Trailing his lips down her spine, he grabbed her hips, hitched them higher, and drove into her. She hung on—to the ottoman, her senses, her sanity. With each plunge inside her, he shoved her closer and closer to the brink.
She greedily backed into each thrust. She chased release like an erotic game of hide-and-go-seek. Scrambled after it. Every dark grunt he emitted…every time she glimpsed the thick column of his cock glistening with her before he slammed inside her sex again…every slap of skin against skin… They all propelled her closer and closer to the crumbling edge that loomed so near but so damn far away…
“I’m not coming without you,” he growled, curving a hand around the base of her neck and drawing her back and against his chest.
The fingers remained, circling her throat. He didn’t exert pressure, but the weight of the caress, the possessive grip, it sizzled through her like a high-voltage current. And when he slipped the fingers of his other hand between her spread thighs and pressed her clit, the current exploded in a burst of light, heat, and fire.
She screamed, convulsed, and splintered, plunging into an orgasm that had her heart spasming in rapture and fear. Because even as she plummeted into the welcoming arms of darkness, and Dom stiffened behind her, his raw, hoarse curses blistering her ears, a part of her still-conscious mind registered that nothing would ever be the same between them.
Nothing.
Chapter Ten
Dom blinked, for a moment disoriented. The lavender, gray, and pearlescent sky outside his bedroom window telegraphed it had to be about six o’clock. But he never slept during the day or early evening. Not even for a nap. His days off were often packed with the appointments he couldn’t make during the week because of his practice and travel schedule, so rest was usually a pipe dream.
But it was Tuesday, dusk, and he’d just woken up in his bed. Naked.
Naked.
As if the sight of his bare chest and dick kicked open the door to his memory, images flooded in, speeding through his brain like a subway train without brakes. Fucking Tennyson on the floor. Her riding him on the bed. Him with his face buried between her thighs.
He scrubbed a hand down his face, sighing. And waited for the remorse to sweep in, covering him in guilt and self-directed anger. But…nope. Nothing. Except for his hardening dick at the memories that continued to stream like the trailer of an X-rated movie.
Sighing, he sat up, shoving the bedcovers to the side. He didn’t need to glance behind him to verify Tenny wasn’t asleep, curled up in the tangled sheets. After being in each other’s lives for so long, a connection had been forged. He could sense her presence, just as he was certain she could feel his. And his instincts informed him that she didn’t linger in the bed or the bathroom. Considering the line they’d not just crossed but obliterated, he wouldn’t be surprised if she’d left the house.
Shit. While he didn’t regret the sex—sex, such an anemic word to describe what had transpired between them—unease crawled into his chest and squatted there. Absently, he rubbed the low-grade ache. Except for his explicit and yeah, admittedly dirty demands, they hadn’t spoken for the hours they’d been wrapped around each other. They damn sure hadn’t talked beforehand about how fucking would change their friendship. Or if they would even have one left to change.
They needed to have that conversation. Because even as his dick throbbed just with the thought of being wrapped in her tight sex, his heart pounded at the possibility of losing the one person who’d known him the longest. The person who’d been his family when he’d lost his to fate’s fickle bitch ass. It’d been a while since the grief had clawed him bloody and loneliness had strangled him with its ever-tightening noose. But the pain and emptiness were still familiar. He could still taste their faint bitter flavor on the back of his tongue. Tennyson had eased their grip all those years ago, and no matter what, he couldn’t sacrifice their relationship.
And then there was football. Once, he’d almost jeopardized his future for a woman, a relationship that hadn’t been true or real. He’d allowed himself to get so wrapped up in her that it’d messed with his game, his friendships, and his heart. He couldn’t permit himself to revert to that man again. Couldn’t let that loss of control affect every aspect of his life. Especially his career. Not when so many people—including himself—depended on him showing up, focused, determined, and ready.
