by Anthology
“Coach is going to explain everything.” Marcus reached for my hand and wrapped his big football paw over mine. I could see only the tips of my fingertips sticking out of his fist. I glanced down at his feet and realized for the first time that he walked around on virtual skis. I bet he wore a size 15, at least. Made sense. I saw his “manhood” in its full glory and it was huge, but in the most satisfying ways. I gave Marcus a sly smile and watched his eyes go big. The little gesture was the first not-so-subtle flirt I had slung his way.
“Okay,” I said while Coach took a seat on the dark wood coffee table placed in front of Marcus and I. “I can’t wait to hear what’s up,” I gave the Coach a little wink and he raised his brows with a nod or two.
“Smart one with a smart mouth,” Coach said. “But I like her. A lot.”
“Me, too,” Marcus cooed in my ear. His hot breath made a cool shiver run down my spine that ended between my legs. A place I wished for years had more action.
“Me, three,” I giggled. “Give it to me straight up.”
“Oh my God,” Marcus muttered under his breath. “She’s killing me here.”
“Here’s the story.” I sat back into the plush brown leather as I had a feeling this story would take some time to tell.
“A few months ago, Marcus went on a complete bender down in New Orleans. Let’s just say he was having fun with the women,” Coach added with an eyebrow wiggle. Nothing new really from the reports I have heard around town. “On his last night in NOLA, he met a mysterious woman at a bar. She promised him the sex of his life and he left the bar with her. They went back to his hotel room for the evening. After what he tells me was a marathon sexcapade, he offered to give her enough money for a cab and a Louis Vuitton bag.”
Coach rolled his knowing brown eyes and shook his head. “The woman became offended and walked around the room speaking fast under her breath. Marcus couldn’t make out what she was saying, but knew she was angry as hell. And hell hath no fury as a woman who thinks she’s scorned. See, she wanted to snuggle into Marcus’ side for the night and have little football babies with him. She thought they had something special and was hurt and wounded when she learned otherwise.”
Coach turned from me to Marcus. “Gotta know the kind of women you bring home son. You misread this one and it cost you.”
“I’m sorry to hear that poor Marcus ran into a little trouble.” The sarcasm in my voice laced my words. “But I don’t know how I can help you here.”
“Well the story is more than just about a scorned woman. She was a voodoo priestess.” My mind immediately went to my bestie, Taylor. She has warned me over the years about voodoo and all its powers. She told me to never mess with that shit. Seeing how she was the closest thing I had to a spiritual authority, I took her advice.
“The woman, we will call her, Tarot, pulled out a set of cards and sat on the floor by the bed. She spoke in an unknown language and placed the cards down in a square. When she was finished, she doubled over with laughter. It made the hairs on Marcus’ arms stand straight up. He had a feeling he was sunk.” I watched Marcus as he rubbed his hands over his thighs in a nervous motion. He didn’t appear so cocky and self-assured, instead when he looked at me, I saw a spooked man.
“Finally, the woman gathered up her cards and stuffed them in her large bag. She asked Marcus if he wanted to know what was in store for him and he said yes,” Coach threw up his hands in surrender and shook his head again. “I swear, if he didn’t know what she conjured up with those cards, he never would’ve been effected. I think it’s all been in his mind,” Coach tapped a forefinger to his temple.
“Coach, you had to be there,” Marcus spoke up in his defense. “The woman was wild-eyed and crazy.”
“Fine. It’s water under the bridge at this point,” Coach motioned with his hand to dismiss the topic of this still unknown-to-me problem created by Tarot. “She told Marcus that he was now cursed and that his player ways had caught up with him.”
“Man, I can barely listen to this conversation without feeling sick to my stomach.” Marcus rubbed over his stomach and looked over at me with scared eyes, the kind that made a man shake in his boots. This woman sure spooked the shit out of him.
“So here’s what her curse was. Marcus wouldn’t be able to have a full erection until he met the woman he would marry. His one true love,” Coach finished his sentence and let it hang in midair. Eventually the true love part became clear as it landed on my thick skull when Coach pointed his eyes directly at me.
