Hustle

by Teagan Kade

  I was apprehensive coming into fatherhood, worried I’d pass down my more questionable qualities, but as soon as I saw Josh’s face, as soon as I held him in my arms—so, so small—I was completely and utterly smitten.

  Shannon says he has a bit of his grandfather’s cheekiness, and I don’t doubt it.

  I may have been a bit precious with him at first. “He’s not a grenade,” Shannon used to laugh. “He’s not going to go off.”

  His little bottom had tooted in reply. “You sure about that?” I laughed back.

  I’ve even considered taking him to see Triss. She’s still in care. I don’t think she’ll ever leave, and maybe that’s for the best. Her problems ran deeper than anyone could have thought, but the medication has helped and she seems to be getting back to some semblance of normal. The rage I saw the day she kidnapped Shannon is gone, the jealousy. She understands, even apologized.

  I thought Shannon may have wanted me to stay away at the start, but she’s been nothing but supportive, encouraging me to visit Triss once a week. She even baked her cookies. But that’s Shannon—generous, impossibly kind.

  When her former old boss got the boot for skimming company funds, Shannon was the first person the director called to replace him. She was a bit shocked at first, which is understandable, but five years in she has the place running like clockwork. The employees and studios love her, the clients too. Talk is she might be about to step up into the big league, maybe make a move to Hollywood, but I don’t think she’s fussed either way. She knows what’s important in her life right now.

  They say a lot of women lose their libido after child birth, but if anything, it’s supercharged Shannon’s sexual side. Experimentation abounds in the bedroom. We don’t have a red room per se, but there’s a box under our bed I sure as hell wouldn’t want anyone knowing about. I think she’s making up for all those years she went without, and who am I to stop her?

  Even now, standing here watching her, I’m getting hard thinking about her beneath me tonight, her fingers clawing at the sheets, my back, the way her toes curl and thighs clamp around me when she comes. I suppose I’m blessed in the bedroom then, too.

  Immediately after the incident with Triss, I was lost. Without an enemy to fight, a mission waiting, I felt like I didn’t have a purpose, that everything was so trivial. The sex helped, but not as much as having Shannon’s support.

  When I bumped into my one of my old commanders and he suggested Veterans Affairs, I almost laughed him right out of the room, but three years in I couldn’t be happier. It allows me to remain in the service, but not in service, so to speak. The real battle happens back here at home. Triss showed me that. PTSD is real and this country’s not doing enough about it. The small advice I can offer, a friendly face provided, makes a genuine difference in the lives of these heroes.

  I think Shannon was worried I was going to be chained to a desk shuffling papers and slowly going insane, but my workload is mostly made up of house calls, especially for the older veterans who don’t have family or someone to lean on. I sometimes take Buffy or Angel, Aragog from time to time if I’m really looking to make an entrance. It helps, having an animal there to break the ice, and our ‘kids’ are the cutest damn kids in the world.

  Even poor Matt got roped into a pooch by his fiancée. She’s a sailor, believe it or not. I guess that’s what he gets for spending so much time with us down at The Hole. She’s a fierce one, too, damn near demanded a ring, but she’s good for him. I know it. The wedding’s going to be in the Bahamas. I’m already dreaming about those balmy nights with Shannon… provided Little Man sleeps through.

  I open the grill, smoke wafting out. “You cooking sausages or charcoal tablets there, Petty Officer?”

  Jason starts to pluck the sausages out one by one. “It adds to the flavor, my friend.”

  I look over to the others gathered on the deck, the rest of our squad who’ve decided to come out for this Fourth of July celebration. Three of us are missing, but they’re here in spirit nonetheless.

  Josh, always my shadow, helps me take the food over to the table.

  I help Josh up and take my own seat. “Dig in, everyone.”

  I take the tongs and plate up for Josh, Shannon’s hand hot on my thigh under the table. “Sausage?” I offer.

  Her hand slides downwards. “Oh, I think I’ve got more sausage than I can handle, thank you very much.”

  *

  I’m hunched over Shannon’s back, driving into her hard from behind. She braces herself against the headboard.

  “Oh, god. I’m going to—”

  I place my hand over her mouth so she doesn’t wake Josh. She has become rather vocal of late.

  A finger slips inside her mouth. She lightly bites down, her pussy squeezing my cock in a quick flutter and tipping me over the edge.

  I run to the end of her slickness.

  We come together, breathless, one.

  I pull out and collapse onto the bed. She falls on top of me, her head cradled against my arm and shoulder, her hair matted and sticky.

  Outside, a sea breeze is blowing in from the balcony. A bottle of champagne sits empty in a bucket by the corner.

  “So,” I ask, still breathing hard, “are you enjoying the Bahamas?”

  She takes hold of my still-hard cock and lightly pumps it. “I am, and it would appear I’m not the only one.”

  “You know, if you keep doing that I’m just going to have to make you come again.”

  She rolls and comes up onto her knees, straddling me. “That sounds like a challenge.”

  “I do like a challenge.”

  “Hmm,” she pouts. “Now where have I heard that before?”

