Dirty Player: A Rough Riders Novel

by Stacey Lynn

  And yet even with that, the area between my legs began to pulse with desire. The man undid me. He kept me on my toes, never knowing when he’d switch from domineering to sweet.

  As bothered as I was by the way he’d taken control of my conversation, I found that as I calmed down from the shock of all of it, I was thankful.

  I was tired of talking to Patrick. Tired of listening to his lies and his pathetic voice. Today’s had been no different, a bit whiny. And after spending so much time around Oliver, I knew it wasn’t anywhere near masculine.

  His words and his voice still hurt, though. Five years of being with him and I wanted to move on like Oliver suggested.

  Yet Patrick’s continued efforts at contacting me constantly pulled me backward. Not because I wanted him back, or wanted to go back to him—that ship had sailed the moment I saw him plowing another woman in the bathroom. But he was still my past, still a huge part of me and what I had once envisioned for my future. His constant phone calls and texts made it difficult to forget him.

  Blowing out a breath, I smoothed back my curls that had come loose in my messy bun and then opened the door to the bathroom.

  I got one step into the hallway before I almost ran into a mountainous wall of curved and sculpted muscle.

  “You okay?” Oliver asked, his hands on his hips and his head tipped down toward me.

  I memorized the way his shirt curved around his pecs, his abs, and then the way his shorts fit loose and low on his hips.

  Lifting my head to meet his eyes was difficult, and when I finally found the strength, he was smirking.

  “A body like yours should be illegal,” I said, my lips fighting a grin.

  He’d caught me looking, admiring…soaking every perfect curve of his body into the deepest parts of my memory banks. There was no use in hiding that I liked the way he looked.

  “Why? Does it make you want to do illegal things to it?”

  “I’m still here!” Beaux shouted from what sounded like the living room.

  “Get over it, turd!” I shouted back before nodding at Oliver. “I’m okay. But you didn’t have to go caveman on him.”

  He showed no sign of remorse. “I might have been more forceful than necessary, but you wanted him to leave you alone.” His brow furrowed. “Didn’t you?”

  “I did. I just wasn’t expecting you to talk about your dick on the phone to my ex, I guess.”

  I laughed then, softly, shaking off what had happened. Melissa would think it was hilarious. Maybe Oliver had a point: Patrick hadn’t been listening to me, and the very fact that he seemed confused I’d actually moved my stuff out showed how delusional he was—that maybe he thought I was considering crawling back to him and taking his scraps.

  “I have to finish unpacking.”

  Oliver checked his watch at his wrist. “How about we all go out for dinner first and take a break. You’ve been working all day, right?”

  I had. I had been up at six in the morning when he left for early practice. I’d spent hours down at Stamped, making jewelry before the movers had arrived.

  Putting my hands to his shoulders, I leaned up as far as I could and kissed his muscled throat. “Dinner would be good.”

  ***

  My orgasm was quickly barreling down on me. I was on my hands and knees. My arms shook and my thighs trembled as fire and impending release spread throughout my body.

  “Oliver.” I panted his name through parched lips. He drove into me hard, hitting that perfect spot deep inside of me that made me quake for him. “Please.”

  “Get there,” he growled. He was on his knees behind me, one hand on my shoulder, pulling me back to him as he continued powering into me, his other hand down by mine.

  I dropped my head, unable to hold myself up, and reached my hand to cover his. My fingers dug into the back of his hand as my body lit with fire.

  Needless to say, we were breaking in my bed, and it wasn’t just great sex. It was fantastic.

  “Come,” he commanded. He lost his quick rhythm and just before everything inside me began to tighten in culmination, he pulled out, flipped me onto my back, and slid right back inside. “Fuck it. I want to see you.”

  My limbs wrapped around his body. My knees lifted high next to him, my heels digging into his lower back.

  My hands dug into his shoulders.

