I take her to my car, holding on to her hand in an iron grip as if I’m afraid she’s going to escape. I don’t know what I’m worried about. Except everything because she’s a fucking reporter. But that doesn’t explain my nerves, my need, my irrational desire to get between her legs and eat her out until I own her and she cries my name and swears undying loyalty forever. Maybe I shouldn’t have drunk the whiskey, because I’m out of my mind and I hope to God it’s the whiskey and not her.
“Where’s your car?” I belatedly realize that if I drive her home she’ll have to leave her car here, but I don’t trust her to go in separate cars. She might take me anywhere if I follow her.
“I took an Uber here.” She smiles and leans against me as we stand at the passenger door. I wrap my arms around her because it’s inevitable, and press her into my flaming erection. She wriggles, positioning her hips just so, making us fit together in a way that makes me want to stand there like that with her all night long.
Except I want more, so much more from her, want to give her the wildest orgasm, multiple times so that she never wants another man ever again. What the fuck am I thinking?
“I was hoping to get lucky tonight,” she says, grinding against me. “What do you think my chances are?”
“Oh, you’ll get lucky. More than once. You might even lose count.” I turn her around and open the door, let her go so she can slide into my car. I want to be inside her so fucking much.
But as I go around and get in, I promise myself not to let that happen. I need to draw the line. I can’t sell myself so cheaply. If we’re going to explore our chemistry, then I need to do it on my terms and she has to break down first, she has to lose control, get all kinds of vulnerable and at my mercy until she wouldn’t dream of ever betraying me. I need to own her, or at least own her pussy, before I bury myself in her and get lost.
She’s strangely silent on the ride to her house as she clutches my thigh, not moving except for the vibration of excitement I can feel in her hand. Her address is in my car’s navigator, but I have it memorized and I know the way there. Everything about her is emblazoned in my memory in neon lights, with bold underlining and super emojis of skulls and crossbones and pulsating lips.
Pulling into her driveway behind the car with Georgia plates I assume is hers, I shut the engine and pop my door open without even looking at her. I don’t even want to take an extra second, no pausing for thinking about what I’m doing, not that my cock brain would let me back out now.
Of course she jumps from the car before I have a chance to open her door, but I make up for it by taking her hand.
“You in a hurry, Fontanna?” There’s a slight tremor in her cocksure voice that could be fear, but most likely it’s excitement.
“You have a problem with that, Smitty?” She laughs and it sends a nerve-jangling shot straight to my dick, tensing me more than I already am. Taking the keys from her hand, I put my super dexterity and quickness to good use and open the door before she takes her next breath on a big inhale.
“Show me the way,” I say. She doesn’t let go of my hand as she quicksteps up the narrow stairs and I follow behind, her sweet ass in my face so I can barely refrain from sinking my teeth in to test it. Instead, I put a hand on her, caressing her bottom and around to her hip until we get to her apartment door two floors up. She pulls out a second set of keys and opens it before I have a chance, faster than I could. A blip of admiration automatically registers as if she were a teammate whose quickness I value.
But she’s not my teammate. She’s on an opposing team in a whole other league and I’m walking into her apartment, which I could argue is like walking into the spider’s web, but I shut down the negative thoughts because my desire is far outweighing my overabundant media caution right now.
She leads me into a surprisingly airy room for an attic with a view of the industrial waterway known as the Chelsea Creek. “Lovely view,” I say. She lets go of my hand instantly and pulls her dress over her head in such a slick motion I should accuse her of moonlighting as a stripper.
My mouth drops open as she spins around once in front of me and before I have a chance to reach for her, to touch the gleaming lush skin, feel the dark nipples standing out on her breasts or rip the panties down her thighs, she moves to the wall and pulls a bed out of what looks like a closet.
“Damn, Chloe,” I whisper as I come up behind her, reaching around, helping her lower the bed to the floor. But I’m done talking when she turns in my arms and her bare breasts are crushed against me because I tighten my hold on her. Instead, I lower my mouth to her upturned face and take her lips in mine, the sensual feel of her fleshy lower lip as my tongue explores making me groan low.
