Out of Bounds

by Lauren Blakely

  “Shoot?”

  I shake my head. “We can’t. With the trouble the team has been through in the last year . . . I can’t take a chance of anything that would be”—I pause, hunting for the word—“inappropriate. Even remotely inappropriate.”

  No way in hell would management want a lawyer diddling with a player. I may not be waving pom-poms on the field, and I’m not wet behind the ears like Bambi, but I know a bad idea.

  And this is a world-class-variety bad idea.

  He strokes his chin. “We don’t want to put the team in a bad light.”

  “And it’s your first year here,” I add because I don’t want to seem like the buzzkill. We both have a lot at stake. My job, his job, the team’s reputation.

  “Exactly. Gotta keep everything above board. But, I bet there’s no rule that we can’t be friends,” he says, with a playful glint in his eyes.

  I can’t help it. I smile too. This man can charm the panties off me any day.

  I mean, the pants.

  He’s totally not charming my thong off. That little lacy number is staying where it belongs.

  In fact, we spend the next ten minutes chatting about the new place he rented in Santa Monica, and I tell him how the Santa Monica Pier is one of my favorite spots in the world to watch the sunset. “Plus, there’s whack-a-mole games,” I say.

  “And Skee-Ball?” he asks, pressing his palms together in prayer. “Please say there’s Skee-Ball too.”

  “Of course. I did say it was one of the greatest places in the universe.”

  He cups his hands around his mouth like he’s about to tell me a secret. “I feel I should let you know. I’m fucking awesome at Skee-ball.”

  I laugh. “Well, I should hope that magic arm of yours can work wonders”

  He wiggles an eyebrow. “I have good hands too.”

  And tingles rush down my spine. “Why do I feel like you can turn anything into a naughty comment?”

  He blows on his fingers. “Because I can.”

  “We’re supposed to be friendly, not flirty,” I whisper.

  He has no chance to reply, because the redheaded guy from the charity marches up to us and asks for a photo op with Drew. The photo turns into a long conversation, and it’s time for me to call it a night. Since the Wi-Fi in the reception room is crummy, I head to the lobby to open my Uber app. I carpooled here with a coworker but she took off early when her son’s babysitter had to leave unexpectedly.

  I enter my location in the app, but before I can finish, I stop tapping. I turn around. Drew’s by my side.

  “You’re not leaving without saying good-bye, are you?”

  “Of course not. Just ordering an Uber. I was going to say good-bye.”

  He covers my hand with his. “Don’t take an Uber. I’ll drive you home.”

  It’s a bad idea, but I don’t resist.

  Five minutes later, I slide into the front seat of his Tesla and pull away from the hotel.

  Chapter Six

  Drew

  Dani stretches out her legs in the front seat, and I can barely concentrate on the road anymore.

  Those strong calves. Those black heels. That tight little waist. This woman is too fucking sexy. Too fucking funny. Such a straight shooter too, and it turns me on to no end. That’s the problem. I can’t afford to be turned on. Need to keep my blinders on.

  I grip the wheel tighter as I pull onto the ramp for the freeway heading to Venice Beach. Best to keep the conversation one-hundred percent friendly. So I choose an easy topic. “What’s your favorite movie?” I ask, because I’ve got to get my mind off her body. I need to focus on her as a colleague, not the woman I wanted to take to bed the last time I saw her.

  She turns her face to me. “You want to do the favorites game now? Is that part of your ‘friendly, not flirty’ approach?”

  I smile as I click on the blinker to merge. “Indeed it is. Big movie fan here. So fess up, woman.”

  “Heaven Can Wait, of course,” she says, winking.

  I scoff. “You can’t pick a football movie.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because we work in football. Sports movies are ruled out.”

  “But it’s an awesome movie.”

  I nod, agreeing as I press the brake. Traffic is slowing ahead. This city is crazy. Even late at night, there are traffic jams. “Heaven Can Wait is so damn good. So is Bull Durham, and Friday Night Lights, and Hoop Dreams. The cinema on the promenade in Santa Monica is showing some of the best sports flicks in a few weeks.”

  “See? No one can resist the pull of Heaven Can Wait. It’s the kind of football movie that even non–football fans love.”