  “Coming,” I panted, feeling it overtake me. It was powerful and long as the shocks rolled through my body and I clung to him, tightening every limb until I pulled him down, chest to chest, his lips inches above mine.

  “Beautiful.” He leaned down, claiming my mouth with his own. As I rode wave after wave of my orgasm, his movement jilted.

  I heard something in the distance—like lightning hitting the Earth—right as he bellowed out my name, seating himself deep inside me, so deep it almost hurt, but damn it was good.

  That crack I heard shook the floor beneath us and we fell to the floor.

  “Ah!” I squealed and held on to him tighter.

  “Holy fuck,” he panted as his weight collapsed on top of me, jarring me and stealing my breath.

  “What the hell?”

  He lifted his head, his lips pulled back in amusement. “I think we broke your bed.”

  “Or we had an earthquake,” I said, barely able to contain my giggle.

  His eyes lit with fake fury. “Trust me. As hard as I just fucked you, we broke the bed.”

  “So sure of yourself.”

  “The bed is crooked.” Oliver smiled, a beautiful mouth with shiny white teeth surrounded by full lips that had tasted every inch of my body.

  I looked to my left, still clinging to him, and saw that he was right. One side of the bed was much higher than the other, and we were still lying at an angle.

  Closing my eyes, I pushed my head into my pillow and groaned. “Damn it. The movers must not have set the frame right.”

  “Or your bed just can’t handle my superhuman strength.”

  “Or the weight of your ego.”

  I smacked his butt, unwrapping my legs from around him as he slid out of me. I thought we’d fix the mess we’d made and get cleaned up, but instead he curled into the bed next to me, draped one hand over his face, and pulled me to him.

  “Let me relax before we fix this.”

  I settled in, loving that he liked to cuddle. He didn’t seem the sort—but like so many things about Oliver, he continued to surprise me.

  At dinner that night, for example, I’d listened intently through most of it while Beaux and Oliver discussed the practice and some of the plays they’d struggled with. The coming weekend would be their first out-of-state game, when they traveled down to Miami.

  The defense was clicking, but with so many new members on the offensive line, both Beaux and Oliver had said it was taking longer than it should for everyone to find their groove. I’d sat silent through most of the conversations, but still grinned as I realized that after Oliver had said he’d give Beaux a chance, all his animosity toward him seemed to evaporate. He could have been doing it for the good of the team, or to keep the peace between the woman he was fucking and her brother, but I suspected it was more than that.

  Beaux was earning his respect, and Oliver was giving it freely.

  After dinner, Beaux had taken off when I insisted I didn’t need any more help unpacking. I had barely stepped inside my apartment before I was staring at the floor, flung over Oliver’s shoulder, and then dumped onto my bed.

  “You ready for the game this weekend then?” I asked as my mind replayed dinner and everything after that.

  “It’ll be hard. Miami’s a good team and they have a great defense. If we can make our long-pass plays, though, and if Kolby can continue doing what he’s best at, it should be a good game.”

  “That’s good.” My eyes drifted closed as I responded.

  “You going to come?”

  I heard a hint of hopefulness in his voice and turned to look at him, forcing one eye open. “I
could,” I admitted, “but I really need to keep working on getting Stamped up and running.”

  Oliver’s mouth tightened for a moment before he smoothed it out by licking his lips. “Okay. Although I have to admit I don’t know if it should scare the fuck out of me that I’m not going to like sleeping without you while we’re gone or if I should just be happy about it.”

  It pleased me to no end—his open honesty and how much he seemed to show me that he really did like me. How much he wanted me around.

  “I think you should just be happy about it.”

  “I’ll think of a way to be with you anyway.”

  His eyebrows wiggled. I was sated, sore, and exhausted. It took that silly brow wiggle and a slow, teasing brush of his lips against my cheek to reenergize me.

  “Do you know what I like?”

  “What?” he asked, his eyes filled with wicked, scrumptious delight.

  “Sleeping on a bed that isn’t crooked.”

