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Second Shot: A Men With Wood Novel

Page 10

by C. M. Seabrook


  Despite the warning bells that blare in my head, I kiss him back.

  His fingers tangle in my hair, and his tongue darts out against my lips, pushing forcefully into my mouth. Taking. Devouring. It’s filled with devastation and ruin. Promising things that we can never be. That neither of us can ever have. At least, not together.

  There’s too much between us. A chasm of mistrust and misunderstandings.

  But he’s right. I need him. His body. His touch. And I know I’m seconds away from making the same mistake I made a year ago.

  His phone rings on the counter beside us.

  He flinches.

  “You should get that,” I say breathlessly, as his mouth skims frantically across my neck, his hands dropping to my waist, tugging me firm against his hard erection.

  “They’ll call back,” he growls against my ear.

  My self-control is a puddle in his hands. “Don’t you want to see who it is?”

  “No.”

  I manage a quick glance at the name that pops up.

  Coach.

  My father.

  Ice rushes through me, turning the lava that was pumping through my heart a second ago to stone, and giving me the strength I need to push away.

  I reach past Kane and grab his phone, pressing answer before he has a chance to stop me.

  “What are you-”

  “Hey, Daddy,” I say with all the false sweetness I can muster.

  “Brynne?” He hesitates, and when he continues, there’s uncertainty in his deep baritone. “I thought I called-”

  “Kane? Yeah, this is his phone. I’m living with him now.”

  Kane’s mouth drops open, his face draining of color.

  “Oh, and we had a baby. Surprise.” I hang up, and toss the phone at Kane, which he just barely catches before it crashes to the floor. “Happy now?”

  His initial shock lasts about two-point-four seconds, before his face goes from chalk white to blood red. And I swear if we were in one of those cartoons, steam would come out of his ears.

  “What the hell did you just do?”

  Something I have a feeling I’m about to regret.

  Chapter 15

  Kane

  My phone starts to buzz in my hands and Coach’s name is popping up on the screen.

  Fuck.

  “You should answer that.” She crosses her arms, eyes full of stubborn defiance.

  “Why would you-”

  “You wanted everyone to know.” She shrugs. “Now, everyone will.”

  “Jesus, Brynne.” I’m so angry, I don’t trust myself to say anything else.

  As soon as my phone stops, it starts up again.

  I can’t ignore him. But I also can’t let her get away with her little stunt. I know exactly why she did it. I pushed her too hard. And instead of admitting the truth, that she needs me, she lashed out. Burying us both.

  I won’t let her get away with it. But right now, I have to deal with Coach before he ends up at my door, and we have a whole other problem on our hands - me in a seven by two wooden box, six feet under.

  She gives me a triumphant smile, then turns and walks away like she hasn’t just completely fucked me over.

  “We’re not done talking, Brynne.”

  Ignoring me, she walks down the hall towards the bathroom, shutting the door behind her. A few seconds later, I hear the shower turn on.

  When the phone starts ringing for the third time, I finally answer it. “Hey, Coach.”

  I have to hold the phone away from my ear as he screams a string of explicit curses that amount to him wanting to cut my balls off and feed them to my dead whore of a mother.

  “To think I trusted you, Madden. I let you into my goddamn house. And this is how you repay me? Sneaking around behind my back. I expect this from Brynne, but you…” His ranting slows, and I can hear the hurt in his voice, the slur of his words. He’s been drinking again.

  I rub the back of my neck, not knowing what to say. Even the truth sounds like a bullshit excuse.

  “She’s staying with you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And she’s pregnant?”

  “No.” I steel myself for his reaction, then say, “She had a baby. A boy. Three months old. I didn’t know about him until recently, but he’s-”

  More cursing. This time, I hear something shatter on the other end of the phone.

  I could handle anything but the deafening silence that follows. Long, painful seconds. I wait. I’ve known the man long enough not to interrupt his thoughts, even if they’re devising a plan to get rid of me. Or to see me tied up and gagged at the bottom of the river.

