Playing the Player (Sydney Smoke Rugby #3)

by Amy Andrews

“I know what you need,” he growled, his hands not easing their grip on her ass at all but actually lifting her off him, then sliding her back down. Lifting her off, sliding her down. Bucking his hips, thrusting into her, pushing to the hilt with each penetration.

  Em’s head fell back at the sheer unadulterated pleasure of it. Splitting her open, impaling her, possessing her so completely.

  “Faster,” she moaned, squeezing her internal muscles to grip him tighter, accentuating the sensation.

  He went faster, harder, holding her just where he wanted her, hitting her in just the right spot as he hammered into her, and all Em could do was hold on and ride the blooming edge of an orgasm.

  Her hands grabbed for purchase as her body bounced with every flex of his hips, pleasure tumbling through her groin as everything started to spin out of control. She grabbed hold of his shirt near his hips, twisting her fingers in the fabric.

  “Ah, fuck!” he cried out, his belly going rigid as air hissed in and out between his teeth. “Hand,” he gasped, his hips still thrusting but jerky and discordant now. “Your hand!”

  Em let go of his shirt. “Oh God, sorry.” Her orgasm retreating as she realised her hand was clutching the spot he’d been injured earlier in the night. She grabbed his shoulders, tried to slow the motion between them, shove off him.

  “Stop.” She’d hurt him. They had to stop. “Just stop.”

  He kissed her, hard and hot, his rhythm returning as he whispered, “It’s okay, baby, don’t stop. Come with me.”

  He drove into her then, again and again, so deep and hard and true that she forgot about his side and the ugly purple-red bruise as her orgasm roared up and out of her, twisting like a tornado through her belly, ripping a very un-ladylike bellow from her mouth.

  He joined her, his hips jerking to a halt as it hit him, his fingers biting into her ass before he moved again and they rode the storm together.

  Em fell against him very gently as her orgasm ebbed, sapping her of any ability to hold herself upright, still connected to him in the most intimate way.

  “I’m so sorry,” she panted, her forehead pressed into the slope of muscle between his neck and shoulder, her bones heavy. “I was supposed to be making you better, not worse.”

  He chuckled, the sound enveloping her. “It’s okay, you didn’t break me.”

  She could hear the smile in his voice and pressed her own smile into his shirt. It was nice to lie against him, even cramped as they were in the driver’s seat. If she shut her eyes, she could still see stars.

  “Mmm,” she murmured, rousing herself, her eyes fluttering open. “You’re good at that.”

  He chuckled and it rumbled nicely near her ear. “And after we get back from Tanner’s, I’m going to prove just how good I am another four times.”

  “Four, huh?”

  “Gotta meet your exacting standards.”

  Em’s toes curled at the thought. She sure as shit didn’t want to wait for it. “How about we ditch Tanner’s and go back to yours? Make a start on it straight away.”

  He squeezed her butt and a pleasurable ripple stirred through her belly. “Good try but no,” he growled. “Two hours and I’m all yours.”

  Em smiled into his neck, a pang of happiness overriding the ripple. And it was definitely worth the wait. Injured or not, Lincoln Quinn knew how to deliver.

  …

  Music thumped all around, pushing against him like a physical force, but all Linc was really aware of was the woman in his arms. Em’s back was to his front, her ass jammed against his crotch—which was showing its appreciation in the most base way possible—and his hand was splayed low on the strip of exposed skin between where her shirt ended and her skirt, pushed low on her hips, began. In the heat and the sweat and the crush of the dance floor, it was more synchronised grinding than actual dancing, but Linc didn’t care. The beat of the music echoed in the beat of his blood, and the flare and strobe of the lights heated it to fever pitch.

  They were in some hip, new club in Sydney on opening night, along with half of the team and a bunch of other A-listers, but it felt like they were the only two people in the world.

  Life was good. Damn good. He and Em were an official couple—a month today as her adorable card had reminded him this morning—and the Smoke had progressed through all the preliminary matches in the finals series. In a few weeks, they’d know whether they’d made it to the grand final.

