by A. Rivers
I’m on his side now though, and this story is writing itself in my head. I take my phone into the ladies’ restroom and call one of my contacts at Sports Daily, a magazine-style website.
“Hi, Aiden,” I say when he picks up.
“Hey, Lee. What’s going on?”
“I need a favor, but it’ll be worth your while.”
He laughs, the sound rich and deep. Girls go nuts over Aiden, and I get the attraction, but I’ve never seen him that way myself. “Anything that comes from the golden girl of sports PR is going to be worth my while. What are we talking about here?”
“I want a premium feature. Not for tomorrow, but perhaps the next day. As soon as you can fit me in.”
He whistles, and I hear him shuffling papers in the background. “Which bad boy are we going to be spotlighting?”
I love the way he assumes I’ve got the goods, but not his assumption that it’s a bad boy. I know I’ve become the girl with the magic touch as far as spoiled players go, but there are other things I’d much rather be known as.
“Jase Rawlins,” I tell him.
“Oh, nice.” The cogs are whirring in his brain. He knows anything with Jase will be controversial right now, and controversy sells. “Keep talking.”
“I’m working on a piece. It isn’t finished yet, but I can have it to you tomorrow. It comes with man candy action shots, and the real winner—one of him coaching disadvantaged kids.”
Aiden thinks for a moment. “I like it. Get it to me by twelve tomorrow, and the spot is yours. Provided, of course, that you come up with the publicity gold I think you will.”
“Have I ever let you down, Aids?”
“Don’t get cocky, Lee, there’s a first time for everything.”
“Kisses, bye.” I hang up before he has a chance to ask me on a date, as he invariably does. He’s a nice guy, but he just doesn’t do it for me. And honestly, I don’t think I’m his type either, which is probably why he persists in asking. He knows I’ll always say no.
Heading back to the main room, I pocket my phone and claim a chair in the corner, far enough away from anyone else that no one talks to me. I grab my notebook and start bullet-pointing ideas for the article. Every now and then, I glance up to check the action, and to get my fill of Jase. A smile is permanently stamped on his face, and he’s glistening with a sheen of sweat. I can’t get enough of the way his muscles move as he demonstrates kicks, punches, and rolls. They’re bulging and lean and fucking glorious.
When the class finishes, he waits for the kids to leave, speaking to a few of them as they pack up, then he makes his way to me, wearing a heart-stoppingly sexy grin. I flutter on the inside.
“So?” he asks, flopping into the chair beside me. “What do you think?”
“This is amazing,” I reply honestly. “I can’t believe you do this.”
He slants a look at me. “Because I’m just a dumb jock?”
I roll my eyes and laugh. “I’m a bit judgey sometimes, sorry. If you’d had the same experiences I’ve had, you’d probably be the same.”
He straightens, suddenly alert, his eyes narrow. His intensity sends a shiver down my spine. “Like what?”
“Nothing. Don’t worry, that’s not the point.” I wave my notepad at him. “This is pure awesomeness and I’ve got a contact who can get you a feature on Sports Daily in two days’ time.”
The grin is back. “Seriously?”
“One hundred percent.”
“And I get to check what you write first?” he confirms.
“Nothing goes in that you’re not comfortable with.”
He holds up a palm and I high five it, not worrying for once about how sweaty he is. “Thanks, Lena.”
“No problem.” I lean forward. “Seriously, it’s so great what you’re doing here. How did you get started?”
He glances over at the center manager. “We’re getting the eyeball. Why don’t you come to my office so the next group can use the room?”
I get to my feet and follow him into the hall, my eyes dropping to his firm butt as we walk. “You have an office?”
“Nah, they just let me use it while I’m here.” He holds open a door and waits for me to enter. I feel his gaze on my ass as I pass by and wonder if this is payback for ogling him. “Have a seat.”
“There’s only one,” I point out.
