Infraction (Players Game Book 2)

by Rachel Van Dyken

  “No.” He grinned. “I get naked, and this is all over before it even starts . . . Tell you what . . . you owe me two and then I’ll take off my jeans.”

  “Two?” What? Dollars? Hugs? High fives?

  He threw his head back and laughed. “Sometimes I wish you’d just say what you’re thinking, I can feel your brain overloading.”

  “Two . . . what?”

  “Guess.”

  “Kisses?”

  “Hmmm.” He drew two kisses from my mouth. “Tastes good, sounds good, but no, actually I was thinking something else, Kins.”

  “Two . . .” I swallowed slowly. “Hugs?”

  A rumble started in his chest before he burst out laughing. “Tell me you’re not serious.”

  I couldn’t think. Not with him hovering over me, touching me. Being naked wasn’t exactly on the agenda for the day.

  His clever, masterful hands rested on my hips then slowly started inching toward my core. “Two.”

  “Two.” I gulped.

  He grinned.

  “Two.” I needed to stop repeating myself. An unbidden tightness built between my legs, the need to cross them, to run away, to lock myself in the bathroom.

  “Orgasms.” He shrugged. “I need two, Kins, and then just because I’m feeling generous, I’ll give you one more . . . if you can take it.”

  “Ah, so you’re a confident jackass in the bedroom?” I tried teasing away my fear.

  He kissed my lips so hard that I gasped in his air, struggling to keep my grasp on reality. This was real, but was he? Was what was happening between us more than that? I hoped to God it was.

  Because nobody ever talks about it.

  The after.

  The buildup toward sex is everything.

  The act—relentless in its selfish pursuit of getting you to think about nothing but pleasure.

  But the after?

  The seconds that turn into minutes, that turn into hours.

  What about the after?

  Would he walk away?

  Or stay?

  “Stop thinking.” He cupped me with one of his hands. “All you need to worry about is feeling.”

  “But—”

  I arched in order to accept him.

  And squeezed my eyes shut.

  My thighs clenched around his hands; he used one to spread them open and worked me into such a frenzy that I thought I was going to lose my mind as my body sank against the cool sheets—on fire, I just needed release, to be free, to—excitement built within me as Miller’s mouth met my ear, his tongue wet, his chuckle warm.

  “Ready?”

  “Huh?” Dizzy, I opened my eyes.

  He didn’t prepare me.

  Maybe that was part of his plan.

  A sensation I can only describe as perfection hit me so hard that I almost smacked my head against his, his fingers toyed, stretched, played like I was a football play he’d memorized with ease.

  “That’s one.”

  My brain refused to focus. One? One, what comes after one?

  Me.

  Two.

  Wait.

  I circled my hands around his neck as his brazen hands worked me into a fevered lunatic. I think I scratched him, agile fingers built more tension, and then I bit into his shoulder. He swore, and I started hyperventilating.

  My cry of release wasn’t pretty.

  It was almost painful.

  The sensation was so strong that I was disoriented, and then jeans went flying.

  Number two almost killed me.

  Three would be my end.

  “Need to be inside you,” he begged.

  I nodded, not trusting my voice.

  I reached for him, he reached for me, holding his body over mine while his lips bruised, ached, claimed.

  He pulled back, watching my face.

  And because I was worried, because he’d seen too much, I tried to close my eyes.

  “Kins,” he pleaded, “look at me.”

  He pressed my hands above my head and positioned himself.

  I felt his throbbing heat.

  My body yearned for it.

  For him.

  Tears filled my eyes. “Please.”

  “I haven’t been with anyone, I’ve been tested, I’ve—”

  I shut him up with a kiss, my lips parted in a rush as he slid into me only to withdraw and do it again, this time so hard the bed made a creaking nose. The table next to the bed shuddered, a lamp fell.

  We lost our minds.

  With frenzied kisses I met him thrust for thrust. “I need you.”

