything beyond sex, so why should she give a shit what he might think of her performances? They weren’t a couple, or even a casual fling. Even flings were seen in public once in a while. They weren’t, and they wouldn’t be. Everything was just the way Vi liked it. Once a guy started getting too close, she hit the road and never looked back.

  She and Matt didn’t even like each other, so none of this mattered. If he found out she stripped, he’d end it—or not. No big deal.

  This summer, she’d be graduated and ready to go out into the world, leaving stripping behind.

  And do what?

  She was a dance major with a criminal record. She’d never get a job teaching in a reputable studio, which meant she had to make money another way, join the ranks of starving artists, or keep stripping.

  But taking her clothes off for a living was not part of her long-term career plan, and Vi did have a blueprint for after she had the diploma in her hand. No matter how lucrative exotic dancing might be, nobody wanted to hire an old stripper, unless it was one of those places. Vi refused to work anywhere with sketchy expectations for its dancers. Not that she was old—yet. Though she felt much older than her twenty-six.

  The booing from the crowd roused her from her introspection. She snapped back to reality. How long had she stood with her back arched and ass pressed into the pole? The pounding on the tables grew louder, and the clientele sounded ready to riot.

  Fuck.

  Vi grasped the stretchy material clinging to her shoulders and peeled the tight bodysuit down her shoulders and arms. She held one arm across her breasts as she always did just to prolong the men’s agony. The jeers turned to cheers and more table pounding.

  Vi swallowed hard, forcing her stiff hips in sultry circles. She wasn’t feeling this tonight. Not in the least. Her gaze met the creeper guy again. He wiped his mouth on his shirt and stuck his tongue out, demonstrating what he’d love to do to her. Her stomach rolled, and bile rose in her throat. She swallowed hard, willing the contents of her stomach to stay put.

  What the hell was wrong with her? She never got like this.

  Vi was a professional dancer, and she did her job, despite her odd misgivings. She removed her hands from her breasts, leaving the bodysuit half-on, half-off. The creep reached out and made grabbing motions with his hands. She wanted to gag. Security hustled over and removed the lewd man from the establishment.

  She pivoted on one heel and gave the businessmen on the other side her full attention, dancing toward them and retreating.

  Her music was nearing the end. With reluctance unusual for her, she peeled the tight suit down her hips and thighs and off her body. She threw it toward the middle of the stage and resumed her sensual dance around the stage, grateful for the tattoos covering her skin like a second bodysuit. She skipped the usual gyrations she did a few feet from the edge of the stage and the part where she lay on the floor and spread her legs in a V over her head to show them what they’d truly come to see. This particular club was an all-nude club, and tonight she didn’t want to expose herself in that manner.

  She’d been stripping for three years.

  And only tonight did she feel self-conscious and cheap. As soon as the song ended she ran from the stage, ignoring the disgruntled shouts of the audience. She grabbed her robe and hurried to the dressing room.

  “Vi?” Steph asked from the doorway, her voice full of concern. “Are you doing okay?”

  “Why would you ask?” Vi wiped her face with a tissue, getting off the heavy stage makeup.

  “You always dance like you love what you’re doing. I’ve been so envious, but tonight you danced like—like me.”

  Vi laughed. “Just having an off night.”

  “Okay.” Steph sat down next to her.

  “And you? How’s it going for you?”

  Steph shrugged.

  “Did your boyfriend get a job?”

  “No, it fell through, and our landlord raised the rent.” Steph looked down at the hands she was wringing in her lap. “He wants me to get a second job.”

  “Doing what?” Vi heard all kinds of warning bells going off and forgot about her own problems.

  “Stripping at Hot Chicks on Old 99.”

  “Hot Chicks?” Vi shook her head. “Oh, no, honey, you don’t want to go there. That place is beyond sleazy, and the girls there do more than strip.”

  “I know, I’d have to do lap dances.” Steph looked positively green.

