More Than A Game (The Kings of Kroydon Hills Book 2)

by Bella Matthews

  Brina shrugs her shoulders. “I guess. I haven’t eaten dinner.”

  “Okay, Princess. Just come down when you’re ready.”

  She shuts the door, and I run around my room, picking up the mess on the floor and throwing it into my walk-in closet. I take the basket of clean clothes from next to my bed and shove that in there too, but not before grabbing a pair of black boxer briefs and one of my Kroydon football t-shirts.

  Those both get folded. And once I hear the shower going, I crack the door to the bathroom and manage the herculean task of placing them nicely on the counter without letting myself look into the glass shower. It would be so easy to join her right now, but if she spooks as easily as she’s showing me, I need to wait for her to come to me.

  Damn, I deserve a medal for not peeking.

  17

  Sabrina

  Oh. My. God. I’m in Aiden Murphy’s shower.

  It’s freaking huge, and there’s a bench.

  A big bench I may have pictured him sitting on . . . while I’m on my knees in front of him.

  What the hell is wrong with me? Okay . . . I’ve got to pull it together.

  I apologized. I can’t really tell if he accepted that apology, but it’s a start.

  As the warm water flows over my hair, I’m reminded of what it’s like to not shower in something the size of a coffin. God, this shower is heavenly. It reminds me of my bathroom at home. Glass-enclosed and tiled in dark and light grey glass subway tiles. The big bench is taking up an entire side. Murphy wasn’t kidding about the showerheads. There’s a rain shower head, a regular shower head, and four body sprays. As I look around, I’m impressed these guys have shampoo and conditioner in here, even if they smell like seaweed.

  Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

  I luxuriate under the sprays for a few extra minutes to buy myself time to figure out precisely what I’m going to say when I go downstairs, but nothing comes to me. It’s ironic that I wrote more of my father’s speeches this past summer than his actual speechwriter, but I can’t figure out what I need to say when it’s time to speak for myself.

  Grabbing the fluffy white towel off the hanger next to the shower, I dry off and wrap it around my hair. When I step out, I’m not looking forward to putting my sweaty running gear back on and am pleasantly surprised when I’m met with a small pile of folded clothes on the counter next to one of the sinks.

  Aww. He brought me clothes.

  I’m not sure how to reconcile Thoughtful Murphy with the guy I’ve watched for years. He’s always been a nice guy, but I don’t think thoughtful or sweet are words I’d have ever considered using to describe him.

  Loud. Funny. So fucking sexy. These are the words that come to mind.

  I open the medicine cabinet and help myself to a little men’s deodorant because something is better than nothing. I pull up the boxer briefs, roll the waist over a few times to make them fit and slip on the t-shirt that hits me mid-thigh.

  The shirt is super soft and smells clean and fresh like Murphy.

  Wonder if he knows there’s no chance he’s getting this back?

  I try my best to dry my hair with the towel before finger combing it through. I then allow myself a quick peek in the mirror.

  Not too bad.

  Here goes nothing.

  When I walk back into Murphy’s bedroom, I can’t help but take a look around. The scent of Hugo Boss cologne lingers in the air, and my toes sink into a soft, thick cream-colored rug. The cherrywood king-sized bed sits in the center of the room, covered in a hunter green comforter. A pair of matching nightstands sit on either side with small silver lamps covered in green and gold striped shades. I walk over to a tall dresser and see a watch, some money and . . . are those glasses thrown on top?

  Hmm. I’ve got to ask him about them. I can’t ever remember seeing Murphy in glasses.

  His desk is a mess with notebooks thrown haphazardly on top and both a tablet and laptop next to them. Above the desk is a set of black shelves. On the shelf are picture frames. One frame contains a picture of Murph and the guys last year after they won state. That frame doesn’t have any glass in it. There’s another frame with his sister and mother on either side of him after graduation. A signed Philadelphia Kings football sits on the top shelf next to a wooden box.

  “Princess.”

  I jump. My hand going to my chest. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, you scared the heck out of me.”

  “You gonna stop snooping and come eat?” He’s leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest and one ankle crossed over the other. He’s casual as can be with no clue of the heart attack he just gave me.

