Hot Shot (The King Brothers Book 3)

by Teagan Kade

  I stroke him with one hand, use the flat of my thumb to press against the sensitive area under his glans. “If you think I’m a good girl, you would be quite mistaken.”

  With that, I slowly lean forward and take him in my mouth.

  His head falls back against the brick and he groans long and low, hips thrusting forward to drive himself deeper between my lips.

  I moan back against him, feel the vibrations of my voice shifting down his shaft as I roll my tongue around the head of him, enjoy the velvety texture of his member. This isn’t my usual MO at all, but I can’t help myself. Ever since this morning my entire body’s been pent up full of sexual energy. I’ve never felt anything like it.

  I pump him with my hand, letting my fingers tighten around the root of him as I lower myself over his length, barely able to take half of him before my gag reflex kicks in.

  I don’t think he minds, whispering my name, his fingers weaving into my hair and holding me in place against him.

  I flatten my free hand against his chest, still cannot believe how hard it is, like freshly carved rock still hot from the blade.

  He gently starts to swing against me, groaning in satisfaction, willing me on. The muscles in his leg flex and tighten. He grips my hair tighter, begins to lever with greater urgency, buttocks squeezing against the wall.

  Something purrs beside me.

  I flinch, looking to see a dusty alley cat sitting there.

  I draw my head back, continuing to ring and pump at Phoenix’s wet cock. “Looks like we have an audience,” I note.

  “Let him watch,” Phoenix replies, gently guiding me back to his crotch.

  I double my efforts, taking him as deep as I can and for the first time if my life it’s actually enjoyable. It’s the effect I’m having on him, the joy at giving him pleasure that’s turning me on so much.

  I take my hand off his chest and run it under the waistband of my pants, drive it down and start to rub my clit, feel the rush of endorphins that follow.

  I moan around him, moving faster now and clearly aware of Phoenix’s choppy breathing, the way his body is coiling tight ready to explode.

  I slip my fingers into my wetness and spread my knees wider, lick at the tight seam between his glans until I know he can’t take a second more.

  He grips my head hard, pulling me onto his length. “Fuck. I’m going to—”

  He lets up and goes to pull himself free, but I go deeper instead, a single second before he stops, convulses, and releases in my mouth.

  I’ve never done this before, never even considered it, but I take it all, swallowing his sweet release down, my fingers working between my legs, the top of my palm pressed hard against my clit.

  His cock pulses there between my lips.

  “Fuck,” he stammers, jerking forward again.

  I let his cock free slowly, lick the last pearly drop of seed off the tip of him and press it away between my lips, watching him all the while.

  The cat, clearly unimpressed, purrs once and saunters off.

  Phoenix flattens his hands against the wall, looks like he’s about to pass out. “Holy shit. That was… I don’t even have words.” He glances down where my hand is still hidden away inside my pants, rounding out the crotch of them every time my fingers shift. “Did you come?”

  I shake my head. “No, but it’s fine, really.”

  He reaches down to lift me up. “No, it’s not.”

  He takes hold of my jeans and yanks them down hard, right down to my knees. The air of the alley’s cool on my sex, a nervous, taboo rush of blood following. I look at him in alarm, can smell the moist trace of my need.

  “This,” he replies, coming forward and lifting me under the thighs, spinning us and heaving me against the alley wall, “is perfection.” There, my jeans tangled between my knees high between us, my bare ass and pussy exposed, he presses forward until I’m wedged against the hard slab of his body and the brick at my back.

  In a single, vaulted thrust he drives upwards, filling me with his cock.

  My mouth opens in shock, but it’s soon dampened when his own comes against it, his tongue shifting between my lips and causing that sexual energy to reach critical mass.

  I take in his scent, the corded muscle of his body, the way he holds me against the wall as if I were nothing.

  He pounds at me from below, the wet slap-slap-slap of our bodies echoing in the narrow space of the alley, my cries muffled by his mouth.

  I reach to his back, all I can do against the onslaught.

