Dirty Player: A Rough Riders Novel

by Stacey Lynn

  I powered into her, pushing her forward while pulling her back and threw my head back, roaring her name while I shot myself inside of her.

  “Fuck,” I groaned, grinding my teeth together. My throat muscles popped and tightened and I knew I’d bruised her from my tight hold on her. “So fucking beautiful.” Beautiful. I whispered it again, over and over until my heart began to calm and she went limp in my hold.

  “God, you’re good at that,” she whispered, her voice raspy and dry when I let her go and climbed back to my spot on the couch behind her, wrapping my arms around her. “I could do that all day with you.”

  I envisioned that: a whole day of fucking her wherever and however I wanted, listening to her repeat my name with a breathy voice, her curls wild and her eyes all smoky.

  I pulled her tighter. “We should do that.”

  I meant it. I’d fucking skip a day of practice to have her in my bed all day, pliable and wanting.

  She laughed softly, adjusting on the couch until she was on her back, and looked up at me. Her eyes shone with sated lust. “Someday. I have the festival today.”

  I leaned down and brushed my lips against hers, soft and slow, savoring the moment I had with her before our days took us in different directions. “And I need to get to morning workouts. But the first weekend I’m home, you’re at my place.”

  It didn’t surprise me like it did the first time when I’d taken her to my house without thinking. I wanted her there. Wanted her to meet the horses and get to know them. Wanted her to be in my house so I had those memories of her.

  I wanted to fuck her in every room of my house so every time I walked inside, all I saw was her.

  Her smile went soft as I pulled back, and with a finger she traced my jawline, feeling my morning scruff. “Your house?”

  I nodded as she hesitated.

  “I’d like that.”

  “Me too.”

  ***

  “This is ridiculous.” I groaned and ran my hand down my face.

  For thirty minutes I’d been waiting for Serena to show her face for our mediation, and she was late.

  What else was new? The woman wore a watch as an accessory, was most likely always glued to her cell phone, and still couldn’t manage to get anywhere on time. It used to be endearing. I had teased her relentlessly when we were dating. The night before our wedding, I’d teased her about being late to walk down the aisle. What I’d realized later, much too late, was that if Serena was going to be the focus of everyone’s attention, she was always on time. When it was something important to me, or anyone else, she took her sweet-ass time, expecting everyone to wait around for her, demanding attention upon her late arrival.

  This wasn’t the first time she’d pulled the stunt since our divorce, and I was fed up.

  I’d spent Friday night getting pummeled by Baltimore—a team we should have easily beaten, but our second strings couldn’t pull their heads out of their asses long enough to make a tackle—and then I’d spent the rest of the weekend wrapped up in Shannon. I’d helped her after the game, bone-tired and muscles aching all over my damn body, but still energetic enough to help her finish putting away all of her designs and getting Stamped back to how she’d had it before the street festival.

  It wasn’t the first night we fell asleep without me burying my dick into her delicious cunt, but it’d been one of the best.

  We’d talked. She told me about Des Moines, growing up in a run-down house on the east side of the city where nothing good had come from in the last fifty years besides Beaux Hale. She told me about her mom, working job after job to support them and they still managed to go hungry occasionally. I told her about life on the farm outside Savannah—where our town had two stoplights and half as many stop signs. Where everyone in town flooded football fields on Friday nights to cheer for the only good thing that brought them excitement outside the few who could have cable television. We laughed about the way we grew up, both of us dirt poor and desperately wanting more. The difference was that where I always wanted more for myself, she was the selfless one, doing everything she could, sacrificing everything she wanted for her brother.

  It was that selflessness, that motive—to see her brother succeed at his passion and care nothing of her own ambitions—that sealed the deal that she was unlike any woman I’d ever met before.

  No woman gave up everything for someone without growing bitter. With the closeness Beaux and Shannon showed each other, it was clear that wasn’t an issue for her.

