The Player's Club: Scott

by Cathy Yardley

  She crept into the restroom, closing the door behind her. Her heart was pounding in her chest when she heard his soft knock. She opened it, stifling a giggle as he crammed into the compartment with her and locked the door behind him.

  His eyes were alight as he reached for her. She kissed him, hard and quick, still giggling softly, breathlessly. “I can’t believe we’re doing this,” she mouthed.

  “Better hurry,” he whispered back, nipping at her throat. “God, I want you.”

  She felt adrenaline and lust drenching her body, and she quickly undid her jeans, shimmying them down her legs and off her feet. He undid his pants, and she shoved them down his thighs, bumping against a wall as she did so, which set off a fresh set of strangled chuckles. “Shh!” she breathed, her face splitting with a smile.

  Then he reached for her, and all she felt was urgency, need. His cock was already completely erect, pointing at her like a missile, and he pressed her against the wall. She almost fell onto the toilet seat, and she laughed out loud.

  He covered her mouth with his, smothering her humorous sounds as he moved between her legs. She wrapped her legs around his waist, feeling either side of the room against the outside of her thighs. She was pretty sure her knee was hitting the counter.

  He had rolled on the condom, and now he pressed inside her in a rush, and she was more than ready for him. He groaned softly, so quietly, as he buried himself fully in her, and she tightened her thighs around his waist. He withdrew, then pressed forward, slowly, deliberately.

  She rested her chin on his shoulder, and saw her face in the mirror. She almost didn’t recognize herself. Her hair, tousled and sexy, just like a model’s. Her pale skin flushed. Her eyes were bright as diamonds, and her lips were rosy and swollen from kisses. Scott looked like a mystery man; his face was hidden, his clothes still on, his broad shoulders covering her. He still had a great ass, and watching it clench as he thrust inside her made her wet and shivery and aching with need. He increased his pressure and his speed, and she clutched at him, with her arms and her legs, urging him harder, faster, now.

  “Scott,” she said, her voice barely audible, just a slight brush of air against his neck as she matched his every thrust, shimmying against him, feeling his cock glide against her clit as he moved, stroking the inside of her pussy with his full hardness. She gasped, sounding choppy and urgent. Her hips bucked against his as he continued his sensual onslaught.

  “Hurry,” she whispered. She could feel the beginnings of orgasm curling around her consciousness, and her pussy started to contract…

  Suddenly, there was a knock at the door, and they froze. “Everything all right in there?” a brisk masculine voice asked with concern.

  She looked at Scott, terrified even as her orgasm screamed to be released. “Out in just a minute,” Scott said, his voice hoarse. Then he pressed his mouth to hers as he slammed into her, a high, perfectly aimed thrust that hit her G-spot and shattered her control.

  The taboo, getting caught, everything flooded over her, and her orgasm splintered her into pieces. She screamed soundlessly against his mouth as her pussy rippled around him, her thighs clamping onto him like a vise. She threw her head back, gasping. She hit her head against the wall, and didn’t care. He shuddered against her, his body jerking, the two of them gasping and straining with the aftershocks.

  Long minutes afterward, sweaty and shaking, he finally set her down. Her legs were too shaky to support her, and she sank down onto the toilet. “Oh, wow,” she murmured. “I can’t believe we just did that.”

  Scott’s eyes were gleaming mischievously. “Come on. Guy’s waiting,” he mouthed.

  She blushed, quickly trying to tug her pants back on—not an easy feat, considering the crammed quarters. She kicked Scott twice before she finally managed to get clothed again. “What is he going to think?” she asked.

  “He’s going to wish he was me,” Scott answered with a wink. “Don’t worry. Just head for the seat. I’m sure this happens all the time.”

  Scott opened the door, and for a second, he stopped—causing Amanda to bump into his back. “You prick,” Scott said, in a low hiss.

  She heard masculine laughter, and abruptly wondered what was going on.

  “I thought you were sick or something,” a man’s voice said disingenuously. “You know. Puking.”

