by Naima Simone
“Catering to my nerdy heart will get you everything,” she said, once she was able to speak past the fist of emotion squeezing her throat. “Now, back to my original question. Football. Why?”
“I love it,” he stated. His hand massaged her scalp, and she worked to focus on his explanation instead of purr like a contented kitten. “It saved my life. As dramatic as it sounds, it’s also true. I grew up in Little Woods, a rough neighborhood in New Orleans. Drugs, gangs, murders—I was surrounded by it. And as wonderful as my grandmother was, it would’ve been so easy to fall into all that. But in seventh grade, my social studies teacher, who also happened to be the school’s football coach, recruited me. I learned I had options if I worked hard enough. It offered me, and ultimately, my family, a way out.”
He tipped his head back against the seat, staring at the top of the gondola.
“But, also, I just love the sport. It’s the ultimate high and challenge. Pitting your strength, mind, and will against another man. The adrenaline. The rush. It’s a battle, victory, pain, pleasure, hate, love, fear, faith. All rolled into one. The first time I stepped on that field when I was twelve, I suddenly understood what my grandmother felt when she entered a church. I didn’t want to stop playing. And I haven’t yet.”
She blinked, the utter passion in his voice stealing her breath. To her, the game had always seemed like men in pads and uniforms running a ball up and down a field in the most brutal and confusing manner possible. But listening to him… She understood in that moment, that for Zephirin, the sport was a part of him, had fashioned him as surely as her experiences—good and bad—had shaped her. For that, she might just have to fall in love with the game.
Fall in love.
She inched back from those three words like a leery jumper creeping back from a crumbling ledge. She should never, ever think, much less speak, those words in connection with Zephirin. Only bad things led down that road.
“Speaking of football,” she hedged, pushing out of his embrace, and squelching the disappointment over him letting her go. She shifted to the seat beside him, and nerves took flight in her stomach like a flock of startled birds. A big-ass flock. Maybe she should forget it. It was probably a bad idea, and it wasn’t like he’d asked for her opinion…
“Speaking of football?” he prompted with an arched eyebrow.
Screw it. What the hell? “Have you ever considered creating an app for your foundation and football program?”
“We have one,” he said. Paused. “You looked up the foundation?”
The blush crept up her chest and poured into her face before she could prevent it. “I had to do something while I waited for you this afternoon. Unlike you, football is an enigma to me. So, yes, I did a little research. Anyway…” She glanced away from his piercing stare. “I saw you have one where people can receive updates about the foundation and track your appearances and events. But I’m talking about something more interactive. Something more…fun. No offense.”
“None taken,” he replied, nodding. “What were you thinking?”
“Well…” She curled a leg under her hips, turning to more fully face him as she warmed up to the subject. “I saw on your website that competition to register for your camp is fierce. The kids need recommendations, have to write essays, etc., and the process starts fairly early in the year.”
“True,” he agreed. “One of our mottos is nothing worth having comes easy. So they have to work for entrance. Because of the stipulations, registration opens in November and notifications go out in January.”
“I also noticed today that the kids were split into two teams, yellow and purple—”
“Gold.”
She drew up short at the interruption. “Huh?”
“Gold,” he corrected. “Not yellow.”
Exasperated, she waved a hand. “Yellow, gold. What’s the difference?”
“There’s a difference. Gold,” he ground out.
Huffing out a breath, she barely managed not to roll her eyes. “Fine. They were split into two teams. Gold and purple. I’m guessing most of the kids don’t meet until they arrive at camp? What if, to build team spirit or camaraderie, you create an app for the kids that connect them to their team members early on? They can see the roster of who they’re playing with, maybe contact them through profiles. But also, they could start competing before they arrive at camp. Each player can win points that contribute to the overall score of their team. They can earn points by keeping their grades up, doing chores, reading books, excelling on the football field, community service, just to name a few.”
