by Lynn Shurr
Stacy went down the flight of stairs and peered through the peephole but whoever it was stood to one side. Cautiously, she opened the door a crack, and Prince Dobbs had his big foot in the opening that fast. Yeah, everyone said he was quick. She maintained what pressure she could on that foot. Maybe fear of having it injured would stave him off.
“Hey, baby. The Prince come to take you out on the town.”
“Like I said, long day, too tired.” She started to say maybe another time but stopped herself. This should end right now. She’d known Prince since childhood. He came from a nice family who’d spoiled him rotten, but she didn’t consider him any real danger. Not to her, but maybe to Dean if she didn’t straighten things out. “Come in. We need to talk.”
He dogged her steps walking way too close going up the stairs. “You sure ain’t dressed to go out, but on the other hand you do look ready for bed.”
That made her glad she’d kept her underwear on when changing into something comfortable. Stacy led him into the kitchen and away from the more comfortable sofa. “I was getting ready to eat when you buzzed. Can I get you something?”
“None of this crap.” He dumped her meal into the sink and lounged against the counter. “But I do see something else I’d like to take a bite out of. Let’s send out for something better before we get down to it. Or you can put on a slinky dress, and we’ll go over to the Prince’s Palace. You never seen my place. It’s baaad, babe.”
“Prince, we’ve known each other for years and years. Our families are friends, right? You know how Dean and I bicker. Last night at Mariah’s I was only trying to get to him by flirting with you. He’s so contained. I wanted him to blow up for once.” Not the entire truth but close enough and a good enough explanation for Prince.
“He blew up all right. He give me this.” Prince pointed to a bruised cheek she assumed he’d gotten in practice.
“Oh, I’m so sorry that happened. Would you like an ice pack?” A little sympathy might cool him down.
“I’ve had all the ice I want today. Now, I’m ready for something hot. Go put on something pretty. We going out.”
“I think I just explained that I have no intention of dating you.”
“You saying you a tease, Stacy Polasky? No one makes a fool out of the Prince. The Prince knows how to make a tease pay up.”
He reached to grab her arm, but Stacy leapt out of his reach. Maybe doing Pilates did pay off along with courses in basic psychology that Aunt Nell said would be invaluable to her. “You know, I do owe you at least one date. Let me get all dressed up nice for you. Maybe we could have a drink at Mariah’s and dance a little. I’ll go upstairs and get ready.”
Dean and Tom might be at the club to protect her and if not them, then any of the older team members who’d known her for years, only most of them were family men probably at home tonight. Failing that, she could depend on Mariah and her bouncers. She literally bounded up those steps to her bedroom. Another option, lock herself in and call the cops, but she heard the heavy thud of Prince’s footsteps right behind her, and damn, her phone lay on the kitchen table. He’d be entirely capable of kicking in her door. She grasped the red scarf on the night table and threw it over the top of the shade. No telling if Dean had stayed home tonight, but she’d let no chance go by to escape. Meanwhile, she was on her own.
“No, babe, we ain’t going to Mariah’s.”
Before she could turn, Prince shoved his arms under hers and clutched her breasts hard enough to bruise. His crotch pressed against her behind. She froze. Then, the words of her self-defense instructor came barking back to her. A Brit, the female teacher said, “Women have big bums for only three reasons—to attract a mate and give birth easily and to use in order to distant one’s self from an attacker who comes from behind. Thrust out those bums, ladies. Push him away. If you still can’t escape, stomp hard on his instep. Thrust! Stomp!”
Glad for the first time she didn’t have Ilsa’s narrow hips, Stacy bent and shoved. Prince’s fast hands slipped from her breasts, but he hardly retreated. Not a small woman, she put all her force into the stomp and dearly wished she hadn’t changed to soft-soled shoes. Still, that must have hurt because Prince doubled over. Outside the window, brakes squealed and horns blared as if applauding her effort. She tried to move around him, but as an athlete used to playing through pain he recovered quickly, grasped her arm and gave her a backhand blow across the cheek.
