Roughing the Player (Chicago Outlaws Book 2)

by Magda Alexander

  Trevor plops his six seven frame next to me. “Not looking too good there, Parker. You’re not coming down with something, are you, because we need you in tip-top shape?”

  He’s right. I look like crap all right. The dark circles under my eyes clear evidence of my tossing and turning all night. “Nope. Right as rain. I’ve been staying up late studying Detroit’s defense, that’s all.” It’s the truth. I have.

  “Well, you better get a good sleep tonight. Tomorrow’s game day.”

  “Sure thing.” As it turns out, that’s exactly what I do. Not having the temptation of Ellie sleeping in the next room, I zonk out as soon as my head hits the pillow.

  After breakfast the next morning, we head for the Detroit stadium. Since this is the first game of the pre-season, I’m rarin’ to go. Coach puts me in for the first half, and I throw for three touchdowns and run in one. The final score is 44-12. Elated does not begin to describe me. Now that we’ve won the first game, the monkey’s off my back. I can win with this team too.

  Back in the locker room, a jubilant Trevor slaps me on the back. “Man, you were on fire out there. Save some for the regular season, will ya?”

  “Will do.” Pretty pleased with myself, I’m eager to celebrate. Alone. After we land in Chicago, I pick up a supreme pizza and a six-pack of cold brews on the way home. Without Ellie there, I can well and truly kick back. But when I walk into my place, she’s there in the living room. Not cooking, not cleaning, not doing anything but sitting on the couch, wearing another damn pair of skimpy shorts and a halter top.

  All worried eyes, she jumps to her feet. “Hi.” She sounds tentative, as if she’s unsure of my greeting. As well she should be.

  Her being here is not good. I’m jazzed from our win. Adrenaline’s kicking through my veins. I need to handle my shit, before I do something I’ll regret like lay her on the couch and fuck her brains out. I walk to the kitchen and drop the pizza and beer on the counter to get myself under control. Once I’m reasonably sure I won’t tear her clothes off and bend her over the kitchen chair, I turn around. “What are you doing here, Ellie?”

  “I came to apologize.”

  “For what?” I bark out.

  “For Friday. I’m sorry I yelled. I was upset about . . . something. And I let my temper get the better of me.”

  “What were you upset about?”

  “It’s personal.”

  “Fine. Apology accepted. Good night.” Abandoning my dinner and beer on the counter, I head toward the bedroom. Anything not to see her, smell her, heck, watch her breathe.

  I barely make it two steps past her when she says, “You don’t sound like you’ve accepted my apology.”

  Whirling back, I bark out, “What the hell do you want from me, Ellie?”

  She spreads her hands wide. “I don’t know. Something more than goodnight, I guess.”

  “Such as?”

  “Honesty. Sincerity.”

  She refuses to tell me what she was doing Thursday night and she wants me to spill my guts? Fine. I strut forward until I’m looming over her. “You want honesty? You want sincerity?”

  “Y-Yes.” She doesn’t sound so sure anymore.

  But I’m fucking tired of holding back, of pretending, of living a celibate life. Strutting forward, I back her up until she’s flush against the wall. “How about this for honesty? I want to fuck you. I want to taste that sweet spot between your legs. And then I want to ride you all night long until you cry for me to stop. Is that honest enough for you?”

  Her eyes grow wide. She really has no idea how much I fucking want her.

  She swallows hard, but then her chin comes up, challenging me, questioning my motives. “That’s just lust talking.”

  I slap my right hand on the wall. “Damn right it’s lust.”

  “Well, I’m sure you can find some bimbo who’ll jump at the chance to go to bed with you. Just drop in at the nearest bar. I believe there’s one at the corner.”

  “And there’s the rub, darling.” I lean forward to breathe in the sweet intoxicating scent of her, and my cock comes to life. “You’re the only one I want.”

  “Yeah. Right.” Her mouth twists with derision.

  “You don’t believe me.” I wind one of her curls around my fingers, play with it, like I want to play with her.

  “No, I don’t.” That stubborn chin does things to me.

  “Then answer this. Why didn’t I bring someone home tonight, huh? I could have easily done what you said.”

