Playing For Forever: An Erotic Love Story (Playing For Keeps Book 3)

by J. C. Grant

  He huffed a quiet laugh and turned back to the stove. “My dirty girl,” he muttered. His voice was a mixture of pleased, amused, and awe.

  I sipped my coffee, hiding my disappointment that he hadn’t immediately taken me up on the offer.

  “Where do I need to go for my fitting?” he asked over his shoulder.

  Setting my cup down, I looked around. I felt like I was in the Twilight Zone. When I didn't respond right away, he turned looking at me.

  “For the Espys,” he elaborated. “You picked out a tux for me when you got your dress, right?”

  “What?”

  “The Espys, sweetheart. It's next month,” he said, as if I was supposed to already know.

  “David!”

  “Did I not tell you?” he asked innocently. “So I guess that means you didn’t get me a suit for the Gala tomorrow night.”

  “What! Why couldn’t you have told me when I had a wardrobe department at my disposal?” I complained as I stood up, “I swear.”

  “Where are you goin’? I made breakfast.”

  “To make some calls.”

  “Sorry,” he called behind me distractedly.

  He wasn't sorry. I had a feeling he waited until the last minute so I would be too busy doing stuff for us—him—to do anything else.

  Since I finished filming, he had been monopolizing every minute of my day. Well... I was mostly done with filming, there was a good chance I would have to go in for some post work.

  ****

  “You look fucking amazing. Now pay attention to me,” David demanded, tugging on my upper arm as I stared at my reflection in the window, trying to check my makeup on the way to the gala. “Seriously, you’re fucking gorgeous, and that dress... I see another warning letter in my future.”

  I had called Delia the morning before, fortunately she still had a few wardrobe options from the show, hooking me up for the Gala and the up coming Espys. I’d chosen one of the dresses she had already fitted for me but I’d never worn; a white, sleeveless, beaded, deep V mini dress with an open back. I paired it with six carat stud earrings, my wedding rings, and a pair of nude, Louboutin, ankle-strap, platform sandals that I had purchased the day before—finally really getting a chance to break in that black card.

  Though, I ended up spending more on David than myself, picking out the pale gray Brioni suit, tie and button-up shirt he was wearing. It was a monochromatic look, making the focus his too handsome face and perfectly tousled hair.

  Which wasn’t fair. It took me an hour to get that sex-hair look, all he did was run his fingers through his.

  Literally.

  Tonight, I’d opted for a more polished topknot look to show off the open-back dress.

  “What do you need, sexy?” I asked, leaning into him, running my hand up his thigh. The material of his pants did nothing to hide the contours of his heavy muscles.

  “Fuck,” he groaned. “Don’t get me hard.”

  “But it’s more fun when you are,” I purred.Everything had been going so well between us since New York. We’d reached a place were neither of us were as insecure. He still got jealous and possessive, but the fear of me actually doing anything was half of what it had been before. And I honestly couldn’t imagine him cheating on me. He was too devoted, too determined to have us, to have his long-awaited family.

  “We’re not staying all night,” David warned. “I have much better things planned for later.”

  I had no doubt about that.

  We’d both been insatiable the past couple of days. I didn’t know if it was the summer, that fact that our one-year anniversary was quickly approaching, or something else. Whatever it was, I wasn’t complaining.

  “Do we have enough time for you to fuck my mouth?” I asked, trailing my finger down his inner thigh.

  “Oh fuck,” he groaned. Then he checked his white gold Rolex and grumbled, “No.”

  Minutes later, the car pulled up in front of the stadium.

  “Showtime, sweetheart,” David muttered, exiting the car, then blocked any potential up skirt views as he helped me out.

  “Thank you, angel.”

  He gave me a sexy smirk as he offered me his arm before leading me down the carpet and in front of the long line of photographers.

  It seemed to last forever. Posing, walking a few feet, posing again. My cheeks hurt by the time we were finished and heading inside to mingle.

