"When do I get a turn?” She spoke to distract herself from emotions too confusing and dangerous to explore.
"You want a turn?"
She nodded. He grinned.
"Just say the word. Where do you want me?"
He helped her up. She brought a hand up to his face and touched it. He kissed her palm and held it against his cheek.
Rachel pulled away, not willing to be under his spell and put her heart at risk. Not that it wasn't already at risk, but why make it worse?
She pointed to the counter. If it was good enough for her, it was good enough for him. He leveraged his cute butt onto the counter and waited expectantly for more instructions.
"You're enjoying this way too much."
"And that's a problem?” His dark eyes danced, pulling her in. “I'm at your mercy, baby. So show me none.” He lay on the counter, grabbed a kitchen towel to wad under his head, threw his arms out to the sides, and waited.
She had to laugh. What a goofball. Shaking her head, she picked up the liqueur and poured it on his penis. The damn thing waved in the air like a triumphant flag, conquering the lands as its own. The sticky liquid trickled down the shaft of his cock onto his stomach and balls. With the can of whipped cream, she covered his entire goalpost. It twitched as she bent and began to lick off the sweet stuff. Starting at the tip, she worked her way down to his balls. She played with them, then took one in her mouth and sucked gently.
What she lacked in experience, she'd make up for with enthusiasm.
When she was done, he'd be more than begging for mercy.
Derek moaned and clenched his fingers into fists. His head jerked back and forth on his makeshift pillow. His balls itched for action as much as his dick. “Ah shit. Rae."
Rachel bent again, and he dug his fingers into her hair. Barely in control, he ground his teeth and wrapped her long hair around his fist. He needed satisfaction and soon.
"Take me deep, baby.” Would she have the guts to try it? He held his breath, waiting.
She opened her mouth wide and managed about a third of his length before she gagged and pulled back. She licked a bead of precum off the tip, and he shuddered. With a determined expression, the little hussy went back down on him. One hand squeezed his balls, rolling them in her teasing fingers. Her other hand pumped up and down on the base of his dick. It touched the back of her throat. She pulled back so the tip was at her lips, then took him inside again. In and out, a little deeper each time.
Lord, he had to watch this. Holding her head in place, he sat up. “I wanna see."
He was in heaven, fucking heaven. Gripping that fistful of hair, he gently pushed down and urged her to take more of him. His boy tickled the back of her throat. She managed not to gag. He pressed on. She accepted. He helped her find the right angle for her head and neck. She'd swallowed almost half of him, better than a lot of women. He pulled out partially, let her catch her breath. Sweat dripped down her forehead. Her body shook. She breathed in deeply and went down on him again. Deeper this time. He fucking just about lost it. He exerted pressure on her head, felt her throat and mouth close around his cock, milking it, making love to it. He died a new death when she took him balls-deep. He held her head there for a brief moment, savored the erotic vision he'd carry with him for the rest of his life. His deep-throat virgin had just graduated.
He'd already been primed and ready after their sundae-building episode. Now he built toward something bigger and better. He tried to hold it in. His veins threatened to burst. His muscles bunched. Tension gathered in him like a storm crashing against a levee until the levee broke and the tension roared out. He couldn't stop when he started to come in her mouth. He closed his eyes, threw back his head, and let go. Her name was the only intelligible word that escaped from his mouth.
Instead of backing off when she felt the first twitches of his orgasm, she took him in her mouth and swallowed greedily. He pulled out slightly, emptying the rest on her tongue and her face. She took it like the pro she wasn't, or at least had never been. Her behavior shocked and pleased him. The first coherent thought to enter his mind was that she'd better never do this with another man.
"Where'd you learn to do that?” He lay there, spent, satisfied, and stunned by what she'd done for him.
She wiped off her face. Her chest heaved. Her mussed hair hung in clumps. “Romance novels.” Her ragged voice stumbled over the words.
"Damn."
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Chapter Twenty-two
Tripped Up
Blowing out a breath, Derek spotted Mitch McCormick standing on the sidelines of the high school's football field. He strode toward him.