She leaned forward, her nervousness forgotten as she explained the idea that had come to her that afternoon. “And their parents, teachers, and coaches would have access to the app as well so they could enter grades, accomplishments, and praise. The team score could be announced at camp, and those kids would receive a special gift. Like an afternoon with their favorite player. Or specially designed and autographed merchandise. Sponsors would jump to endorse and fund this kind of app for the attention and promotion it would bring them. I think…”
Her voice trailed off. Zephirin stared at her, his expression inscrutable. He didn’t move, as still as a statue.
The worry returned full-fledged, and she wished it was possible to kick one’s own ass. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I overstepped. It’s your charity. I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s brilliant.”
The low, fervent reply took her aback. For several seconds, she floundered, caught between shock, relief, and delight. “Really?” She grinned. “It’s a big project, but I think the sponsorships and endorsements alone would fund not only the development, but help the foundation, too. And you can always incorporate ads into it…” Her mind flew ahead, analyzing certain aspects.
“How do you know about apps? What gave you the idea for one?”
Every thought, every movement, every breath halted. Ice that tasted of fear slid through her veins. She’d slipped; she’d been so excited about the idea that she hadn’t considered what it might reveal. Damn.
Tell him the truth. The soft voice of her conscience whispered through her head, and she parted her lips, about to spill it all.
But at the last second, caution slammed into her with all the subtlety of a brick. All the reasons she’d remained silent about her identity still held true. More than ever now. Giovanna’s reputation and career. And given Zephirin’s demand for honesty between them, if he discovered she’d been lying to him from the moment they met, she suspected his anger would be terrible. There would be no reason for him not to tell Sports Unlimited about their charade. When others had given in, Giovanna had worked and struggled to obtain her success. Sophia couldn’t jeopardize it.
And then the fact remained that he would want nothing to do with her, of course. And selfishly—so fucking selfishly—she wanted these next few days with him. She’d eventually have to confess, but was it wrong to want to wring out just a little more time with him before he hated the sight of her?
Be selfish then, baby. You want permission? Fine. I give it to you.
He’d said those words to her earlier, assuaging her guilt if even for that time in the locker room. But there was no erasing the burden of her lies. She had to carry it, face the consequences when the time came. But that time wasn’t now.
“My sister is an app developer,” she lied. Again. The untruth sat on her tongue like ash, dirtying her.
“Right. You mentioned having a sister earlier.” As if remembering the context in which she’d revealed a sibling, he reached for her hand, smoothed his thumb over the backs of her fingers. “Is she good?”
“She thinks so.” Sophia smiled, wondering if it appeared as wry as it felt. “Her career is like what football means to you—her passion.” Talking about herself in the third person was weird and disconcerting. But she couldn’t stop, because she needed him to know even a little about the real her. “Ever since we were kids, computers, how they oper
ated, their programming, fascinated her. Like you said football saved you… I think it did the same for her. Gave her a safe, non-judgmental place to land.”
“Was she bullied, too?”
Sophia glanced away. “Only one of us was,” she murmured.
He didn’t press her any further on the sensitive subject, but he covered her hand with his and rubbed soothing circles over her knuckles with his thumb. The gesture was meant to bring comfort—and it did. But as she stared at that big hand damn near swallowing hers, she couldn’t help but remember how his body had covered her smaller one. That quickly, the warmth sliding through her heated, and it had as much to do with his gentle reassurance as the erotic image playing front and center in her head.
“You think your sister would be interested in developing the app for my foundation? Or at least taking a look at the idea?”
Excitement and joy bubbled up inside her chest. Bringing to fruition a project she’d conceived especially for him? Yes! The shout echoed inside her head, but right on the heels of the last reverberation, reality intruded with a slap that left her ears ringing.
Sophia Cruz couldn’t have anything to do with the Jaybird Foundation—or Zephirin Black—after Sunday.