  But rugby and premierships were far from his mind. The only scoring he was interested in tonight was with Em. The crazy brush of her curls against the side of his neck, the rub of her ass, the waft of sugar and spice that rose from her skin in a dizzying cloud had him in her thrall. She was magnificent, undulating like a snake charmer’s cobra in her crazy high stilettos and flouncy skirt that swished just above her knees, and every single, straight guy in the club had checked her out.

  The fact that she was his made him want to beat his chest.

  His hands tightened on her hips as he thought about her stiletto-clad feet locked around his waist later as he stamped his possession on her a little more. He shut his eyes as she ground back in response, turning her so her lips brushed his ear.

  “Too many clothes,” she gasped.

  His dick got harder. “Let’s go home,” he growled in her ear.

  The grandfather clock in the hallway—made by his grandfather—chimed midnight as they were walking through the door.

  “God,” Em said, plonking herself down on his leather sofa as she slipped off her shoes. “That was an awesome night, but my feet are killing me.” She kicked them away and lay back on the sofa, pointing her toes, stretching and flexing them in turn.

  Linc had no idea how she walked, let alone danced, for four hours whilst balancing on a surface about the size of a five cent piece. But she looked hot lying on his lounge all bare-footed, her skirt ridden up high on her thighs. He wanted to glide it all the way up, slide one hand inside her underwear, the other up under her blouse.

  But she shut her eyes and moaned, grimacing as she continued to flex her feet, and he cooled his jets. He had something to give her—something he’d had planned all day—and then he wanted to take her to bed and show her how much she meant to him, but she looked in pain and there was definitely something he could do about that.

  He sat at the end of the sofa and half turned toward her, lifting her feet until they sat between his legs, her toes almost brushing his crotch. She opened her eyes and raised her head off the sofa. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m going to massage your feet.” He smiled. “It’s the least I can do for being able to dance with the sexiest woman in the room tonight.”

  She smiled back. “It’s okay, you don’t have—” She sucked in a breath as Linc pressed his thumb into the ball of her foot. “Oh my God,” she groaned, her head dropping back. “Just there.”

  Linc chuckled as she groaned some more. “You were saying?”

  “Stop and I’ll kill you.”

  He chuckled some more, but he didn’t stop, massaging each foot with a completely asexual thoroughness. She’d said she’d wanted a guy who could give out a massage without expecting a sexual return, and Linc was determined to concentrate on her pearly pink toes and show her he was that guy. But every time she sighed or moaned or shifted, her skirt fell back a little more until it was at the tops of her thighs, and Linc had long forgotten the colour of her toenails when all he could think about was the colour of her underwear.

  He was hard as stone and so damn turned on he could barely think about anything other than sinking his head down between those legs and tearing her panties off with his teeth.

  Slowly his fingers started to venture higher—surely her legs must also ache? Up her instep, along her ankle, low on her calf. Her breathing got shallower, her nipples stiffened beneath the fabric of her shirt, her back arched a little, her hands curled into the leather of the sofa. He massaged higher, bending her leg so he could stroke his fingers up the bac
k of her calf. Her underwear was completely exposed to his view now, and he could smell the heady scent of her arousal.

  When he got to her knee, he dropped a light kiss to one side, and she gasped, her eyes fluttering open.

  “I’ve wanted to kiss you there ever since you sent me that first photo of your knee.”

  Her breath rasped from her lips. “Please,” she whispered, her eyes glittering with arousal, as she spread her legs wide.

  It took all of Linc’s willpower to deny her and himself. “Oh no,” he said, shaking his head as he unhanded her, his smile playful, his tone light and flirty despite the howls of protest coming from his jeans. “‘A massage without a sexual payoff’, I think you said? Or words to that effect.”

  She blinked at him as he straightened her legs and pulled her skirt down. “Linc?”

  He shrugged and smiled, enjoying the thwarted arousal in the chug of her breath and the glaze to her eyes. “Not my rules.”

  “Fuck the rules.”