Never let ‘em see you sweat. Especially not Rachel's brother. Coming here was hard for him, not just because of his crazy schedule or how much Mitch hated him.
Yeah, he'd done Rachel wrong in her family's eyes. Perhaps even worse, he'd built up her confidence and encouraged independence they'd never allowed her to have. He'd undermined their control over her. She was supposed to stay the dutiful little sister, waiting on the men in her family and not entertaining stupid ambitions of being a woman in a man's sport. Maybe Derek had shot her down when she'd confessed her feelings, but he'd never shot down her dreams and ambitions.
As he approached, Mitch watched with his legs braced, hands folded over his chest. His expression remained closed, unreadable. The assistant standing next to McCormick grinned from ear to ear. The rest of the coaching staff gathered near Mitch in a show of support and solidarity. The cheerleaders across the field froze in midcheer and stared at him.
Mitch's team was suited up in their practice uniforms and doing their warm-ups on the field. Following their coaches’ lead, they stopped what they were doing as a unit and turned toward him. Every eye on the football field focused on him.
Derek knew his tall, exceptionally fit body branded him as a professional athlete. Despite being comfortable on a football field in front of thousands of fans, he wasn't entirely comfortable in the limelight. Unlike Tyler, Derek took his job as a role model seriously, putting even more pressure on himself.
Mitch broke away from the group and sauntered toward him, though the relief on his face told a different story. Derek met him halfway, out of earshot of his staff and players.
"Hey.” Derek held out his hand, making the first move. He had nothing to prove by being an asshole. He'd leave that up to Rachel's brother. Mitch hesitated, then shook his hand.
"I'd just about given up on you.” He met Derek's gaze.
"Sorry, my schedule's pretty tight.” Derek forced his voice to remain neutral. Mitch didn't need to know how hard this was for him.
"We won't take too much of your time."
"I'm all yours for the next two hours.” Derek pointed at the bag slung over his shoulder. “I brought some stuff. T-shirts, hats, should be enough for everyone."
Mitch glanced at the bag. “Yeah, well, I appreciate that, but it doesn't change anything between us."
"I don't expect it to. One doesn't have anything to do with the other."
"Then why are you here?"
Derek bristled but held his tongue. “You asked me to come, and I'm here. Introduce me to your staff, and let's get this show on the road."
Mitch stiffened but nodded and led the way back to the sidelines. Derek dumped the heavy duffel bag on the grass and waited for introductions. Mitch ran through each of his assistants, pausing to bark instructions to his players. “Hey, quit staring! Get back to work. Now! Everyone, run four laps around the field. Move it! Then get your butts back here."
Derek grinned in spite of himself. “You sound like your dad."
"Do I?” Mitch almost smiled himself.
"Yeah."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
"I would. He's the best. I learned my basics from him."
Mitch tensed all the more. “You owe him."
His assistants stared at the two men, ready to intervene if nece
ssary.
"Excuse me?” Derek frowned, confused by whatever the hell Mitch was talking about.
"You know what I mean,” Mitch growled, his voice low and menacing. “Do the right thing."
No, Derek didn't know what he meant. Shaking his head, he blew Mitch off and turned toward the field. Derek nodded in the direction of the kid maneuvering his wheelchair toward them. “That's him?"
Mitch deflated faster than a beach ball bouncing off a porcupine. “Yeah. Ryan DeGrazio.” The two men exchanged looks, which said it all.
Wiping the sympathy from his face, Derek walked out to meet Ryan. The kid's face lit up with boyish excitement. Sadness sliced through Derek, along with anger toward the unfairness of life. He covered his feelings with an easy smile.
"Wow. It is you.” The kid stared up at him, eyes wide and full of hero worship. Derek rubbed his hands on his thighs and shifted his stance, feeling inadequate and undeserving. He'd been naturally gifted with an athlete's body. Ryan had had one too—he could tell—until the disease started winning. Yet the kid's blue eyes sparkled with life in defiance of the hand he'd been dealt. Ryan was a fighter. His fighting spirit was written all over his face.