He paces inside and closes the door. The snick of the latch gives me all kinds of crazy ideas about what I’d like to do to him now that we finally have privacy. Not that I should. Nothing has changed from yesterday. He’s still my client, and I need to keep a professional distance. But if I’m completely truthful with myself, seeing him with those kids eased my mind with regards to my other concern—the one about him being violent. Anyone who can be so gentle with a four-year-old girl is surely not a vicious person, regardless of his line of work.
“If I sit now, I’ll seize up,” he says. “Need to keep moving for a while.”
Folding myself into the chair behind a pockmarked desk, I watch him wear a path on the floor, back and forth. “So, tell me the story.”
Still pacing, he catches my eye, then breaks off the contact as he turns. “Like I told you yesterday, I grew up in foster care and moved around a lot, especially as a teenager. Fifteen-year-old boys with a chip on their shoulder aren’t at the top of foster parents’ wish lists.”
He spins on his heel, his gaze burning into mine, and prickles of lust shoot south at the same time as my heart aches for him. How must it have felt to be cast aside? To know nobody wanted you? Even if my parents have never been what you might call traditionally loving, I never doubted they wanted me. I don’t say anything, letting him continue at his own speed.
“The MMA gym one of my foster fathers ran was the first place I belonged. I had a lot of anger, and I worked it out on those mats. The guys were really accepting. I can’t have been easy to get along with, but they made room for me. Even when I had to move on, I kept going back. Then, when I moved again, I found a new MMA gym.”
“It sounds like MMA is important to you,” I say softly.
He nods, coming over to me and drawing me to my feet. “It’s my religion. The thing that gives me direction, purpose, and a sense of things being all right. That’s why I started doing this. I wanted to give these kids that same experience.” He swallows, the cords of his throat moving, and those gray eyes of his are hot but full of pain at the same time. “If I can do that for even one of them, then I’ve succeeded.”
I can’t believe this guy is the same one who sat opposite me in my office three days ago, giving me lip. I was blind not to see the depth he has. And while my heart thumps erratically, yearning to remove the shadows of his past, my body craves him. I want to take him in my arms and soothe his wounded soul. I want to kiss him, to smooth my hands over the planes and dips of his muscles and tug him closer. But most of all, I want him to fill the empty, throbbing part of me that wakes up every time he’s around.
You can’t, Lena.
Jase’s hands land on my shoulders, and he brushes my hair back, his thumbs sliding over the sensitized skin of my neck. He’s studying me like I’m a math problem he needs to solve, and then slowly, agonizingly, his lips claim mine and lay waste to my good intentions.
10
Jase
The way Lena looks at me like she’s seeing something beautiful is too damn much. I can’t take it. I have to kiss her, and once I’ve stolen a taste, I want more. My tongue plunges deeper into her mouth and I haul her fully into my arms. She slings a leg over one of my hips, and I grab fistfuls of her butt as she wraps those legs around my waist, her skirt riding up to reveal thighs that are milky against the tan of my arms.
Fuck, she’s sexy. My arms are full of warm, willing Lena. She’s attacking my mouth with the same vigor I did hers a moment ago, and I can’t think of anything better. I dig my fingers into the flesh of her ass and she moans, the vibrations tickling my lips.
Warning sirens a
re blaring in my head. I have a fight in less than two weeks, and my rule is never to fuck around at a time like this. The trouble is, whatever I’m doing with Lena—which feels damn good, by the way—isn’t just fucking around. It’s something real. Tonight she’s made me feel good about myself in a way no other woman has, and it’s got nothing to do with the number of belts I’ve won, or the size of my dick. She honest-to-God cares about Jase Rawlins—the man, rather than the champion.
Her tongue tangles with mine and she grips my shirt and jerks it, a growl of frustration coming from the back of her throat. Despite myself, I laugh. She sounds like a grumpy kitten, and it’s the cutest thing I’ve ever heard.
She swats me. Her lips are pouty, her lipstick smeared, eyes slumberous. “Don’t laugh at me, Rawlins.”