  Scott turned back to her. “Amanda, go on ahead to the seat.” He was staring at a man, their age, with carroty-red hair and a smarmy expression. The red-haired man winked at her. She returned to her seat, but the plane was quiet enough that she could catch snippets of their conversation.

  “Who was that?”

  “Not your business, that’s who,” Scott said sourly.

  “Girlfriend?” The man’s tone was sarcastic. “Do Lincoln and Finn know about this? And what does she know?”

  She didn’t catch Scott’s answer, although she found herself desperately wanting to. Finally, she closed her eyes, waiting for him to return.

  He had to be a Player. She wondered how they were going to get around the stricture of him not telling anyone…especially when it came time for her to join.

  Her mind was awhirl. Eager, impatiently, she suddenly realized that she was in an airplane, and she couldn’t care less.

  Sonofabitch, she thought. He really did cure my fear of flying.

  But she wasn’t sure if lust or falling desperately, stupidly in love was what did the trick.

  11

  THE FLIGHT WAS OVER, Amanda was grateful, ecstatic to be on the ground and alive…and only a little jet-lagged. They’d been here a day, wandering around, fighting off napping. Now, at night, at a restaurant and dance club, Amanda was seeing a whole new side to Scott. She thought he might rush off, that he might have Player’s Club business to attend to. Instead, he told her that they were off doing something, but he’d wanted to spend the time with her.

  She wasn’t sure if that was romantic, or shady—if he wanted to focus on her or hide her.

  “Whoo! Another shot!” he crowed, accepting a shot of the clear liquor they were drinking… Vodka? Grappa? What the heck was he drinking?

  He sat down next to her with a goofy, endearing smile. “I’m getting plastered, aren’t I?”

  She nodded. “Is this a regular thing?” Might as well know now.

  He shook his head, a little too vigorously, and then he needed to hold the table for balance to get his bearings. He said, slowly and with careful enunciation, “I don’t get drunk. It makes you lose too much control.”

  “Obviously,” she said, sipping the same glass of red wine she’d started the night with. “You want any more tapas?” She nudged the plate toward him.

  He opened his arms voluminously, almost hitting the people who were sharing their table with them, family style. Considering they were also a bit inebriated, they forgave him easily. “I’ve had the best food, the best drink and I’ve got the best girl in Spain,” he said, kissing her noisily. “And I’m running with the bulls tomorrow!”

  Another rowdy cheer at this one. He kissed her more intently. She found it sweet, if disconcerting.

  “You’ve got a big day tomorrow,” she said. “Why don’t I pour you into bed?”

  “I can think of better things we can do there,” he said with what he probably thought was a suave bit of eyebrow wiggling.

  “Let’s just get there first,” she said, grinning. “Then we’ll see what happens next.”

  He let her help him out of the restaurant, high-fiving various other tourists and run aficionados on the way out. “I’m so glad you’re here,” he said, leaning on her heavily.

  “I’ll bet,” she said with a loud oof. “You probably couldn’t find your way back to the hotel in this state, pal.”

  He let out a bark of laughter, then shook his head. “No. I mean, I’m so glad you’re here with me in Spain.”

  She felt a burst of warmth in her chest. “I’m glad, too.”

  “I can’t believe I’m he
re.”

  “Me neither,” she echoed with feeling.

  “No, I can believe you’re here,” he said, scoffing at her remark. “You’re an adventurer.”

  “I am?” She blinked. She’d been called many things, but adventurer was rarely one of them. “Then…what does that make you?”

  “Incredibly lucky.” She wasn’t sure if he was deliberately misinterpreting her remarks or what, but he stood then and cupped her face. “If it hadn’t been for you and the Players, I would still be stuck in the same windowless office, watching TV way too late, playing video games and not getting any sleep in my lonely, empty bed.”

  Now her mouth fell open. “You weren’t like that,” she protested.

  He shook his head. “You don’t even really know me. How crazy is that? You think I’m this larger-than-life guy.”

  “You are larger-than-life,” she said. “You just aren’t giving yourself a chance.”

  He shook his head, then started heading down the street, until she tugged his arm.