Kicking off my shoes, there’s only one thing on my mind and I push her back onto the bed. She’s still wearing her heels and that’s all right with me. But—
“Your panties have to go.” I hold myself above her, taking in her flushed face, her blond curls sprawled over the bed and her eyes. Her intense, horny-as-hell dilated pupils surrounded by the most beautiful shade of violet eyes I’ve ever seen. Collapsing down on top of her, leaning on one arm, I touch her face, brushing my fingers down her cheek and jaw, down her neck to her collarbone while I watch the trail of gooseflesh rise. We’re both mesmerized, staring, eyes locked, until my hand reaches the mound of her breast and I hold her, rubbing my thumb across her nipple.
“God you feel so good, as beautiful as you look, miraculously feminine and sweet and sexy and sensual as fuck.”
“No need for flattery, Fontanna. You’ve got me where you want me,” she says, a half smile teasing me, but it’s more sad than funny so I take my hand off her.
“I wouldn’t say anything to flatter you, Chloe. I wouldn’t say it unless I meant every word, unless I felt it soul deep.” My voice is low and almost harsh with strain since my blood is raging through my veins and all headed for one place, flooding and engorging my cock.
After a breathy pause, she says, “I believe you, Tate.” She says my name as if it’s alien, as if it has a different meaning than before. “Now touch me where I need you to touch me.” She brings a hand up to caress my now stubbled jawline, brushing her fingers and smiling as she reaches my mouth. “And kiss me.”
Not needing to be told twice, I lower my mouth and taste her, test the pillowy lushness of her lips as a wave of shuddering desire rushes through me. Delicious tension wraps around me, shooting like sparks, lighting up every nerve ending of my body. Dragging my hand from her face, I skim down her body, caressing every inch of her soft smooth skin, over the mound of her breast, the hard nipple, the silky underside of her ribs and over her taut abdomen, memorizing as I go the luscious feel of her.
When I reach her panties, my destination, I slip my thumb under the lacy edge, moving so that I can pull them all the way down her legs, lifting myself from her to take them past the heels of her strappy sandals and noticing her red-painted toenails as I do.
Her hands run through my hair as I move back toward her and I push her thighs apart, causing a grin to split her face.
“Does this mean what I think it means?” she says.
“If you think it means I’m going to eat you out until you scream my name with your cum flowing like honey into my mouth, then yes.” My eyes are on hers until she flushes pink, but I know it’s not from embarrassment. Desire and need play on her face as she reaches for me.
“How about if I take off your clothes—”
“No. This is all about you, honeysuckle.” She laughs and I shift my attention from her face now, careful to keep tight control as my gaze takes her in.
“You’re magnificent, you know.” I take a long, shuddering, steadying breath as I lower my face, touching my mouth to the swollen lips, a barely there spray of blond hair framing her glistening pussy. Fuck, I need to hold my shit together. She’s so beautiful, so perfect. Like a woman I invented in my dreams to meet every one of my wants and desires. After a few deep breath
s, she squirms, arching up to me and I know she’s going to make a wiseass comment, so I take the plunge and bury my mouth in her and take one long slow stroke of my tongue from top to bottom through her folds, finding the honeypot. She’s so slick and wet my heart pounds and my cock rages to be let loose.
“Oh my God. Tate—” She moans and moves against me as I flick my tongue. But I need to get deep inside her, so I move my arms under her legs and lift her from the bed as I plunge my tongue and move my face against her, my nose flicking against her nub. She’s calling my name and moaning and loud and wild the way I imagined she would be, her hands in my hair pushing me into her, arching and thrashing, and her legs vibrating with those telltale tremors so I know she’s close to coming.
Backing away for a second because I want to torture her, I also want to see her face and I look up at her. I’ve never seen a woman more beautiful in my life or in my dreams. Her face glistens with sweat, her mouth swollen and panting and her eyes big and glassy, her skin flushed all over her body. My body is tense with need and the strain of control, my breathing as heavy as hers.