  “You’re probably exhausted after the game.”

  “Only played the first half; had plenty of time to recuperate. You want to know why the only things I brought home were pizza and beer?”

  “No. I don’t.” She turns her face away from me.

  But she’s not getting away from me that easily. She’s not hiding from me anymore. I gently grab her chin and swing it right back to me. “Bullshit. You’re dying to know.”

  “Fine. I’ll bite. Why?”

  “Because you’re the only woman I want. The only one I need.” I lean forward and lick the throbbing vein on her neck. God. The taste of her.

  “Don’t do that.” She pushes against my chest as if she wants me to stop. But there’s no stopping me. Not anymore. I’ve burned for her for too long.

  I prop my left hand on her other side and cage her in. We’re doing this my way.

  She tries to move past my arm, but I won’t budge. “Please let me go.” She begs.

  “Not in a million years.”

  Her gaze finds me, pleads with me. “I can’t. We can’t.”

  “Oh, darling, of course we can.” I breathe in the intoxicating scent of her. Honeydew, honey melon, honey . . . something. Damn if I don’t grow harder. “You want me. You know you do.”

  “I don’t.”

  She’s lying, and I can prove it. I play with her nipples until her breath comes out in short bursts. I rub my palm across her wet pussy until she pushes back against my hand. “Ahhhh.”

  She can deny it all she wants, but her body’s telling a different tale. I curl my lips into a triumphant smile. “See?”

  Trembling, she says, “Please, Brock, back off.”

  Feeling generous, I give her just enough room to breathe.

  She takes in big noisy gulps, as if she can’t quite get enough air into her lungs.

  Why she’s denying herself, denying us is beyond me. “Don’t you miss having a man between your legs, Ellie?”

  Still breathing hard, she licks her lips. “N-no.”

  My nostrils flare.

  “I d-don’t want you.”

  Oh, she wants me all right, and everything I can give her. But maybe, just maybe, she doesn’t want to want me. Because she’s got somebody else. “Do you have another man in your life? Is that where you were on Thursday? Did he fuck you?”

  She stops breathing hard long enough to glare at me. “You’re a pig.”

  That doesn’t answer my question. But I don’t give a fuck. Not when she can’t hide her attraction for me. The heat coming off her, the pheromones, the dilated pupils, her tight little nipples beneath her top. All clear signs of desire. I don’t care if she has another man in her life. She’s mine. And I’m going to prove it to her once and for all. “Maybe, but you want me.”

  “No.”

  “That’s the third time you’ve denied me. Aren’t you tired of lying, Ellie?”

  “I’m not lying.”

  I take my time studying her. She’s shaking. Clear proof she desires me? Or evidence she’s scared of me? God. How did we get to this point? I’ll be damned if I force her to do something she doesn’t want. Disgusted with myself, I step back, giving her the space she needs. “Leave, Ellie. Go on. Get out of here.” I pick up the duffel and trudge toward my bedroom before I do something we’ll both regret.

  Behind me, the front door closes as she makes her get away. Well, that’s it. She’s gone. And she won’t be back. Fine. I lived without her for close to
thirteen years. I can live without her again. Even if it kills me.

  Chapter 12

  Eleanor

  I RUN TO THE ELEVATOR as if all the hounds of hell were chasing me. When I get there, I push the down button, once, twice, three times. Not that it will make it come any faster. I pace back and forth so I won’t have time to think. So I won’t have time for regrets. But it doesn’t do any good. My thoughts hound me anyway.

  I play back what just happened. Brock pushing me against the wall, touching me, demanding I admit my need for him. Time and again I denied him, and time and again my body made a liar out of me. Every day we’ve lived together, I’ve fought against my desire for Brock. I want him plain and simple. Always have. Always will. But I can’t succumb to this madness. It would destroy my career if anybody found out.

  “But he’s not really your client.” The devil on my shoulder whispers. “He’s Marty’s.”

  “Semantics, Eleanor,” my professional self roars back. “He’s the agency’s client and sex with him is strictly verboten.”

