The door bursts open and I hear his voice before his head pops around the corner. “Hey, you still up? I was thinking –”
I yelp and Maxwell stands frozen. He stares down at my pussy peeking out at him from under the hem of my tank top. I bolt upright in the bed, pulling fistfuls of the blankets over my exposed body.
“Haven’t you ever heard of knocking?” I yell as I shoot daggers his way. “What is your problem?”
He talks quickly, backing up as he speaks. “Fuck, I’m sorry. Shit. I really didn’t mean to. Sorry. I—”
I jump out of bed and storm over to him. With both hands, I give him my best push (which is pretty pathetic since he’s all muscle and horsepower). “Get out of here!” I screech as he continues to apologize, stumbling out of the room. I swing the door shut and stand there for a long moment, a million sensations zipping through my body. There’s anger and mortification. Plus, the frustration of having missed that damn orgasm. And the sadomasochistic part of me that kind of wants to laugh at the whole situation.
I throw myself dramatically onto the bed, wishing the mattress would just swallow me up and I’d never have to face Maxwell again. Was that man raised by wolves? Can’t he understand the concept of knocking before entering? What the fuck?
I slide back into my panties and tank. Then, I rummage around in my carryon for a pair of pajama bottoms or some yoga pants but come up empty-handed. Most of my clothes are in my checked luggage. My checked luggage that’s still in the possession of the airline.
Ugh! My life is a mess.
I’m a mess. And instead of trying to fix it, I’m here fawning over some hot football player and masturbating – or at least trying to – every chance I get.
What the hell is wrong with me?
I pad over to the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the quiet streets of downtown Henderson and softly bang my head against the glass repeatedly. These past few days have been one epic fail after another for me.
First thing in the morning, I’ve got to start making calls. I need to call the airline about retrieving my luggage, call the DMV about replacing my lost driver’s license, call the bank about my lost debit cards. Then, as soon as brunch is over, I’m getting on a bus back to Reyfield. I need to get myself together and stop making a fool of myself in front of Maxwell Masters.
I startle when I hear a light tap at the door. “Faith?”
Tingling warmth rushes through my limbs and tense energy floods my stomach. “Go away, Maxwell.”
I'm going to have to dig a tunnel or something if I ever want to leave this room. Or maybe cut a hole in the floor-to-ceiling window and scale the side of the building like Spiderman. I peer down at the street below. We're on the sixth floor. I’m sure I can scale six stories. No biggie. It’s certainly easier than having to face him again.
“Faith, I’m coming in,” he says matter-of-factly, ignoring my feeble protests. I hear his footsteps as the door swings open. I can’t look him in the eye. I just keep my forehead pressed to the window and my gaze riveted to the quiet city below.
My shoulders tense when I feel him come up behind me. His heat penetrates my skin and his heart pounds hard enough to shake me to my bones. He presses me into the glass pane with the pressure of his shirtless torso. His hands find mine and our fingers intertwine.
“What are you doing?” I ask breathlessly as he slowly moves our hands to the glass above my head and pins them there.
“Finishing what we started…” His respirations are shallow and labored. The scent of peppermint and his musky body wash fills my lungs. My skin breaks out into goosebumps when he lowers his face so that his mouth hovers close to my ear. "Give the dildo and the dating apps a break tonight, Doll Face. Let me show you what a real man can do for you." His lips trail along my cheekbone and I shiver all over.
I want that so much. I want everything this arrogant player is offering me. I'm panting. I'm so turned on but at the same time, I’m pissed off that his body has so much control over mine. "Asshole," I mutter, my lips grazing the cool glass and fogging up the space in front of me.
I feel the cocky smirk lift the sides of his mouth before his lips find the sensitive spot behind my ear. He presses his mouth right there as one of his hands falls to my thigh, skimming lightly across my over-sensitive flesh.
Then, his mouth presses hotly to the curve of my neck. “You smell so fucking good," he mutters, "I'm sure you taste like heaven." I breathe in through my mouth just as he dips his head, his nose grazing my flesh. His humid breath skirts my skin and I feel the tiny hairs stand at attention.
“Go ahead. Taste me,” I moan on an exhale. My voice is so thick and needy that it doesn’t even sound like my own.
Maxwell sucks softly at my neck now as his fingers trail my slit through the soiled fabric of my panties. “I’ll give you what you want, Faith. What your body wants.” His erection flexes against the small of my back. “You want to be fucked. So hard.” His fingers play at the lace edge of my panties. He’s teasing me so good.
I nod my head. I want this. I do.
His voice goes dangerously low. “Tell me that you want it, Faith. I want to hear you say it.”
I pull in a deep breath as my hips move back and forth, chasing the path of his fingertips. “I want this…” I murmur.
Maxwell quickly drops to his knees. “You have no idea what it does to me, hearing you say that.”
I sigh, aching with want. My mind is foggy with lust. Jeez, this man knows how to build anticipation.
His fingers hook on the elastic waistband of my panties and he tugs them down. I slowly step out of them with unsteady knees and widen my stance, giving him better access to my hungry pussy.
