"House rules. No touching the dancers."
"It's my house."
"Just play along, will ya?"
"Yes, ma'am."
Rachel touched his biceps, ran a finger over his tattoo. The light from the lamp played off his body, accentuating the cords of muscle running up those strong arms. She bent down and nipped his shoulder. He growled, a deep animal growl.
She slid down his body like a horny pussycat, then back up again, undulating her hips and rubbing his huge cock. Slipping back down, she caught his cock between her breasts and slid back and forth. He buried his fingers in her hair.
"Oh hell. That's enough.” In one labored movement, he was no longer on the bottom. He pushed her onto the couch and positioned her on her side with jerky, desperate movements. Grasping her ankle, he raised one leg over her head, then slid into her sideways with slow, deliberate strokes.
"Don't hurt yourself. You have a game tomorrow.” Rachel squirmed but couldn't move much. She was pinned like a butterfly.
"I don't fucking care.” His eyes glazed over. He'd gone to that place he went when he'd mentally vanquished the pain. He drove her mad by taking it slow. He'd fill her and flex her hips to drive him deeper; then the bastard would leisurely pull out. Like the hot blood of sex wasn't driving through his veins as it was hers. She grabbed a fistful of his fine ass and tried to muscle him into doing her bidding. Bad idea. Her feeble strength was no match for his.
"Turn around.” He ordered, his chest heaving, his dark hair all mussed and sexy. She didn't protest.
She flipped onto her hands and knees. Leaning forward, she planted her hands on the coffee table. He repositioned her hips, giving him the best angle to penetrate her from behind. He teased her, rubbing his cock up and down against her wet slit. She gritted her teeth, wanting him to fill all those spots only he could fill. Wanting it down and dirty, wanting him to brand her as his and his alone. Wanting it all, even if only for a little while.
"Talk dirty to me, baby. I love it when you do that.” His gravelly voice was pure sex itself.
She still wasn't all that comfortable with dirty sex talk, but she'd give it a shot if it'd make him quit being a pussy tease and get on with the show. “Take that big cock of yours and slam it deep inside me. Now."
"Now?” How the hell he could sound so casual in a position like this, she couldn't fathom.
"Hell yes, now!"
"I don't want to satisfy you too soon. You like it when I drag it out.” His erection rubbed her thigh. Not what she had in mind.
"Derek Cole Ramsey, do I have to take care of myself?"
He hesitated as if considering the options.
"Derek?"
"What?"
"You know what."
"I do?"
She couldn't stand it any longer. “Please fuck me.” She begged. He chuckled.
"God, now you know why I love it when you talk like that.” Holding her hips still, his dick touched her throbbing opening. He thrust inside her, hard and deep. She bit back a scream of need. He moved in and out, long and slow, but deeper with every stroke. He reached around and pinched her nipples, pulling on them almost to the point of pain, but it only drove her frenzy to a higher level. His strokes gathered speed, and she matched his rhythm as it accelerated and built in tempo and power. Their two bodies slapped together faster and faster. Harder and harder.
"Aww, shit.” Suddenly he stopped and clung to her. At first she thought he was teasing again until she turned her head to look at him. His breath rasped. His expression was a study of agony and arousal.
He straightened with deliberate care. The lines on his face were defined by discomfort. Rachel turned to face him. She held his arms, supporting as much of his body as she could. “Are you okay?"
"Yeah, give me minute. My back's a little tweaked, and my leg's cramping. Fuck. That hurts."
"I'm sorry.” She helped him as he slumped on the couch. Sweat dripped off his face.
"That was so stupid. I know better.” He ground his teeth together.
"Let me help.” Rachel massaged his calf, relaxed the tight muscles. Finally he lay back on the couch and stared at the ceiling.
"Damn, I'm so hard. It almost hurts more than the rest of my body."
"I have a cure for that."
"Be my guest.” His gaze latched on to hers, burning beyond the pain, pleading with her for satisfaction.
