Player: Stone Cold MC

by Carmen Faye

  “I sure as hell hope so,” I said, and my voice was sharper than I meant it. He narrowed his eyes at me.

  “You don’t honestly think I’m like that, do you?” he asked.

  And by “like that” he meant the playing kind. And honestly, I wasn’t sure what I thought of him anymore. I just raised my eyebrows, hoping whatever was on my face spoke instead of the words I was supposed to pull together in a sentence. Rip rolled his eyes like a woman and shook his head.

  “Why are you women all the same?” he asked. As if he knew it must have come out offensive somehow, he lifted ups his hands, palms toward me. “No offense,” he added.

  I sighed and dropped my arms, feeling defeated—even though it hadn’t really ever been a battle. “What have you been up to?” I asked.

  He smiled. “I’ve been stealing Jerrill’s drugs and selling them back to him.”

  I frowned, trying to make sense of his words.

  “What?”

  “I’ve been stealing—”

  “I heard you,” I said, cutting him off from a repeat. “I was just trying to figure out how the hell you’re still alive.”

  If he was messing with Jerrill, he was a walking dead man.

  He smiled and sat down on my couch, making himself at home even though I hadn’t intended for him to stay. I wanted an answer, and then I wanted him out the door.

  “So I haven’t heard from you in a week because you were stealing someone else’s shit and selling it back to them? Do you have any idea how dangerous this game is that you’re playing?”

  He shrugged, which made me think he had no idea at all what he was getting himself into.

  “I wanted to be able to pay you your cash back. With interest. And make enough to take you somewhere fancy on that date of ours.”

  “Oh, I didn’t realize the date was still on,” I answered sarcastically.

  “Come on, babe, don’t be like that.”

  I held up my hand. “Don’t call me ‘babe.’ Don’t you dare.”

  He closed his mouth, but he stared at me, challenging me with his eyes. And it was a turn on. When he sat there, arrogant, full of himself, I wanted to be full of him, too. And that was the last thing I had in mind when I invited him in. He was a pathetic excuse for a man, definitely not boyfriend material, and here I was thinking that I really wanted to get in his pants.

  “You couldn’t have at least let me know that you’re not dead?” I asked.

  “I didn’t realize you cared so much,” he said and smiled at me, which just made him sexier—and consequently irritated me more.

  “I don’t,” I said and started walking away from him, down the passage toward my bedroom. “I care about the money,” I called over my shoulder just to add injury to insult.

  He came after me. That hadn’t been the plan either. I had wanted to get away from him, not get him to follow me. I should have kicked him out of the house instead.

  “Come on, Alex,” he said, not calling me “babe” again. He was a fast learner. “I made you a lot of money.”

  He took out an envelope and handed it to me. My name was written on the front in scratchy handwriting. My full name, not just the shortened version. When I opened it up there was a note with an amount on it.

  I gasped.

  “Are you being serious?” I asked. Rip nodded.

  “And the best part is that I didn’t do that through any of the games I played, which means that we don’t owe the Crucifix Six any of that. Zero percent.”

  “Where’s the actual money?” I asked, looking at him.

  “It’s at the motel where I’m staying. I came straight from the casino, I didn’t have time to pick it up.”

  I nodded. I didn’t know what to say to that. It felt like more empty promises. Rip looked at me with eyes that suggested his thoughts weren’t on money anymore, and I was suddenly very aware that we were in the bedroom. The bed was just behind me, the curtains were drawn, and only one bedside lamp was on, making the room dim and romantic.

  Not what I was going for.

  “You look really nice,” Rip said, and his eyes slid down my body. I knew the dress I wore was sexy. The little black dress always worked—and this one accentuated my curves.

  Rip’s comment made me feel beautiful and sexy. Or maybe it was the way he was looking at me. It made me focus on his body, too. He wore black pants, and a shirt that was almost the color of his eyes. Maybe that was why they stood out so much. His pupils were dilated, and he took a step closer to me.

  My breath caught in my throat and heat pooled between my legs as if he’d flipped an “on” switch. I wasn’t supposed to be attracted to him. I wasn’t supposed to think that he was so attractive. I wasn’t supposed to be thinking about sex at all.

  He pulled into me, putting one hand behind my neck and kissing me hard. Every bit of resolve I had not to fall into this situation dissipated like it had never been.

  I let him kiss me. I didn’t stop him when he pulled my body against his until every part of me was pressed up against him. His stomach was hard under his shirt, his chest pushed up against my breasts and my thighs touched his.

  Which meant that my hips were also pressed against his, and I had a very good idea about what was going on in his pants.

  He was hard, the length of him pressing up against me, straining through his pants and my dress to reach me.

  When he licked my lips, I opened my mouth so that he could enter me. It was a good start, having a part of him inside of me like this.