  Trying to gather my composure, I take a step back. “Give a girl some warning next time.”

  He walks in, shutting the door behind him. “Were you, or were you not, snooping?”

  “Okay, fine. I was checking out your room. I didn’t know you wear glasses.” I pick them up only for him to take them out of my hands.

  “That’s because I’ve had contacts since I was fourteen. I have my glasses in case I need them, but I prefer my contacts. Plus, glasses and football don’t exactly mix.”

  “Can I see you in them? Please.”

  “Fine. But I’ve got my contacts in, so this is just a quick show-and-tell.”

  How does this man make show-and-tell sound dirty? The glasses are black-rimmed and kind of square. And, oh my . . . Murphy looks like a super-hot, ginger version of Clark Kent. Watch out, Henry Cavil, here comes Aiden Murphy. “Damn, Murph. You should wear your glasses more often. They look good.”

  The glasses are off his face and back on the dresser before he faces me again. And what is that I see? I think he may be blushing. “Glad to know you approve, Princess. I’ll keep that in mind.”

  Walking over, I come to a stop in front of him. I stand a little more than a head shorter than this confusing man. Even with the sling on, his muscular arms are on full display, and he’s got grey sweatpants hanging low on his hips, giving me a beautiful view. I have a split second before deciding what my next move is and giving in to what I want.

  Grabbing the front of his shirt, I tell him, “I’m really sorry about Sunday morning, Murph.”

  “You said that already.” His voice comes out strong. Powerful. I think I like it.

  I tilt my head back and look up into those gorgeous green eyes. Here goes nothing. “I know. I was just thinking that maybe I could make it up to you.”

  His face changes. A look I can’t decipher floats there briefly before he puts his shields back up. “You don’t have to make it up to me. We can just move on.”

  I lean up on my toes and kiss his firm lips, then the corner of his mouth before sucking his bottom lip. For a brief moment, I’m in control. That moment doesn’t last. Murphy places his free hand on my face and pulls me closer to him, sandwiching his bad arm in between us, eliciting a groan from him that sounds pained.

  I step back and grab his hand. Then I pull him back to the bed and turn him to sit down. Murphy does what I want but is quiet, and the muscles in his face look strained. “What if I want to do this? Not because I’m sorry, or to make it up to you. But because I want to taste you.”

  I drop to my knees and run my hands up his firm, muscled thighs. This man makes me thank God for sweatpants season. As my hands go to the waistband of his sweats, he grabs one wrist. “Princess.” It comes out pained.

  “What’s wrong? Do you not want this? Do you not want me?” Damnit. Did I mess this up already?

  “Jesus, Sabrina. No. I want you. You look like my fucking wet dream come to life. Seeing you in my shirt is enough to make me want to mark you in ways I’ve never even considered before. It’s not that. It’s just, I like things a certain way.”

  What the heck is he saying?

  I sit back on my heels and move my hands back slightly but still leave them resting on his thighs. “A certain way? Are we talking like Christian’s red room of pain?”

  The poor guy looks
completely confused, then annoyed before fury takes over.

  “Who the fuck is Christian? What pain? Do I need to kill someone?” Not gonna lie, protective Murphy is hot as hell.

  I shake my head and smile. “What does ‘a certain way’ mean?”

  His muscles relax slightly. “I like a certain level of control.”

  That gets my attention.

  Yes, please. You can have all the control you want in return for multiple orgasms.

  “Tell me what you want.”

  He runs his tongue along his teeth, and I think I wanna suck that too. “You sure you wanna play, Princess?”

  “Who said I was playing?” I’m back up on my knees with my hands massaging the muscles of his quads again. “Tell me what you want.”

  “Pull down my pants,” Murphy’s voice drops dangerously low. Doing as I’m told, I grip the waistband of his sweats and pull them down. My efforts are immediately rewarded when his beautifully thick cock stands proudly at attention. It’s big and thick with angry veins stretching the tight skin.

  I swear to God, my mouth is watering just looking at it.