  “Wrong way,” she corrected gently, guiding him toward their hotel. They trudged in silence for a minute, the mood going from ebullient to deflated in less than sixty seconds. She ushered him up to the room. “So…what did you want to do in bed?”

  He collapsed face-first into the pillow. “Try to get the room to stop spinning,” she heard his muffled voice say.

  She sighed, shaking her head. He obviously didn’t drink all that often. It was surprising…and sort of cool.

  “How did you get involved with The Player’s Club, anyway?”

  He rolled over, keeping his eyes closed. “Remember those guys? That night, in the alley?”

  “The night I found you on my fire escape?” she asked, feeling fond of the memory.

  “The very same. Well, I followed them one night.”

  She gasped, sitting next to him on the bed. “By yourself? Are you crazy? They could have been… You could have been…”

  “Did you ever feel like you were… I don’t know. Trapped in your life?” His voice sounded as if he was pleading for her understanding.

  She paused, surprised by the turn of conversation. Then she started slowly stroking his hair across his forehead. She thought of her marriage, the chocolate shop. How she’d exchanged busy for happy.

  “Yeah,” she said. “I think I know how that feels.”

  “I was trapped in my life,” he said, rolling to his side to stare at her more intently. “I hated just playing it safe. I was so stuck in my life I didn’t even know how unhappy I was.”

  “I’m sorry.” The words didn’t express enough. She cuddled next to him, and he kissed her temple.

  “These guys showed me that. They woke me up to the fact that I was just going through the motions, that I wasn’t living my life, I was serving it like a jail sentence. All the crazy stuff—the bull run, the skydiving, all of it—isn’t necessarily the stuff that makes me happy. But it was like dynamite. Suddenly, I’m not stuck anywhere. Anything is possible.”

  She wanted to weep for him. He sounded so broken, and then so hopeful.

  “I feel alive now,” he said, stroking her face.

  She kissed him softly on the lips. “I’m glad.”

  “How about you?” he asked. “What makes you feel alive?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I thought I used to, but…I don’t know. I just know that I envy you. I want to live my life deliberately, like you are. That’s why I pushed so hard to get you to help me join the Club.”

  He nodded.

  “But I know I feel alive when I’m with you,” she added ruefully. “Maybe some of your Player’s philosophy is wearing off on me.”

  He laughed. Then he leaned in, kissing her more intently. His hand stroked up her stomach, cupping her breast. He rolled her onto her back, then kissed her more intently.

  “I think I remember what I wanted to do to you,” he whispered roughly against her ear.

  She could feel his erection pressed like a rod of iron against her thigh. “I think you’re up for it,” she agreed, surprised.

  “Is this blouse a favorite of yours?”

  She frowned. “Not particularly. Why?”

  He smiled, and his expression was devilish—pure sex, laced with a dark mischief she’d never seen before. She shivered, surprised at how turned on he’d managed to make her in such a short period of time. “Scott…”

  He reached down, grabbing her blouse and yanking it, hard. Buttons went flying as they were torn off the hem. Before she could yelp in protest, he was kissing her chest, suckling her through the lace of her black bra. She gasped, then moaned as her back arched.

  He’d always been a thoughtful lover. Considerate. Definitely inventive, and above all adventurous—she’d certainly never had sex in public before he came along. But tonight, he was unleashed. She wasn’t a participant so much as she was simply experiencing him, like standing in a summer thunderstorm.

  He stripped out of his own clothes with surprising grace, then yanked off her skirt. She was wearing a black thong to match the bra—she’d invested in a lot more lingerie since she started seeing Scott—and he didn’t take it off. He merely pushed it to one side, pressing inside her with a swift, sure stroke. She moaned, her head moving from side to side as he rode her, lifting her hips to meet him, angling her so her leg rested against his chest, her heel resting on his shoulder. He rippled against her like lapping ocean waves.

  The first orgasm was like a lightning strike: brilliant, dazzling, unexpected. She cried out, her hands fisting in the sheets.