  I pushed at him when he chuckled. His arm loosened and I took the opportunity to roll away from him and toward the floor, landing on my knees facing him.

  “Fine,” he groaned playfully. “Go get cleaned up. I’ll fix the bed so I can fuck you until it breaks again.”

  He flashed me a look full of promise before I reached for a shirt on the floor and scurried to the bathroom.

  I took my time, hearing him bang around with tools he’d probably grabbed from the dining room table, and when I came back to my room he was standing up, dropping the mattress back onto a now straightened bed frame.

  “Fixed?” I asked as I flung my hand towel onto a pile of dirty laundry on the floor.

  Oliver’s eyes followed the dirty towel as it landed on the heap, and he smiled.

  Then he reached for me, tossed me back into the bed, and pushed my legs wide with his knees between mine.

  “Yes. Let’s see how many times in one night we can break the damn thing.”

  I laughed. “Another round with your stamina might break me.”

  His eyes darkened and went intense in a way I hadn’t yet seen. Dark lashes framed shaded eyes, but it was impossible to miss the seriousness in his gaze.

  “Never,” he whispered, cupping my cheek with his palm. “I don’t ever want to do that.”

  Chapter NINETEEN

  SHANNON

  “Well, this is a nice surprise,” Oliver drawled as he made his way to where I was standing, backside propped against the hood of my silver Honda. “What are you doing here?”

  I slid my sunglasses to the top of my head and smiled. “I thought since you had the evening off and I needed a break from Stamped, we could go do something.”

  After the drama he’d had with Serena earlier that week, it had occurred to me that while we’d gone out for dinner a couple of times, we spent a lot of time between the sheets and not a lot of time talking. So that day I’d decided to surprise him when he got done with an early practice.

  The next morning, the team flew down to Miami to get ready for their first game of the season.

  Oliver glanced around the parking lot at the practice field and a line dipped between his brows. For a moment I wondered if I’d made a mistake. Perhaps he wanted to stay home and be alone, concentrate on the game ahead.

  “We don’t have to—”

  He interrupted me and wrapped his hand around my waist, pulling me to him while he held a duffel bag in his other hand. “No, I do. I’m just surprised to see you and I feel like an ass for not realizing we haven’t been out much.”

  “Well”—I grinned and rolled to my toes, tilting my head back to kiss his chin—“we have been pretty busy doing other things.”

  He kissed my cheek and squeezed me tight before letting go. “All right, then. Let’s do this, but I’m driving.”

  I laughed at the way he glanced at my car, like there was no way he was letting a woman drive him around.

  “I wanted to go somewhere near my place, though.”

  A luscious look flickered in his eyes. “Then I’ll bring you back here in the morning.”

  Considering that implied we were spending the night together, how could I argue with him?

  “So where do you want to go?” he asked once we were settled in his car and pulling out of the lot.

  “I was thinking Mexican. There’s this great little restaurant down by the university I’ve been wanting to try.”

  “Mama Casita’s?” he asked, barely giving me a glance. “I love that place. They have live Mariachi bands that play there on Thursdays.”

  “Which was why I wanted to go,” I replied, grinning that he knew that information. When I’d walked by Mama Casita’s while exploring the arts district, it seemed like any other restaurant from the outside, small, one-story brown brick building with the lettering of the name written in typical bright colors. Yet last week when I’d been walking down the sidewalk, the music had caught my attention and I’d wanted to go inside to check it out.

  Oliver kept his eyes on the road in front of us and placed one hand on my thigh, squeezing firmly. “Trying to get me to dance with you again?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Sure, if you think you can keep up with me.”

  He shot me a brief look and licked his lips. “I’m pretty sure we both know I can keep it up.”

  “Good.” I smirked. “Because I have plans for you tonight.”

  The attraction between us, that electricity that was always there, simmering below the surface, sparked to life.