She moved to him, straddled his hips, and lowered herself onto his waiting cock.
His breath escaped in a long whoosh. “Ah hell, that feels so damn good."
He attempted to lift his hips, but his body spasmed.
Using her hands and her body, she tortured him with desire. Splayed helplessly under her, he closed his eyes and let her work her magic, which took a matter of seconds for both of them. Sweat mingled with the smell of their arousal. She screamed his name, wavering on the edge of reality and some other higher plane.
She took him there. Step by step they climbed, leaving mortal earth far behind. They soared, they rejoiced, they sailed weightless in a place without time or physical restrictions. She touched his soul, and he touched hers. Then together they floated back to earth.
After a night with Rachel and a couple of painkillers, Derek felt decent, not as relaxed and loose as usual, but it'd have to do. He'd played through pain before; he'd do it again. He ran his pregame warm-ups with a little more care than he usually exhibited. Excitement filled the crowd as they filtered into the stands. Blue and gold dominated the landscape, just like it'd dominated store windows and billboards on his way to the stadium this morning.
The stands filled, and his nerves got the best of him. His body was strung tighter than HughJack after a fifty to zero loss. Swiping nervous sweat from his brow, he looked to the stands, locating Rachel, her brother, and Ryan. He waved, then turned away, warding off another bout of nausea. The buzz in the stands morphed into a roar. The sellout crowds were ready to do their part.
Then the game began.
Tyler sent a bullet of a pass and hit him directly in the gut. The ball bounced off his hands and fell to the turf. Damn. That hurt. He almost lost what little breakfast he'd eaten.
"Hey, catch the fucking ball next time,” Tyler growled at him. “Don't you fucking crack on me. Got it, asshole?"
Why they called it butterflies, he'd never know. Right now it felt like Muhammad Ali and Joe Fraser in their prime were pummeling his stomach with blow after blow. Each hit added a new layer of aches and bruises. His muscles protested the abuse. His high pain threshold threatened to ditch him when he needed it most.
HughJack watched him like a cat watches a bird about to wander into his killing zone. Razor grimaced, spat on the ground, and shook his head. He said something to HughJack.
"Ramsey!” Hughjack bellowed across the field.
Derek knew what was coming. He jogged with difficulty to the sidelines. “Yeah?"
"Get your act together. This is it. Time to raise your play to another level, not knock it back down to mediocrity."
Considering his physical state, Derek wasn't certain he had another level. In his opinion, he'd been playing above it the entire second half of the season. The first half of the game proved that. By halftime, they were down 24-0. Tyler threw two interceptions; one was run back for a touchdown, proving even he wasn't immune to the pressure. Derek dropped two easy passes, tripped and fell for a loss on another.
Their Cinderella season had struck midnight, and they were turning into pumpkins, big, fat, orange ones about to be smashed by a team ready to grind them to pumpkin dust.
HughJack chewed major ass at halftime, but the discouraged and demoralized team just hung their heads.
As they trudged from the locker room, HughJack grabbed Tyler and Derek by the arms. “Make something happen.” He looked each of them in the eyes. “You can do it. The team is depending on you. One big play is all it takes to turn the momentum."
The cousins nodded, then ran out the tunne
l onto the field. A deafening cheer they didn't deserve greeted them. Their fans hadn't given up. Derek couldn't either. His tank might be empty, but he could still run on fumes.
The defense held the Cats to three and out, getting the crowd into it. They huddled up, and Tyler's gaze hit Derek. “HughJack means it. Long bomb to you, buddy.” Derek listened to the play Tyler called. HughJack was putting this first play where his mouth was.
They came out of the huddle as a united group, feeling like a different team from the one that had played the first half. Ignoring the protests from his legs and sharp pains shooting down his back, Derek ran his pattern and sprinted for the end zone sixty yards away. He left his defenders eating his dust. Tyler had the best arm in the league; he'd get the ball there.