But he also wanted the soul-ripping pleasure he’d discovered in Tennyson’s body. Fuck, riding her bare… It’d been a damn religious experience. The slick, snug, hot clasp of her pussy… He shuddered. Only with her did he dare screw without a condom; no other woman had earned that kind of trust. And he’d never imagined it could be so goddamn wonderful—perfect.
So no, he didn’t want to give up either her friendship or the mind-altering sex. There had to be a way to keep one—at least for a little while—without irreparably harming the other. But in order to find that compromise, they first had to talk. Which meant he had to hunt her down.
Minutes later, he emerged from the shower, dragged on a fresh pair of sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt. After stuffing his feet into a pair of sneakers, he jogged down the stairs. When he hit midpoint, the sweet, tangy aroma of frying onions and apple-smoke scent of grilling meat reached him. He descended the rest of the steps slower, though the delicious smells emanating from the rear of the house damn near had him salivating.
Only one person he knew could create culinary magic like that.
Tennyson hadn’t left.
He headed toward the back of the house. Toward the kitchen.
…
Tennyson stood at the marble island, head bent, beating the cream cheese and spinach mixture in a bowl. Behind her, a pan of large mushroom caps was already cooking in the oven. After waking, she’d showered and cut a path directly for the kitchen, for her sanctuary. Dom might release his problems on a punching bag, but this was where she worked out her emotions, her issues, her frustrations. Which, she suspected, had been Dom’s intention when he’d bought the house, remodeled the kitchen, and stocked it with top-of-the-line appliances and cookware.
She didn’t turn around when he entered the room, but she didn’t need to. She sensed him. Awareness sizzled and danced over her skin. Her shoulders tensed under her T-shirt, and she tightened her grip on the spoon in her hand.
Though she didn’t remove her attention from the bowl, she heard him move farther into the room. His scent of freshly washed skin reached her before he did, and lured out images of the last few hours they’d just spent together. Of his hands slowly skimming her body as she undulated over him. She’d ridden him with no shame.
It was official.
She was a hussy.
“What’re you cooking?” Dom asked the harmless question, but it did nothing to ease the tension zipping up and down her spine.
“Portobello mushrooms stuffed with spinach and steak,” she said, never glancing up.
“What did that—whatever it is—do to you?” His hand closed over hers, stopping her very fervent stirring. Maintaining his hold on her, he inched closer and, lowering his head, nuzzled her curls.
She stilled, unable to release her stranglehold on the wooden utensil.
“Dom,” she whispered.
“Yeah?”
“I’m cooking.”
He snorted but edged away, granting her the space she needed.
She studied him, unease swirling in her chest. He didn’t smile as he picked up one of the stools lining the breakfast bar on the other side of the room, lugged it over to the free-standing island, and sat, facing her.
“We need to talk,” he announced.
Oh God.
The disquiet solidified into a leaden weight that sank to the bottom of her stomach. There shouldn’t have been enough breath in her lungs to shudder out from between her lips. But she heard her own shaky gasp and prayed he hadn’t.
“Now I know how men feel whenever women say that to them,” she managed to mutte
r. The spoon clattered against the side of the bowl as her numb fingers released it.
“Sweetheart,” he murmured, once more covering her hand with his. Slowly, she lifted her head and met his eyes for the first time since he’d entered the kitchen. “We need to have this conversation.”
Sighing, she turned around to the stove. With deliberate movements, she tugged on her mitts and removed the pan from the oven and set it on the range. It’s okay. I can do this. I’m not going to break. Even though her thudding heart begged to differ. Jesus. She briefly closed her eyes before taking off the mitts and pivoting to face him again.
“Fine.” But before he could say anything, she lifted a hand in the age-old sign of “stop.” He’d damn near destroyed her last time with the Friend Zone talk. Not again. She couldn’t bear it again. “I already know what you’re going to say. It was a mistake. We shouldn’t have had sex. Bad for us, bad for our friendship—”
“Are you going to eventually breathe so I can speak?” he interrupted, voice calm, his eyebrow arched. “We’re friends—best friends. And no matter what has happened, or happens from here on out, I need you to be my friend.”