  “Not as much as I need you.” He swore, his tongue swept into my mouth, dipping, swirling, as he picked up his rhythm, he rose over me one last time as a sea of pleasure exploded between us. He teased my lips apart with another kiss and took me over the edge. His body spasmed, mine was numb with pleasure.

  He collapsed next to me.

  We both stared up at the white ceiling in comfortable silence.

  I ran my hand over his chiseled chest. “I think Jax’s interview is on ESPN tonight.”

  Miller kissed my forehead. “You wanna watch it?”

  I nodded, thankful that he was just as comfortable with me as I was with him.

  Miller flipped on the TV.

  The sound of the news filled the tense silence.

  “Stay tuned for sports next! Take a look at interviews from some of our favorite players, including Quinton Miller who, rumor has it, is dating quarterback Jax Romonov’s sister! We also have a special report about her early days with the Romonov family and the adoption that almost didn’t happen!”

  I froze.

  Miller froze.

  I closed my eyes.

  Afraid to open them and see judgment or at least the anger that I knew would be there when Miller discovered that I wasn’t biologically related to the very guy who was obsessed with protecting me from everything big and bad in the world. It was going to be like Anderson all over again. I clenched my eyes tighter as memories washed over me.

  “Does he fuck you too?” Anderson pulled my hair, dragging me against the wall, then punishing me with another bruising kiss. “I saw the way he looked at you yesterday, checking out your ass.” He smacked my butt. “Worse yet, I think you like it!”

  I shook my head no. Ever since Anderson learned Jax and I weren’t related by blood, he acted suspicious of our relationship.

  He gripped my neck and squeezed. “If he touches you, I’ll kill him.”

  “My brother,” I rasped, “he’s my brother.”

  Anderson’s eyes softened. “Oh, baby, don’t cry. I’m sorry, I just . . .” He released me then pulled me into his arms. “I just get so jealous . . . you’re so beautiful and most guys aren’t good guys like me, they won’t protect you like I will . . .”

  He released my hand.

  It fell lifeless to my side.

  The bed dipped.

  I exhaled as the sound of the shower running filled the tense air.

  I lay there.

  And seconds later was getting picked up and carried to the bathroom. A muscle flexed in Miller’s jaw, but he didn’t say anything.

  He washed my back.

  He kissed my neck.

  He pinned me against the wall and took me again.

  And when he was through, when it was hard to breathe through the water streaming down both of our bodies, Miller whispered in a calm voice, “Time for more truth . . . friend.”

  He left me.

  In the shower.

  The water turned cold and I wondered how long I could hide out before he came and got me again.

  So with a shiver, I turned off the water, grabbed a towel, and went to meet the one guy who after tonight, I was pretty sure was going to be pissed.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  MILLER

  I was pissed.

  Livid.

  Beyond ready to break something with my bare hands. And I had practice in exactly six hours.

 
Which meant, either we talked or we slept.

  How the hell did the media get ahold of that sort of information? Especially since it clearly wasn’t something either of them felt the need to tell me?

  Kinsey came back into the room, her face unsure as she slowly crawled onto the bed, the towel still wrapped around her small body. “I don’t know how the hell they found out, but because Anderson’s been a real prick lately, I imagine he’s behind it. My adoption was just another thing that made him jealous of Jax. It was the tipping point between us, he could never handle the relationship Jax and I had—have.” Her eyes filled with tears. “But, Miller, I’m still his sister, in every way that matters.”

  “That’s what you lead with?” I tried and failed to keep the edge out of my voice, but something about the situation was pissing me off, and I had no clue why.