Reluctantly, I ease back and lower her to the ground. She slides down my body, and the friction has me hard enough to hammer nails. When I gasp, her eyes light up. She rubs herself over me again, and I grit my teeth, breath hissing between them.
“Lena,” I pant. “Slow down.”
Her palms rest flat on my chest, over my heart, and hell if I don’t love the sensation. “Don’t wanna.”
“Look.” I step back, creating a few inches of space. “There’s clearly something going on between us, but if we’re going to do anything about it, our first time shouldn’t be in a crappy office with people down the hall.” Though if she keeps looking at me like that, it just might be.
Lena licks her lips. “Fair point,” she says, and although she’s agreeing with me, my dick droops in disappointment. “Why don’t we take this to my place?”
And it perks right up again, the horny fucker. “You mean it?”
Those pouty lips fashion themselves into a smile. “Yeah, I do. I shouldn’t, but I can’t seem to help myself when it comes to you.”
Hell, I’m not a saint, and I’m not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Screw the rules. I drop my shoulder and toss her over it. “Where’d you park?”
Squealing, she thumps my back. “Put me down!”
“Not gonna happen.”
I pick up her purse and carry her fireman-style through the center and out to the parking lot. I took an Uber earlier because I don’t like to show up in my expensive ride and flaunt my wealth in everyone’s faces. I spot her ridiculous car and head toward it. Gently, I lower her onto the hood and stand between her knees, cupping her face to kiss her. She nips my lip, and I laugh.
“Guess I deserved that.”
“More than that, asshole.” But there’s no heat in her words.
“Give me your keys.”
Her lips form a mutinous line. “It’s my car, so I’ll drive.”
I’ll admit, I’m not above slipping my hand up her skirt to cup her pussy, which has soaked her underwear and radiates heat. I touch her lightly. Teasingly. Her eyes darken.
“Are you prepared to break land speed records to get there?” I ask.
She digs into her purse and hands me her keys. I unlock the driver’s door and she primly tugs her skirt down and stalks around to the passenger side, shooting me glares. If I hadn’t had my hand on her just seconds ago, I’d think she wanted to do me damage, but her body doesn’t lie. She craves me, just as I crave her.
True to my word, I follow her directions and arrive at her apartment building in record time. I park in the basement and she leads me to an elevator, then presses the button for the third floor. While the elevator travels upward, I wrap my arms around her from behind, drawing her into the shelter of my body. Her ass curves into my eager cock, and I pepper kisses along the length of her neck. She sighs, and relaxes into me, her eyes fluttering closed.
Fuck, she’s beautiful. And so freaking trusting. From here, there are so many ways I could hurt her, but she’s totally at ease in my arms, and something deep in my chest squeezes. I vow, from this minute on, that I won’t let anyone do wrong to this woman. I may have only known her for a few days, but somehow she’s wormed her way into my soul. She’s mine to protect. Mine to possess. And, if I have my way, mine to fuck. Only mine.
Finally, the elevator doors open, and I release Lena for long enough to drape my arm around her shoulders while she takes me to her apartment. She stops outside number 311 and pauses, key in the lock, then turns to look up at me.
“It’s nothing fancy,” she says, her expression uncharacteristically shy.
“Don’t care.” Mostly, I’m just charmed she invited me back to her place rather than trying to wrangle an invitation to mine. Her fingers fumble with the key, then she pushes the door open and enters, waiting for me to follow.
The apartment is small and well-kept. The door opens onto a living area with a couch at one end, a small coffee table in front, and a two-person dining table to the side. Behind the table is a kitchenette, and near the couch is a closed door that I assume leads to either her bedroom or the bathroom. She doesn’t own much—the place has a spartan feel about it—but there are potted plants on the table and kitchen counter. She catches me looking at them.
“They’re succulents.” Her lips twist wryly. “The only thing I can keep alive.”
“Except yourself,” I offer.
She laughs. “True. But like I said, nothing fancy.”
She seems to need reassurance, so I pull her against my side, bury my face in her hair, and murmur, “It’s cute, just like you.”