She nodded. “Me too,” she agreed, unable to prevent the rasp roughening her voice. How she managed to speak past the thick lump in her throat was a miracle. Afraid her face would reveal the panic clawing at her, she dropped her gaze to the marble countertop.
“But I want to fuck you again. Even now, I want to strip those jeans off and burn them for getting in the way of me being inside you.” He dropped his stare to her thighs, studying her as if the denim offended him.
The dread started to release its talons, and she blinked at him. Blinked again. “Okay,” she breathed.
Wait. Where was this going? He didn’t want to ruin their friendship…but he still wanted to fuck her. She was lost. Maybe… Fear, hope, excitement and dread coalesced in her belly, surging up until it filled her like a helium balloon, pressing against her rib cage. Maybe she should tell him about her feelings for him. Maybe, this time, with the intimacy they just shared, it would be different…
“Tenny,” he said, then stopped, thrusting his fingers through his hair. “You know me better than anyone, so I won’t lie. I don’t want a relationship. Hell, you better than anyone know why. For me, football is my top priority, and I need it to be. I want it to be. Sex is one thing—and with you, a fucking really good thing—but it can’t be more than that. And most importantly, I need to know that when either of us is ready to call…this off, we’ll still be friends. If not—if we can’t still have our relationship—then I’m not willing to risk it with sex. I won’t risk it.”
A pit yawned open inside her, a deep, dark abyss. Bitterness mixed with hurt, but she swallowed it down. He liked having sex with her, but nothing else. Not her heart. Just her friendship and her body.
“So friends with benefits. That’s what you’re saying,” she said, the even tone revealing nothing of the chaos swirling in her chest.
“I suppose so, yes. And,” he added, shaking his head, “this stays between us. No confiding in Renee or Sophia. And I won’t tell Ronin, Zeph, or Jason. We both know none of them would approve considering what happened between Renee and Jason. We would have to keep it our secret. And when it ends, no one knows, no one is hurt.”
When it ends… Because, she knew, there was no doubt in his mind that it would eventually be over.
He folded his arms on the stone top. “Can you handle that, Tenny? Because if you can’t, if that’s not something you want, then we never fuck again and remain just friends. We forget about today and move on like we have been.”
As if it could be that easy. For her, the strongest bleach couldn’t ever erase those hours from her brain. Couldn’t scrub the ghost of his touch from her body.
That he could if she didn’t agree to his terms let her know she couldn’t afford to become more emotionally invested than she was. And she damn sure couldn’t admit her love to him again. Ask him for more. Not when he just told her that could never be.
She inhaled.
Okay, so she couldn’t have all of him. But, if she accepted his…bargain, she could take as much of him as he was willing to give. And then walk away. Her heart and pride intact.
“I have a job interview Thursday,” she said.
He stared at her, his expression a little stunned, but then full of what the fuck. What? Had he thought she’d forgotten about quitting as his PA?
“A job interview,” he repeated. “When did this happen?” He shook his head, holding his hands up. “Screw it. I don’t want the details.”
“I’m not telling you to hurt you,” she said, her voice softening. She flexed her fingers, the urge to reach for him instinctive, but instead, she curled them into a fist. “I want to let you know that I can handle it. I’m getting my own life, Dom. You don’t have to protect me. Or worry about me clinging to you or raging about broken promises when the sex ends.”
Yeah, she’d unfortunately been on hand to witness one or two of those dramatic, embarrassing episodes with women he’d tried to gently let down. Even though, knowing how he hated relationships, she doubted he’d ever uttered vows of undying devotion or commitment to them.
“You’re right; I do know you better than anyone,” she continued. “It just so happens that when I eventually enter a relationship with a man, I want someone whose end game is love. I eventually want what Zeph and Sophia have, and I more than anyone realize that man will not be you. So no commitment, no hope-filled fantasies that sex will turn into monogamy. Deal?”
Relief and another, unidentifiable emotion crossed his face. But before she could decipher it, he cocked his head to the side. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure,” she scoffed. “I’m a big girl.”