  “More than that. Especially if you work their private parties.”

  Steph swallowed. “The money is better than what I’m making here. It’s only for a while. Gino says I don’t have to do anything but dance onstage and lap dances. They have security that makes sure the guys keep hands off. The owner is even willing to hire Gino for security if I work there. Then we’d both have jobs.”

  Of course that sleazeball who owned Hot Chicks would make that kind of deal. He rarely managed to snag a girl from Dancing Girls, Inc. Most of his dancers were crack whores or heroin addicts. Not the atmosphere Steph belonged in whatsoever.

  “Gino will protect me. He’s very possessive and jealous. He won’t let another man touch me.”

  Vi didn’t believe it. Gino would exploit Steph any way he could if cold, hard cash was involved. He was that type of asshole. Without thinking, Vi made Steph an offer.

  “Come home with me. Tonight. Leave him. I can put you up and help you find a job somewhere else where he can’t find you.”

  “There’s nowhere he won’t be able to find me,” Steph said dismally, picking at her fingernail polish. Her head came up, determination and anger etched in her beautiful features. “I love him, and he loves me. This is all just temporary until we get on our feet.”

  “You’ve been saying that for months. Steph, he’s an abuser. Abusers know how to beat you down until you believe everything they say. They separate you from your friends and family so you have no support group. Get out while you can.”

  Steph shook her head. “No. You’re wrong.” She grabbed her coat and fled from the room before Vi could stop her.

  Vi stared at the door for a long time. With a sigh, she turned back to her dressing table mirror. She’d dealt with abusive situations before. Her mother was a Jedi master when it came to picking one abusive boyfriend after another. Vi could sniff them out, too, but unlike the woman who bore her, she avoided abusers rather than being attracted to them. Maybe that’s why Matt appealed to her. He didn’t set off any of her asshole alarms.

  And that was saying a lot.

  * * * *

  Matt sat in the dark in a rocking chair on the front porch running the length of his house. If he’d been a smoker, he’d have finished off a pack by now. Where the hell was Vi? She’d always been at his place by midnight.

  He glanced at his cell—1:09 a.m. She was an hour late and wasn’t answering his calls or texts. He hated to admit it, but he was worried. He didn’t have a clue where she worked. What if she’d been closing the bar and someone had forced their way in to rob the place? They could’ve lurked in the shadows near her car and kidnapped her.

  He shuddered to think of Vi as another crime statistic.

  Matt heard her rattletrap before he saw the headlights. He blew out a relieved breath and raked his hand through his hair. As soon as her car rounded the turn in the driveway, he bounded off the steps with the energy of Joey chasing the neighbor’s cat and walked briskly to the driver’s side. He wrenched open the door, hauled her out of the car, and pulled her against him in a bone-crushing hug. He couldn’t help himself. He was so relieved she was okay. He b
uried his face in her hair and breathed in her scent. She smelled so damn refreshing, like Seattle after a warm spring rain. At first, she was stiff with surprise in his arms. She recovered quickly and wrapped her arms around his neck, angling her head to find his mouth.

  He kissed her as if his soul depended on that kiss.

  Finally, he managed to regain enough composure to loosen his hold and stare into her eyes. “Fuck, I thought something had happened to you.”

  “I was fine until you broke a few of my ribs.” She narrowed her eyes and studied him. “What’s going on?”

  “I, uh, I was worried about you. You’ve never been this late, and when you didn’t contact me or answer my texts—”

  “Matt, we’re not doing this.”

  He felt as if she’d plunged a dagger in his heart.

  “There’s nothing going on here but sex. You made those rules yourself. If I’m late, I’m late. If I’m a no-show, I’m a no-show. No strings. No expectations. No nothing.”

  He clenched his jaw so tight his teeth should’ve shattered. “I know, but—”

  “I’m not reliable. I’m a free spirit. Remember? You said so yourself. Completely undependable.”