“Don’t stop.” Her voice is high and pleading. There is no cool, no control, she is one hundred percent vulnerable and in my arms, wanting me and needing me. And I want to send her into orbit, to make her pass out with the most intense orgasm of her life. She arches her hips up and I accept the silent invitation to devour her. Lowering my mouth again to her pussy, I find her swollen slick nub, circle it, flick it as she screams and tightens, and then suck it into my mouth.
“Oh my God, Tate!” She trembles under me and clenches her legs around me in an orgasmic seizure, pulsing around me, spreading her honey over my face as I suck it into my mouth.
When her shaking subsides and she pulls on my hair to come up to her, I raise my head and look up to see her face, wrecked and gorgeous and sweaty and glowing pink. She yanks at my shirt, but I ignore her.
“Come up here and let me kiss you and hold you,” she says. I shake my head and lower it again.
“I promised multiples.” My voice is muffled by her pussy, swollen and so lickably wet. I open my mouth and take as much of her in as I can, licking and nipping and she bucks wildly all over the place, but I hold her firmly. I feel like I’ve been working out all my life for this, to be able to hold Chloe Smith still while I give her orgasm after orgasm. It doesn’t take long for her to cry out and clench down on me again, vibrating with the release, and I look up at her face to see her eyes closed and her mouth open and the deep dewy flush of her skin.
My cock twitches and strains at the sight, at the taste and exquisite scent of her as I move from between her legs to her side and she eases from her peak. As I wrap my arms around her, a warm satisfaction settles over the raging need, calming my cock to manageable proportions.
“You are so magnificent, Chloe. So beautiful and sexy.”
“You,” she says. “You are unbelievable and wonderful and giving and . . .”
“And what?” I’m not so sure the next thing she’s going to say will be flattering because I know her—or I think I do. Holding my breath, I wait for her to finish.
“And unexpected. More passionate and selfless than I even imagined—and I gave you a lot of credit in my imagination. But you’re so much more than decent and good and gorgeous.” Her words send heat like a fireball shooting through my veins, leaving a different kind of pleasure in its wake. A scary kind having nothing to do with sex.
I push off her and she hangs onto me. “Where are you going? I think I have some unfinished business.” She reaches for my cock and finds me dead-on with her hand clamping around me through my pants. I can’t help the growl of pain-pleasure.
“Not tonight, honeysuckle.”
She sits up and I get up from the bed to excuse myself to her bathroom and relieve my pressure. It doesn’t take long. I have no idea how I’m going to explain why I don’t want her to get me off. Because I don’t want to be vulnerable with her? Sounds ridiculous even if it’s true, proving how messed up I am. How much she’s messing with my head. Everything about her. First and foremost, her sexy reporter ass, with the emphasis on reporter.
When I come out of her bathroom, she’s wearing an oversize terrycloth robe, her hair is messy, and her face has that post-sex glow like something out of a porn photo—only she’s too beautiful for that, her sensuality touched with sweetness. Heading for the couch where she sits with the television on some sports channel, I sit next to her, take the clicker from her hand, and shut it off.
“No sports, and especially no sports media tonight.”
“That’s right. I forgot.” She gives me a teasing smile. “You’ll have to forgive me, my brain is a little foggy because I’ve been fucked senseless by your mouth.”
I laugh. “It’s true.” She laughs, it’s a giddy laugh like a teenage girl and I wonder what her teenage years were like. Nothing conventional like mine.
“Tell me about life with your father, Chloe—and I don’t mean the stories that you tell people, I mean the constant traveling, not having friends your age, dealing with dirty old men and late nights after games when all you wanted to do was go home and sleep—except you couldn’t go home because you were staying in another motel somewhere in an unfamiliar bed.”
She stares at me with something like amazement on her face.
“Looks like I don’t need to tell you a thing. You have it all figured out.” She bites her lip and looks away.