Derek hauled in the pass for six. The stands erupted. He did a little dance with the guys, tucked the ball under his arm, and ran to the sidelines to hand it to Ryan. If he had his way, the kid would have quite a collection before the season ended.
The kicker added another point. The momentum shifted, and the Jacks never looked back. They were on their way.
One down.
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Chapter Twenty-eight
Unnecessary Roughness
Derek took another long draw from his beer. His eyes narrowed as he glared at his cousin. “What's your problem?"
"What do you mean?” Tyler glared right back, obviously itching for a fight instead of basking in his glory.
"Why are you in such a surly mood? You should be insufferably pleased with yourself."
"I am, which is why I'm being such an ass."
"No, I've seen you be an ass after a big win before. This is nothing like that.” Derek propped his chin on his hand and watched him.
Tyler shrugged and ordered another beer.
"It's almost midnight. I don't need this shit. It's been a long day. I'm going home.” Derek whipped out a twenty and put it on the table.
"Ah, hell yeah, you just leave your cousin drowning in misery while you go home to Rachel."
"I'm not seeing Rachel tonight. I saw her last night.” Though the idea did have its merits. Big ones in the form of soft skin, sinful lips, a wickedly sweet smile, and long legs wrapped around his straining body. Damn. His cock grew to painful proportions.
"You really are a dumb shit."
Derek yanked himself back to reality and scowled, pissed that Tyler's attitude had ruined a good fantasy. “Me? Hell, what did I do? I played a fucking good game today. You can't fault me. I caught every damn ball thrown my way in the second half and scored two fucking touchdowns and made the crucial block for a third."
"Well, congratulations to you for doing your job.” Tyler scowled and threw back his beer. He slammed the beer glass on the table, over half full. “This is just fucking great. You've even ruined my appreciation for good beer."
"Fuck yourself."
Tyler laughed. “Hell, I have been. I haven't had a real woman in a few months.” He sat back and leveled his best intimidation glare at his cousin.
So that was Tyler's problem. “With an attitude like yours, you'll be waiting several more.” Derek sobered, breathed in, breathed out. “Look, Ty, why didn't you join us for pizza? Ryan asked about you."
"I couldn't get away from the press. Had to do a couple of TV interviews.” Tyler sat back, obviously fighting to control his infamous temper.
"I don't give a shit if you're an ass about everything else; you need to go see him."
"I will. I'm just not great company right now."
"You're never great company.” Derek snorted.
"It's not like you've got all the answers. You're the stupid fucker."
"Go to hell."
"I'm already there. It's nice and warm. You should join me.” Tyler sneered at his cousin.
"I have no clue what the hell you're so pissed about. If there's more you want to say, go ahead, get it out of your system."
"It's Rachel. Don't fuck this up like I did with Cass. She's the best thing that ever happened to you."
"It'll never work out."
"Because you don't want it to. Did you ever stop to think that your successes lately might be related to Rachel being back in your life? You have balance now, someone who cares and listens."
"In that case, why are you doing so well?"
"Obviously because I thrive on pain and chaos. We're not made the same. Admit defeat about Rachel and get on with your perfect little life together."
"There is no future for Rachel and I. Get it? We don't have a future. Just a right now. I don't want one and neither does she.” Just saying the words crushed his chest, like being buried under four of the league's biggest linemen.
"You're dumber than I gave you credit for if you buy that bullshit. The only person you're bullshitting is yourself."
"That's enough, Ty."
Tyler ignored the threatening tone of his cousin's voice. “She's in love with you, and you're going to break her fucking heart again because you're a chickenshit coward."
"Enough.” Derek gritted his teeth, barely able to force the words out.
"You're in love with her, you idiot."
"I said shut up.” His head spun and denial raged inside him even as the truth of the words settled in his heart.
"You don't deserve her."
Derek slammed his fist on the table so loud others turned to stare at him. “Rachel is off-limits in any conversation with you from now on. Got it?"
"Yeah, sure. Go ahead, be a lonely dumb shit. Enjoy yourself.” Tyler tossed a few bills on the table and stomped out of the bar.
