Oh God! I was burning up from inside, months of need and restraint surfacing, unleashing until I was gyrating wildly atop him. He growled into my mouth, broke the kiss, and gripped my hips. He moved, his hands grabbing my hips and shifting me until I my back was to him, his shaft throbbing up against my ass. I uttered a moan of protest, which turned sharply into one of pleasure as his mouth found my neck, his teeth grazing fire, and lips dragging sobs from me.
His teeth connected with my earlobe at the same time his hand slid up my thigh and into my shorts.
“Mmm,” he growled against my ear, sending shivers of pleasure through me. “No panties. Hot as fuck.”
His finger touched my lips, drawing a gasp from me.
“Oh yah, baby,” he whispered. “You’re soaking. You’re so fucking hot for me.”
I was so fucking embarrassed! But the talk was turning me on, and I could only groan as one finger slid deep. In and then out. His thumb came up to brush against my clit, and I bowed against him, crying out.
“Oh yah, Sarah, scream for me, baby. Make the whole damn building hear!” His other hand found my breast, swollen and tender from pregnancy. He palmed it, his fingers pinching lightly at the nipple as his tongue slid into my ear. Fuck! Sensations shot through me, too quick and hard for me to control, and I came quickly and uncontrollably, shattering against his hand as his palm pressed into me.
Burke’s hand withdrew slowly, and I turned to look at him. His face was dark with lust, his eyelids low, iris cold and blue beneath. He lifted the hand that had been inside me and slid his finger into his mouth, sucking it clean.
My body reacted, rebounding quickly, burning for more. I wanted him so badly I could barely contain myself. I turned, grabbing his shirt and pressing my mouth to his, tasting myself on his tongue. His arms banded around my waist, holding me still as his mouth plundered mine. And then he stood, taking me with him, finding a wall and shoving me against it. His hands planted on the wall beside my head, holding me up with his hips, and he ground upward, his mouth leaving mine to burn in a trail of hot, wet kisses down my throat. Oh God, I was going to have marks!
But I didn’t mind. I bucked against him as his hips drove me into the wall. “Fuck,” he grunted against my neck. “You’re wearing too many fucking clothes.”
“Then take them off,” I gasped.
He stepped back, and I dropped to the ground, barely having enough time to get my feet under me before he had my shirt off in one practiced yank. My breasts bounced free, and he swore, his hands finding my hips and spinning me so that I had to plant my hands on the wall for balance.
“Oh yah, baby. Stand still for me,” he said, coming up behind me, his hands finding my hips. I could feel him bend slightly, feel his hot hand draw up the inside of my thigh, up into my shorts, teasing my hot, swollen lips. Then he was running his hands over the firm globes of my ass, peeling down my boxers inch by inch until they dropped to my feet.
“Fuck, Sarah. You’re so fucking perfect,” he growled. I peeked behind me in time to see him strip off his shirt, kick off his sneakers, and drop his shorts. His erection sprung free. Huge. My mouth went dry. Oh God. How had he fit the last time?
He chuckled at my stare, his eyes hot as they landed on mine. He took a step forward, grabbing my hips and pulling me up until I was on my tiptoes. God. This was why women had sex with their heels still on.
I stood on my toes as he bent me slightly until my ass was tilted at just the right angle. Then he bent his head, grabbing my lips in a kiss so carnal that I felt my knees weaken. His hands were the only things holding me up as he bent his knees and I felt the hot, huge length of him probing my entrance from behind. Oh God! There was no way he was going to fit like this.
He seemed to realize it, too, for his fingers were there next. One and then two, plunging slowly in and out, wringing wild cries from me, stretching me and then, oh God! Oh God!
His cock replaced his hands, nudging bluntly passed my lips, filling almost to the point of pain. I cried out at the sensation, at the nerve endings all aflame. He stilled my hips as my calves trembled to support me, as he speared me inch by slow inch.
He paused. Withdrew. I cried out and, as if in answer, he surged forward, burying himself to the hilt. I screamed as pleasure washed over me, as he hit something deep inside. Oh God, the angle!