  He turned her over, unclasping her bra and flicking it off her shoulders. Then he leaned against her, his chest to her back. He cupped her breasts as he entered her from behind. He pistoned against her hips, his cock thick, relentlessly pleasuring her. He moaned as he rode her, and she moaned in response, arching, bucking her hips back to meet his. He spread her legs a little, wriggling somehow, until she felt as if she was on fire with need. Her last coherent thought was, Did he take a class since the last time we…?

  He hit her G-spot with the tip of his cock, and she cried out, her body clenching against him. She was mewling, all but screaming with the reverberations.

  “Still not done with you yet,” he growled. He spun her again, lifting her against him, pressing her against the headboard, wrapping her legs around him. It was just like the club, just like the park, one of her favorite positions. His shaft rubbed against her clit in just the right way as he plunged in and withdrew. She took in a quavering, hiccupping breath. “Oh, Scott…” She clawed at his shoulders, mindless with how he was making her feel.

  His tempo sped up, going from measured and masterful to animalistically wild. He was almost shouting with it, the bed squeaking in protest at the power of his thrusts. She clung to him. When she came, she screamed. He echoed it, shuddering against her, his hips jerking like a shot cannon. They sank to the bed, still joined.

  “Wow,” she murmured, when she could finally speak.

  His eyes were closed—he had to be already asleep. She kissed him again, holding him for a moment.

  “I love you,” she whispered.

  She didn’t think he heard her, but his hold on her tightened.

  PEOPLE DO GET KILLED DOING this, you know.

  It was seven-thirty in the morning. Scott tried hard to ignore his pounding headache and the knot of fear tightening in his stomach. He was standing in the crowd of lunatics, who were apparently singing some traditional running song. Next to him was an old stone building that had statues on top with what looked like angels wielding clubs. The air was almost sticky with excitement and fear.

  Scott was wearing the traditional white shirt, white pants and red handkerchief around his neck. He also had his good running shoes on.

  He felt like an idiot. A possibly soon-to-be-dead idiot.

  “Whooo! Right on!” Finn yelled, bouncing like a six-year-old on a sugar rush. “Are you excited? Are you pumped?”

&
nbsp; “Are you hungover?” Lincoln asked, at a more normal volume. Finn was surrounded by a bunch of Players, all wearing the white clothes…well, except for Finn, who wasn’t wearing a shirt. Finn was self-admittedly “clothing challenged.”

  “I’m a little hungover,” Scott said.

  “It’ll be fine. It’s the people who are still roaring drunk that usually get hurt in this thing,” Lincoln said casually, as if he were standing in a drawing room instead of on a cobblestone street in Spain, waiting for some pissed-off, really large bovines to start tearing after him.

  “After this, I’m in, right?” Scott said, through gritted teeth. Finn was leading a bunch of the guys in some song in very broken Spanish. From the sound of the crowd, it had a bawdy edge to it.

  “You’re in like…well, like Finn,” Lincoln said with a grin. “Sure you still want it?”

  “Would I be here if I didn’t?”

  Lincoln shrugged. “I think you’ll be a good addition, Scott. As long as you’re joining for the right reasons.”

  “What are the—”

  Before he could complete the question, there was a shout, and suddenly the crowd went quiet. Tension and anticipation were palpable.

  Oh, crap. Scott felt adrenaline flood through his system, making him hyperaware. He felt as if his skin was crawling.

  “Good luck,” a female voice said next to him, and he jumped, startled.

  Amanda.

  He quickly moved her through the crowd, glancing over his shoulder at the guys. “You didn’t… I didn’t think you were going to run.”

  “I came all the way to Pamplona,” she said, and her voice was filled with that determination that he was starting to realize he totally loved. “I won’t just be a spectator. I’d kick myself for the rest of my life.”

  His mouth went dry as he suddenly got the implication. It was one thing to think of himself possibly dying. But Amanda…

  “You’ve got to get out of here,” he said sharply. “Now.”

  She stared at him, incredulous. “Um, no.”

  “People get killed doing this,” he growled.

  “Yeah, like you,” she said. “So let’s just focus and get through this, okay? It’ll be a hell of a story.”