Delight seeped out of her like a slow-leaking balloon. With herculean effort, she prevented her face from betraying the tangle of emotions inside of her. “She’s not a freelancer; she works for a sports-related company, so I’m not sure if there would be a non-compete issue.”
“Does she want to work for herself?” he asked.
“Yes.” No way could she keep the hope, fear, and passion out of her answer. Not when the truth tore out of her like a tornado. What would it feel like to be open with him? To share her dreams, desires, and frustrations with him? To not have this Damocles Sword of him finding out the truth swinging over her head?
Launching to her feet, she crossed the small distance to the tinted glass. Like a hamster trapped in a constantly moving wheel, she ached with the need to get off this ride of lies. To escape the suffocating weight of it, and just be with him.
Be her, even if the real her wasn’t quite up to his standards.
Be true.
Be honest.
It clawed at her, the need pressing down on her from not just all sides, but from inside.
I don’t need feelings—I don’t want them… Don’t muddy it up with anything deeper than sex and orgasms… If whatever you plan on telling me will make this deeper than it needs to be and prevent me from taking you, then let it go.
His words echoed in her head. They both liberated her from and chained her to the lie.
When the gondola finally slowed and halted, she beat Zephirin to the opening. Air. She needed air. And not the one saturated with her deception.
Stepping off, she practically ran from the ride and long line of people waiting for their turn on the tourist attraction. With his long legs, Zephirin had no problem keeping up with her pace. And by the time they reached the parking garage and his black Escalade, her heart pumped as if she’d sprinted the quarter mile. He, however, didn’t appear in the least winded.
Silently, he opened the passenger door and guided her in. Seconds later when he settled behind the steering wheel, the disquieting, almost feverish sense of time not slipping but plummeting away hadn’t eased.
Grab every minute. Savor it. Hoard it.
The commands, edged in the desperation that seethed inside her like a boiling cauldron, pushed at her mind as she snapped her seat belt in place.
Beside her, Zephirin fit the key in the ignition. She shot her hand out, gripping his. He glanced at her, his gaze inscrutable.
“Fuck me.”
Chapter Twelve
Zephirin didn’t move, but her whispered half demand, half plea slammed into him, pummeling the air from his frozen lungs. Hearing “fuck” on her lips had the same effect of a fist to his cock. His body roared, “Hell yes!” but his mind—the part not hijacked by lust—realized something was…off. Had been since leaving the Great Wheel. Actually, before then. Right after she’d shared her wonderful idea about an app for the kids attending his camp. The band that had tightened around him still hadn’t fully loosened. That she cared enough about his vision, his foundation and the boys to come up with that inspired concept… If possible, it had ratcheted his lust for her higher.
But as much as he wanted to give her exactly what she requested of him, he couldn’t ignore the indecipherable emotion darkening her eyes from brown to almost black.
He twisted in his seat and cupped the back of her neck. “What’s wrong?” he asked. Funny how they’d known each other only a handful of days, and he could read her more easily than he ever could Shalene in the four years they’d been together. Either Sophia really was as honest as she portrayed, or she was just a better actress than his ex. “And don’t tell me nothing.”
Releasing her seat belt, she shot across the console, crushing her mouth to his. On instinct, he parted his lips, welcoming the thrust of her tongue, encouraging the tight hold on his head by threading his fingers through her hair and pressing the tips into her scalp. For a long moment, he drowned in her sultry taste, the hungry tangle of tongues, the greedy gasps and whimpers. But after one last lick to the roof of her mouth, he tugged on her hair, pulling her mouth away.
“Tell me,” he ordered.
She pressed her forehead to his, her breath shuddering over his lips. “I don’t want to talk about it. Not now. Just…” She gave him a short, almost chaste kiss. “Please, make me forget for a little while, okay?”