  He brought up his other hand and pushed it into my hair, running his fingers through the strands. It made me feel sensual. He ground his hips against mine and I moaned.

  His hands slid down my back and down onto my hips, and he held them in place as he moved his own hips against mine. He moved in circles, pushing and then pulling with me against him, rubbing himself against me. It was like a sensual dance to music only he and I could hear, and it was hot as hell.

  My body was ready for him. I wanted everything he had to offer. I wanted to be everything he wanted. I wanted out of my clothes. Now.

  I stretched my arms over his shoulders and wrapped them around his neck, pulling my breasts harder against his chest. I wanted him to feel every inch of my body, and I wanted to feel every part of his.

  He fiddled with the zip behind my back and then slid it down. The sound harmonizing with our breathy moans and desperate grunts. The dress parted, loosening around my body. He slid it off my shoulders with both hands and pushed it over my hips so it fell on the floor. I knew the underwear I was wearing was risqué. I didn’t wear sexy underwear for men, I wore it for myself because when I pranced around knowing that I looked like a wet dream I was more confident. I thought I was sexy, and I acted like it.

  But it didn’t hurt that Rip saw me in this boudoir set. It didn’t hurt at all.

  I stood in front of him, wearing red lace underwear and high heels, stripper style, and I loved the feel of his eyes on my body when he moved me just a couple of inches away to look at me. My skin looked tanner in the dim yellow lighting, my hair was darker, my eyes more sensual. I couldn’t see myself, but I could see it in his eyes. I was his goddess—even if it was just for tonight.

  My bra was only lace, so he could see my already erect nipples through the material. My panties also left very little to the imagination, showing how naked I was down there, how willing I was to bare every inch of myself.

  “God, Alex,” he said. His tongue darted out of his mouth, licking his lips, and his eyes rested on my breasts as if he hadn’t seen a good pair in a while. His lips remained parted even after he’d licked them, and he breathed through his mouth and his nose at the same time, giving him the comical sense of desperation that I knew was on my face, too.

  He started unbuttoning his own shirt. He let it fall on the floor to join my dress. I reached for his belt and undid it, tugging his pants over his hips. He kicked the pants off and then guided me backward until my legs touched
the bed. He pressed against my shoulders, but I shook my head. I wasn’t going to get on my back just yet.

  I pushed against him, mimicking what he’d just done, asking him for space. Then I kneeled in front of him and curled my fingers around the elastic band of his underwear, flipping it down over his hard cock. He sprang free and the tip glistened with lust. I took just a second to marvel in the erotic image that was in front of me. Rip. Muscles. Hard and eager. Ready for me.

  I wrapped my fingers around his base and a gasp escaped his lips. I took him in my mouth. He was big and hard, smooth, and his pre-cum tasted salty. I closed my lips around him, creating a light suction in my mouth, and I started moving up and down along his shaft. He groaned and pushed his hands into my hair again, guiding my head up and down his cock. I sucked him, pumping my head backward and forward, imitating the sex we were going to have later.

  He moaned and curled his fingers so that he didn’t just guide me but gripped my hair as well. It was sexy. A little demanding, but not enough that it turned me off, and never in a way that made me feel like I was doing something against my will. I liked it when he took a bit of control. I liked it that the sense of sex took over enough that he wanted in, even if it was my mouth.

  I gave him a blowjob until he was smooth and slippery and oozing pre-cum, ready to go further and deeper than my mouth could allow. Then I let go of the suction, and he slid out of it. I got up.

  His eyes were wild, pupils large and wild. His lips were parted, and he didn’t wait for an invitation. He pushed me down on the bed and crawled over me. He yanked my panties down and I felt the wet material against my thigh, my own body betraying how badly I wanted this.

  Rip went for my breast, pulling the material down to expose a nipple. I was the one who arched up my back and unclasped it. Rip pulled it off and threw it to the side. I was naked in front of him now, and somewhere along the line he’d lost his boxers as well.

  I opened my legs for him. He positioned himself and pressed against my entrance. I gasped. He was hard and urgent, and I felt it spill over into me, too, desperation to have him inside of me.

  His head was in my neck, lips fumbling over the skin, when he pushed into me. I gasped again, my body yielding and stretching to accommodate him. He pushed in slowly so that I could adjust to his size. When he was in all the way to the hilt, he paused and we both breathed hard, anticipating what was going to come. A shudder traveled through his body and into mine, making me shudder too.

  Then he started moving. My body rocked under his, as he pushed into me and pulled out again. The friction was fantastic, making my body melt. I wrapped my legs around his thighs so that I could pull him deeper into me, and he complied with deeper thrusts of his own.

  The sex was fucking amazing. Every time we slept together it was the best sex I’d ever had.

  He pounded into me, and the heat he was working on built up inside me and kindled into a flame. I opened my mouth and moaned into Rip’s ear, closing my eyes and letting the sensation take over. My head rolled back and forth as he pushed into me, hammering into my body and making my breasts jiggle.