Ryan lifted his head when he heard the rap on his bedroom door. “Come in."
"Hey, bud. Slummin’ it?” Tyler Harris slipped through the door. His gaze flicked to Ryan's deteriorating body, then to his face. Tyler's eyes reflected the same story he'd seen on every other person who'd walked into this room the past few days. Ryan had quit looking in a mirror months ago. What he'd seen there scared the crap out of him. He didn't recognize his own face. His body resembled a skeleton with a layer of paper-thin skin spread over it.
"I'm doin’ okay. You should be doing great."
"Oh yeah. Definitely.” Tyler faked a smile, but it didn't work. Ryan had become an expert at reading people in the past year. The quarterback was uncomfortable around him.
"You've been avoiding me, and I know why."
"No, I haven't. I've been busy. You know how that is."
"Actually, I don't. At least not anymore.” Ryan fiddled with the edge of his blanket. He gathered the courage to force the next words out of his mouth. “Have you found out anything?"
"Uh, no. Still looking.” Tyler refused to meet his eyes.
"Liar. You know something.” Ryan's stomach twisted in a tight knot. He waited for the bomb to drop.
"Ryan, let's just leave it alone."
"I have to know. I asked you to find my mother, and you said you would. You're keeping something from me."
"Hell no. I'd tell you straight if I knew anything."
"Bullshit. You found her.” Ryan reached for Tyler's hand and gripped it hard considering his weakened state. “I have to know. Where is she?"
Tyler held on to his hand and sat on the edge of the bed. Their eyes met. The pain in Tyler's eyes didn't surprise him as much as it should have. “In Vegas."
"Why doesn't that surprise me? What's she doing?” Ryan stared at the picture on the dresser of his mother and him in his football uniform taken last year at the only game she'd ever attended. She'd left by the second quarter.
"Working in an exotic dance club."
"She's a stripper?” Ryan shook his head.
"Uh, some people call them that.” Tyler picked at lint on the comforter with his free hand.
"Give it to me straight. She's been one before.” Hope snuck in and ambushed him as he said his next words. “Did you tell her about me?"
"Yeah.” Tyler avoided his eyes, a bad sign, really b
ad.
"What did she say?"
Tyler bit his lower lip and stared at a point on the wall. He shrugged, and a muscle jerked in his rigid jaw.
"Is she coming home?"
"Uh, not for a while."
"I don't have a while.” Her abandonment sucked the remaining warmth out of his body. With one hand, he tugged the blankets up to his chin, but the bone-deep cold settled in his core. He should've known she wasn't coming back. Wasn't going to stay with him during his last days. She really didn't love him. His head sank back against the pillow.
"You have us. All of us. We love you, man. We're your family now. We'll be there every step of the way."
Their eyes met. Ryan's throat constricted. The truth behind Tyler's words penetrated his pain. He squeezed the quarterback's hand and pointed at the picture. “Would you take that away for me? I don't want it in here."
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah.” He choked on a sob. “Thanks for dropping by, but I'm really tired.” He shut his eyes and faked falling asleep.
A few minutes later, Tyler squeezed, then released his hand and crept from the room.
Once the door shut, Ryan opened his eyes. The picture was gone. Tears streamed down his cheeks, and sobs racked his body. She hadn't been much of a mother, but she'd been the only mother he had. He missed her.
He needed her.
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Chapter Twenty-nine
Broken Tackle
"You don't deserve her.” Tyler's words infiltrated Derek's brain until he couldn't think of anything else. Tyler spoke the truth, and Derek knew it. Maybe he hadn't deserved her in the past, but he was playing on an entirely different field now. He'd fooled himself all along, and so had she. They'd mired themselves in an emotional relationship they'd sworn wouldn't happen, yet they knew it would play out just like it had.
He'd been an idiot to think he could have a strictly physical affair with Rachel of all women. Hell, she'd always been the one he couldn't forget. What a stupid dumb-ass he'd been.
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