  I was quickly becoming enthralled with not only her body, but her sweetness and her wit and her intelligence. She was the kind of woman men fought over, claimed, wanted to keep chained to them like some primal beast because they knew the prize they’d been given simply by her attention.

  It unsettled me, less than it should have, that I was already feeling these things for her, so fiercely and so quickly.

  I pushed the chair back from the table where my lawyer and Serena’s lawyer had been waiting. The harsh sound of wood screeching gained everyone’s attention. I didn’t pay her lawyer any attention, but focused on Paul Costell.

  “I’m leaving. You can handle this without me, right?”

  After her play to find me over the weekend, a fortuitous event on her part that I’d run into her at the art festival, I’d gone searching for her.

  She’d cried her fake alligator tears and clung to me, whispered how much she missed me. Missed us.

  I’d repeated it was over. Would always be over. I didn’t have a shred of emotion left for Serena except for annoyance and disappointment at who she still continued to be. Within thirty days, her extravagant lifestyle, or lack thereof, would be none of my concern.

  “I can, Mr. Powell.”

  I fought the urge to roll my eyes. I’d known Paul for over seven years and he still refused to call me by first name. It was Southern respect, but sounded strange on his lips considering I’d shown up at his kids’ seventh and ninth birthday parties.

  “Mediation cannot continue without all parties present,” Serena’s lawyer said.

  I’d gotten to know him as well over the last seven years. Never would I attend one of his kids’ parties—not that he’d asked. I didn’t even know if he had kids; the thought of that man creating offspring made me want to shudder on a good day. He was an asshole, and had most likely gotten rich off of my money alone from the cut he took before Serena got her hands on it.

  “We’ll need to reschedule.”

  “It is not our fault your client is late, as usual,” Costell clipped, and I didn’t bother hiding my grin. “Perhaps if you had stressed how important this meeting was, she’d be here.”

  “She will be. I said she’s stuck in traffic.”

  It was Raleigh at eleven o’clock in the morning. There was no traffic. And no construction. I’d checked after Paul had relayed the text.

  “I’m done.”

  I was. Completely. Done playing Serena’s games. Done with her lies and her need to be the center of attention.

  Turning back to Paul, I grinned. “Tell me how this goes.”

  “With pleasure.” He grinned back.

  I turned on my heel, not caring at all about Mr. Gaines’s threats. Paul would take care of me; he always did. I clapped my hand on his shoulder as I walked by him, and just as I reached the conference room door, Mr. Gaines’ assistant opened it and walked through, holding it open.

  “Gentlemen, Serena Powell has arrived.”

  I scowled at the name. The one thing I gave her I could never take away from her. For years after our divorce that ate at me—that she still had my name and wanted nothing to do with me except a pocketbook from a distance.

  Now I just hated her for it.

  I rolled my eyes as Serena practically floated in behind the middle-aged and kind-eyed receptionist. It wasn’t the first time I’d seen her, definitely wasn’t the first time I’d wondered how she worked for Gaines.

  “Oliver, how kind of you to gre
et me.”

  Serena walked right up to me, looking more like she was getting ready for tea than preparing to lose millions. I stepped back before she could do her typical cheek kisses. They weren’t the sweet ones Southern women used to greet their friends. Serena’s dripped with vile poison.

  “I wasn’t. I was leaving. You’re late and I have plans.”

  Her faux smile barely faltered before she concealed her surprise. And for probably the first time in my life, I didn’t explain further.

  “Goodbye, Serena.”

  I tipped my chin toward her and the assistant still at the door and walked out, leaving Serena behind, happily, for the first time I could ever remember.

  Chapter EIGHTEEN

  SHANNON

  I had found the one flaw in my old building—and most especially, in my apartment. A lack of decent air-conditioning had sweat dripping down my back, making me feel nasty and stinky while I unpacked boxes almost as quickly as the movers brought them in.

  A thrilling sense of excitement had buzzed in my veins all day long, making me excited and terrified in equal parts.

  I was really doing this: owning my own business, moving on my own, and starting a whole new life.