  The orgasm rocked through me out of nowhere. The one moment I was focusing on what I felt, and the next moment it shattered through me, rocking my body to a new level. White light exploded and washed through my body, reaching every inch. I curled around Rip’s body, clutching onto him, nails biting into his skin, and cried out.

  He kissed me hard and rode out the orgasm with me. I clamped down around his cock and my body spasmed and jerked, as the orgasm came through me in waves.

  Then it started dying down and my muscles slowly relaxed.

  “Oh my God,” I panted. Rip smiled.

  He pulled out of me, and my body protested, not wanting to let go. He tapped my hip with his fingers.

  “Turn around,” he said.

  I knew what he wanted. He wanted me. From behind. I rolled over and got up on my hands and knees.

  Rip didn’t waste time. He took my hips and pulled my body across the bed, pulling my body closer. He guided me with his hands until I wasn’t on the bed on all fours, but standing in front of him. He pushed his hand against my back, one hand still on my hip, bending me over. I leaned on the bed with my hands.

  I liked him taking control. I liked him telling me what he wanted.

  He held both my hips and steadied me. He positioned himself and pushed into me again. I gasped.

  The new angle pushed him in deeper, and I was tight from the orgasm already. He started pumping into me again, going deeper and harder than before. The sensation made my legs numb, and I braced my knees against the bed so that I didn’t collapse on my face. I bent my arms and leaned on my elbows for more support. It gave Rip an even better angle with my ass in the air. He pounded away, harder and faster.

  He was getting close to an orgasm. I could feel it. His strokes got shorter and shorter and his pumping harder and harder. My breasts swung back and forth in the air, and I felt his balls slap against my clit, pushing me closer to my own orgasm, going for round two.

  He came hard inside of me and groaned. It pushed me over the edge too, and I came with another explosion, my insides milking him as he pumped into me. It was hot and it was wild, and surprisingly, it was exactly what I’d needed.

  When he was done, he pulled out of me. I pushed up. My back was stiff, and I crawled onto the bed and collapsed. Rip lay down next to me, panting hard, and I took deep breaths, trying to catch my own breath. God, that was good.

  Rip looked at me. His eyes wandered over my body. I felt flush, breathing hard, my hair a mess and my body open for him. This was all his doing.

  “You are so damn beautiful,” he said, and like some love struck teenage girl, I actually blushed.

  “You’re really flattering after sex,” I said.

  He shook his head. “Just honest.”

  We didn’t cuddle and spoon and do all those relationship things. Instead, we lay side by side, trying to recover. I didn’t feel the need to cover up or get dressed, so I didn’t. Rip didn’t make an effort to get dressed either. We lay there, naked, together in the semidark, and all of it felt right.

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  Alex’s bedroom was exactly how I’d expected it to be. Rich, dark wood furniture, deep red satin duvet cover, and curtains that looked like they would look good in velvet, blocking out the world and trapping us in this fantasy—with the aftermath of mind-blowing sex.

  Everything about her was like that. The sex, most of all. But every aspect of her life made me feel like just when I thought I’d found the best part, I realized I wasn’t even close.

  “That was unexpected,” she said after we’d spent some time lying next to each other trying to recover.

  “It was.” At least, for her. She’d been ready to fight with me, and she had all the right. Well, sort of. But I’d been ready for her the moment I saw her in that little black dress, standing with her hands on her hips looking at me like I was in some deep kind of trouble.

  Alex was hot. She was sex on a stick, any guy’s wet dream—including my own of late—and I didn’t think there was anything wrong with my body to react to her the way it did. She was cocky and confident, and there was nothing sexier.

  At least, that was what I thought. When she was angry with me the way she’d been tonight—holy shit. It took lust to a whole new level. The fire inside of her cranked me up until I just had to do something about it.

  The best part was when I had actually acted on what I’d been feeling for her, the craving in my pants for that body of hers, that mouth of hers. She’d followed right along with me. It was exactly what I’d needed.

  And apparently, what she’d needed, too.

  She lay next to me now, naked, not bothering to cover up. Her body was bathed in a pool of light that came from the single bedside lamp that was on in the room, and she looked completely comfortable in her own skin.

  She was the only woman I knew who didn’t feel li
ke being naked was any less attractive than being dressed in the perfect clothes for her body type.

  She rolled onto her side. Her breasts pressed against each other, making a line between them. Her hair fell over her neck and into her face, and she brushed it away with her fingers. Her lips were red and puffy from all the kissing, her eyes glazed over in the kind of way only an orgasm could offer, and she smiled.

  “Why are you back?” she asked.

  “I didn’t leave,” I answered.

  She pursed her lips, making me believe she felt different.

  “You left your motel.”

  “I don’t want to leave a trail.”