  So what if it’s forbidden? Who’d know? He wouldn’t tell, and I’d take that secret to the grave. Would it be so wrong to go to bed with him? To enjoy each other for one night? So we’d both get what we want?

  “What about me?” my dignity demands. “Regardless of what he said, he doesn’t want you. He wants only what you can give him. Sex.”

  So what? Don’t I want the same thing? To get as much pleasure from him? After all, what’s good for the goose is good for the gander.

  The car arrives, and the doors slide open. Inside, a woman glances at me expectantly. Thing is, I can’t make myself climb in.

  “Are you coming?” she asks.

  “No. I-I forgot something.”

  The doors close and the elevator zooms off, taking with it my last chance of salvation. But then, I never said I was a saint.

  I shut down the voices in my head and retread the path to perdition. Along the way, I figure out just what to say should Brock ask. Which he won’t. More than likely, he’ll just pick me up and throw me on the bed. And I’ll love every second of whatever he does to me. Without further thought, I drive the key into the lock, rush in, knock on his bedroom door. “Brock?”

  When there’s no answer, I take a deep breath and step inside the den of sin. He’s not there, but the water’s running in the bathroom. He must be taking a shower. The reprieve gives me time to reconsider. He doesn’t know I’m here. I still have a chance to leave. To save myself from this colossal mistake.

  I remain rooted to the spot.

  The water shuts off. An eternity later, Brock strolls into the bedroom, towel slung around his neck, wearing only his skin. And what gorgeous skin it is. Well-muscled chest, brawny arms, massive legs. Rampant cock. He’s hard and getting harder. But then, why wouldn’t he? I’m staring at it like it’s manna from heaven, and I’ve been starving for far too long.

  He strides forward, like a feral creature stalking his helpless prey. But then, isn’t that exactly what I am? Helpless. God knows, I have no defenses when it comes to him. I might as well run up the white flag of surrender.

  But there’s something wrong. He’s upset I’m here. His gaze tells me so. “Did you forget something?” he asks.

  My mind. I lost it over you. But I can’t say that. He already has the advantage. I can’t hand him any more ammunition. I have to take another tack. Clutching my hands in front of me, I adopt my most businesslike tone. “I’ve reconsidered our situation.”

  He arches a brow. “What situation is that?”

  “You’re a man. I’m a woman. We’re living in the same space.”

  He folds his arms across his chest and widens his stance. “Go on. I’m listening.”

  Somebody should paint him like that. He is so unbelievably beautiful. Eight-pack abs, sculpted pecs, massive thighs. And a treasure trail that travels down to the most masculine part of him. The one that’s telegraphing in no uncertain terms what it wants. “You have . . . certain needs. And as busy as you are, you haven’t had a chance to . . . satisfy them.”

  He doesn’t say anything. His mouth is one rigid slash.

  “So, I thought.” God. This is a lot harder than I thought it would be.

  “You thought?” he prompts.

  “You scratch my back. I’ll scratch yours.” The words rush out of me.

  His brow wrinkles. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Blowing out a breath, I say, “We have sex.”

  His gaze narrows. “Why?”

  “I just told you. You, me”—I point to him and me—“we have certain needs.”

  “Ahh, so it’s we now. Thanks for the clarification.”

  “You’re welcome.” This is the weirdest conversation I’ve ever had about sex. Not that I’ve had many.

  “So did these certain “needs”—he freakin’ air-quotes them—“suddenly surface in the last ten minutes.”

  “Yes. No.”

  “Which is it? Yes or no?”

  I cock my hip and drop my fist on it. Honestly. What is wrong with him? He should have picked me up and thrown me on the bed by now. “No. They were always there.”

  “Ahhh. When did you realize they were “there”?” Air-quotes. Again. I’m going to kill him.

  “At the elevator.”

  “Not before?”

  “No.”

  “And you want me now?”

  “Yes.”

  “But not before?”

  “Yes. No.”

  I forget to breathe while he tilts his head and studies me for what seems like forever. “Sorry. This is not going to work out.” He turns and walks away.

  I race after him and somehow manage to plant myself in front of him. “Why?”