11
Lena
At this point, my courage is fading fast. I haven’t had a man in my apartment in ages. Especially not one like Jase, who could buy and sell it without even blinking, while I barely manage to make rent some weeks. I never brought Karson here. He always insisted on me visiting his place because it’s literally a mansion—his favorite things are living in luxury, and showing off. But Jase doesn’t seem to mind. His lips touch my forehead, and the gesture is so damn sweet I almost tear up.
“My bedroom is through here.” Taking his hand, I tug him toward the door beside the sofa before I have time for second thoughts. The walls are painted cream, the bedspread is pale blue—the same color as my eyes—and I only have one set of drawers and a closet, which is packed full of the outfits and the jewelry I took when I left home.
A connecting door leads to the attached bathroom, where I store my makeup and cosmetics, but Jase doesn’t need to see that, so I close it before he has time to peek. A pair of large, strong hands land on my shoulders, and his thumbs knead the tension from between my shoulder blades.
I moan. “Oh, my God. That’s so good.” I lean into his ministrations. “Don’t stop.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” His voice is husky and low, and reminds me of exactly why I invited him back here. I want this man to break my dry spell. I want the impressive erection I felt earlier sliding inside me. The sooner, the better. Before I start questioning my choices.
His clever thumbs continue working the tension from my back and shoulders, relaxing me bit by bit. He digs into a particularly tight knot and I whimper. He stiffens against me, his hands slipping, then recovers and dips his mouth near my ear.
“You make the hottest sounds.”
If I didn’t love the way he’s touching me, I’d be mortified. Instead I push closer and brush my ass into the front of his shorts, feeling once again how much he wants me.
“If you take off your shirt, I can make you feel even better,” he murmurs, his voice silky and so tempting it should be illegal.
Grabbing the hem of my blouse, I yank it over my head, then with a flick of my fingers, I dispose of my bra and present my bare back to him. Somehow, the fact I can’t see him only makes it more erotic when I hear his quick intake of breath and feel the quiver of his fingers before he resumes the massage. His scent wafts over me. Deep heat and earthiness that’s so masculine I can’t stand it. Turning, I burrow my face into his chest, inhaling the wonderful manliness of him.
Instantly, his hands go to my tits, curving around them. Shivering, I rock into his lower body, a
nd at the same time, whip his shirt up so I can taste the skin of his chest. He releases me and wrestles the shirt off, then gathers my breasts in his palms and drops his head to lick them. The tip of his tongue flicks my nipple, then the flat of it glides over, soothing.
“Oh. God.” My knees quake. Clutching his head, I keep him there, forgetting my mission to explore his own naked chest, but that doesn’t stop me from appreciating as much as I can see of it. Dark hair dusts him, enough to be noticeable, but not enough to be considered a pelt. The tattoos I’ve previously admired extend from his arms across his pecs, leaving a narrow strip of virgin skin down the center. In the future, I fully intend to trace the edge of his ink with my mouth. I’ll never get enough of him. He’s addictive as a double-whip mocha with hazelnut syrup.
His rough hands smooth down my stomach and into the waistband of my skirt, pushing it down. I slip it off, and then I’m standing in front of him in heels, the lacy scrap of my panties, and nothing else. He eyes me greedily, exactly like a virile alpha male who’s denied himself pleasure for far too long. Which, you know, he is.
“Holy fuck,” he mutters, his attention snagged on my underwear. “I can’t wait to tear that off and make you scream.” He shakes his head. “You call those panties? That’s a fucking wet dream right there.”
“It’s wet all right,” I reply, without thinking the words through.
His slate eyes shoot to mine, and darken impossibly further. “You want me, baby?”
I nod, biting my lip to keep from sharing the details of yesterday’s vibrator session with him. “Are you hard for me?”
It’s a rhetorical question. The evidence is irrefutable, his shorts tented dramatically, but if I have to acknowledge my state, I want him to, too.