  I’m so wet, a slick mess between my legs each time he rises inside me, a hot, molten pulsing starting in my core and spreading south, urging me towards climax.

  I writhe as he buries himself in the depths of my pussy, his hips bucking up and forward, his cock a hard piston working and working against me until the greater world is lost and replaced with only him and me and the fucking. Because that is the word for it. This isn’t nice and cordial. This is raw and dirty and rough.

  I nip at his lower lip, more out of instinct than any one desire. He responds by heaving forward, the brick harsh against my lower back, scraping there in juxtaposition to the heated tangle of body-against-body.

  A plane flies overhead, cutting through the silence.

  I pull away, the back of my head knocking against the wall, that pulsing filling me from head to toe, forcing me higher and higher until…

  Phoenix senses it, driving harder and faster, his cock moving in a frenzy until I crest and come.

  I suck in air through my teeth as my climax lashes me, an urgent gasp following I’m sure can be heard through all Crestfall.

  With his own, stunted groan Phoenix pauses, the dim sensation of his own release following.

  But I’m too lost, caught there like I’m wrapped in livewire, my body thrashing and jerking, unable to be still. He holds me there through the whole thing, holds me until all I can do is let my head fall against his shoulder.

  We remain locked there for some time until Phoenix slowly pulls himself free, letting me down on shaky legs I’m not even sure work anymore.

  He helps me get my pants back up, smiling as he does so. “Can’t say I planned for that.”

  I know how I must look—hair plastered across my face, skin patchy and red, but I see that same smitten-ness in Phoenix’s eyes, a mirror image of my own. “Sometimes spontaneity is best.”

  “Heather?”

  I stop at the sound of that voice having just done up the top button on my pants.

  Both Phoenix and I turn to find Teddy Reynolds there, the local, and only, police officer in this part of town. We grew up together. I’ll never know why he came back, why he went off to the Academy, did all that work simply to be back in this shithole.

  He looks almost amusing in his police get-up, one hand on the butt of his gun, though I can’t tell if it’s a casual thing or he’s getting ready to draw on us.

  I swallow and try not to look like I’ve just been fucked against the wall. “Teddy, hi. It’s been a while.”

  He stops a few feet away, looks between Phoenix and me. “Got to say, I expected to find a couple of horny kids down here.”

  You have, my head wants to answer, but I manage to brush my hair back instead and straighten, try to look somewhat less guilty. “Sorry to disappoint.” I gesture to Phoenix. “This is, ah, Phoenix King, from the Crestfall Sports Academy. He was helping me hand out some sandwiches down by the bridge.”

  Teddy eyes him up. “Is that so? Some kind of celebrity charity thing, right? I didn’t think the Academy did that stuff.”

  “They don’t,” says Phoenix. “But I thought I’d help Heather out, do my part, you know.”

  Teddy seems to come to a sudden consensus on who he’s talking to. “Wait, wait, wait. Phoenix King. Basketball, right? Shit, I’ve seen you play. You’re a fucking star, man.”

  Phoenix looks suddenly awkward, pressing his hands into his jacket pockets, taking a step away from me. He looks to
the ground for a second. “Ah, yeah. Something like that.”

  Teddy keeps pressing, coming closer. “No, seriously. You’re like a young LeBron out there. Any teams come knocking yet?”

  “A few,” Phoenix replies, struggling to meet Teddy’s eyes.

  What the hell is going on with him? I wonder. Usually he’s so confident, so self-assured. Is it because of what we were doing? Is he embarrassed?

  Surely not. Surely the almighty Phoenix King has done far worse.

  Phoenix thumbs behind himself. “Anyhow, we should really be going, leave you to it. Right, Heather?”

  “Um… sure,” I reply uneasily, doing my best to smile at Teddy. “It was nice seeing you, Teddy. Sorry about…” but I’ve got no idea how to say ‘screwing publicly on your turf.’

  He puts his hand up. “Yeah, I get it, but be careful, hey? You and I both know this isn’t the safest neighborhood.”

  “You got it.”