  “I never said those words—not exactly. If I believed that, you wouldn’t be taking care of my boys.”

  “I’m not taking care of your boys. It’s all a ploy to make sure your mom goes on her trip.” She looked a little sick at the thought of being a nanny.

  “I know.” He’d forgotten their agreement was a farce and hadn’t a clue how that’d happened. Lately, he’d been thinking about her living in his house and being there when he came home. What was wrong with him?

  He’d set the rules, and he’d stick with those rules because they were created when he was still thinking logically. The one time he’d broken his rule regarding dating puck bunnies, he married the woman. Yeah, his rules were made not to be broken ever again. Vi was right, and he was an idiot. Maybe he just wasn’t made for casual sex.

  Vi slid her hand down his chest to the bulge in his pants. “Why don’t we concentrate on what we do well together. The filthier, the better.”

  “I could go for that.” Damn, could he ever. Anything to fill the smothering emptiness threatening to engulf him.

  Vi grabbed his hand and dragged him into his own house, kicking the front door closed, not seeming to care if she woke up the entire house. He followed her to the master bedroom and locked the door behind them.

  “Sit,” she ordered. He cocked at brow at her, but obeyed her command, dropping into the big overstuffed chair near the fireplace in the large room. He couldn’t take his eyes off her.

  “You like rules, don’t you, Matt?”

  He nodded.

  “One rule and one rule only. No touching.”

  “No touching?” That didn’t sound like much fun.

  “I can touch you all I want. You can’t touch me—with your hands.”

  “Oh.” He liked the sound of that.

  She began to dance slow and sultry, never coming close enough for him to touch her. His breath caught in his throat as she slid her long coat down her shoulders and shrugged it off. Underneath she wore a little black faux leather bodysuit that hugged her curvy body like a second skin. It was unzipped halfway down, and ample breasts were barely confined.

  “Fuck,” he muttered as Vi once again danced closer. She cupped his junk, giving the boys a squeeze. He rolled his head back and groaned.

  “Let’s get you a little comfier.” She tugged on his sweats, and he raised his hips to help her out. She slid them off and tossed them aside. “That’s better.” Her gaze raked over his body and huge bulge in his boxers.

  Vi turned her back on him and wriggled her ass in the air. His throat was dry and his breathing restricted. Sweat popped out on his forehead. He was either having a heart attack or horny as fuck. That beautiful, rounded ass lowered onto his crotch. She slid back and forth, teasing his hard dick with her soft bottom. Just when he was certain he’d come in his boxers, Vi executed a one-eighty by gracefully raising one leg over his head and facing him.

  “Vi,” he said hoarsely, unable to finish his sentence because the words dissolved into nothing.

  Vi lowered the zipper on her outfit. Lower. Lower. And lower still. He watched as the tight material gaped open, freeing those gorgeous breasts and taut pink nipples. He had to be drooling and wiped his mouth with his arm.

  She was still doing this sexy-as-hell lap dance, torturing his cock. She rose up, her hands on his shoulders, and leaned into him, rubbing her breasts across his face. He caught a nipple in his mouth without using his hands because he was a play-by-the-rules kinda guy. She pressed against him, letting him suck deeply before she pulled away. Her wicked laughter enticed him to end the game, throw her on her back, and screw the ever-loving daylights out of her. But he didn’t, because this was way too much fun, even if his dick clamored for relief.

  She rose to her feet, still bending low and rotating her hips in a hypnotizingly sensual fashion. His gaze lowered as she began to peel the tight suit over her hips and down her thighs. She somehow got the thing off while balancing on first one very high heel, then the other, leaving him marveling at her balance and dexterity.

  She was naked in all her tattooed glory.

  And holy crap. He was going to die right here a happy man. She continued her tantalizing and teasing dance with moves he’d not seen before in his life, not that he’d been one to go to strip clubs often, but he’d been to a few in his younger days, including some high-end places in Vegas. This woman had them all beat hands-down and dicks-up. He snorted at his stupid thoughts.

