Damaged Goods

by Damaged Goods (lit)

  He nodded. A wise man and yet a victim of his own circumstances and choices he made throughout life, Tom had been taking care of the Rascals for many years. He typically hung out in the locker room whenever he could, and many of the guys were quite fond of him. Considered part of the team, under Tom’s supervision, the janitors and cleaning crew took better care of the Dallas Rascals stadium than most folks concerned themselves with their personal homes.

  I popped a kiss on his cheek. “So long, friend,” I said, patting his arm when I pulled away.

  “That sounds like goodbye, Suzy Q.”

  “You never know, Tom.”

  “You ought to be upstairs with your friends.”

  “No, not today,” I said. “But if you run into Marco, tell him hello for me?”

  “I’ll make a point and see him right after the game.”

  * * * *

  Dallas beat Pittsburg twenty-eight to fourteen. Marco’s performance gained instant praise all over the news. When I logged on to the Internet later in the evening, everything sports related somehow led to posted topics about Marco Giovanni, the Italian Stallion.

  I clicked on a few images and saved them to my desktop. Five weeks ago, I wouldn’t have bothered. I was, after all, quite irritated after our little date and even more frustrated when he didn’t bother to call in the weeks following the catastrophe.

  Just as I scooted away from the computer, the doorbell rang and I looked through the beveled glass design next to the heavy, dark wood panels. I couldn’t see who stood there, so I hopped up, fully expecting to greet the press.

  Someone surely wanted to know what I thought about Marco’s debut. Even though the media now interpreted the whole Suzy-Marco courtship as a sham—a hoax to help my tarnished reputation and cast a spotlight on his impeccable one—some reporters remained forever interested.

  I opened the door without trying to peek through the oblong window a second time. I probably gasped as soon as my brain processed the arrival of one fine-looking guest.

  “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

  He grinned so wide, his etched in dimples looked like they might crack. In his right hand, he gripped a single white rose and in his left, take-out from my favorite place, Donovan’s Dining Room.

  “Do you always catch your lady friends by surprise?”

  “Just the ones who capture and then hold my attention,” he said, walking toward the kitchen.

  “You’re an assumptive fellow, Marco,” I said, closing the door and securing the lock.

  “I’m an intuitive fellow.”

  “How so?”

  “I keep up with you.”

  “You saw Tom.”

  “I saw you,” he said, his eyes dancing with a mixture of lust and adrenaline.

  After involvement with countless PFC players, I knew what they were like after a victory. They turned into explosive lovers, hard to contain and incredibly talented behind closed doors. And for some reason, I was terrified of Marco right then, unsure if I could handle whatever he planned to offer.

  Retrieving two plates from the cupboard, Marco made himself right at home. He walked over to the fireplace beside the dining room table, grabbed one of the table top box matches from the mantel, struck it against the long box, and watched the flame light the end. Tenting his hand over the spark, he lit three candles in the center of the table and then blew out the match.

  “This is a nice surprise.”

  “Why didn’t you sit in the owner’s suites?” he quickly inquired, stepping on the bottom lever of the silver-plated trashcan in the kitchen and discarding the match.

  “Water?” I asked, filling two glasses. “I don’t keep sodas here anymore.”

  Immediately his gaze shifted to the empty bar. The bottles had been stored in the basement, a few choice vintage selections given away a few weeks ago as birthday gifts, and now the only thing left to remind of the bar left behind were the various tumblers and glasses.

  “Sounds perfect.”

  I handed Marco a full glass after filling it with crushed ice and cold water from the refrigerator. Then, I opened the silverware case and took out our dinnerware. Our fingers brushed together, but I tried not to pause, acting unaffected by a mere touch.

  He unpacked the carry-out trays, watching me carefully and seemingly unable to look away. “Bowtie pasta and chicken parmesan, if memory serves me correctly,” he said, unhooking the tie strings attached to each dinner then removing the layered foil spread neatly over the entrée.