“Stupid bitch, you’ll pay double now! I’ll do you front and back.”
He threw her on the bed so very easily. She bunched her knees to kick him away. Most of her life she’d been around football players, and all had treated her well. She’d forgotten how strong and fierce the professionals could be on the field. Prince simply jumped on top of her like three tackles coming down hard and forced a muscular thigh between her legs. She had only a second to rake her nails across his face before he shackled her wrists in an unbreakable grip above her head. He used his other hand to work his fly open. Next, he’d have to remove her panties. She might have a chance at another kick, but he kept all of his weight on top of her and probed into the side of those simple cotton bikinis with something other than his hand.
“Relax and enjoy the Prince,” her assailant advised in a silky and satisfied voice.
She would not! Stacy bucked as hard as she could and made no progress at unseating him, but at least she put off penetration. She closed her eyes unable to bear the sight of Prince with the bloody scratches on his face leering at her helpless and unable to stop him in any way. The pressure on her body lightened slightly.
Stacy opened her eyes. There stood Dean with a hand in Prince’s collar and another on his belt. He heaved, and the weight crushing her into the mattress lifted entirely. His arm, mighty from all those forward passes, wrapped about her assailant’s neck in a chokehold that would have been illegal on the playing field. The wide receiver’s long, tumescent penis deflated and sagged to one side as his arms tried to rip Dean away, but he found no purchase on Stacy’s hardwood floors. Dragging Prince backwards, Dean hauled him to the head of the stairs and kicked him a good one in the backside. His opponent did a header down the steps. Stacy arrived in time to see a handful of his weave catch on a nail she’d been meaning to hammer down. A few of the strands tore free along with a little bit of scalp.
The momentum of the fall sent Prince tumbling down the second flight, but he managed to twist his body to take it feet first before ramming into the door. Pulling himself up by the banister, he shouted at Dean who had put an arm around Stacy. “If she cries rape, I’ll ruin you and your pasty-faced cousin, Billodeaux. She wanted me. You hear?”
“I hear you’re delusional, Prince. Get out before we call the cops.”
Leaning heavily on the doorknob, Prince answered. “You won’t do that because it will hurt the team. Go fuck yourself, Dean.” He hobbled into the night.
Dean turned to Stacy, and she buried herself against his chest, not crying, simply shaking. Just where she’d always wanted to be, but not like this. “I thought I could handle him. I was so stupid. Dean, tonight you really were my hero, cheesy and trite as that sounds.”
Dean pressed his lips against the top of her head and ignored her hero comment. She waited for him to gloat a little, but no. “You, stupid—never. If I had your grades in school, I could have played for Harvard. Not that they ever have a very good football team. Sometimes we all need an assist, Stacy. Glad I could be here for you.” He laid another kiss gently on her forehead.
“You want me to do what’s good for the team like he said and keep this quiet, right?”
“Princess, you do what’s good for you.”
She thought of ugly stories in the tabloids adding tarnish to Dean’s pristine image, months of lawyers, and a possible trial. How many people had witnessed her fawning all over Prince Dobbs at Mariah’s Place? He’d say she invited him in, and she had. No rape occurred but only because Dean prevented it.
�
�I don’t know what to do right now. I want to take a shower. Would you stay while I do?
“I’ll stand guard.”
“Would you do one other thing for me? Take those braids outside and put them in the dumpster. They’re coiled on my steps like a bunch of snakes.”
“I will.”
****
Once the water began running in the shower, Dean collected the strands and headed for the dumpster. He encountered a pair of tourists in the mouth of the cul-de-sac, one of them talking frantically into a cell phone.
“Yes, that’s where we’re staying on our vacation. This big man with a bloody face came from out of nowhere and exposed himself to us. He took off in a fancy red sports car. No, we didn’t get the make or license number he went so fast. A description, I don’t know. What would you say, Minnie? Mixed-race, light-skinned, huge brute over six feet tall, close to two-hundred pounds I’d guess. He had—what do you call it?—a weave with blond streaks in it. I mean he could be dangerous.”