  I scowl. “There are people who don’t like football?”

  She shrugs. “I’ve heard about their existence. Small little pockets on the outskirts of society.”

  “Seems terribly sad to be such a person.”

  “It’s woefully devastating, Drew.”

  “Horribly dismal.”

  “Awfully troubling.”

  “Hey, show-off,” I say, raising my chin, as I cut into the next lane when a spot opens up between a white Toyota and a black SUV. “Got a favorite adverb?”

  “Hmm,” she says, tapping her pink polished fingernails along the window. Her lips quirk as she considers the question. She tilts her head, and says slowly, like she’s savoring the word, “Blissfully.”

  “That’s your favorite adverb?”

  She raises an eyebrow. “I like bliss. Do you have something against bliss?”

  Fuck me now. The way she says that is like a naughty little taunt. “You’re supposed to be friendly with me, Dani,” I say, in a warning.

  “That wasn’t friendly?”

  “No, that was naughty. Incredibly naughty.”

  “Then perhaps naughtily should be my favorite adverb.”

  The taillights of the Toyota wink on and off. As the car ahead of me slows, I press the brake harder. Traffic comes to a standstill. I try to peer around the cars to get a read on the situation. “What’s going on up there?”

  “Probably construction. I should have turned on my traffic app. I usually do but I was distracted,” she says, sounding annoyed with herself.

  “What distracted you?”

  She roams her eyes over me, like she’s cataloguing my face, my chest, my arms, my legs. She shakes her head, purses her lips. Then a soft sigh falls from her lips, a hint of frustration in it.

  “You,” she whispers. “That’s the problem.”

  So much for the favorites game. My blinders fall off, and my focus on friendship flies out the window momentarily.

  I lift my hand, reach for her face, and cup her cheek. She gasps, and before either one of us can say another word—before I can evaluate or analyze—I dip my mouth to hers and kiss those delicious lips. She opens for me. Her tongue darts out, sliding between my lips. She nips, running her teeth along my bottom lip, and out of nowhere a quick kiss turns into a hot, dirty one.

  A car horn honks from behind, and we pull apart. But the white sedan in front of me has only moved twenty feet. I drive slowly, running one hand along Dani’s leg, down to the hem of her skirt. My fingers play at the hem, and she murmurs as we slink along. Traffic crawls at a snail’s pace. My eyes drift to her legs, so toned and strong. The whole look she has working tonight is killing me.

  More than that, the whole notion of resistance is killing me.

  I tell myself just one touch, just one night won’t hurt a thing. It won’t harm the team, and it won’t knock me off my game.

  I inch my finger under her skirt, and she lets her knee fall open the slightest bit.

  “You’re so not friendly either,” she says in a playful pout.

  “I’m completely the opposite right now.” My fingers travel up the soft flesh of her thighs. My dick hardens even more, hungry for this woman. She wriggles in her leather seat, as I drive slowly, so goddamn slowly. Right now, though, I’m grateful for the traffic. Because I c
an do this to her.

  My fingers tiptoe higher, and higher still, and Dani rests her head against the leather, her mouth falling open, her breath catching. As I ascend to the top of her thigh, the pads of my fingers sliding over her soft flesh, she reaches for her tight skirt, and tugs it up higher.

  Then she opens her legs.

  Dani

  I might be crazy.

  I might be foolish.

  I might be a million things.

  What I am for certain is turned on beyond any and all measure.

  We’re surrounded by cars, and yet totally alone in his air-conditioned electric vehicle. I know better. I get the risks. I swear I do. But right now with traffic stalled, and his hands on me, my body is in charge and it’s seeking that adverb. I want to be touched blissfully. Stroked tantalizingly. Gotten off powerfully.

  Besides, this is just a little sliver of time. It’s a sealed-off moment in his automobile. This isn’t going to hurt anyone.

  In fact, it seems the opposite of hurt. His touch makes my skin sizzle. Makes my insides sing with pleasure.

  Drew doesn’t need any direction. He’s game and his fingers slide along the wet panel of my panties. He’s got an eye on the road, but he keeps stealing glances at me.