  Anger flashes in his eyes. I was wrong. He’s not upset; he’s furious. He steps forward to tower over me. “When I fuck a woman, it’s because she wants me all the time, not when it’s convenient to her.”

  My breath hitches. He’s punishing me for denying him. But he’s also punishing himself. Because he wants me. Badly. His erection is living proof. He won’t give in easily, though. Not unless I give him a reason to. And it starts with speaking the truth. “I do want you all the time, Brock.”

  “Yeah? Fucking prove it.”

  “How?”

  “Get naked. Right now.”

  “I thought you’d want to strip me.” My words are a mere whisper.

  “Not this time.” He struts toward the bed and, face up, he spread eagles his powerful body on it. “Put on a good show.”

  Bastard. I should walk out right now. Leave him like that, hard and aching. But I don’t. I want him too much. When I reach for my shorts, he stops me. “Nuh-uh. Start with your top. I want to see your tits.”

  I don’t know how; I don’t know when. But he’s going to pay for this. The halter top snaps in the front. Wanting to get this humiliation over as soon as possible, I attack it with zest.

  “Nuh-uh. Slowly. Like this.” His hand goes to his cock and he pumps it at a glacial pace.

  My eyes practically fall out of my head. I’ve never seen a more beautiful thing than Brock pleasuring himself.

  While his hand strokes his shaft, I free the prongs one at a time. When the last one’s done, I shrug and the top lands at my feet.

  A drop of dew eases out from the crown of his cock. I want to take him in my mouth, suck him, lick him. But I can’t do that. At least not until he’s done torturing me.

  “Cup your breasts, Ellie. Play with them.”

  My sex life has been pretty rudimentary. Almost nonexistent foreplay followed by basic sex. Nothing like what he’s demanding of me. But if he wants a slow striptease, that’s exactly what he’s going to get.

  My way.

  With the day as hot as it’s been, I’d tied back my hair. Reaching up, I rip off the band, let it dangle from my fingers. Once I have his full attention, I rub it across my nipples. The tips perk up, and I roll back my head and moa
n. “Ohhhhh.”

  No longer concerned with his cock, he sits up, his eyes glued to my breasts. Done with the first act, I snap the band, before slowly rubbing it across my pussy. This time the moan’s real. Oh, dear God. Who knew this would feel so damn good.

  He’s panting. His cock’s grown longer, thicker. How is that even possible?

  I toss the band to the floor and move on to act two. While slowly undulating my hips, I slip down my shorts. Right, left. Right again.

  He gulps. Hard. A lot more moisture leaks from his cock.

  I kick out of my shorts, leaving me in nothing but my bikini panties. Turning to the side, I raise the hem and flash him a sneak peek of my ass.

  “Fuuuuuccccck.”

  With my back to him, I grin. I take good care of that ass. I run, do squats. I know it looks good.

  “Turn around, Ellie.” His voice’s pure gravel.

  I do as he says, but when he reaches for me, I dance away.

  “Ellie.” His brows thunder down. “Come here.”

  “Nuh-uh.” Two can play at this game, stud.

  I slowly strip off my panties, revealing my pussy an inch at a time. When it’s bared for him to see, I shimmy the panties down, kick them to the side.

  “Ellie,” he grits out. “Come the fuck here.”

  I roll a finger over my lips, suck it into my mouth, pull it out. Wet and shiny, it gleams in the muted light of the room. I slick the finger down my throat, through the valley between my breasts, roll it around my belly button, and skim my way down to my clit.

  But before I get there, he grabs my hips and pulls me on top of him. “Witch.”

  “We going to have sex now, Brock?” I ask in my most innocent voice.

  “You better believe it.”

  “Ooooh. Can’t wait.” He’s going to topsy-turvy us and drive into me, I just know it. As wet as I am, I don’t need any foreplay. I just need him in me. Right now.

  But to my surprise, he doesn’t. Instead, he brushes a lock off my face. “You walked willingly into my den of sin, Ellie Adams.”

  Yes, I did.

  “I’m keeping you.”

  I wiggle my pussy against his cock, so he knows I’m fully on board with his plan.