"Hey, Ryan, how ya doin'?"
Ryan grasped the sides of his wheelchair. His arms shook from the effort as he hoisted himself to his feet. Derek resisted the urge to help the kid as he struggled to stand. He didn't want him to lose face, but he stood close just in case he needed to catch him.
"I'm doing a lot better now.” He shook Derek's hand, surprising him with the strength of his grip. The weary tension on Ryan's face told the story. As he stood up straight, his body swayed like a willow in the wind. Once at his full height, they were almost eye to eye.
"I understand you've got a hell of an arm."
"Had.” Ryan looked away, biting his lower lip.
"Wanna give it a shot?"
"Yeah, I'd like that.” The kid lifted his gaze, and his eyes lit up.
The hassle he'd gone through to squeeze in a few hours for this kid and his team was suddenly worth it. Derek lobbed a football to Ryan, who managed to catch it. Ryan studied the ball and all the signatures on it and looked up with a question in his eyes.
"The game ball from last weekend. Tell ya what, when we make the play-offs, you can trade it in for a play-off ball."
"Super Bowl ball.” Ryan's blue eyes held his in a steady gaze. Derek glimpsed a teasing light in them.
"You drive a hard bargain.” Derek swallowed and grinned.
"I know.” Ryan rolled the ball around in his hands.
Derek liked the kid. He had guts and a good attitude. As Ryan's teammates and coaches stood back and watched, he ran a few routes for him and caught the kid's wobbly passes.
"I'm a little rusty,” Ryan apologized when Derek had to dive across the wet grass to catch a pass thrown short.
Brushing grass from his shirt, Derek grinned and patted the kid on the back. “You're doing just fine, buddy."
Derek stopped at Character's and had a drink or two or three. Then he drove his big-assed, expensive truck to the barn. He jammed it in park and shut it off. Sitting in the dark, he stared at nothing. God, it hurt seeing a kid like that. Why couldn't he be more like Tyler? Tyler could meet with a hundred terminally ill kids and never bat an eye. Their suffering bounced off his cousin like foam balls bouncing off a concrete wall. Derek soaked it up like a sponge until the pain filled every crack and crevice and he couldn't breathe anymore.
Lord, he couldn't take this. Just because he had this gift of speed and good hands didn't mean he could fix everything wrong with this world. Yet for some reason he felt like he should. Pissed at his vulnerability and the unfairness of it all, he got out of the truck. Glancing at Rachel's dark house, he flipped on one bank of barn lights. He pulled Mac out of his stall, brushed him, saddled him, and led him to the arena. He mounted and loped large circles, letting his body absorb the rocking motion of the horse. Shutting his eyes, he lost himself in the feel of this powerful animal underneath him. A lone tear escaped and ran down his cheek. He never cried. He swiped angrily at his face, pissed as hell at his weakness.
Never.
But the reality of it hit him hard in his gut. This kid, barely seventeen, would not see his eighteenth birthday. Stopping Mac, Derek dismounted and led the horse back into the barn. A wave of emotion swept through him, and he laid his cheek against the horse's warm neck. Don't get involved. Stay away. Getting close to people hurt too much. Too bad about Ryan, but he'd been a good guy and done his duty. Let someone else handle the really tough stuff.
A hand touched his shoulder. He stiffened. Forcing his face into an emotionless mask, he turned.
"Dare, are you okay?” Rachel stood there in a bathrobe, worry lines etched on her sweet face.
"I'm fine. Shouldn't you be in bed?"
She touched a finger to his cheek, and it almost undid him. “Dare?"
"Please, just leave me alone.” Damn, his voice shook.
She wrapped her hand around the back of his neck, then stood on tiptoes and brushed her lips across his. “You're a good man, Derek Ramsey."
"Am I?” He didn't feel like one. He felt helpless and ineffectual.
"You are."
He turned away, unable to stomach the adoration in her eyes. He didn't deserve it.
"It's about Ryan, isn't it?” She sandwiched him between her and the horse, blocking his escape route.