  “How was practice?” I asked, my voice huskier than usual. Darn the man and his sexiness. I had to change the subject before we ended up in bed before our night began.

  He flashed me a knowing look at the question and began running his thumb along the inside of my thigh. I had thrown on a simple dress earlier. The summer heat was killing me, so I’d grabbed a lightweight, baby pink dress with a pleated skirt, fitted bodice, and spaghetti straps. As Oliver began touching me, it felt like I was already naked.

  “Tough. Feels like Pomville is treating every one of our games this season as if it’s his last. He’s not cutting us any slack.”

  “That’s a good thing, right?”

  “Yeah, but sometimes it makes me feel like I’m getting too old for this.”

  A frown pressed his lips down. I knew just as well as Oliver did that at over thirty years old, he couldn’t have many years left.

  “Given any thought to what you want to do after?”

  “Not a clue. Tell me about your day.”

  His Adam’s apple dipped down his throat as he swallowed harshly. I took the hint: no more talking football—at least not involving the end of his career.

  I did as he wished and filled the rest of the car ride with talk of Stamped and moved on to telling him how Melissa and I met and how she started her own graphic design business. She was working on revamping my website again, so I’d spent most of the day emailing her back and forth while she sent me proof designs.

  When Oliver pulled into a parking space in front of Mama Casita’s, I smiled at the sound of music already filtering out of the restaurant and onto the sidewalk.

  Oliver reached into the backseat and came back with a frayed Georgia Tech baseball hat. He slid it on his head, pushing it down low over his eyes. “There, now I’m ready.”

  I grinned and gestured to his hat. “I’m not sure wearing a hat with your Alma Mater on it will hide your identity very well.” Another thought flickered in my mind and my smile vanished. “If you don’t like going out in public, we don’t have to. I just thought we could have some fun.”

  His lips pressed together before he answered. “I don’t mind ending up in photographs and I actually do love the fans. I just don’t always like having meals interrupted. Most of the time it’s fine, though.”

  I’d been by Beaux’s side enough to know that when one fan spotted you, the phones came out, the napkins were slid onto tables, and soon the quiet meal you’d wanted ended up with cold food, ice melted in drin
ks, and a constant stream of autographs being signed.

  “How about a compromise?”

  His eyes widened in surprised, like he couldn’t believe I’d get it. “What?”

  “We go in, get an order to go, and I get one dance while we wait for our food. Then we can go eat it somewhere more private.”

  I had the perfect place in mind. Mama Casita’s was near the NCSU campus and I’d heard it had beautiful parks.

  “How is it that you always seem to know exactly what I need?”

  His hand was at the back of my neck and his lips were on mine, his tongue seeking entrance into my mouth, before I could respond.

  ***

  “You have a great arm,” Oliver said, his hands extended to catch the pass I’d thrown.

  “I learned from the best.”

  “I don’t know if I’d call Beaux the best.”

  I clapped my hands and opened them, signaling for him to throw the ball. “Fine, I learned from one of the best. Happy?”

  He threw the ball into my outstretched hands perfectly. When I did a hip-shake for a celebration dance, Oliver’s gaze turned serious.

  “Yes, I’m happy. Very.”

  We’d danced our Mariachi dance and laughed ourselves silly. I learned that while Oliver could move like a God in the bedroom, a master on the football field, and could roll his hips seductively to hip-hop music, he absolutely sucked at other forms of dancing.

  We’d gotten our food after one song, like I promised him, and then we’d left Mama Casita’s, Oliver holding on to my hand with one of his and our order of food in another, and gone straight to the perfect area of the university.

  Fall term would start in a couple of weeks, so for the time being the campus was rather empty and Oliver had guided us to a small park that overlooked a nearby lake. When I’d started cleaning up our mess, he’d run to his car really quick and come back tossing a football in his hands.

  I blinked away the emotion that his simple statement caused and threw him the ball.

  “Your dad do this with you?”

  He’d mentioned his parents a few times, but most of it was in passing.