  Phoenix is already walking off, no ‘nice to meet you’ or ‘see you later.’ I can see Teddy trying to work out what his deal is, but he lets it go, tipping his cap once towards me and turning.

  I stand there for a moment unsure.

  What just happened? I ask myself.

  An answer is not forthcoming.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  HEATHER

  I don’t even realize Phoenix is back at my place until I’ve closed the door behind us. He didn’t ask and I didn’t invite. I drove us back here and it simply happened. It felt right.

  I head straight to the kitchen, can still feel the percipient tingle between my legs from our encounter in the alleyway. “I could really go for something sweet. How about you?”

  He makes his way into the kitchen behind me with that effortless King cool, like the world is his and nothing can take it away from him. I wish I was so self-assured, though what happened when Teddy arrived was out of character. I make a note to probe into it when the time is right.

  Arms wrap tight around my waist from behind, Phoenix nuzzling into my neck. “I could,” he replies. “What did you have in mind?”

  I walk us over to the pantry and check the shelves. “Cookies?”

  He looks past me into the pantry. “I’m not seeing any cookies, sorry.”

  I point. “Sugar, flour, eggs… I’m pretty sure we’re good to go.”

  He lets me go. “You want to make them?”

  I laugh because he’s making it sound like magic. I spin and slide a finger down his chest, leave it to tap against the top of his jeans. “Tell you what, you help me make cookies and I’ll let you make sweet, sweet love to me later.”

  I see the grin. He pulls me by the hips against him. He’s hard. “You will let me?”

  “My house, my rules.”

  “My town, my rules,” he retorts, letting me go. “But I could go for a pre-sex cookie, sure.”

  “Grab the brown and castor sugar, meet me at the counter.”

  “Yes, boss lady,” he salutes.

  I grab an egg and butter from the fridge, reach past him to grab the container of walnuts from the top shelf. “My secret ingredient.”

  He gives my ass a light squeeze. “Well, this sure as hell isn’t store bought.”

  “One of a kind,” I tell him, surprised at how flirty I’ve become. It’s like it wasn’t just my clothes he stripped off earlier. My inhibitions went with them. I’m pretty sure I’d go along with whatever he suggested we do—sexually. And fuck it, I haven’t had an adventure in a while, something to break me out of the ho-hum every day. Bring it on, I say.

  We work side by side and I realize this is becoming an actual thing. I wonder what his teammates would say if they could see him aproned up with whisk in hand. They might not be into it, but god damn it’s turning me on.

  I look over at what he’s doing. “You’re going to cream together that butter and sugar until it’s light and fluffy. After that we’ll whisk in the egg and vanilla, stir in the flour, and fold in the chocolate chips and walnuts.”

  His whisking is a touch awkward, but it’s pretty darn cute all the same.

  “Don’t you have a machine for this?” he asks.

  I reach up to squeeze his bicep, can barely get my fingers around it. “When I have you and the gun show here? No way, José. Besides, I like watching you work for it.”

  He side-glances at me. “You do, do you?”

  “Everything’s better by hand.”

  “Huh, and here I was thinking I’d used up all the innuendo.”

  After the mix is made, I show him how to measure a teaspoonful of mixture and grease the baking trays, jerking back when he wipes my cheek with butter. I pick up a rolling pin. “Oh, you’re going to pay for that.”

  “What are you going to do?” he laughs, walking around the kitchen squat-legged like he’s in an old western.

  “Beat that tight, well-toned, quite perfect ass of yours.” I hold the rolling pin lengthways. “Or I could just shove it right up there, if that’s your thing.”

  I take an oven mitt and toss it to him. “Tray. In the oven. Set the timer for thirteen-and-a-half minutes.”

  He obeys. “Kind of precise, isn’t it?”

  “They say ‘follow directions when you bake, go by your taste when cooking.’”

  “Who says?”

  I shrug. “Shit. I don’t know. Those old country grandmas who could bake your butt off, lost art and all.”

  Cookies in the oven, I figure now is a good a time as any to segue into what happened. “So, what did you think of Teddy?”