  “Told you I didn’t feel cordial toward you right now,” I whisper.

  He flashes a wicked grin as he slips one finger under the panel, making me moan. Because it feels so good when he touches me. He flicks the pad of his finger where I want him most, and I arch into him.

  “I don’t want you to feel cordial right now.”

  “How do you want me to feel?” I ask, my pitch rising as he strokes me. Oh dear lord, his hands are wonderful. His touch is electric. Firm, but tender, as he paints dizzying strokes up and down my center. He teases me, then traces lingering, luxurious lines along my wetness, and I rock my hips into his hand.

  “Hot. Bothered. Ecstatic,” he says, as the car inches forward, one of his hands on the wheel.

  “Those words all fit.” I spread my legs wider.

  A rumble escapes his lips. “Yeah, do that. I fucking love that. Love seeing you get so turned on you open your legs for me.”

  His dirty words are like a charge, as if someone plugged me in, and I’m electrified. His fingers travel up and down, up and down, then around and around. He centers his strokes on my clit, and the pleasure builds, rippling across my skin. Like fireworks inside me, starting small, climbing higher, then shooting up to the sky.

  “Drew,” I say gasping his name as I lift my hips, my body seeking him. “It’s so good.”

  He drags a finger down me slowly, then brings it to his lips and draws it between them. My eyes widen as I watch him suck hard, like he’s savoring my taste. “Fucking delicious,” he murmurs, then returns his finger to me. I nearly sing out in pleasure as he reconnects.

  “If we weren’t stuck in traffic, I’d go down on you,” he says, his voice husky. “Licking your sweetness. Tasting your desire.”

  As he paints a picture, I slide into a realm of pure lust. His words, his touch, my own sheer, unadulterated need—they’re all I feel right now, and they thrum inside me, like a hot vibration.

  “Oh God, I want that so much,” I say on a broken pant as I thrust up against his finger. He’s not even penetrating me. He doesn’t have to. He’s simply stroking me and that’s enough right now. Just the right pressure, just the right speed. My body consists solely of nerve endings. All he has to do is keep this pace, and he’ll ignite me, like a rocket taking off for the stratosphere.

  He bends his head closer to my neck. “I’d bury my face between those pretty legs of yours. You’d wrap your heels nice and tight around my neck, and I’d fucking devour you,” he says in a low, dirty growl in my ear.

  “Oh God,” I moan, and I’m lost. I’m absolutely lost in pleasure as he strokes me, faster and impossibly faster still. “I’m close. So close,” I say, panting. I’m vaguely aware of the car moving slowly forward, and maybe the traffic has picked up or maybe not, but then my brain turns to a blur as he trips a switch inside me.

  Every muscle tenses blissfully as an orgasm charges through me, my legs quivering, pleasure quaking in my body as I rock into his hand, grinding against his fingers. My world turns white-hot. Bursts of electric pleasure pulse in me, and a wild sensation of pure erotic bliss radiates from my center all the way through to my toes, to my hair. Hell, my eyelashes might even be turned on.

  I cry out as I come undone in his car, bucking into his hand, panting like a wild woman. That’s who I’ve become with this captivating man. My eyes are squeezed shut, and as the orgasm subsides, I blink them open, getting my bearings again, coming down from a high.

  “Guess that’s the first time I’ve ever been glad to be stuck in traffic,” he says, then gestures ahead of us. The snarl of stalled cars is finally breaking and he hits the gas.

  “Yes, that was the best use of traffic I’ve ever experienced.”

  He glances at me, a satisfied smile on his handsome face. “By the way,” he says, his tone both full of pride and happiness, “you were blissfully orgasmic.”

  “And I bet you’re immensely hard,” I say, and then he wiggles his eyebrow. “Can I find out?”

  He eyes his crotch, then me, then the freeway. “Let’s just make sure we don’t crash, because that would be incredibly bad for the team,” he says with a wink.

  Right. The team. The reason we aren’t supposed to be messing around.

  But as I drop my hand on his hard-on I’m not thinking about the team. I’m thinking about his cock. How much I want to touch him, feel him, taste him.