He slid out and in again, long, drugging thrusts that had me shaking, keening, nearly sobbing. Oh God. Not like this! I needed more, I needed…
As if he understood, he withdrew, spun me, then hurled me up in his arms, slamming me back against the wall, finding my entrance again and sliding in easily this time. “Fuck!” I screamed. The contact was incredible. He tilted his hips at the just the right angle, driving upward in deep, heavy thrusts that took as much as they demanded I give.
I was cursing, begging, and chanting as he fucked me, something desperate riding us both. His mouth found mine again, and he kissed me, the kiss searing as his hand came up to palm my breast, to squeeze at my nipple. I could feel something dangerous rising, a tide of fire about to overwhelm us both. And as if he sensed it, he pulled back, his hand leaving my breasts. He held me to him and he moved, spinning us into my room where we all but fell onto the bed.
He pulled out and flipped me, and I landed breathlessly on my stomach. I needed him back, and I realized I was begging him. He came back into me with a forceful surge, and I cried out as he hit that spot again, that spot deep inside that sent ripples of sensation through my entire body. I writhed beneath him, and his hands stilled my hips, his body folding over me, until he was braced above me on a forearm, his hips pounding into mine with new urgency, his hand slid beneath me, and his palm resting against my clit, thrusting me into him as he pressed me relentlessly from behind. Oh God! The climax built up with a sudden frenzy, and I screamed, sensation shattering me, pounding through me, and wringing every ounce of energy from me until I collapsed against him, still hard inside me.
He swore and withdrew only to flip me over, and then he was back again, driving into me while my walls spasmed around him, my climax continuing.
I was nearly crying. My eyes found his, staring into me, demanding as his hips pounded me into the bed. Oh God! He was nearing, but so was I! “I’m going to come again!” I cried out, and he groaned, buried his head in the pillow next to me. His hands came up and grabbed my hips, slamming against me and pressing me forward with everything he had.
The third climax spiraled over me, taking me into oblivion at the same time it took him. He cried out into my ear and bucked against me.
It seemed like minutes, but it was probably only seconds until we subsided, our limbs growing sated and heavy. He crushed me into the bed and groaned into the pillow, unable to move.
It was only when I wheezed, trying to take air in, that he stirred, lifting himself off of me and rolling over to stare up at my ceiling.
“Fuck, Sarah,” he said, his voice a whisper. An emotion, nameless and strong, welled up inside me as I looked at him. Love, I realized belatedly. I loved Burke. I opened my mouth, the words nearly spilling off my tongue, but I held them back.
No, Sarah! This was stupid. You told yourself that you were going to focus on you! Oh, but it was Burke! He turned to look at me, his ice-blue eyes flashing. I had to get up, to move around, or risk saying something. So I stood and headed toward the bathroom to clean up.
When I emerged, Burke was still lounging on the bed. His eyes found mine and then travelled lower, focusing on my stomach – no longer quite so flat.
Suddenly self-conscious, I covered it with a hand.
“Don’t,” he said, but he sounded subdued. “You look beautiful. Come here.” He held out his arms to me, and I suppose we must have both been tired, both a bit undone by what had just happened, because we didn’t talk about it further.
I climbed into my bed, now mostly taken up by his bulk. I curled up on his shoulder, and I fell into a dead sleep.
20
Burke
I slept like a log and woke up when the sun came through Sarah’s window. I sat up groggily, and looked over at Sarah, who slept next me, dead to the world. Shit. She really was gorgeous. I blinked, the reality of the night before settling in. Fuck.
I raked my hands through my hair. Shit. Fucking shit. If my sister Margot were here right now, she’d have kicked me in the nuts for stupidity. God, I’d been a wreck yesterday. First, the fight with Yvette, and then finding out about Sarah and Ryan. I’d been more upset at the thought of Sarah with Ryan than I had been about Yvette and Luis – although don’t get me wrong, I was still plenty upset about Yvette – and something had snapped. And when I was here, and she’d been so damn calm, staring at me with those hazel eyes – I’d been down her throat, and she’d been sweet and understanding. And she was talking about heartbreak. She was talking about Andrew – and fuck. I don’t know what had come over me. I’d wanted to erase every ounce of that bastard from her memory. No Andrew, no Ryan…
I hadn’t even tried to stop myself. Not once. Not during the whole thing. I’d gone all in and, fuck me, I’d enjoyed myself. Now? This morning? I felt like a terrible shit. I’d taken advantage of her when we were both emotionally unstable.