  “A boy?” His words slur.

  “Yeah.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Noah.”

  More silence, but I swear I hear the man sob.

  “Can I…would she let me see him?”

  I don’t know.

  “I’ll talk to her.”

  He breathes out heavily before ending the call.

  I slam my phone down on the counter. Despite how fucking well Coach seemed to take the news, I know once he sobers up, there will be hell to pay, and questions to answer.

  Do I think he’ll try to trade me? No. Because I know what Coach wants. The same thing I do - Brynne. And if I leave this damn city, she’s coming with me. Whether she likes it or not.

  The little brat thinks she’s won.

  It’s almost comical. Because the thing is, I haven’t even started playing.

  Game on, sweetheart.

  Chapter 16

  Brynne

  I bang my head on the cold tiles of the shower as hot water sprays down my back.

  What was I thinking?

  I wasn’t. That was the problem.

  I got scared.

  So, I did what I always do. I lashed out. But this time, I went too far.

  And I know I’m going to pay for it.

  The creak of the shower door makes me jump. I spin around, but when I do, Kane is standing there – naked, with a look in his eyes that cries out for retribution. And I know what he wants – me.

  Shit.

  He moves towards me like a predator stalking his prey, and places his palms on the tiles behind me. Trapping me.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I told you, we’re not done talking.” He leans closer.

  My back hits the cold tiles. I think about reaching out to push him away, but I know how that will end. With my palms pressed against his rock-hard chest, and my body melting into a puddle of lava at his feet.

  “We can talk when we both have our clothes on.” My voice is weak, and even I hear the hint of fear in it.

  He chuckles darkly, the muscles in his neck and shoulders tensing and rippling, but he still doesn’t touch me. “I prefer this.”

  “I prefer you not jumping me in the shower.”

  A flash of anger mixed with lust burns in his eyes as his gaze roams over my body. “Haven’t touched you, sweetheart. But I’m going to. And you’re going to beg for it. Because you want me.”

  “You’re delusional.”

  “And you’re a terrible liar. You always have been. No more bullshit, Brynne. You’re mine. Stop fighting it.”

  Heavy droplets of water hit his chest, running down his abs, and I can’t help but follow their path, swallowing when I catch a glimpse of his hard, heavy erection.

  Yeah, I’m totally screwed. Or about to be. And it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have pushed him the way I did.

  I squeeze my eyes shut, but it makes the ache between my legs worse, because my mind conjures up all sorts of filthy images when I do.

  “You promised.” The words come out as a whimper, a plea.

  “I promised you’d beg for my touch. And you will.”

  A small moan escapes my lips. My body aches, and my pussy clenches.

  “All you have to do is say one little word, sweetheart, and I’ll ease that pain.”

  “No.”
r />   “Wrong word,” he chuckles, raking the back of his knuckles across the swell of my breast, then cupping it. His thumb twirls my nipple and I tremble violently.

  “Kane,” I moan, my hands rising to his hips. I mean to push him away, but the second I touch him, I know I’m finished. My fingers dig into his skin.

  “Closer,” he growls against my neck, his teeth raking across the sensitive skin. “Say please.”

  I shake my head.

  “Stubborn,” he mutters, his mouth dropping to my breast, taking my nipple between his teeth and sucking hard.

  My knees buckle beneath me, but he holds me up, one hand gripping my ass, the other plastered against the wall, his cock pressed against my thigh.

  His tongue dances across my breast, teasing, sucking, tasting. Every lick, every nip, tears away at my self-control.

  “You’re mine, Brynne. Your body knows it.” He rises, dragging his thumb across my lower lip.

  I know he’s right. My body betrays me.

  “You’re wrong.”

  “Terrible liar,” he mutters, dropping his mouth to mine, his lips slow and seductive.