  I’m dying to wrap my lips around him, but I just don’t know that there’s room in the front seat for me to go down on him while he drives. Plus, you know, it’s a bit dangerous. But I can stroke him, even as he drives. I work open the zipper, slide my hand inside and run my palm over the outline of his hard cock. He’s so big, and so hard, and I want to touch him, flesh to flesh.

  “Fuck, Dani, that feels good,” he says in a throaty rumble as I run my hand over the outline of his erection. His very thick erection.

  “It would be better if it were hands-on.”

  “Then get your hands on me,” he says, as he drives.

  I dip my hand inside his briefs, wrap my palm around Drew Erickson’s cock, and it’s fucking fabulous. It suits this man. It fits his build, his size, his strength, his skill. Everything about him is bigger than average, and thank the Lord, that includes his dick.

  I run my hand up and down the length of him as he accelerates. Touching him like this sends a deliciously dirty thrill through me.

  He groans, gripping the wheel harder as I stroke. My thumb slides over the head, and I swipe off a drop of his arousal, then bring it to my mouth. Briefly, his eyes flick away from the freeway as I lick the taste of him off my thumb.

  “Oh fuck, that’s so fucking hot.”

  “You taste so good,” I say, and I fist his cock for the next several minutes while he drives as slowly as he can get away with. His jaw is tense, concentration etched in his eyes, as he tries to focus on the road even as I stroke his dick. As I lower my hand to cup his balls, he hisses. Then, before I know it, he switches lanes, hopping right, then right once more. A determined man, he pulls onto the exit ramp, speeds down it, brakes right into a 7-Eleven parking lot, and cuts the engine.

  He turns his face to me. His eyes are dark, shining with desire.

  But I’m the first to speak. “Can I get you off like this? Just my hand?”

  “Why would you ask now? You were halfway there on the freeway, honey. Time to get this one all the way downfield.” He opens his pants more, pushing them lower, and gives me full access to his beautiful cock. I grip him tighter, pumping and tugging on his shaft, and he groans.

  And then he does the sexiest thing I’ve ever experienced when it comes to hand jobs.

  He threads a hand in my hair and whispers against my lips, “Kiss me hard. I
want to come while you’re kissing me.”

  Electricity flares in me. Spreads through every vein. Kissing while coming might be the hottest request ever. My body agrees, since I’ve never been wetter.

  Which I realize is quite convenient since hand jobs require lubrication. Fortunately, I’ve got the best kind of lube. The all-natural variety. As I kiss him hard, I dip my hand between my legs, bring some of my own wetness to my fingertips, and return my wet hand to his cock. He moans in my mouth when he realizes what I’ve done.

  “Your hand is fucking magic,” he says, and then I grip harder, my palm flying up and down his length, slick with my own orgasm, until he’s thrusting hard, fucking my hand, and kissing my lips like he’s going to devour me. He bites down, and groans long and loud. When he releases my lips, he groans against my mouth, “Gonna come.”

  But there’s no need to get his beautiful pants messy or his gorgeous car. Nor my hand for that matter. In an instant, I take him in my mouth as he comes, wrapping my lips tight around him. He grunts and grabs my hair, rocking up into my mouth, and the combination of his noises and thrusts is so fucking sexy that I swear I almost come again just from him climaxing. He pulses in my mouth, his dick hot and throbbing, and I can’t help but think how amazing it would be to feel him move inside me.

  When I release him from my mouth, he cups my cheek, looks in my eyes, and says, “Why the fuck are there unwritten rules against this?”

  I can’t help but smile. “You’re supposed to like rules. Isn’t that what your job is? That’s what the game is. Rules.”

  “And finding a way to get around them. As you should know, Miss Lawyer. Isn’t that what your job is?”

  “Touché,” I say with a small smile.

  Then he presses a tender kiss to my lips. “Stupid rules,” he mumbles when he breaks the kiss.

  “But we have to follow them,” I say softly, my voice a little sadder than I expected. “It’s too risky. I just don’t want to be the person who brings more scandalous attention. The front-office personnel dallying with the new star player. I’m sure the press would find a million ways to make this look like the next Chuck-and-Bambi. They’d probably have a field day with the fact that I’m older than you.”