  “What?” Kinsey pulled the towel tighter like she was trying to protect herself from me, like I was about to hurt her. “What do you want me to say? That I’m sorry I didn’t tell you? When would you have liked me to give you my life story, Miller? Hmm? Was it before you slept with me the first time? Or after? How about in between naked times? Or no!” She snapped her fingers. “Wait, I got it, at the airport, right? When you gave me your cell number . . .” She made a face. “Oh, that’s right, you didn’t. Or how about all of those times you emailed? No, that wouldn’t work either, well, maybe right when I got back from Europe. Yup, that works perfect, except this happened.” She gestured between us. “And I’m sorry that I’ve been a bit distracted lately but, come on!” Tears spilled onto her cheeks. “When is there a good time to tell someone you care about that the two people in her life who should have loved her the most chose drugs over her? Hmm? Or that the minute they got out of prison for selling drugs, the only reason they reached out to me was because they’d discovered that the family who’d adopted me had a son in the NFL? By then I was old enough to know that the only thing they would ever want from me or from my family would be money.”

  Chills racked my body. “What?”

  “Jax is my brother,” she said defensively. “He’s always been my brother, ever since I was eleven he’s been my brother . . . but before then . . . he was just . . . my next-door neighbor. The kid whose house I slept at when my parents were on benders. His dad—I mean, my dad, my mom—they’re my real parents, they’re the ones who gave me Christmas presents when I didn’t even have a candy cane in my house, they’re the ones who remembered my birthday, they made sure I had new winter boots, that I had a jacket for school, Mom would even take me for ice cream after the first day of school and ask how it went, they’ve always been my parents.” She crossed her arms, as a few tears slid down her cheeks. “I just, I didn’t want to bring up everything, not with . . .”

  “Your dad’s illness,” I finished for her, rubbing my hands over my face. “And all this Anderson shit . . .”

  “I think he still hates Jax because of it and blames Jax for our relationship ending when really it was because he was an abusive controlling psychopath. But, for a while he made me feel . . . good and then it was like I was trapped in my old house just waiting for someone to rescue me.” She blinked back tears. “He was always accusing Jax of looking at me like he wanted me.”

  “Kins.” God, I was a dick. “Tell me you know I’m not like that, that I would never lay a finger on you, or even think that there was something between you and your brother. Tell me you’re not putting me in the same category as Anderson.”

  Her shoulders slumped. “I know you’re not him, but you got so upset and—”

  “Upset,” I interrupted, “because I care about you, because I want to know you, I want everything, every damn piece of you. So when I learn that you’re adopted from the news instead of you, yeah, I reacted, and I’m sorry, but know that I’d never treat you the way that jackass did.”

  She gulped.

  “Besides, I was having one of those moments, the kind where an asshole takes control of my mouth and I let him.”

  She sniffled.

  Shit.

  “My dad was”—I coughed—“is an alcoholic. Once my mom died he just . . . wanted the bottle more, I think he just wanted the pain to go away, but when you love someone that much, I don’t think it ever really does.” I let out a rough exhale. “I don’t even see him anymore, not for lack of trying, the guy asks for money, I give it, and sometimes he texts me an update on his life. We all have messed-up pasts, you know?”

  Kinsey reached for my hand and squeezed.

  I sighed. “We should go to bed.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Together.”

  “You actually claiming me, Miller?” she teased.

  “Yeah, friend.” I tugged her against me. “But lose the towel.”

  “I’m a lady.”

  “Yes,” I said gruffly against her neck. “You’re my lady.”

  She giggled. “That sounded so cheesy and yet, my stupid heart just flipped.”

  “Damn right it did.” I pressed a kiss to her temple. “Because I’m Quinton Miller, that’s why.”

  I got an elbow in the stomach. “Temper the arrogance.”

  “It’s confidence.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah.” I turned around and flipped off the light then brought her body into mine, tucking her where she belonged, by my side. “For example, I’m confident I’m going to wake up at least once and sink between your thighs. I’m confident you’ll let me.”

  Her breath hitched.

  “I’m confident that tomorrow morning, when I press a kiss between your legs, I’ll curse the fact that I have to go to practice, and you’ll curse the fact that if you’re late you’ll have to do burpees.” I turned her to face me. “I’m also confident that it’s going to take a hell of a lot of hits to keep my focus on the game, instead of your face.”