“I’m sorry—you’re right. I shouldn’t make assumptions. Tell me about it.”
She leans into me and shrugs. “A lot of it was like you said. It wore on me, left me without much comfort, except I didn’t know that’s what I needed. A home, family.”
“Your mother.”
Looking up at me with a vulnerable, almost wounded look, she says, “I never really knew what it was like to have a mother. She was gone when I was so young. But Grandma was there for a while, in between road trips. She begged for my dad to leave me with her for longer, but he said he couldn’t bear it. I heard them argue when I was eleven after he’d been fired from his last print job and he’d got a new job in broadcasting after a short stint on a radio show. They liked his personality.” The pride on her face transforms her from vulnerable, banishing the wounded underbelly she carries around with her. But the reprieve is momentary.
She shares her broken heart unabashedly, telling me about losing her mother when she was really young, living with her grandmother off and on.
“But Grandma died soon after that and Dad took me on the road with him permanently and we didn’t look back. Even during my college years, I went on the road with him on summer breaks. Until he got sick a few years ago. Then we stayed put in Georgia in Grandma’s house. It had always been our home base.” She paused and got an intense look, almost guilty, “I still own that house. I always will.”
“He was too young to die,” I say. She shoots a look at me and there’s a moment of recognition between us, a spark of connection that goes beyond the lusty physical thing we have. I know she’s a reporter, but for the life of me I can’t see past the beautiful, giving, loving woman, strong to a fault and hurting inside with fresh sorrow I recognize though mine is buried and overgrown with success and new friendships. And this burning lust that I can’t get past. My hand reaches out for her all by itself, knowing what the rest of me is still grappling with.
That I need to feel her, to get a taste of her elemental womanly core or I’ll go crazy with wanting, not remembering why I shouldn’t. Not giving a fuck right now.
Reaching my hand between her legs, I nuzzle her. “Why can’t I keep my hands off you?” I hold her pussy and she throws her head back against the couch, surrendering herself to me completely, trusting me.
“I want to watch your face as you come,” I whisper, breathing the words into her ear, the soft shell turning pink as I speak. “I want to see your expression as an earth-shattering orgasm takes you, chasing away all the loss and the
hurt.” I gently circle my finger through her still moist folds, finding the nub, whispering all the unguarded thoughts I have about her in her ear, about how strong she is, how beautiful and sexy, because I can’t get over how much I’m into her. I tell her how much I admire her passion, how absolutely she loved her father, and her ambition to honor his legacy.
I don’t tell her how much I identify with her, feel the identical ambition to make up for my uncle Frank’s death and to honor his legacy of giving all he had left of his own ambitions to me.
But then I probably don’t need to tell her because she knows. That’s why she made that donation to my foundation. Because she gets it. She gets me. I take her mouth with mine and pinch her clit, making her cry out into my mouth and arch under my hand as I continue to stroke her, caress and flick her sensitive nub until she wraps her arms and legs around me in a shuddering grip.
“Come back to bed with me, Tate,” she whispers in my ear.
Shaking my head, I say, “I’ve already gone too far.”
“And not far enough.”
“You’re a lot to handle. This is . . .” I search for a word that won’t offend her because I don’t want to take advantage of her vulnerable state. She waits. “Complicated,” I finally say. “This attraction—or whatever it is—that we have is . . . unhealthy.” I force the words from my conscience. “We’re enemies.” I look at her, wanting her to understand—and not wanting to hurt her because, Lord help me, I care about her.
“Not enemies,” she says, sitting up, her face stalwart, the vulnerable sex kitten gone.
“All right. Then on opposing sides.”
“Like players on opposing teams? Where you can shake hands and be friends when you’re not playing?”
“Except I don’t want to shake your hand. I want to shake your world, Chloe, to bury myself in you until I don’t know the meaning of the word enemy or what a reporter is.” I tell myself I’m not admitting anything to her she doesn’t already know as she reaches for my cock.
Playing for Keeps: An Enemies to Lovers Sports Romance Page 13