  Lifting my eyes, I look up through my lashes and see a different side of Aiden Murphy. He doesn’t look carefree right now. He looks like he’s a guitar string that’s been strung too tightly, just waiting to snap.

  He leans forward and anchors his fingers through the hair at the nape of my neck. “Grab the base of my cock with one hand and cup my balls with your other.” He takes a deep breath. “Then lick, Princess.”

  I can do this.

  I grab, cup, and then finally, ever so slowly lick from the base of his dick up to the top of his head before I let my tongue swirl against the pearl of precum at the tip like he’s my very favorite lollipop. I lift my eyes to his again and am rewarded with the sexiest groan.

  “Suck, Princess. Suck it slow until you can take it all in.”

  Jesus, I could get off from the sound of that voice alone.

  Murphy’s hand tightens in my hair as I slowly start to suck until I’m able to take this giant of a man to the back of my throat. I gag a little, and Murphy loosens his hold on me, pulling back. But I don’t let him, instead doubling down on my suction.

  I’m not ready to be done with him yet.

  After a few more minutes, Murphy’s hand goes to my face. “Princess,” he growls. “This is your warning if you don’t want me to come in your mouth.”

  With his words pushing me on, I take him into the back of my throat and run my nails gently along his balls right before I swallow. I feel him explode on my tongue as he lets out a guttural groan.

  I never realized how hot it would be to know I did that to someone.

  Murphy moves his other arm out of his sling, and I feel both hands gripping my shoulders.

  I grab his wrist. “Aiden, stop. Don’t make it worse.”

  “Princess, if you don’t get on this bed right now so I can eat that pussy, I’m gonna tear my shoulder out of its socket putting you there. Now, move.” It comes out half-growl, half-command and so fucking hot.

  Well, then. Who am I to argue with that?

  18

  Murphy

  Just as Sabrina climbs that perfect ass of hers on to the bed, I hear the door slam shut downstairs, followed by laughter. Brady’s voice carries up the stairs. “Murph! Get down here and tell me what the trainer said.”

  Shit.

  Sabrina looks up at me with those big brown eyes and bursts into a fit of laughter.

  “Princess . . . This is not funny. You’ve got to know the very last thing I want to do is leave you hanging right now.” I scrub my hands over my face.

  “Go,” she says, sitting up and looking at me. “I’ll be right behind you.”

  Brina swings her legs off the bed, then stops. “Wait. Can I borrow a pair of pants? I really don’t want to go downstairs in your underwear.”

  “What if I like you in my underwear?” What the fuck is wrong with me? And when did I turn into this fucking guy? I open the closet and grab a clean pair of sweats off the laundry basket. Holding them out to her, I pull them back at the last second, lean in, and claim her mouth. “The idea was to get you out of your clothes, not add more layers.”

  She goes up on her toes and kisses me again—slower this time. Then the little witch grabs the pants from me without breaking our kiss. I wrap my now free arm around her and anchor her to me, murmuring, “To be continued.”

  An infectious smile takes over her face. “Come on, Romeo.”

  Sabrina pulls a pair of my Kroydon U sweats up her sexy legs, rolling them over a few times at the waist to make them fit her lean figure. Yeah, not sure when watching a girl put clothes on became something that gets me going, but watching this girl do it sure does. Once she’s situated, I open the door and wait for her to walk out before following behind. My t-shirt is practically down to her knees, and my sweats look big and bulky on her long legs. But at this moment, Sabrina Cabot is the most gorgeous girl I’ve ever seen.

  I watch her skip down the steps, stopping to talk to Nat before Nat’s eyes swing to mine. She does not look happy.

  As Nattie and I clear the dinner dishes, Brady and Sabrina move into the living room. Brady mentioned an Intro to Government paper he was struggling with while we were eating, and Sabrina’s eyes literally lit up like fireworks on the Fourth of July. Apparently, she had AP credits that covered that class, so she didn’t have to take it but was excited to help Brady.

  I knew she was smart but didn’t realize she was on track to graduate in three years instead of four. Who does that?