Part of him wanted to deliver a flat no, force her back to the passenger seat, and push her to spill the truth so he could fix whatever put the shadows in her eyes. Be her personal Warrior, not just Washington’s. But the other half…that half couldn’t deny her anything…
When his ex had used him, he’d resented her for it. Hell, still did. But letting Sophia use his body to give herself oblivion, even if for a little while, wasn’t a betrayal. It was a pleasure.
Instead of replying, he silently thanked God for dark tinted windows, shoved his seat back, and lowered it to a half-reclining position. Raising his arms, he grabbed the headrest behind him, relating to her without words that she could have him. Have whatever she needed.
She stared at him, unmoving. Then, with a sound that could’ve been either a cry or a groan—maybe both—she slid her hands under his T-shirt, smoothing her palms up his stomach and chest. He gritted his teeth when her fingers skimmed his nipples, the electric shock of her touch sizzling in his veins. When the material bunched at his shoulders, she gripped it, and he allowed her to lift it over his head and settle the shirt in back of his neck.
“Beautiful,” she softly praised, climbing over the console and straddling him.
It wasn’t the first, or even hundredth, time he’d been on the receiving end of that particular compliment. But from her? Given the pleasure humming beneath his skin, he could’ve been hearing it for the first time.
Before he had a chance to respond, she pressed down on him, circling those feminine, created-for-his-hands hips, stroking her sex over his cock. Even through his jeans and her pants, he could feel her, that hot, wet flesh that he’d had his mouth on hours earlier.
“Again,” he ground out, his jaw tight. “Do it again.”
Stretching her arms up, she curled her fingers over the headrest, just inside his hands. Ducking her head, she opened her mouth over his neck as she undulated against him, her thighs squeezing him. Damn, he could come like this—like a teenager frantically humping and grinding with his girlfriend in the backseat of his car.
His breath caught at “girlfriend.”
That’s not what this is, logic that hadn’t yet been swamped by lust cautioned. Remember this is temporary, has an expiration date. We don’t do—
The rest of that warning splintered under her tongue lashing his nipple. He groaned, arching under her, almost unseating her. He clung harder to the seat
, but when her teeth raked him, he swore, gripped her hair and pressed her to him, demanding she repeat the caress. She brought tongue, lips, and teeth into play, toying with him, torturing him. With each suck and lick, each roll of her hips, the temperature in his body rocketed, the mercury simmering on high.
She switched to his other nipple, and he couldn’t help but wonder if this was payback for earlier. If so, he verged on pleading with her to continue punishing him. Her teeth captured his flesh and tugged, and his cock thumped as if the caress had been delivered to it. Both of his hands were in her hair now, and when she flicked him with her tongue for the last time before slipping down his body, he almost dragged her back up. But this was about her, what she needed. So he gritted his teeth and held on.
Her tongue followed the tattoos inked into his chest and stomach. Her hum of pleasure vibrated against his skin seconds before her tongue traced every ridge of his abdomen. In that moment, he’d never been so glad he took the utmost care of his body. Before now, he would’ve attributed his strict, regimented routine to his career. But with her paying homage to him with her mouth, football had suddenly become the second reason. Her appreciation, that second moan of delight, had supplanted it.
Fumbling fingers tugged at his belt, and his stomach went concave under the grazing touch. Shit. She didn’t intend…
“Sophia,” he said, the sound serrated and harsh in the heavy silence. “Baby, you don’t have to…” The protest died as she wiggled further down his body, settling between his spread legs and the steering wheel. Quickly, she released the button on his jeans and lowered the zipper.
“I know I don’t have to.” She dipped her hand in the waistband of his boxer briefs. Her breath broke on the tense air. “I want to.”
Her fist closed around his cock. Squeezed. And his long, low moan filled the car. He bucked into her grip, no control over his hips. He’d become her instrument to play, her shot to call. He lifted his ass off the seat, shoved his jeans and boxers further down so she could have free rein over him. She thanked him with another slow, hard pump of his dick. From base to tip, she stroked him. And he shuddered and rocked into her hand.