Evidently, Prince forgot to zip up before leaving. Dean kept moving toward the dumpster but thought better of it. He picked up a fast food bag lying on the ground, coiled the braids inside of it, and went back to speak to the couple who had finished giving their report.
“I’m sorry you had a bad experience in New Orleans. I don’t think the police will do much about it though. They have a lot on their hands and no one got hurt.”
“I can tell you this doesn’t happen back home,” the man said as he put away the phone and retrieved from the sidewalk a half-spilled container of fried seafood and dirty rice he surely didn’t need to take back to their room considering his weight and age.
“It most certainly does. Once at the public library—well, let’s just say I’ve seen one before,” the wife answered. “We’re Minnie and Carter Hicks of Sioux Falls, South Dakota.”
“Dean Billodeaux.” He shook the slightly greasy hand of the man and waited for the recognition to set in.
“The quarterback for the Sinners? Well, I’ll be. Would you sign this box?”
“Be happy to. Did either of you get a picture of this guy?” Dean asked as he scrawled his signature with a pen Minnie took from her handbag.
“No, too startled,” the man said.
“I did.” His wife held up her little pink phone. “It’s not very clear, he moved so fast.”
“Would you share it with me? If I see the guy around again, I’ll report him.”
The Hicks were delighted to share. What a story they’d carry back to Sioux Falls.
Chapter Thirteen
Dean left the small sack of braids at the very bottom of the stairs and returned to do whatever he could for Stacy. He settled into a little quilted chair upholstered in lavender brocade sitting in the corner of her bedroom, stretched out his long legs and waited. He gained some time to think. She came from the bathroom in the hallway with her golden hair pinned up and wearing a simple long, white sleeveless nightgown, not low-cut or particularly sexy but with little tucks fitting it to her body and bits of lace on the bottom and around the neckline. She’d removed her makeup, and a bruise purpled one cheek of her delicate white skin. Still, she looked as beautiful as a fairy tale princess.
Stacy walked barefooted to her bed and straightened the silver duvet until the imprints of Prince’s knees disappeared. “I want to erase every trace of him from this room and from my mind.”
“I’d like to help you do that, Stacy.” Dean rose and wrapped his arms around her. He kissed that bruise so carefully and moved to her plush lips, tasted them as he’d always wanted, licking across their surface but not attempting any entry. How soft they were. He smoothed her shoulders and rubbed her back lightly. One strap of the nightgown dropped and revealed the ugly blotches of Prince’s fingertips impressed into her breasts. He kissed each one wishing he could make them disappear altogether. Drawing the gown down a little farther, he suckled one pink nipple far more gently than a babe did its mother.
A thought dawned on him, the words about respecting a woman’s wishes. He raised his face to gaze into her eyes and noticed some signs of tears gathering there. “Do you want me to continue, Princess? I know it’s been an awful night for you.”
She bit her full lips, and that tugged at his heart. “If I didn’t want you to do this, I’d have kneed you in the groin by now, you big lout.”
“That’s my Stacy.” Very glad of her response because he grew heavy between his thighs, Dean kicked off his sockless loafers, scooped her up and carried her to the bed, laying her softly on the covers. He released her hair from the clip and indulged in one of his favorite fantasies regarding this woman, running his fingers through the blonde strands as they cascaded around her, spreading out those silky waves like a halo on the pillow and burying his face deep in the curls. “Smells so good,” he murmured.
“Lavender shampoo.” She tugged on the plain black T-shirt and made him raise his head to take it off.
In turn, he lowered her nightgown to her waist and rubbed his chest against those ample breasts, soft, soft, soft the only words he could use to describe them, except for her peaked nipples. As for himself, he’d turned hard, hard, hard below the waist. Stacy worked on his belt and zipper now, but he took her hand away. “Not yet.”