  Linc laughed at her very unladylike growl. She was utterly nonplussed and he liked it. Liked that she wanted him so damn much she was willing to toss her own edicts out the window. But he had other things on his mind right now.

  “Lincoln Quinn,” she said, using her teacher’s voice, obviously recovering from the sexual stupor as he headed out of the room. She rose up on her elbows to track his path. “You are not going to leave me like this.”

  “One moment,” he grinned. “Stay there. I’ve got something for you.”

  “I hope it’s an orgasm,” she called after him, frustration deepening her voice. “Or I’m going to start without you.”

  Linc smiled to himself but walked faster. If she was out there touching herself, he wanted in on that. But first things first.

  She was eyeing him grumpily when he returned less than a minute later. At least she was sitting, though, and still had all her clothes on. He’d half expected to find her naked and pleasuring herself.

  “Happy one month anniversary,” he said, pulling the small wrapped box out from behind his back.

  To say she was surprised was an understatement. “Really?” She eyed the box with interest but kept her hands firmly in her lap as if she didn’t want to presume anything.

  He nodded as he sat on the coffee table and passed it to her. “Really.”

  She sat forward on the sofa, rubbing her hands over the wrapping paper. “Well, it’s too big to be a ring,” she joked, glancing at him and smiling.

  He smiled back at her joke. At least he was pretty sure it was a joke. She knew how he felt about all that. Why on earth would they spoil what they had by putting a ring on it? If she really wanted something princess or marquis, he’d get her some earrings for her birthday.

  She tore off the paper and gasped as the object was revealed. “Oh…Linc. It’s…breathtaking.”

  “It’s a carriage clock,” he said as she looked at him in stunned disbelief. “My grandfather made it for my grandmother on occasion of their marriage. He gave it to me. I’m giving it to you.”

  It was a gorgeous miniature piece made from tortoiseshell, with filigreed silver cornicing and matching filigreed trim around the clock face. It was delicate and feminine and extraordinarily beautiful.

  She shook her head. “All I got you was a lousy card.”

  He smiled. “You wanted a gift that meant something.”

  “Yes, but…” She shook her head. “I can’t take this, Linc. This is a family heirloom. It’s important and precious. You don’t go giving it way to just anybody.”

  Linc took her hand. “Yes, it is. But you’re not just anybody to me, Em. My grandfather would have approved, trust me. He’d have loved you.”

  A tear trolled down her face as she dropped her gaze to the clock. “Thank you,” she said, her voice unsteady. “That means a lot.” She picked it up and inspected it closer. “I love it. And I’ll treasure it always. ”

  She beamed at him then, and Linc knew he’d done good.

  Chapter Fourteen

  A month later, sitting proudly by Linc’s side at the official end-of-season party, where all the rugby teams and everyone in the business came together to celebrate the end of another year, Em couldn’t help but pinch herself. The Smoke had won the grand final the week before, and she’d been with him every step of the way, through the sudden death playoffs to the big finale, which the Smoke had absolutely smashed.

  She’d been at every post-game celebration, too. Every official party that had been thrown, every team BBQ and get-together. She’d been welcomed by the WAGs with open arms. And Harper had been ecstatic that her best friend had joined her in the slightly surreal and very exclusive club that came with being a wife or a girlfriend of a professional rugby player.

  But it hadn’t just been team stuff. There’d been movies and restaurant dates. They’d been to Taronga Zoo and driven up into the Blue Mountains. It was hard fitting things in around his rugby schedule, but Linc had found a way. They’d been out and about. They’d been seen together. They’d had their pictures taken by paparazzi.

  He’d outdone himself, and their relationship had gotten stronger and stronger.

  But it was the private celebrations she loved the most.

  Lying in Linc’s arms late at night, her body sated from their latest explosion of passion, revelling in her blossoming feelings and the growing certainty that they were destined to be together.

  And now here she was all glammed up, sitting next to Linc in a tux.