  “It’s been five weeks,” I finally said when he pulled the ladder-back chair away from the dining table.

  “Yes,” he replied softly, staring at my lips. “I wanted to start the season without distractions. The first game is behind me now.”

  “You could’ve called.”

  “You could’ve pulled another stunt, and I probably would’ve stopped by on request.”

  “Don’t do me any favors,” I teased.

  He narrowed his gaze and cupped my neck. His thumb caressed the side of my neck until the rub caused a burning sensation. He stared at my lips and then lowered his head like he planned to ravage them right then and there. Instead, he whispered, “I’m starving.”

  “Me, too.”

  “And I’ll probably want dessert tonight, Suzy,” he said with a certain edge in his voice.

  Pulling away from him, I sat down and nervously scooped a hearty helping of pasta onto my plate. He sat across rather than next to me, like he chose to do at our previous meal, and he seemed so relaxed, confident of the moves he planned to make and positively sure of himself.

  He took a bite of his dinner. “So Tom tells me you left at halftime.”

  “Yes.”

  “I never took you for a woman who dodged the spotlight, Suzy.”

  “You had the cameramen watching for me.”

  “I did.”

  “Why?” I asked, placing the fork on the edge of my plate.

  “They expected to find you in the suites,” he said, dodging the question.

  “You wanted to know I was there.”

  “Are you pleased?” he asked, shoving another bowtie between his lips. “I thought you might feel honored.”

  Cocky ass, the win he achieved certainly went to his head.

  “I’m confused. The first time I met you, I gathered you wanted me to change, and after you discarded more than a thousand dollars worth of my expensive liquor, you left and I didn’t hear another word. Now, here you are, looking at me like I’m sex covered in silk, sharing a meal we could’ve easily enjoyed the first time you paid me a visit. And so here I am confused as all hell.”

  He continued to eat.

  “There’s something wrong with you,” I said, slapping my hand against the white linen table cloth and watching the water cascade over the rim of both glasses.

  “I imagine when men don’t conform to your expectations you generally decide there’s something wrong with them, right?”

  “What do you want from me?”

  “What if I don’t want anything from you?”

  “You’re here, aren’t you?”

  “That doesn’t matter, Suzy.”

  I pushed away from the table and walked over to the stereo. It was too quiet in the dining room. I feared my thoughts would start flipping off my tongue if I didn’t find a few soft tunes to break the silence.

  When I turned back around, he stood inches away. He framed my face and dropped a kiss on my forehead. “Even if the cameras hadn’t found you in the crowd, I honestly believe I would have.”

  “Do you?”

  “On an ordinary woman, this black pantsuit would’ve caused a person to fade into the layers of people, but you stood out like the camera’s lens brought you into 3D focus,” he said softly, picking up one of my curls and watching as if mesmerized when it latched around his finger.

  Swiftly, I moved away. “I’ll just…”

  “What? Run? Walk away because I want more than a quick
roll across your mattress?”

  He stalked forward, and I backed up against the dining room table. My hips were parallel to the furniture, and I had nowhere to turn or any way of escaping once he placed his palms flat against the smooth top.

  “You’re going to bite off more than you can chew.”

  “I don’t think so,” he said. “If anything, Suzy, I’m going to keep coming back for a full course meal.”

  “Marco,” I hummed against his lips when his forehead met mine.

  “Suzy,” he whispered. “Don’t let me have your body unless you’ll allow me to touch your heart.”

  I took a deep breath. I could feel his erection pressed against my thigh. God help me, I wanted to take a chance on this man. I already made so many changes to please him, and why? Because he pointed out the obvious or because he made simple suggestions and I wanted nothing more than to please him since the first day we met?

  He nipped at my jaw and chin, working his way across my cheek and up to my ear. “Let me have you, Suzy. Let me have you for longer than one night.”

  My arms looped around his neck, and I pulled him to me. My lips took his lips as he snaked his arm around my waist and pulled me against his upper chest.