Sarah was going to be a mother. And if I kept this shit up, she was going to raise her baby without its father. Andrew deserved to be in his kid’s life. He didn’t deserve a dick-head like me fucking around with what might otherwise be a happy family. Goddamn it. I’d heard her when she’d spoken about being heartbroken. She still loved Andrew.
I ran a hand through my hair, realizing that it had come loose in the night and probably looked as shitty as I felt. I got up to take a piss, and the phone buzzed besides the bed. I glanced down at the screen. Andrew. Of course. Of course, they were still talking. Hell, they might even be trying to get back together. Great. Fucking great, Burke. Add that to my lists of strikes. Yvette’s words came back to haunt me: small-minded, meathead, bull-shitter, king of the idiots, and now homewrecker. What the fuck was my problem?
“Hey,” said Sarah, blearily, awakened by her phone. She glanced at it, and then up at me, and she smiled. Fuck, her smile undid me.
“I’ll be back,” I said. I grabbed my shorts from the hall, went into the bathroom, and cleaned up. When I was back in her room, she was sitting up in bed, frowning at her phone. She put it down.
“Can we talk?” I said. I felt nauseous. I’ve had my share of one-night stands, don’t get me wrong, but you know what you’re getting into with those. This was different. Sarah was a friend. And goddamn it – I really liked her.
Sarah watched me warily but nodded, scooting over so that I could sit on the edge of the bed.
“Sarah…” I wanted to tell her that what we did last night was wrong. I wanted to tell her that she should be with Andrew, and that I wasn’t going to ruin that. But she was looking at me like she was about to confess her love or something. And I had a feeling that if I mentioned Andrew, she’d just argue. So I lied.
“What we did last night…” I shook my head. “That was my bad. That was wrong. I’m really sorry.”
I watched her face change, watched it shut down, grow distant, and almost blank. Fuck.
“I…” I shook my head. “I let my emotions get the better of me, but the truth is that I’m not… it’s just too soon. I don’t know that I’m over Yvette.”
Her face hardened, her lips pressed into two thin lines, and she blinked several times and then tilted her head.
“I’m sorry, Sarah.”
Sarah shrugged. She shrugged – like it was no big deal. Her mouth pinched, her eyes a bit dead. “I think you should go,” she said, finally.
I nodded, and damn if my gut didn’t hurt as I stood, pulled on my shirt, and left.
21
Sarah
“Baby girl, open the windows! It smells like sex in here!” Roz hollered as she walked into the apartment, carrying a grocery bag. “Oh shit, baby…”
I was sitting at the kitchen table over a cup of coffee, staring at the stains on the wood from where Roz’s little cousin had spilled paint.
“Don’t tell me Andrew was over here…”
“Nope,” I said. My coffee was cold, but I took a sip of it anyway. I’d been sitting there a while.
“Oh, shit.”
“Yup.”
“Did you tell him?”
“Nope.”
Roz set her grocery bag down on the counter and took a seat across from me. Her dark eyes were lined with concern, and she said, her voice low, “Tell me what happened.”
So I told her the whole thing. About how he’d come over, about how we’d both gotten carried away. How I’d woken up the in the morning, and he’d told me he wasn’t over Yvette.
Roz shook her head. “That doesn’t sound right,” she said. “Why would he come here, upset at you for giving Ryan your phone number, sleep with you, and then tell you he’s not over Yvette?”
I shrugged. At this point, I didn’t care.
“Did he see the text from Andrew, do you think?”
“Honestly, Roz? I don’t care.” I was completely finished with Burke Tyler. Completely, utterly finished.
“Okay. You don’t care!” said Roz, holding her hands up and sitting back.
My phone buzzed, and I blinked. It was Ryan Mcloughlin. Shit. He was calling me.