“Eager, little cunt,” Maxwell growls as he uses the fingers of one hand to spread my lips. “So hungry for me. So wet.” His filthy words push me that much closer to what is going to be a devastating orgasm. His other hand explores my thighs, my hips, my ass. Then, he places it low on my belly and presses, gently tilting my mound toward his face.
The moment I feel his puckered lips slide against my slit, it’s like the whole world stops. I cry out, pressing my cheek to the window. He kisses me again and again and my pussy coats his lips with my liquid desire.
His tongue finally darts out and touches me, soft and tentative. My hips rock back frantically in search of his mouth. He grips my waist, positioning my pussy for easy access. His tongue rolls through my folds now, greedier with each stroke. I’m trembling, keening, humping the fuck out of his mouth. I can tell that he loves it. He groans and kisses and touches me. He moves faster, pressing his tongue harder. His finger manipulates my clit, rolling and rubbing it.
And now, something is building in my pussy. The muscles clench deliciously and my hips rock faster, hungry for contact.
“You’re gonna come for me, Doll Face,” he whispers into my flesh. “You’re gonna come on my tongue and make my dick ache to be inside your cunt.”
A helpless sound leaves my lips. I reach back and try to grab at his short hair as I pump my pussy against his mouth. I’m out of control now. I’m reckless. I’m coming. Hard and fast.
He doesn’t let me off easy. He uses his mouth to pull every drop of pleasure out of me and when I go limp against the window, he’s right there to catch me, to pull my body against his.
He moves me to the bed and hovers over me, his eyes trained on my mouth. His fingers trail down my cheek. I feel so beautiful right now. It’s the way he’s looking at me like I’m some wild and endangered creature that he’s got to handle with care. "Let me kiss you, Faith," he growls. I whimper, offering myself up to him as his face lowers slowly to mine.
I feel fire zinging through my limbs as his lips sweep across my own. He groans low as he coaxes my mouth open with a deft slide of his tongue. I reach up and grab the sides of his face, pulling him closer. Our tongues thrash wildly against each other and his mouth is warm with notes of whiskey and mint. My hands slide around his back and my fing
ers sink into his flesh. I want him close. Closer than close.
He pulls away for breath and his forehead rests against mine. I can almost feel his grin in the dark, I can hear it on his breath. “You kiss like you’re starving, Faith Monroe.”
I guess I am.
I have been starving. I’ve been starving for a man’s hands on my body. I’ve been starving for the inexplicable, primal pull that draws two bodies together even when, rationally, it might not be such a good idea. It’s why I flew across the country to meet a man I didn’t know. I’ve been starving to connect, even if it’s just for a little while, even if it means nothing in the long run. I’ve been starving for a moment like this.
But I can’t say that to a man like Maxwell. He wants to fuck me. He wants to find release in my throbbing body. He wants to be the reason that my toes curl and my limbs convulse tonight. And I’m going to let him.
“You got a condom?” I ask instead.
He nods. “Uh-huh.” He reaches into the pocket of the sweatpants he’s wearing and produces a small, crinkly foil packet.
I can’t help but laugh. “Wow – you came prepared!”
“Aren’t you glad?” he says as he deposit kisses across my collarbone, “Let’s be honest; you’ve wanted to fuck me from the moment you saw me.”
I try to scoff but I end up moaning instead as he pulls one taut nipple between his teeth and massages the other between two agile fingers.
“It’s okay,” he says softly against the swell of my breast. “I wanted to fuck you from that first moment, too.” His free hand finds its way to my clit and his fingers play in my slick folds. I grind my hips, augmenting the sensation.
“Do it…” I whisper hoarsely.
Maxwell eases off of me to slide his pants down his powerful, muscular legs. His long, thick cock hangs stiffly between his legs. My mouth waters at the mere sight of it. He sheathes himself hurriedly. Just as he positions his massive erection at my opening, he leans down and kisses me again. It’s softer this time. It’s soothing. It’s exactly what I need to pacify the beautiful burn of his cock dipping slowly into me.
“Fuck!” he hisses through gritted teeth. “I didn’t know you’d be so tight. I, oh fuck, I didn’t know you’d feel so good.”
My hands smooth over his shoulders, down his back and I cup his ass in my palms, willing him deeper inside of me. I whimper as his pace begins to increase. He rocks into me, finding a sensual rhythm. I claw at the sheets, biting on my lip to control my need to scream.
He seamlessly flips me onto my stomach and pulls my ass back toward him so that I’m on my knees with my face in the pillows. And now, I’m moaning his name, my eyes fluttering shut as he pounds me. I like it like this. I like his roughness. I like the urgency in his thrusts. I like that it’s my body making him lose control. It’s my pussy that has him pulling my hair and grabbing handfuls of my ass.
He may be a player, he may be a womanizer. But that doesn’t matter. Not right now. In this moment, all I care about is the tension growing at my core, the pleasure shooting through my veins, the tremor shaking me to my bones.