  He released a guttural growl when my breasts mashed against him. His fingers dipped into the low neckline of my blouse, unhooking the buttons as he worked from top to bottom and then helped me out of the jacket and shirt at the same time. Unexpectedly, when the material dropped, so did his head. He teased and tweaked my concealed nipple until I whimpered, pleasure ripping through my body, spiraling up and down my spine until every nerve ending burned for a magnetizing touch.

  My hands went to his belt. Cupping my neck, he looked into my eyes and with a raspy tone, he asked, “Did I tell you to unhook my belt?”

  “No, but you obviously want me to,” I said, patting his cock and breathing heavy against his ear, licking his neck and kissing across the exposed upper area of his chest.

  He held my wrists. “Suzy, no,” he said. “Right now, this is about your pleasure, not mine.”

  “I’ll find my pleasure,” I assured him, popping kisses across his face and neck. “Trust me. I always find it.”

  Firmly, he pulled my arms away from him and held them clasped behind my back, pushing me onto the table and then working with one hand to unfasten my pants. His mouth moved circles around my lace bra, his lips numbing one nipple and then moving to the other.

  “Marco,” I begged. “Let me touch you.”

  He pushed the placemats out of the way and returned his attention to me in a flash, stripping pants away from hips and then complimenting my thong.

  “Beautiful,” he said, staring at the white lace material covering me and then nipping the little pink bow strategically sewn parallel to a woman’s very favorite intimate button.

  He licked through the material and another whimper escaped my lips. “Relax,” he said, locking my ankles behind his back and then unhooking his belt, making a show out of discarding it.

  When he unzipped his pants, I trembled. The knowledge of seeing him undressed for the first time drove my lust forward. His hands dropped to my hips, and he drew me up, away from the cold, flat surface of the table.

  He reached behind my back and unhooked the bra. Gently, he fingered the straps across my shoulders and then slid them down my arms so deliberately that I held the cups against my breasts.

  “Let me see you,” he growled. “I want to see and feel all of you.”

  Reluctant for show, I released the material. “Better?” I teased.

  “You better believe it,” he whispered, capturing a nipple between his teeth and pulling as his tongue flattened against the nub.

  He gazed into my eyes as he licked, the evidence found there showcased the desire of a man fully capable of loving a woman, and something else lingered, too. A controlled lover, a man who may have been twenty years my junior, but possessed the skills and knowledge to bring a woman to her knees.

  My legs splayed, and he worked his palm against the sweltering heat forming in my wet pussy. The ball of his hand rotated around and around, circling my mound until I feared coming without penetration, without his fingers or his tongue, or better still, his hard cock.

  Snapping my legs closed, I cried out, “No, wait!”

  “No waiting,” he said, placing a tender kiss on my thigh. “Not this time.”

  He pushed my legs apart, and I did what any woman about to lose all control might do. I leaned back on the table and decided to do precisely as I was told, something quite new to me, but apparently not to Marco Giovanni. Oh no, I had a feeling he wasn’t as green as his age suggested. He’d worked on a woman once or twice in his life, and God help me, he knew how to treat a girl right.

  Chapter Six

  I knew the kind of reputation I earned around some of the PFC players. At least ten of them enjoyed a field trip to my bedroom at one point or another. Several of them—thanks to Mark and Corby—knew about my rubber dolls, a collection I kept hidden upstairs after Mark and I started having our share of troubles.

  I wondered how kinky Marco liked his women. I wondered if I even measured up as I watched his dark brown eyes turn coal black, hooded under thick lids and long eyelashes.

  He pressed his hands to my inner thighs and then moved his fingers forward and back, massaging me until I burned for a more intimate touch. I reached down my body, but he stopped me before I slid my fingers where his should have traveled.

  Grinning, he licked those delicious lips again and then snapped the thin band, barely bothering to remove the shreds of evidence of a thong once worn. He searched my eyes, studied my face, caressed my body and then, God help me, he drove his fingers into my pussy with one sleek move so careless, yet so precise and calculated.