  Vi scowled at him, but one corner of her lip twitched. “Do you think my performance is funny?” She grabbed his chin and forced his face up to hers.

  “No, ma’am,” he said, shaking his head adamantly.

  “Good. Or I might have to punish you for your disrespect.”

  He grinned. He’d always considering himself the alpha, but he could get into a little role-playing if she was into it. “You could spank me.”

  “I could.” She crouched down, knees splayed, giving him a clear view of her bare crotch, shaved except for a small patch of purple hair.

  “Or I could find other ways to torture you.” She wrapped her fingers around the waistband of his boxers and pulled it down to free his cock from its cloth prison. Bending her head, she took him in her mouth, sucking and licking her way down his shaft and back up.

  He squeezed his eyes shut and gripped the arms of the chair. He couldn’t come now. Not yet. He willed his dick to hold back. But his boy protested as she went down on him and took him deep.

  “Oh, baby.” He grabbed a handful of her hair and gently guided her down farther. She was amazing. She took him like a champion. Only this champion was slowly losing control.

  “Vi, stop,” he pleaded.

  She didn’t stop, but her gaze met his.

  “I need to be inside you before I come.” He grasped her shoulders and pushed her backward.

  In a move of extreme grace, she rose from her haunches and pivoted. He watched her sexy ass sway as she dug around in his nightstand and pulled out a condom. Seconds later she’d rolled it onto his dick and sunk down on him, her knees on either side of his hips.

  “Oh, fuck,” he croaked. Being inside her was the best feeling ever, better than winning the Stanley Cup. Not that he’d felt that particular feeling before, but he couldn’t imagine it being better than this. Nothing was better than this. No woman had ever been better than this.

  It had to be that “opposites attract” thing. She brought out the bad boy in him, but he doubted he brought out the good girl in her. Hell, he wasn’t sure he wanted to.

  She was pumping up and down on his dick. He leaned back in the chair and raised his hips to meet hers, angling deeper with each thrust inside her. He grabbed her ass and helped her until they were a hot, sweaty mess in an out-of-control frenzy. He was going to lose it
, and he predicted she was, too, based on how hard her pussy was clenched around his dick. He thrust one final time and held her tight to him, grinding his crotch against hers as wave upon wave of passion rolled over him and her until they were spent. She collapsed limply against him, and he held her close, enjoying the sound of her raspy breathing and the feel of her hair on his shoulders.

  He could get used to this. Too much so. He couldn’t allow this thing between them to turn into more than a fling. He needed to find a mother for his children. Vi wasn’t the stay-at-home, church-on-Sunday, and PTA-on-Wednesday-night type he was looking for. She was free spirit who couldn’t be corralled. His lifestyle would destroy her spirit. He knew all this, but he couldn’t bring himself to let her go. Instead, he’d bound her more tightly to him by concocting the nanny plan.

  He had to end this. As much as it was going to hurt, he had to.

  Tomorrow. Or next week. Or maybe next month.

  Yeah, that was it. Next month. One more month of Vi. They’d be entering the last two months of regular season and making their playoff run by then, and he’d need all his concentration and energy for his boys and the game.

  He’d tell her they had one more month, so she wouldn’t be surprised.

  That’d be the fair thing to do. She’d be fine with it.

  Just as he was.

  Chapter 10—Intentional Offside

  Cindy the Super Assistant called Matt on Monday morning. She’d found the perfect nanny.

  Matt disconnected the call and stared at the phone for a while. Ronda Turner was her name. She was in her fifties, had close to twenty years of nanny experience, and had recently moved to Seattle from the East Coast to be near her daughter and grandchildren. Matt looked over the résumé and cover letter Cindy had emailed to him. She sounded almost too perfect. Conservative, as he’d asked, willing to cook for the boys, and had a BA in education. Her references were stellar.