  One that was becoming infinitely more exciting and terrifying with the surprising addition of Oliver. I hadn’t been looking for him.

  Hadn’t even wanted a man so quickly after I’d left Patrick. I didn’t think I’d be able to trust so easily, so quickly, and yet every time I turned around in the last couple of weeks, Oliver was there. Showing me he wasn’t the man he was portrayed to be in the gossip news. Showing me that the man who had graced more GQ covers than I could count wasn’t the egotistical prick he proclaimed himself to be.

  He was kind. He was warm. He was rough and dirty when he wanted to be, but underneath all of it, there was tenderness to him that he hadn’t allowed anyone to see since Serena. When he called me Monday to meet him at the hotel, I’d expected to find him upset or stressed after his appointment with Serena.

  Instead, he’d told me how it went, how he felt absolutely nothing when he saw her, watching her try all her stunts to keep receiving his money—which had been relayed via his attorney since he had walked out. We didn’t have sex that night. We talked.

  It was more intimate than any time he’d taken me rough and fast. Over the past week, when we weren’t working, we had been together. I barely saw Beaux except for our paths crossing in his apartment. Now that I was finally getting everything from Iowa, I would see him less.

  I was unpacking a box of dishes in the kitchen when two strong and familiar arms surrounded me.

  Hot lips brushed my neck as one hand rose and brushed my sweaty hair off my neck.

  “Hello,” Oliver whispered, his voice in my ear sparking desire immediately.

  I stopped what I was doing and covered his hand on my chest with mine. “Hey. What are you doing here?”

  I spun around and his hands dropped to my lower back. He dipped his head and went in for a kiss, making me rise up to my toes to meet him halfway.

  “Beaux and I wanted to stop by and see how the move was going. See if you need any more muscle.”

  “You didn’t have to do that. I think they’re almost done here.”

  “Good. Then when they’re gone, we can break in your bed.” He brushed his lips against mine again. “I missed you today.”

  I rolled my eyes playfully and stepped back when I heard more footsteps coming down the hallway. “You saw me this morning.”

  “Oh, I remember this morning clearly.”

  He shot me a look went straight through my body, all the way to my fingertips and toes. This morning had involved being woken up with my wrists tied to the slats in his headboard by two of his neckties. My skin was still sore, along with other parts of me that had nothing to do with a busy day on my feet, unpacking.

  “Oliver.” I blushed when a loud, booming voice hit the doorway.

  “No kissing my sister when I’m around! Tell me it’s safe to come in.” Beaux walked in, one large, meaty paw covering his eyes, and bumped into a stack of boxes. “Oh, shit.”

  I laughed and stepped away from Oliver. “You’re such a moron. Uncover your eyes before you break something.”

  Beaux grinned when he dropped his hands to his sides. “There are things a brother never wants to see. That’s definitely number two on the list.”

  “What’s number one?” Oliver asked, settling his hand at the base of my back.

  Beaux quickly backed up as the movers pushed in.

  “Where do you want your couch?” they asked, one of them looking at me as he continued walking backward. He lifted my couch over the boxes Beaux had just tripped over, essentially pushing him back into the wall at the same time.

  “Where the nasty one currently is,” I replied. They were taking that and the old bed to the dumpster on the way out.

  Seeming to ignore them as soon as they entered, and dodging their way as they began carrying out the old couch, Beaux glared at me teasingly.

  “You remember when you were thirteen?” He shuddered as he asked the question.

  “What happened when you were thirteen?” Oliver asked.

  I rolled my eyes. “You were ten, and at some point you really have to get over it.”

  Beaux shivered again. “Never.” Turning to Oliver, he said, “I walked in on her after a shower. All naked girl. Scarred me for life, I swear.”

  “Funny. That’s one of the best things about your sister.”

  If it was possible to truly turn green, Beaux did it. His hand flew to his mouth as he covered a vomiting sound and gagged. “Oh God. I’m going to throw up.”