  I have no control over my body. Not the way my hands grip his waist, or how my hips press wantonly against his throbbing cock, or the way my nipples turn pebble hard as they press against his hard chest.

  “You’ll ruin us,” I say harshly against his lips.

  His fingers tangle in my damp hair, tugging so that my chin lifts. I suck in a breath, and he takes the opportunity to deepen his kiss. His tongue invades my mouth, hard and demanding.

  He kisses me.

  Hungry.

  Possessive.

  Angry.

  “The only thing that will ruin us is if you refuse what I can give you.”

  I wrap my arms around his neck as he lifts me up so that I’m straddling his waist. “An orgasm isn’t something to base a relationship on.”

  He grunts, digging his erection harder against my stomach.

  I want him so damn bad, my entire body aches.

  “That’s not the only thing I plan on giving you.” Slowly, almost painfully, he releases me, so that I slide down his body. He presses one last, hard kiss on my mouth, before he takes a step back, erection still straining towards me.

  I have to press my palms against the tiles to keep from sinking to the floor.

  He opens the shower door and grabs a towel, a smirk playing on his lips.

  “Whe-where are you going?”

  “Bed.”

  “You’re just leaving?” Disbelief makes my voice raise an octave.

  He chuckles. “You can join me. But when do, it’s your choice.”

  Damn him.

  “Oh, and Brynne,” he says when he’s by the door, not even bothering to wrap himself in the towel. “You will say please.”

  Chapter 17

  Kane

  I lay in bed with my arms behind my head, listening to Brynne pace the floor of her bedroom. Every few minutes, I hear a muttered curse.

  Stubborn woman.

  The caveman part of me wants to go in there, toss her over my shoulder and drag her to my bed. It’s where she belongs. Where she’ll be eventually. But I want her to choose. To come to me on her own. Only then will I know she’s starting to trust me.

  Eventually I see the soft light from the hallway dim, and I blow out a breath.

  I’m not sure if I expected her to come to me. But I know one thing, I wasn’t about to take her in the shower, not when I still saw so much uncertainty in her eyes.

  My cock aches. Throbs. I haven’t touched anyone but Brynne since last year. Had no desire to. But with her sleeping in the room next to me, my balls are constantly pulled tight against my body.

  Not even jerking off helps.

  But right now, my hand is the only relief I’ll get.

  I stroke myself, picturing Brynne’s tight little body, the way her nipples pebbled against my tongue, her soft moans that she tried so hard to hold back.

  A sound makes me open my eyes - a mix between a gasp and a moan.

  Brynne is standing by the door, watching me, eyes hooded. Her tongue darts out across her lips. She doesn’t move, just stands there in her oversized t-shirt, her hard nipples poking out through the thin fabric, letting me know she’s not wearing a bra.

  Jesus, this woman.

  It’s not the first time I’ve been caught jerking off, but it’s the first time it’s ever felt…erotic.

  I keep stroking myself, my gaze focused on her, not sure what she wants. That’s not exactly true. I know what she wants – me. She just won’t admit it to herself.

  “Wouldn’t have taken you for a voyeur, Brynne.” My voice is rough, my balls tight against my body, my cock so fucking engorged I know it would take one lick of that sweet little tongue of hers to make me come.

  “I…” Her gaze never wavers from my cock.

  I slow my strokes and grin. “Do you touch yourself, Brynne?”

  Her gaze jerks to mine, eyes wide, and even in the dim light I can see the red that creeps into her cheeks.

  “When you come, do you think of me the way I think of you?”

  She gives a small shake of her head.

  Liar. Even now, her thighs press together. And I have no doubt that if I touched her, she’d be wet and ready for me.

  “Have you thought about my mouth on your sweet pussy, pretending it’s my tongue and not your fingers as you moan in pleasure?”

  She whimpers.

  “Or do you fantasize about wrapping that sweet mouth around my cock?” The familiar tingling of my shaft warns me that I’m close to spilling myself all over my stomach.