  After thirty minutes of smiling politely, I didn't think I could hide it anymore. I was horny. I slid my hand into his, entwining our fingers, then scraping my thumbnail over his palm. He gave my hand a slight squeeze before quickly excused himself from the other guests.

  He led me away, and once we were out of hearing range, he leaned in. “You ready to leave?”

  “I need you to make me come,” I whispered against his cheek.

  He pulled back with a Cheshire cat grin and murmured, “Anything my girl wants.”

  He escorted me back and off the field, through a series of wide hallways. We ended up in the locker room.

  There were three black leather sectionals running down the middle, with TV’s hanging from the ceiling above each. Looking around the room, my eyes finally landed on Taylor, above what looked like an open closet area.

  Taylor 23. Seeing it gave me a twinge of sadness. I wanted his last name, and we still hadn’t sent in the paperwork. But that was going to the top of my to-do list.

  “This is your locker? There's no doors.” My brows pulled together, my confusion obvious.

  There was a hanging bar, a narrow chest of drawers, storage cabinet above and what resembled an oversized office chair in front of it. It was nothing like what I’d imagined.

  He laughed quietly, a soft rumble that warmed my insides as he pulled me across the room, stopping in front of his locker. His big hands gripped my hips, pulling me close. My high heels made him only three inches taller than me, allowing him to press his erection into my lower belly.

  “This is perfect. I'd love to smell your pussy before every game.” He grinned devilishly. “What do you say?” he rasped with a lift of his brows. “Let's mark my locker, make it smell like you, like your sweet cunt.”

  Before I could respond, his hand maneuvered under my dress, shoving my panties aside. His fingers grazed over my wet cleft, before two thick digits pushed inside.

  Relief washed through me at the sudden intrusion. I loved when he took command of my body, allowing me to let go. My head fell back as my eyes closed, and I bit my lip, trying not to make any noise.

  “Yeah, just like that,” he encouraged as I relaxed, giving myself over to him.

  “David," I breathed, bracing myself, one hand on top of the chest of drawers, the other on the opposite wall of the locker.

  His gentle exploration quickly shifted, turning rough as his fingers attack my G-spot relentlessly.

  “Oh fuck,” I panted. “What are you doing?” I asked, despite already knowing.

  “I want you to squirt for me,” he rasped.

  Our new found comfort in our relationship, reflected in our sex. Because instead of my normal responses, “no, not in this dress” or “no, we’ll mess up our clothes”, I didn’t say a word, I just lifted my dress and spread my legs.

  A deep guttural noise rattled in his chest before he said, “Goddamn, that’s sexy.”

  My body shook under his relentless attention and vulgar praise.

  “Come on, come for me, I wanna see that pussy rain.” His voice was low and rough, going straight to my sex.

  “David.” It was a weak plea, asking him to put me out of my misery. The tension in my core was coiled so tight it was excruciating.

  Suddenly, he squatted down in front of me, getting a better view. I felt exposed and vulnerable, out on display. I watched him, entranced by his determination.

  Within seconds, my mouth opened in a silent moan as pleasure exploded from my core, pumping through me violently.

  “Oh fuck, yes, such a good girl.�
� He sounded like he was coming.

  In the next second he was up, his arm wrapped around me, pulling me to his chest, as his fingers continued their assault on my quivering sex.

  I panted into his neck as he drew out my climax. After a moment, a laugh bubbled up out of me.

  “Mmm, come on. Let’s go home and finish this,” he growled. He pulled away, grabbing one of his jersey’s off a hanger, cleaning up our mess. “Wait here.”

  He disappeared around a corner. When he returned moments later, he had a wet towel.

  Kneeling down in front of me, he picked up one of my feet, setting it on his knee. I gripped his shoulders for balance as he carefully cleaned me.

  “I’m gonna be your boss next year,” he stated casually.

  “What?” I asked, looking down into those deep brown eyes.