  “Just my face.”

  “These too.” I grabbed her boobs playfully then gripped her ass. “And this, let’s not forget this.”

  She arched that perfect ass into my hand.

  “Careful,” I ground out, my fingers digging into her flesh. “I’ll take it as another invitation.”

  “Funny, since I’m confident that you want to be invited in.”

  “Always.” I laughed. “Except we really do need to sleep, day one is grueling.”

  She groaned and then wrapped her arms around my neck. “No more secrets.”

  I stilled. “Kins, we can’t tell Jax.”

  “But—”

  I kissed her doubts away. “Wait until after a few games, alright? Let him get used to seeing us together. Especially now that I know why he’s so protective of you.”

  She frowned. “Because he’s a big brother?”

  “No, Kins.” I sighed. “Because when you needed a hero the most, it sounds like he put on a fucking cape and rescued you like big brothers are supposed to . . . Because when you cried, when you were all alone, he was the one who dealt with the tears. Because when he closes his eyes at night, his only mission is to make sure those tears don’t happen again. Take it easy on Superman, it can’t be easy wearing a cape all the time.”

  “Or spandex,” she added with a giggle.

  I laughed. “Yeah, that too.”

  “I’m gonna go talk to Dad after practice tomorrow, wanna come?”

  I flinched. I didn’t mean to.

  “Or not.” She started to move away.

  “No, that’s not it.” I locked my arms around her. “I just—don’t you want some alone time with him?”

  She ducked her head against my chest. “My dad knows everything about me. Let’s . . . at least be honest with him about this.”

  She was asking me to tell her dying father that I had feelings for her.

  No pressure.

  “Alright.” I tried to breathe, but a pressure built up against my chest. “I’m not the best with death.”

  “Funny, you were amazing with that little boy today.”

 
I sighed; she had no idea the toll it took on me emotionally not to burst into tears or just run away from it all—because even though my demons were different than hers, they still existed.

  Loneliness still haunted.

  Emptiness still lingered.

  “Thanks, Kins.” That was it. A thank-you, a silent message to stop talking and sleep so I could figure out all the shit in my head, starting with what the hell I was going to tell her dying father, when I wasn’t even sure I knew what was going on.

  Sleep didn’t come for another hour at least.

  And when it finally did.

  I dreamed of my mother’s face.

  Her smile.

  And the utter loss I’d felt when she was out of my life, when Emerson followed, and the numbness that took over the minute I realized the only person I could count on in this world was me.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  MILLER

  Jax released a string of curses at the offensive line. “Fucking swear to the football gods if you miss another block I’m going to kick your ass!” Jax kicked the grass, and basically threw a tantrum that rivaled those of some of the worst quarterbacks in the league.

  “Give us a minute,” I yelled at Jax.

  Sanchez eyed me and told the guys to go grab water.

  We both made our way over to him.

  Sanchez held his helmet in his hand, his face was caked with sweat and dirt. The guy had caught every piece of shit Jax had thrown in his direction, nearly sacrificing his body in order to do so, and it was practice, not the big game.

  “What?” Jax sneered at both of us.

  Sanchez held up his hands. “Are you just that sexually repressed or did everyone just piss you off today?”

  Jax stared down at the ground. “Sorry.”

  I ran my hand over my sweaty head. “Man, I know things are bad with your dad, I’m headed over there with Kins later to—”

  “The fuck?” Jax glared in my direction, dropped his helmet, and grabbed me by the jersey. “You stay the hell away from her mouth!”

  I jerked away from him. “You’re the one who encouraged us being together!”

  Sanchez grinned between the two of us. “Better than daytime TV. I’ll just be over here watching, carry on!”

  “I know what I said.” Jax pinched the bridge of his nose. “I just, I didn’t think . . .”