“Pick it up,” ordered Roz. “You don’t care about Burke Tyler? Good. Pick it up and go on a date with his teammate.”
“Ryan Mcloughlin is a playboy.” The phone stopped ringing.
“So? You don’t have to sleep with him. You just have to let him take you out. Girl, you look like someone just rolled over you with their Maserati Levante.”
I winced.
“Flattened,” Roz continued. “You look like you’ve been flattened. So, go get your own back. Call that football bro back and go on a date.
“Don’t you think I should focus on myself for a bit? Stop seeing guys altogether?”
“Trust me, girl,” said Roz, tossing her hair. “You’re gonna be as big as a house in a few months. You’ll have all the time in the world to ‘work on you.’ Nobody’s gonna tap that. Trust me.”
“You know how to lift me up, Roz,” I said, dryly.
“Stop whining and call him back.”
I took a deep breath and picked up the phone before I could think any more about it. I dialed Ryan’s number.
“Heeyyy, Sarah,” Ryan drew out the hey.
“Sorry I missed your call,” I said.
“No prob, no prob. Did you get my message?”
“No, I didn’t check it. I just called you back.”
“Oh, well, okay. I thought we might go out this weekend, if you’re game. I had a nice time chatting with you the other day. Figured we could try it again over dinner.” He sounded charming, and I tried to get excited about him. I called up an image of his handsome, magazine model face, his copper-kissed brown hair, and his big, chiseled shoulders… but I kept seeing Burke. Burke’s blue eyes, Burke’s face, a mask of ecstasy as he came…
“Sure!” I forced myself to sound cheerful. “What were you thinking?”
22
Burke
“Dude, if you were going to be such a buzz-kill, why’d you agree to go out with us in the first place?” Even seated in the back of the bar, it was hard to hear Caz over the noise. There was a good crowd in here tonight, watching the Bruins game up front. Caz knew the owner, apparently, so we were seated semi-privately in the back.
“You going to be a dick about it, or are you going to distract me?” I challenged, finishing off my third beer. It was difficult enough trying to weather the media storm over Yvette shacking up with her ex – but I couldn’t get Sarah out of my mind. And each time I thought of her, I got half-hard and entirely miserable.
“Do you want me to call Noemi?” asked Jamie, sitting next to Caz. If I had to guess, I’d think inviting me out had been Jamie’s idea. She tende
d to be a bit more thoughtful than Caz. And she was right; I needed a distraction. Though neither of them were doing a particularly good job of providing one. When they thought I was distracted, they kept gazing at each other. Fucking give me a break.
“Naw,” I said.
“Bro, you must have it bad,” said Caz.
I shrugged. Noemi Sax was the star striker on the Boston Breakers, Jamie’s team. She was also a star on the national team and did underwear modeling for Calvin Klein. But I wasn’t interested in models right now. Or soccer players. Or anyone, for that matter. Except…
Nope. Not gonna go there.
“There’s plenty of fish, dude…”
“Really?” I interrupted. “You’re going to start in on clichés? You suck at this. Can’t you think of anything else to distract me?”
Caz shrugged. “How about you tell us what happened between you and Ryan the other day? According to Vic, you were about an inch away from tearing each other apart.”
Jamie made a face. “I don’t like that guy,” she said. “Have you seen his Instagram account? He’s out with a different girl every night, practically.”
“Don’t hate the player…” Caz started, but Jamie smacked him across the arm, and he shut up.
Caz pulled out his phone. “You think he’s out tonight?”
“It’s a Saturday, isn’t it?” said Jamie, acerbically.
“Yup. Sure enough,” said Caz, staring at his phone. He handed it to Jamie, who made a face. “Ugh. ‘You know what’s up!’” she said, deepening her voice in a poor imitation of Ryan.
“Since when do we get to judge him for life choices that don’t affect us?” asked Caz, sagely. “Besides. He’s got good taste. That girl’s ass is second only to yours…”
“Give me the phone.” I stuck my hand across the table, and Jamie made a face at me.
Bad Ballers: A Contemporary Sports Romance Box Set Page 16