  “I’ve been talking to Jeff. Next season, I’m gonna co-produce your show. Jeff’s gonna show me the ropes for the next two seasons. Then it’ll be me—or us. If you wanna start our own production company...” He trailed off, setting my foot down and starting on the other leg.

  I stared at him in bewilderment. I was so touched he would consider something like that, especially when we’d never discussed it.

  “Are you serious?” I breathed through a growing grin.

  He looked up at me. “Yeah.” His mouth lifted on one side, turning into his charming almost grin. “Turns out, I can make more producing your show, than playing ball... And then there’s the bonus of being with you all the time, and getting to veto anything I don’t want you doin’.”

  “Very funny,” I admonished. Though he probably wasn’t kidding. “I would love to have you produce, and I would love having our own production company.”

  “Good, me too.” Once he was done cleaning me, he stood abruptly, grabbing my hand. “Now let’s get the fuck outta here.”

  Epilogue

  The early morning light filled the room with an ethereal glow as I laid in bed enjoying the view. A view I’d memorized over the years—from the billboards on Sunset to the glittering ocean in the distance—I knew every nuance.

  The same way I knew David.

  The same way he knew me.

  It’d been eleven years since our wedding. And just over ten years since that night at the Gala. The night we cemented our future plans.

  David had immediately taken to working with me. Being my partner in all areas of our life. And he was good at it. Really good.

  A familiar tribal chant blared through the house, shattering my peaceful laze. Thinking of the responsible party, a smile broke across my face.

  He’s a mess. A sweet, beautiful mess.

  A soft grown slipped past my lips as I climbed out of bed, my body still sore from David’s late night passion. Picking up my jersey robe from where David had tossed it the night before, I wrapped it around me, tying it tight before leaving the room.

  The classic Blue Swede song was contagious as I made my way down the hall, grooving to the rhythm.

  When I entered the great room, I smothered a laugh, finding three bodies moving to the beat as well.

  David had moves, there was nothing funny about that, but Tansy and Witt had to be the most adorable creatures I’d ever seen.

  And David and I had created them.

  Witt Taylor had been a big oops. Huge oops. When we finally decided to have a child six years ago, David and I had already been working together for four years. Working together had made him understand how demanding my career was, how demanding our filming schedule was. So we’d opted for a gestational surrogacy, knowing being pregnant and getting back into on-screen shape in time for the next season would be too daunting.

  Three months after finding out the surrogates implantation was a success—Tansy had been conceived—I turned up pregnant too.

  “I wanted ice cream and waffles,” Witt complained.

  “You’re such a baby,” Tansy admonished, condescendingly.

  “You are only three months older than me,” Witt responded, defiant as always.

  Witt was a mini David. Demanding, bossy, and always wanted to know everything. Dark brown hair and those soulful dark eyes. He already had little muscles too.

  Witt was also responsible for the music filling the house. He had decided he was going to be a rock god, his words not mine. So David had encouraged him to start studying the evolution of rock and roll, hence, the loud music at six a.m. It had been going on for almost a year; my hope of it being a fad was quickly dying.

  Figured a girl with a no athletes or rock stars rule would end up married to one and raising the other.

  “Ice cream and waffles are for the weekend, you know that.” David’s deep voice carried over the music.

  I watched, entranced by David, as he moved around the kitchen. He was more gorgeous than when we met. His muscles were more defined, if not bigger. His thick, dark brown hair nearly grazed his shoulders, accentuating his dark scruff and eyebrows. He’d let his hair grow out, from laziness more than style, but it was sexy as hell. And Witt had insisted on copying his father—as always.

  David had only become more protective of me since having children. He had a valid reason though—at least he thought so. After a very difficult pregnancy, I’d suffered severe postpartum depression. I’d spent the first two years of the kids’ lives in and out of a treatment facility. And during the season... let’s just say my mom and Helena did most of the raising the first two years.

  In someways it felt like I’d lost those two years. I mean, I’d known I loved my children, I’d known I loved David, but it was an illusive thing. I had known it was there, but I couldn’t connect to it.