  Linc in a tux was a gift to all women, but she was the one who got to go home with him. He was all hers. And to top it off, as part of the awards section of the night, he was up for the prestigious John Davis medal for best player. She couldn’t have been prouder.

  Or more smitten.

  The ballroom was glamorous—beautiful people, exquisitely decorated tables, a fabulous emcee. Glassware clinked, and people all around them laughed and chatted in between courses, increasing the noise in the room.

  But Em only had eyes for Linc.

  He smiled at her, and her insides swirled into a tight knot. She was in a strapless gown, and he kissed her shoulder. His hand, already high on her thigh, brushed the danger zone under the cover of the starched white tablecloth.

  “Gah!” Valerie grumbled. “I’m surrounded by lovebirds.”

  At their table were Tanner and Matilda, and Harper and Dex. Valerie had finagled Ryder Davis to be her partner for the night. Ryder, partial to a pretty woman even if she was off-limits, hadn’t needed much finagling.

  Em had thought her father might accompany her, but apparently the coach was not socially active. Em understood why he was so reclusive, given what Linc had told her about Griff’s tragic past, but she’d have thought what had happened would have brought him closer to Valerie. Caused him to hold her nearer.

  It broke Em’s heart to witness, on those few occasions, Val’s attempts to reach out to her father met with a wall of apparent indifference.

  “It’s sickening,” Ryder agreed, tipping back his best black Akubra.

  “Like a sugar overdose.”

  He nodded. “My teeth are rotting just watching them.”

  Em laughed, finishing on a funny kind of half snort, breath hitching as Linc’s hand entered the danger zone, his fingers dipping between her legs just as a waiter reached over her shoulder and topped up her champagne.

  She clamped down on it, but not before Ryder shook his head at Linc.

  “Don’t think I don’t know what’s happening under the table, you dirty bastard.”

  Linc just smiled and kept his hand firmly in place. “I don’t know why you’re looking at us. Those two”—he tipped his chin to the couple opposite; Dex’s lips were pressed to Harper’s ear and whatever he was whispering clearly came with an X rating—“have been way more handsy.”

  The two in questions stopped guiltily as they realised they were being talked about. Harper’s blush was obvious even in the darkened ballroom.
/>   Make that triple X-rated.

  The waiter went to fill up Harper’s glass, and she put her hand over it and declined politely. It was then Em realised that Harper hadn’t touched a drink all night.

  “You’re pregnant.” It wasn’t a question. But suddenly it was startlingly obvious. Harper was radiant tonight—glowing.

  Harper started, blushed some more, then glanced at Dex, and Em realised she’d gaffed. Obviously, Harper and Dex wanted to keep it private for a while longer. She could only be six or eight weeks at the most. Most people usually kept quiet until after the first trimester.

  But then they were beaming and nodding and Em relaxed. They looked as if they’d been busting to spill their news regardless of the practicalities.

  “Harper!” Matilda, who was sitting next to Harper, gave an excited little wriggle in her seat and pulled Harper in for a big hug.

  “Hey man, congrats.” Tanner grinned, standing and reaching his hand out to shake Dex’s.

  Linc stood as well, reaching across the table to shake hands. “That’s awesome. Nice to know your junk is in good working order after all those groin strains.”

  Em wasn’t content with a verbal congratulation. Neither was Valerie, and they both hurried around to Harper, sweeping her into a group hug.

  “Now that,” Ryder said as he also stood and extended his hand, observing the three woman all smooshed together in an enthusiastic embrace, “is my kinda threesome.”

  “Knock it off, man,” Dex said with a grin, clearly too pleased with himself to be too affronted. “You’re talking about my pregnant wife, there.”

  “And my fiancée,” Tanner growled.

  “And my girlfriend,” Linc added.

  Ryder raised his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, I’m okay with watching.”

  “Who’s the dirty bastard now?” Linc said, shaking his head.

  Em pulled out of the hug. “That’s awesome, babe. When are you due?”

  “Start of the season next year.”

  Em laughed at the atypical reply. That’s what her life would be like from now on, she supposed—broken into two distinct parts. The footy season and the off season.