  She slips me back inside her pussy and begins to grind down on me. I hold her face in my hands still spellbound by her beauty, the way she glows in this emerald light.

  I always equated home with happiness, but it’s only recently I’ve come to understand what the true definition of home is.

  It’s family—crazy, wild, how-am-I-going-to-survive-this family. Our house is full, and it’s due to hear the sound of another set of pitter-patter feet in nine months’ time.

  Our house is full, and so is my heart, because the woman of my life, the woman I married, means more to me than anything. She has given me a son, deep and profound happiness, and true purpose. She might be a civilian, but she’s no less of a fighter. That shy girl I first met in The Swinging Dick is all but gone. In her place stands a strong and determined woman completely unfazed by the world.

  And sure, I know there are going to be trials, but I say bring them on. After all, a smooth sea never makes for a skillful sailor.

  With Shannon by my side, anything is possible.

  Our love may have started as a hustle, but what we have now is more than real.

  It’s passion—hot and wet and all-consuming.

  It’s a partnership—true and tested.

  It’s the best god-damn feeling in the world.

  Note From Shannon:

  Hi, guys. I hope you enjoyed my story. If you did, please leave a short review. Teagan also wanted me to let you know she has included her top three favorite books for you to enjoy, plus two Hustle-related surprises following those titled ‘In Battle’ and ‘In Deep’. I thought happy hour at The Hole was good value, but this is going above and beyond. Have fun!

  Sign up to my exclusive VIP newsletter and receive a FREE copy of my best-selling, full-length novel Burned: A Bad Boy Romance, plus special offers, ARCs, bonus material and more. Click here!

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  About Teagan Kade:

  Teagan Kade thinks talking about yourself in the third person is silly, just like her collection of snow globes and rare manga. When she’s not being silly, she’s hanging out with her own Brock and two children in the
south of Australia, dreaming of new characters and torturous ways they can get themselves into trouble. Teagan loves hearing from her readers, all of whom are as dear to her heart as salted caramel cookies. Shoot her an email at: teagan@teagankade.com. She doesn’t bite.

  www.teagankade.com

  Also by Teagan Kade:

  Long Game: A Bad Boy Sports Romance:

  I go long, I go deep, but I never go soft.

  They call me ‘The Damage’ because I crush it on the field and off.

  I’m all about the offensive penetration. No one knows the game as well as I do.

  It doesn’t hurt I’ve got a goal post in my pants.

  But the moment I see Indiana’s smoky eyes and tight end, I know I’m in trouble.

  No one has a college record that clean, which means she’s either hiding something or running from something, and I intend to get the bottom of all her dirty little secrets.

  Even if I have to tease it out of those sweet curves.

  Even if she’s playing hard to get.

  Because I can go the distance.

  Because I always score.

  Because I’m in this for the long game.

  Loaded: A Bad Boy Sports Romance

  He’s got the biggest bat on campus… and he knows how to use it.

  Asher Slade, AKA ‘Slugger’. Hellcats captain, shameless womanizer, and grade A as*hole.

  I can’t stand his kind, so imagine my joy when I’m tasked with babysitting Sir C*ck-A-Lot during his college-imposed community service. He thinks I’m easy, that I’m going to fall to my knees the same way his opponents do.

  But he’s wrong.

  I have dreams. I’m going places. The last thing I need is a walking hard-on getting in my way. Problem is, I’m already picturing him… between my sheets, my legs, his dirty mouth doing dirty things.

  I should be running a mile, so why can’t I stop thinking about those coral eyes and cut body?

  I’m not going to fall for him.

  Promise.

  So why does it feel like my bases are already loaded?

  Striker: A Bad Boy Sports Romance

  She’s the perfect score. I’m a dirty player. It’s complicated.

  JENSEN

  Scarlet's always been a stunner. There was a time we could have been together, but then came the soccer, the fans, the fame... I lost her to my twin brother, Josh.

  But Josh is a cheating bastard. I can't stand by and watch Scarlet suffer, not when she should’ve been mine all along.

  SCARLET

  I've been dating Josh for years. I've tried to steer clear of his twin brother, Jensen, but I’ve always felt a pull towards him, a pull I have to resist.

  But when Josh betrays me, Jensen’s arms are suddenly wide open. It would be so easy…

  My heart’s torn—I just don’t know in which direction.

  Slammed: A Bad Boy Sports Romance (FREE!)

  My purity ring was perfectly fine until Nate ‘King’ Compton showed up.

  The star recruit of the Panthers, inked up and out of control—He’s the campus troublemaker I know I should avoid, but I can’t. Problem is, I’ve been given the ‘privilege’ of improving his GPA… provided I can find a brain in all that muscle.

  I don’t do bad boys. I do order and control, and he’s chaos. He’s the antithesis of my perfect princess world in every way. Still, there’s something deeper under those Caribbean eyes and cut body, a darkness we both share. I’m going to get to the bottom of it if it kills me, and given the way my heart hammers out of my chest every time he’s around, it just might.

  Game on.

  Royally Wrong: A British Bad Boy Romance

  Fifth in line to the throne. Off the rails. Drop dead-freakin’-gorgeous.