  She doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything, but I can hear her heavy breaths, fast and uneven. Her fingers are fisted in balls at the edge of her long shirt. I’m not sure she’s even aware that she’s pulling it up, her knuckles sliding across her thighs.

  “Touch yourself, Brynne,” I command. I know if I demanded her to come to me she would. But I can see it in her eyes she’s not ready. She still doesn’t trust me. And when I take her, I want every shredded piece of her heart. “If you won’t touch me, sweetheart, then touch yourself.”

  She does.

  I almost come when her fingers dip under her panties and her eyes close briefly.

  “Are you wet?” I know she is.

  “Yes,” she whimpers, licking her lips, her hand starting to move rhythmically in time with my own.

  “Tell me what you fantasize about, sweetheart?”

  “You,” she moans. “Always you.”

  Finally, some truth.

  “Show me. Come for me, Brynne.”

  I know she’s close, I can hear it in her breaths, see it in the dark depth of her pupils. When she lets out a small cry, her body trembling, hips rocking against her hand, my own release spurts across my stomach in a rush that has stars dancing behind my eyes.

  “Oh, fuck.”

  She reaches out for the doorframe to steady herself, legs wobbly.

  I roll out of bed, taking three long strides to reach her, then scoop her up against my chest and carry her to my bed.

  “Kane, I-”

  “Shut it, Brynne,” I say, laying down beside her. “I didn’t get to fuck you. The least you can do is let me sleep with you.”

  She lets out a small laugh and shakes her head. “God, you’re crude.”

  “You love it.”

  “And sticky.” Her hands are on my stomach and chest as I lean over her.

  I glance down at my abs, the evidence of my orgasm still wet against my stomach.

  “Give me your t-shirt.” I tug at the fabric.

  “No.” She holds it down when I try to lift it over her head. “Why?”

  “For once in your life, can you not argue?”

  She sighs, then lets me take it off her.

  I use it to clean myself up, then toss it on the floor before turning and drawing her back against my chest. The only thing separating us is
the lacy fabric of her thong.

  “What are you doing?” She tenses, and I can hear the tinge of fear in her voice, and I know I’m pushing her boundaries. We may not have had sex, but that was just as intimate.

  “Cuddling.”

  She snorts and tries to twist in my arms, the friction against my cock making it stir again.

  I slap her thigh gently. “Stop that, unless you’re prepared to have me balls deep in you tonight. I held back twice now. I don’t think my self-control will last a third time.”

  She sucks a breath in and goes still, which gives me the opportunity to wedge my thigh between her legs, and nuzzle my nose against her neck.

  “Kane, this isn’t-”

  “Go to sleep.” I place my heavy arm over her, locking her in place.

  “You’re going to suffocate me.” She’s still trying to put up a fight, even though we both know I’ve already won. But I expect nothing less from her.

  Slowly, I feel the tension release from her, and she melts against me. Soft and warm. She yawns, and I smile. I press my lips against her bare shoulder, listening to the sounds of her breathing as she drifts off.

  “You’re kind of ruining your bad boy vibe right now.” Her voice is filled with sleep, but even in her exhaustion she taunts me. “Who would’ve guessed Kane Madden was a cuddler?”

  I’m not. Never have been. Never allowed a woman to stay the night, or even in my bed. But with Brynne, I never want her to leave.

  Chapter 18

  Brynne

  Wrapped in a cocoon of hard muscle, I don’t want to wake up. Kane’s warm breath is on my neck, and his morning wood pressed into my backside. He murmurs in his sleep, tightening his hold, and I can’t help but smile.

  But this is bad.

  Really bad.

  I roll slightly, peeling his fingers away, which causes him to grumble and turn on his back, placing one forearm over his face. The blankets move with him, exposing his hard, muscular chest, defined abs, and the soft line of hair that trails under the covers.

  Dark stubble shadows his jaw, and I itch to run my palm over it.

 

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