  I pointed down the hallway. Through my laughter, I said, “Bathroom’s that way.”

  He hurried off, making exaggerating choking sounds, and when my phone rang I barely slid the screen a glance before I hit the speakerphone button.

  Assuming it was Melissa, knowing it was getting close to when she’d be getting off work and calling to see how the move went, I answered and started talking.

  “Hey, Mel! Thank you so much for—”

  “Shannon.”

  My eyes popped open at the sound of Patrick’s voice and my head whipped to Oliver.

  “Patrick?” I asked, my throat going dry. Next to me, irritation began to prickle off Oliver’s skin, making my already tiny kitchen seem even smaller. “What do you want?”

  He softened his voice—that tender one that used to make me melt into him, seeking his promises. “Babe, I came home from work and all the furniture’s gone. What’s going on?”

  Oliver glared at the phone, and I saw his muscles begin to bunch beneath his short-sleeved shirt. He had a Rough Riders cap on, the bill covering his eyes and making it hard to see them, but I knew that hazel color was blazing.

  “This isn’t a good time, Patrick. And I tried scheduling this with you, yet you refused. I told you Melissa would take care of it for me if you wouldn’t cooperate.”

  “Honey, I thought we’d talk. I thought you agreed to see me.”

  At that, those blazing eyes I couldn’t see burned into my flesh. I gritted my teeth and glared at Oliver and mouthed Stop it.

  His lip curled in response and I focused on the phone call.

  “I did no such thing, Patrick. I’ve made it clear that I’ve moved on. You just refuse to listen.”

  His voice tripped a bit when he asked, “Moved on? But, Shannon, you love me.”

  “Not anymore, asshole.” Oliver’s thick, gritted voice came as a surprise and I gasped.

  “What? Who is this?”

  “The man whose dick was inside of your ex this morning, you fucking moron.”

  “Oliver!” I shouted and then flashed wild eyes at Beaux, who was walking down the hallway. This was disintegrating quickly.

  “Shannon, who is this jerk speaking to me like this?”

  I reached for the phone, but Oliver beat me to it. He clicked it off speakerpho
ne and had it at his ear.

  “Her man, dickwad. And she doesn’t want you. You tossed her aside, and I picked her up. I’ve spent so much time inside of her, tasting her sweet pussy, that you’re a memory for her. Now go the fuck away and don’t call back.”

  Beaux made another gagging sound at Oliver’s words, but I couldn’t even look at him. Embarrassment and anger burned my cheeks. Along with lust.

  Damn it, even his words tossed out for the sole purpose of pissing off my ex still made me want to climb him like a tree until he was doing all the things he’d just said.

  “Don’t call again.” Oliver punched a button on the phone before tossing it roughly to the counter.

  “What the hell was that?”

  “Don’t talk to him again.” Oliver pointed at me. “That guy is fucked in the head and you need to stay away from him.”

  “He’s clueless, not crazy.” I recognized my error when I suddenly had two insanely large men glaring me down.

  “You defend him?” Beaux asked, appearing at Oliver’s side. They were so big they blocked the doorway. “He hasn’t left you alone in months, he cheated on you, and you’re going to stand here and defend him when he acted like he didn’t even know you’d left him? And yes”—he gestured with a wave of his hand down the hall—“I heard all of that. And if Oliver hadn’t taken care of it, I would have.” He looked at Oliver then and cringed. “Although I could have done without hearing the fucking and dick and sweet pussy part.”

  He turned green again at the mention.

  I no longer found this funny.

  Fortunately, I was given a brief reprieve when the movers returned, carrying my bed.

  “Excuse me.” I glared at both of them until they moved so I could get out of the kitchen. “Give me a few minutes.”

  I followed the movers to my bedroom and gave them instructions on where I wanted the furniture set up. Before returning to my overbearing brother and—apparently—severely overprotective Oliver, I took a few minutes in the restroom to fix my hair and wipe the back of my neck with a cool rag.

  What he’d said had been rude. Partly disgusting.