"What are you, a fucking mind reader?” He snapped at her, but she didn't flinch.
"Mitch called. He mentioned you came by and spent a couple of hours with his team."
Derek turned away and busied himself with the horse. “Ryan's a nice kid."
"Did Mitch fill you in on his background? It's so tragic."
He didn't want to hear this.
"His dad's in prison. They've never met. His mom works nights as a bartender. She's not around much, not a very involved parent. Ever since Ryan got cancer, she's really not been there for him. I guess you could say Mitch has been his father figure these past few years."
"He's lucky to have a guy like Mitch looking out for him."
"I know. My brother is a great guy."
"He wants me to stay away from you."
"Okay, he's not such a great guy when it comes to you and me. In fact, he's a controlling jerk."
"Like the rest of your family.” He heaved the saddle off the horse and carried it to the tack room. Rachel followed him. “Mitch said something else strange. He told me I owed your dad and to do the right thing. What the hell does that mean?"
Rachel's face turned fog gray. Shutters slammed down over her eyes, but not before he glimpsed what almost appeared to be panic. “You never know what Mitch is talking about. I'll take care of Mac.” She skittered from the room, tripping over a rug and almost going down.
Derek stood still, fists clenched at his sides, and stared at the empty doorway. She wasn't being straight with him, and he hated that. Yet he could tell by her closed expression that neither sweet talking nor swearing would get her to open up. Persistence and good old-fashioned persuasion would be the key. He'd get to the bottom of this. In time.
When he came out, Rachel had put Mac away. She tossed some hay in his stall. He watched her flitting around, nervous as hell. Reaching out, he caught her hand and pulled her to him. She resisted, but he wrapped his arms around her and held her close.
"Thanks for taking care of Mac.” He spoke into her ear.
"I don't mind.” Her hands pressed against his chest.
"Hey, is everything okay?"
"Of course, I'm fine. It's you I'm worried about.” She gazed up at him, concerned yet anxious.
For a moment they stared at each other. He needed her and wondered if his eyes conveyed his pain and confusion. “I guess I should be going. It's late. We both have to be up early."
He released her and turned to walk off. Confusion littered his thoughts with doubts he couldn't articulate or wrap his br
ain around. He'd come late to this party, and no one wanted to fill him in on what he'd missed.
"You're not staying alone tonight.” Rachel wrapped her fingers around his arm.
"I'm not?” Easily swayed, he moved closer, putting his hands on her shoulders.
"No, you're not."
He almost smiled. “Your place or mine?"
"How about yours? Charlie doesn't like sharing the bed with you."
"The feeling is mutual."
"Well then, big guy, let me grab my stuff."
"Okay.” He watched her go inside her house. Warmth spread throughout his body and took away the chill. She filled an emptiness he never knew existed. When he was with her, he actually believed everything would work out just fine. And even if it didn't, he'd handle it.
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Chapter Twenty-three
Rooting for the Underdog
Derek and Rachel made wild and desperate love as if the world wouldn't be there tomorrow. Rachel gave him everything she had, and Derek gave it right back. Stripped of their defenses, raw emotions boiled to the surface and overwhelmed with their sheer power.
Afterward Derek clung to her with a need he rarely, if ever, revealed. Inside Rachel bled for him and for the teenager who didn't deserve his fate. And she teetered on the edge of falling way too far in love with the very wrong man. A man full of contradictions. This man gave so much to others and asked so little in return. Yet the same man had turned his back on her when she'd professed her love in college, and done the same to her dad when Dave McCormick needed him most.
Nothing made sense anymore. She'd live in denial a little while longer, but an inevitable confrontation hovered on the horizon and moved closer every day.
Rolling onto his back, Derek shut his eyes. For the longest time, Rachel listened to his steady breathing, yet she suspected he wasn't asleep.
"Dare?” She turned onto her side and stroked his bulging biceps.
"Yeah?"
"Are you okay?"
He chuckled. “We just had mind-blowing sex. Of course I'm okay. I'm a guy. We're shallow."
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