  Immediately, my body jerked in response to his touch. My hips rolled forward, and my walls vibrated in an effort to close around the manual stimulation, the bones of his knotty fingers driving me insane as he plunged higher and higher into my vagina, his hand working right against my pussy.

  “Come for me, Suzy,” he said. “Let me watch you.”

  My legs fell open, and I bit down on my forefinger. My body rose and fell. His fingers twirled higher. They swirled in a delicious rotation. I humped against his hand, trying to capture and ride the orgasm I needed more than air, more than the drink I’d craved since I took my last sip, and for one primary purpose, for one sole reason. For him! For this!

  “Ah, Marco,” I said, damp with need, the urgency of a thrashing climax riding in closer, taking hold and barring no interference. Still, I resisted. I wanted this moment to last forever. I wanted the buildup, the angst of preparing for an earth-shattering moment so intense I didn’t know if I’d ever recover again.

  My hands slapped against the table surface. And his fell away from my body all at once.

  “Oh, God, no!” I cried, sitting up and reaching down.

  He smacked my hand away and grinned. “Only when I tell you, and you didn’t take your orgasm when you were told. Next time, you won’t resist. Next time, you’ll listen. You’ll follow my requests.”

  Breathless, I stared at who I first thought may have been an angel, but now, upon closer inspection, I decided most definitely held a few common similarities with Satan himself. Gasping, I finally managed, “What the hell is your deal?” The building excitement faded away. My head flew back, and I moaned.

  “I’m going to show you,” he said, tugging his cock completely free of his pants and then his shorts.

  Holy shit, I thought. Not only did he plan to show me, he planned to use the biggest fucking deal I’d ever seen in my life to drive home a few points.

  “You want this?” he asked, rubbing it against my leg.

  Oh yeah, I wanted it. Well, I thought I did prior to seeing the length uncurl from his pants.

  “So do you?” he asked again, smiling. “Come on, baby. I like a little foreplay, and I love a woman who can tell
me what she wants. Talk to me.”

  “I wanted to come about ninety seconds ago,” I gently reminded.

  I wondered how he liked that for foreplay and enticing verbal lingo.

  He kissed my knee, rubbing, caressing, and holding himself where I could feel and see his growing reaction. Moving toward me, he stood between my legs and kissed me again. This time, his lips were soft and tender, kissing me with more passion than I’d ever found in kissing alone.

  “That’s nice,” I said, forgetting, for the time being, about the orgasm he stole away from me. He ran away with it because he could, because he alone gained the power to control the way I responded to him.

  Nipping at my lips, his tongue separated the tight line my mouth formed when I thought the kissing stopped. Instead, he thrust his tongue into the whole of my mouth, and he sipped and licked his way right into another delicious, unforgettable moment, the kind of kiss that meant something. The kind of smooch with guaranteed end results. Surely the fucking would come sometime soon.

  I whispered into his ear, “You’re going to have one crazy woman on your hands in about five or six more minutes if you don’t screw me.”

  I didn’t blink an eye and I didn’t smile. There was only so much a woman drowning in heat could stand, and I had reached my limit.

  “You’ll thank me later,” he promised, pursuing my breasts again. And then he stopped abruptly. Changing his point of direction, he headed south and dropped down between my legs so fast they barely had time to part.

  Pushing my thighs wide, his mouth latched over my clit, and he sipped on the little button, manipulating it with puckered lips before dropping an inch or so and thrusting his tongue high inside my pussy.

  “Oh, Marco,” I cried out, arching and waiting, bracing for a climatic end. “More,” I said, begging, pressing his head down and holding him pinned against my body. I struggled to make sure he didn’t move. My pleasure rolled in, sweeping closer and closer, the flood coming, the crashing climax I wanted to find gaining a source of unmatched inspiration.

  And then he left me once more.

  Oh, shit! I focused on the chandelier hanging high above us. The lights were a blur. What the heck just happened? Oh, God, I was furious.