Instead, he removed the nightgown the rest of the way and soothed every inch of her naked body with his hands. His fingers came to rest in her cleft, and he stroked lightly, working that tiny nub at the top with his big thumb. She moaned and arched for him. “That’s my princess. Come for me.” Stacy had never obeyed him before, but she did now with moans and a tightening of her body that made him regret he hadn’t delved inside yet. He let the waves of her orgasm wane, still letting her decide if this went any farther.
To his great relief, she worked at his buckle again. He helped with the zipper and cast off the jeans he’d donned without briefs for a night at home with no plans to go anywhere. No place else he’d rather be now than here.
She cupped him and stroked his length, but that wouldn’t do for long. A man only had so much restraint. He glided inside her on the sea of moisture he’d created between her legs. Pumping slowly until he couldn’t hold back any more, he finally spent himself, but kept moving until Stacy took her pleasure again. When she lay still and panting, he removed his weight from her body, rolled to one side, and opened his arm for a cuddle. One good thing about having a reformed womanizer for a father is you did pick up some tips on how to please a woman.
****
Stacy lay listening to Dean’s heart thud in his chest, its steady rhythm lulling her. He’d covered them both to keep her from feeling chilly. No chance of that with the body heat he generated. Now, he dozed, but she didn’t care as long as she could stay here in his arms, toasty and protected.
The one thing she hadn’t expected from him was tenderness, and that nearly brought her to tears. She noted how careful he’d been to do nothing invasive until the end and then on her terms. He’d treated her like the princess so delicate she might feel a pea beneath the mattress and for now, that was lovely and perfect considering her earlier experience with Prince. Stacy pushed that thought away.
She’d learned about sex from Dr. Hugo Rivera who could certainly do a grand tour around woman’s body stopping off at all the best places. People might claim he’d taken advantage of her, but she knew better. Not wanting to learn with a fumbling college boy, she’d responded to the professor’s advances and soaked up all the knowledge she could as she always did. To think that the salsa dancing he’d taught her brought her into her first full body contact with Dean.
Junior year abroad, she’d tried a Frenchman and an Italian and expanded what she knew of men, but none touched her in the way Dean had tonight. He’d gone straight to her heart. But then, it had always been Dean since that fourteenth year of her life. Since coming to New Orleans and seeing him so often, she’d turned down numerous opportunities for sex. No one else appealed to her. Why bother?
&n
bsp; The next time they were together though, she’d do more than lie there luxuriating in his touch on her flesh. The next time she would give back. Stacy reached up to stroke Dean’s stubbled cheek long past its five o’clock shadow deadline. He’d been so careful not to give her a trace of beard burn, but the thought appealed to her now. Still, how gently he’d kissed her bruises. She leaned over and kissed his lips, so beautifully sculpted. He had Uncle Joe’s good looks, no doubt about it, but didn’t use them to attract a new woman every day of the week, thank heaven. Dean’s thick black eyelashes flickered open over those Billodeaux brown eyes.
“Stacy?” He sat bolt upright spilling her onto the pillow. “Jesus God, I forgot the condom! I never forget the condom. I had one in my jeans. Always be prepared. And I wasn’t. But it felt so good that I lost myself in you. What if…
Stacy pressed him down into her bed again. “I’m on the pill. As Aunt Nell says, a woman must take responsibility for her own body. I’d guess the Sinners make sure you are in perfect health, no matter how many women you’ve been with since they took you in the draft.”
“Not that many, not since you came to New Orleans and I couldn’t get you out of my head.”
“Really?” No other words that might make her happier—except one.
Dean sat up again but brought her close against his side. “Dad called tonight. My parents know about us. He told me to be careful with you—and I still forgot the condom.”
“Forget about that.” She moved her hand down his body under the covers.
On the second floor, her phone rang. Not likely to be Prince. He’d be licking his wounds somewhere and thinking up excuses for his injuries. “I really should answer that. I’ve been dodging calls all evening.”
“Let me get it for you.” Dean rose from the bed and stepped into his jeans.
Stacy eyed his lean, muscular backside. “You don’t need to dress up for me.”
Dean gave her one of those to-die-for smiles over his shoulder. “No, but if Xochi walks in I’d just as soon have something on.”