Look at you taking me. I knew you could.
His praise from that morning echoed in her head, stroking over her skin, skimming her nipples, and gliding between her legs like a phantom hand. A big, calloused hand with long, elegant fingers. He lifted his crystal blue eyes to hers. And she watched them darken to a shadowed navy. Maybe the same memory had leaped in his head, too.
“Come here,” he commanded, lust tearing his voice up like freshly churned gravel on a pitted road. For a second, she didn’t move. Couldn’t move as a flash of doubt flickered inside her. Was she doing the right thing? Would she be able to walk away as she believed?
“Changed your mind already?” Dom asked, studying her with a hooded stare.
Changed her mind? She took a few precious seconds to analyze her heart, the sensations popping and crackling through her like a live, electrical current in the rain. Oh, no. With the heat of lust already rising inside her, she hadn’t changed her mind.
She couldn’t.
She circled the island, and he rose from the stool. They stared at one another, the low hum of the oven the only sound in the kitchen. Slowly, he lowered his head, and she rose on her toes, meeting his mouth halfway. He brushed his lips over hers, giving her a proper greeting. Then, with a low rumble of pleasure, he burrowed the fingers of both hands in her hair, holding her steady for the thrust of his tongue. God, his kiss. Already, his taste was familiar, addictive. And as she tilted her head, deepening the merger of their mouths, the kiss was fast becoming something she craved.
Desire rippled through her, and a greedy whimper escaped her. His head jerked up, and he studied her, the weight of it intense. Did he see the need that lit her like a torch, that warmed her face?
“Damn,” he swore, low and harsh as he turned her around and flattened her palms on the island.
“I think this might be your favorite position,” she teased, glancing over her shoulder as she widened her stance and arched her back. Lifted her ass toward him.
Groaning, he undid her jeans, shoved them down along with his sweatpants and gripped his dick, stroking the length from the base to the head. She felt her eyes widen at the unashamedly carnal, hedonistic display. Pleasure s
hot down her spine, and her already damp folds grew wetter. She grew hotter.
“Please,” she begged.
His gaze rose from the flesh between her thighs to her face. Without preamble, he shifted forward and sank inside her. Not stopping until his balls pressed against her flesh.
Her chin dropped, and all she could do was moan. And shake. And demand… “Oh God. More.”
His forehead pressed to her shoulder blade, and he wrapped his arms around her, slipping a hand between her legs to seek out her clit. She rocked back into him as he circled and rubbed, her core squeezing him like a fist.
“That’s where you’re wrong,” he growled, setting up a slow thrust and grind. “With you, they’re all my favorite.”
That was the last thing she heard for a while.
Chapter Eleven
“Explain to me why I agreed to this lunch again?” Tennyson muttered as they entered the upscale eatery in the Westlake neighborhood of Seattle. Brian Yates, Dom’s agent, had chosen the popular restaurant where, at any given time, local rock artists, politicians, dealmakers, and Seattle’s football elite could be seen.
“Appearances. It’s all about appearances,” Dom drawled, quoting Brian’s motto. In the last seven years while Brian had been Dom’s agent, Tenny had learned it was just one of many coined phrases he liked to echo. Each one seemed more pretentious and pompous than the last.
She sighed. Okay, so she should probably ease up on the sports agent. After all, it was his job to make sure Dom received and signed the best contract offers, handle Dom’s business and endorsement deals, as well as manage his money. And Brian was damn good at what he did. But…his big, good ol’ boy smile, booming voice, and gregarious manner hid the mind of a shark. Most people only saw the wide, amicable grin he usually wore. Tennyson looked into his gray eyes and glimpsed the cold machinations of a man constantly working an angle.
Then there was the fact that he couldn’t seem to figure out that her face wasn’t located in her breasts. She frowned. Since she would be attending lunch with Dom, maybe his gaze would remain above her neck.
Scoring Off the Field (WAGS series) Page 12