  I should never have taken this assignment. Prince Panty-Dropper Spencer and his ‘Big Ben’ are too far gone. Even my journalistic wonders aren’t enough to pull him from the public blacklist. He’s a playboy, an arrogant, cocky as*hole in the extreme and the kind of overt man candy that goes against every one of my golden rules.

  But I want him all the same, crave his cursed touch. I won’t have a job to go back to if I leave empty-handed, which means we’re going to have to get real close, access all areas. He’s a prick, yes, but I can’t stop thinking about his hard muscles, his slack smile, the complete confidence he has in himself. He might be Britain’s biggest player, but if he wants me, he’s damn well going to have to work for it.

  London’s calling alright. Question is, can I handle what’s on the line?

  Throttle: A Bad Boy Sports Romance

  Teagan Kade

  * * * * *

  Published by Teagan Kade

  Copyright © 2016 by Teagan Kade

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

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  DEDICATION

  For Texas, you big ol’ sexy state you.

  CHAPTER ONE: AUSTRALIA

  ANDY

  “You getting this, Andy?”

  The tire I’m sitting on is warm from the practice session this morning—warm like the brunette caught up in my sheets last night. Lynn? Lacy? I remember her ass, not her name.

  I cross my arms, exhale. It’s going to be a long fucking day. “Watch the hairpin, easy on the braking around third. I heard you the first fifty times, Steven.”

  It’s got to be over a hundred degrees here in Melbourne. Poor Steven is puddling up around the collar, the Mississippi River forming on his forehead. Clearly, he can’t handle the heat—not exactly a trait you want in a team manager. If it wasn’t for me, Texas tough, Team Goodall would be sliding into oblivion, not coming into the new season with a championship under its belt—my championship.

  As Steve blubbers away about apexes and endplates, I’m busy trying to recall the brunette, the way her nipple pulled and elongated inside my mouth, her moist, pink flesh. Everything else? Blurry as fuck. They all are, like there’s a factory outputting F1 groupies. Maybe I didn’t even ask her name, too busy banging her brains out in the Hilton bathroom five minutes after meeting her.

  “It’s going to be a tough season,” continues the great Steven Jones, former Goodall CTO and now, who the fuck knows how, team manager of a Formula One team. One of the mechanics is actually sleeping against the monitors. “That’s why we’ve brought Carl on board on this season,” Steven continues.

  My ears prick up in interest now. Fucking Carl Heinz, that Swiss cocksucker.

  There’s a smattering of applause in the garage. I look over to Carl, standing front and center. I thought I was attractive, but this guy? He’s the unnatural spawn of some Pitt-Gosling-Franco love triangle.

  He nods meekly, all focus and determination. He’s twenty-two, barely out of diapers in the F1 world, and already the press is kissing his feet, talking him up as the next world champion.

  He’s only two years older than you.

  Fuck that. I worked my ass off to take the championship last season. It took everything I had and more, sacrifices Heinz couldn’t begin to fathom. I scraped in, yes, but making Carl the number one Goodall driver this year? A slap in t
he fucking face.

  He smiles, all dripping smugness and European charm. “Happy to be here. Thank you.”

  In the corner of the garage is his pop-star girlfriend—Ruby, Emerald… some shitty geological name. Her eyes are literally wet. She looks like she’s going to shed a tear in admiration.

  Steven walks forward and actually places a hand on the prick’s shoulder like he was his own fucking son. “Carl is perhaps the most promising driver I’ve seen in my entire career. I speak for everyone when I say it’s an honor to have you on board.”

  I roll my eyes. Give me a fucking break. I’m waiting for them to kiss, touch dicks or something.

  But none of it matters. The kid’s got game on the track. I will give him that. He resists the F1 circus and the parties... so far, which is admirable, but it won’t be long before Rock Girl will drag him in. He comes from a modest family, rising through the ranks on “merit and determination”. I actually read that drivel in a profile yesterday, his handsome face sizing me up from the dual-page spread. He’s got it all, it seems, but he’s missing one crucial element—balls. And when it comes to pushing the limits, only I, Andy fucking Fortes, can deliver. I’m not the golden boy, but that doesn’t matter. I’m here to win, team or not.

  Steven claps his hands together to signal the end of the meeting. The grunts and mechanics slink back to the grease and Carl follows the Britney Spears lookalike into the back of the pits. Probably so she can suck his cock.

  I stand, brush myself down.

  Steven approaches me. “You good with all that, Andy?”

  Nothing would give me greater satisfaction than feeding him my fist for breakfast. I keep the scowl. “Fine.”

  I can see the cogs turning in that shiny bowling ball he calls a head. He’s thinking about the race order. I know it. He’s looking at me and it’s very fucking frosty considering I pulled a World Championship out of my hat for Goodall last year. Secretly, I’m sure he wants me to fail and Golden Boy to succeed, not that he’d ever admit it to my face. That’s why I despise the guy. Give him a knife and he’d stab you in the back without a second thought. He’s corporate, understands nothing of the beauty of this sport.