  When I walk back into the kitchen, carrying the last of our dishes, Nattie is elbow-deep in the sink with her back to me. Crossing to her, I scrape the dirty plates and place them next to her. She was quiet at dinner, and I think I know what’s about to go down, but I’m not sure what to brace for. All I know is the storm is coming.

  Nat stops washing and leans her hip against the big white farmhouse sink. Her blue eyes looking cautious.

  “Lay it on me, Nat. You’ve been dying to say something since Sabrina came down the stairs. Out with it, Little Sinclair.”

  Nattie quickly grabs the damp towel from the counter and snaps my hip with it.

  Damn. I guess I shouldn’t have taught her how to do that. It stings.

  “Murphy, I love you. You know it. But I will skin you alive if you hurt her.”

  “That’s not my plan.” I should probably figure out what the hell my plan is, but I’m sure not telling Nattie is the right move.

  “What is your plan? Because that girl in there . . .” She points her arm towards Brady and Brina. “She’s not a toy. She’s not somebody you’re going to screw and never see again. I have three female friends: Chloe, Annabelle, and Sabrina. I’m not going to stop being friends with any of them because you thought they looked like fun before you got bored with them.” She turns away from me and starts washing the next plate.

  “Damn, Natalie. What the fuck?” The hit I took to my face last weekend hurt less than what she just said.

  Nattie places the plate in the rack then turns back to me, blows her blonde hair out of her eyes and stares at me for a long minute. I feel like I’m under a cross-examination, which is weird coming from Little Sinclair. She tilts her head, searching my eyes, then leans back against the counter again. A devious smile takes over her pretty face before she starts to laugh.

  “Jesus, Nat. Make up your mind. Are you mad at me or not? What the hell is so funny?”

  “When was the last time you hooked up with someone? Before Sabrina, I mean.” She picks up a dish towel and hands it to me, then turns back to the dishes.

  I take a minute to think about that. “I don’t know. At least a month, Maybe longer.”

  A plate gets washed and passed to me to dry. “Have you tried?”

  “Tried what?”

  Nat stops mid-rinse and stares me down. “Don’t play dumb, Murph. Have you tried to hook up with someone
that’s not Sabrina?”

  “I don’t have to try, Little Sinclair.” I wink at her.

  Nattie shakes her head. “You don’t know, do you?” Finishing the last two plates, she turns and leans back against the sink.

  “Know what?”

  Her blue eyes dance with excitement. “Oh, this is going to be fun to watch.”

  I glare at her, not having any clue what the hell she’s talking about.

  “You like her.” It’s not a question.

  Putting my last plate away, I turn to her, annoyed and maybe a little confused. “Of course, I do. It’s Sabrina.”

  “No. Aiden Murphy finally likes one girl. Like, likes her, likes her. Really likes her.” She giggles at herself.

  “Yes, I really like her. Jesus, how many times can you use one word?”

  “You’re not hooking up with anybody else. I haven’t seen you talking to any other girls. You. Really. Like. Her,” Nattie says, like that’s the final word on the subject, and it’s freaking me the fuck out.

  Then I swear she mutters something that sounds an awful lot like, I guess Chloe won.

  What-the-fuck ever. This girl is giving me whiplash tonight.

  I grab the wet towel she had earlier and snap it against her ass. “Maybe I do like one girl for a change. There’s nothing wrong with that. I was never against it. I just never found anyone who could keep my attention for longer than a hookup or two.” I shrug my shoulders. “Sabrina’s different.”

  Nat walks to her phone and does something I can’t see. A few seconds later, a song starts playing through the kitchen. It’s a modern take on Bob Dillon’s “The Times They Are A-Changin’.”

  Oh, this little shit.

  Nattie grabs a rag and starts wiping down the stove, singing as she cleans up.

  I leave her to it. Walking into the living room, I stand behind the couch where Brady and Sabrina are discussing the electoral college. Brady is listening and taking notes while Sabrina animatedly describes how many votes Pennsylvania gets and how it factored into the last presidential election. You can tell by the gleam in her eyes that she’s in her element and loving every minute of it. That does a weird thing to my chest. Then a shot of pride goes through me as I listen to her talk.