  That invisible wall David had torn down had returned, tenfold. No matter what I tried, I hadn’t felt like I belonged with them. I’d felt like an outsider in my own home. I didn’t have anything to offer them—that’s what I thought—that they would’ve been better off without me.

  I’d never felt so inadequate in my life.

  Despite my best efforts to hide it, David had noticed immediately, and I was in treatment within six weeks of giving birth to Witt.

  David had insisted on staying with me. Whether I was in treatment or at work, David was with me, literally.

  As awful as the experience had been, it’d made us stronger as a couple. David and I were closer than ever.

  “Childish response,” Tansy dismissed.

  “Tanz,” David warned quietly.

  “It was, and I’m calling dibs on decorating Mom’s trailer.” Then she added forcefully, “And I’m coming to set everyday.”

  “We’ll see,” David hedged.

  Neither of us wanted them hanging out on set. Fortunately, their schedules were fairly full, keeping them both busy most of the day.

  Aside from the gym, we’d taken a break from working the past three years, trying to make up for time lost with Tansy and Witt, and each other. That was until six months ago, when I started writing again. Two weeks ago, Jeff had helped us pitch it to a major network. We were starting production in two months. I would be writing and directing, David and Jeff were producing.

  “Then I’m going too,” Witt complained.

  “Guys.” David’s voice was patient as always. “You’re makin’ a lotta plans for Grams. Have you even asked her?”

  My mom lived in the guest house. She had come out to LA as soon as I started having trouble during the pregnancy. Then she sold her businesses to stay and raise my kids—doing our job. I owed her everything. And Helena had become a full-time presence in our lives as soon as we brought Tansy home.

  “Sweet girl,” he purred without even turning to me, ending my spying. “You’re supposed to be in bed.”

  Padding over to the end of the kitchen island, I leaned against the counter. “I thought I’d take these two monkeys in today.”

  David’s gaze cut to me, an amused smirk on his face. “Nice try. Get back in bed.”

  I scrunched up my face, sticking my tongue out at
him.

  Shaking his head, he laughed.

  David and Fergus had been sharing school pick-up and drop-off for three months, ever since our ever-helpful son asked, “Dad, is Mom more famous than you? Because all the other dad’s and guy teachers follow us to talk to her when she walks us in and picks us up, but they don’t do that to you.”

  “It’s not all of them,” Tansy had corrected, matter-of-factly.

  David hadn’t been amused.

  He’d never said anything to me about it, but he’d never passed up an opportunity to make a possessive claim on me. The following morning, he insisted on coming with us to the school, making a point. Whether to me or the too friendly fathers, I wasn’t sure. But he hadn’t let me go back up there without him.

  “Go back to bed, Mom,” Witt chimed in. “Dad said, and he’s the boss of you.”

  My eyebrows lifted, Tansy and I looked at each other in disbelief, then said in unison, “No, he’s not.”

  Wrapping a thick arm around me, David pulled me around the island to him. Pressing up against my back, trapping me between him and the counter and whispered in my ear, “I’m the boss where it counts.”

  “Ewww, go to your room,” Witt groused.

  There was no way he heard David, not over the music.

  “I’m getting Fergus to take us, you guys are going to sex it up,” Tanz muttered, already texting Fergus.

  “Hey,” David scolded halfheartedly. Then pressed his lips behind my ear, murmuring, “That’s your fault.”

  Tansy was definitely my mini-me. If her attitude didn’t prove it, her long brown hair, bright green eyes, and little bubble butt sealed the deal. She was independent, smart, mature, and knew what she wanted. Witnessing her grow, trying and learning new things, was helping heal something inside me. I couldn’t quite explain it, but I think Witt had the same effect on David. They helped our scars heal in a way nothing else could.

  We still had that darkness in us, and we still enjoyed exploring it sexually, but that underlying rage in us had softened.

  “What can I say? Like mother like daughter,” I teased, though I had no idea where she picked up that cheesy phrase.