  Phoenix looks genuinely confused. “Teddy?”

  “The cop, in the alley. You know, the one who almost busted us, not that he would have done anything.”

  Phoenix crouches, watching the cookies through the oven door. “You guys seemed like you knew each other.”

  “Small town, but yeah. I’ll never understand why he hung around when he could have gone pretty much anywhere after the police academy.”

  “Maybe, like you, he sees need in the community.”

  “Maybe,” I offer, waiting a beat. “You kind of got a bit weird there when he asked you about basketball. I thought you’d be all for the fans, offer him an autographed jockstrap or something.”

  Now he looks at me, rising to a standing position, almost angelic backlit by the window. He crosses his arms, suddenly defensive. “I see.”

  “You’re not going to explain a little? It didn’t seem like you at all. I thought you’d be happy to roll out your achievements.” I draw a billboard in the air with my hands, leaning back for effect. “You’re the big, bad Phoenix King, right?”

  He looks visibly uncomfortable, rubbing at his forehead and looking away, mouth twisting like he’s chewing on something rank. “Heather…”

  “Why are you being so weird about this?”

  “Can we just drop it?”

  He eyes me off and I know this is make or break for our relationship. Either he opens up or shuts down. The seconds tick over as he watches me and it’s agonizing in the extreme. “Look…” I start, hoping to backpedal and forget I even started this.

  “I hate it,” he blurts out. He throws his hands up. “There, I said it. I fucking hate basketball, that stupid inflatable bladder that rules my life. I’m tired of playing, so fucking tired.”

  “So don’t. Stop.”

  “It’s not that easy,” and I see how truly exhausted he is as he says it.

  I remain silent, let him fill it.

  “The crazy part is I don’t know what I would have without it. People think of Crestfall and basketball, and they think of me. We’re one and the same. And the old man? He’d fucking flip out, probably disown me.”

  “He wouldn’t be that shallow.”

  Phoenix shakes his head. “Have you met my father? Sports are all he cares about.”

  I don’t argue. I want to remain neutral here, a casual observer, because Phoenix needs to get this out, to purge himself so we can move forward, and I want
to. I want more than great sex and a sidekick for community service. I want the whole, broken thing.

  He’s pacing around the kitchen now, speaking almost to himself, the words tripping over themselves. “And the pressure’s mounting.” He wags his finger. “There’s no mistaking that. The family agent, he is way up my ass to make a decision and choose a team. I mean, what little joy I used to get from the game, and it wasn’t much, that’s gone, evaporated completely. I have no idea how I’m going to get though even one more year of it.”

  “You could try something else, besides basketball?” I offer brightly.

  He stops, faces me. “I don’t know anything except basketball. That’s what I’m trying to say. And there’s the aforementioned family legacy to live up to. Without it, I’m nothing.”

  He turns back to the counter, sliding the next tray across and starting to grease it. When he speaks again, his tone is calmer and measured.

  “Maybe you’re right. I could take a break, couldn’t I? Say it’s for reflection or something.”

  “You could.”

  I’m struck by how different he is when he’s absorbed in the cooking process. He’s become almost meditative. I don’t point this out to him, but it’s an interesting observation, nonetheless.

  I let him speak, don’t try to butt in or steer the conversation too much. By the time he’s slid the last tray into the oven he looks like the world’s weight has been lifted off his shoulder… even if he is standing there wearing a pastel pink apron.

  I nod to the fresh tray of cookies cooling on the rack. “Try one.”

  He reaches across with a smile on his face. “Yes, ma’am.”

  I don’t know about his ‘O’ face, but I do imagine it’s something similar to that first bite.

  He shakes half a cookie at me, eyes closed and head nodding. “My god.”

  I walk over. “Good, huh?”

  His eyes open and he looks at the cookie in his hand. “But it was so easy.”

  “Cooking doesn’t need to be complicated,” I tell him. “A lot of people make a lot of money by trying to suggest it is, that you need this crazy gadget or that, the latest cookbook or course, but recipes like this remain for a reason: They just fucking work.”