“That’s right, Faith,” he whispers in a strained tone. “Come for me, baby. Come on my cock.”
Curse words pour out of my mouth. One hand moves to my hair and I pull on my strands. Maxwell’s palm is flat against my belly as he urges my body into his. He holds me tight to his chest and tips my chin to kiss me, swallowing my moans as the climax overpowers me. And now, he’s coming, too, his arms fastened around me, his breath tickling my skin. He groans my name and his body shudders as he finds release.
When he collapses to the bed, he brings me down with him and we crash into a heap on the mattress. We lay immobile for a moment as our heartbeats slow.
Before long, he slides his arm out from under me and settles on his back. I roll away from him, creating space between us because I don’t want to come across as some crazy, clingy chick. Having his arms around me feels good but I won’t sacrifice my dignity just for a cuddle.
“How did that feel?” Maxwell whispers in a voice still raspy with sex. Moonlight shines into the window, illuminating his face. He looks over at me, those glimmering blue eyes staring into the shadowy depths of my pervy, bean-flicking soul.
“Good.”
But that’s an understatement.
It was so good. So good I almost want to thank him. I want to write an open letter and have it printed in the newspaper, telling all of Henderson about the wicked footballer who owned my body right here in the Marlow Suite of the Henderson Jewel Inn.
But you can’t say something like that to a cocky jerk like Maxwell Masters.
"Good?” he looks at me with a hitched brow and a knowing smile. “Admit it, Doll Face. That was the best sex you've ever had."
I hate that he’s right. My sex life up to this point has been subpar at best. But he doesn’t need to know that.
I roll my eyes in the dark, wrapping the sheets around my naked body and leaving him to face the cold. “Get over yourself, Masters.”
He chuckles in that smug way of his but he doesn’t push the issue. Within minutes, his deep, peaceful breathing fills the room.
Chapter 9
Maxwell
Waking up next to a woman I hardly know is nothing new to me.
Waking up with my arms wrapped around said woman’s stomach, my bare legs intertwined with hers, her ass spooned against my morning wood? Now, that’s something I’ve never ever done before.
But I’ve got to admit, it felt freaking awesome. And when I opened my eyes this morning and found Faith naked and tangled in the sheets next to me, I didn’t immediately bolt out of the bed to get as far away from the situation as possible. Instead, I stayed there for a while and watched her sleeping serenely in the soft morning light. I listened to her light breathing. I stole lungfuls of her sweet skin.
Waking up next to her felt…easy.
I’m the type of man who prefers to fuck a woman on her own territory, be it a mansion in the Hollywood hills, a villa on Laguna Beach, or even a cramped studio in South Central shared with nosey roommates. I like to maintain sufficient distance between myself and the women I have sex with. On the rare occasion that I meet some drifter chick who’s just too hot to pass up, I usually whisk her out of town – chicks dig out-of-town sex. They think it’s romantic – or if we absolutely have to fuck at my place, we do it in the shower or on the couch or pressed up against the full-length windows overlooking the city.
My bed is off-limits.
Why do I have such strict boundaries? Firstly, I’m a professional athlete and I don’t want to encourage clingy behavior because that’s how stalkers are born. Secondly, I don’t want anyone getting too comfortable in my world. I’ve seen firsthand the destruction that comes about when people try to do the whole ‘serious relationship’ thing. I have countless friends in the league who are footing the bill for women they will never get to fuck again (alimony is a bitch!). Then, there’s my mom – she dedicated her life to my dead-beat father and he left her broke and destitute with two kids so that he could run off with his secretary. And my brother, Keeland? My hero, Keeland? He served three years in jail because he fell for the wrong woman.
I am not looking to repeat any of those mistakes. I am not looking for love.
I temporarily dropped my guard last night and found myself twisted in the sheets with Faith this morning, but that won’t happen again.
A sudden outburst of cheering yanks me back into the present. The crowd roars loudly as Faith holds the hem of her long dress and twirls around in the center of the dance floor, her blonde hair cascading into her face. Laureto chortles as he shakes his hips and shimmies closer to her. He tries to put his hands on her waist but she backs away, playfully wagging her index in his face. The old jerk-off just grins and goes for her again.
And who can blame him? This girl is irresistible. Beautiful, free-spirited and fun.
A presence creeps up on me from behind.
“You and your fiancée sure know how to crash a party, huh Masters?”
I feel irritation bubbling up into my chest before I’ve even turned around to face Oscar. Still, I offer him a tight grin. “We just didn’t want to be left out of the festivities,” I tell him.
His eyes travel back to Faith who’s still dancing up a storm and trying to stay clear of Laureto’s gropey hands. “She seems like quite the firecracker,” he observes.
I shrug. “She’s got personality.” A genuine smile rises to my lips as I watch her swirling around to the beat, not caring who’s looking at her.
“She may have ‘personality’,” Oscar says venomously, drawing quotes around the word, “but from what I hear, she has no couth.”
Dirty Player (The Dirty Suburbs Book 2) Page 7