“Me,” I blurted out.
“Yes, Dr. Jones. Until he came into your office the day of his appointment, he hadn’t had an erection since Tarot left the hotel room. See, whether or not he’s cursed doesn’t really matter, he believes he is, so nothing is working in the sex department.”
“Wow,” I whistled through my lips.
“Marcus thought he was cured the day he saw you. But later that night, after a quick hookup, he learned otherwise. Then you probably saw him lurking as your shadow this past week. Thanks for not turning his sorry ass over to the cops for stalking you by the way.”
“Well, I was beginning to wonder what the hell was up. I was more afraid that I might cross some professional line.” The truth was I wanted to cross that line badly, but knew I better refrain. Something about eight years of crazy med school made me cautious and unable to throw all cares out the window and into Marcus’ pants. I would never doubt my willpower again.
“So here’s the deal. Marcus needs your help. I need your help. His teammates need your help. Hell, the entire city of Chicago needs your help.” I rolled my eyes and huffed. The start of his appeal made it seem like the future of the entire world sat on my shoulders.
“We need for you to be Marcus’ wife for at least three months. I would prefer a year, but let’s start here.”
“Wait a second. His wife?” I rose from the couch and walked away from the two men, but I could feel their eyes burning up my backside.
My hands began to shake as I thought about the consequence, mostly as they related to my profession. A doctor needs a pristine reputation. Spotless. This type of deal could likely get very messy and painful, especially to my heart.
I glanced over my shoulder at Marcus. Beautiful, perfect Marcus, who believed I held the key to his sexual future and total happiness. The weight of his expectations pushed down on my shoulders. I was barely able to find my own happiness as a human being. This burden would be a challenge no matter how gorgeous and sexy the man was behind the issues.
“I need to know all the details.” I took a seat in a lone chair away from Marcus. His smell intoxicated me and sitting so close to him made my mind fuzzy with pent-up desires. Distance worked, even if it was only a few feet away.
Coach picked up a few papers off the coffee table. The sheets were legal sized and spelled one thing out very clearly to me. Contract. Whatever Coach was about to offer me would be binding. I sighed as he walked near me with his hands outstretched. I took the papers in my hands and watched them shake.
“I get the nerves,” Coach laughed, but even his laughter seemed forced. How the hell could this situation get any more uncomfortable? Well, I was about to find out.
“Let’s go over the major points. First off. This contract requires a signed NDA from all parties involved. Even me as the facilitator for Marcus during this meeting.” So far this conversation sounded so sexy. Not! I mean what woman dreams of enduring a relationship with a muzzle on her mouth? Well, besides those enjoying that kind of kink.
“You will agree to be Marcus’ wife for a flat fee of one million dollars after taxes. You will attend functions with him. Be seen on his arm. Live in his penthouse. He will dote on you in public.”
Good God. One million dollars after taxes would wipe out my medical school loans with money left over to buy my own damn penthouse. But was I up for sale? I felt a twist in my stomach, probably my conscious.
Coach paused his little speech and the r
oom’s air became heavy. I glanced from Marcus to Coach and knew something sticky was next. The kind of sticky that doesn’t wash off easily, like flypaper on a hot summer night.
I began to sweat. My father was an attorney and drilled into me one thing. Never sign anything without legal counsel. But who the hell could I even call?
Sticky. It’s a very, very, sticky situation for sure.
“Now, the sex part,” Coach coughed these words out and Marcus went back to rubbing his palms over his jeans. I was sitting on the edge of my seat, waiting to see how my panties were going to drop. My bet was on hard and fast. Sexy Marcus wasn’t going to be denied, especially not by me.
“You don’t have to have sex with him.” I raised my eyebrows at him in disbelief.
“How will he know I’m his cure then?” It seemed like a logical question.
“Smart woman,” Coach said.
“I’m not sure how smart I am. My attorney father would tell me to hightail it out of this room.” I wanted to show them I wasn’t totally in their camp yet. They needed to work to get me to join their damn team. I wished I had some war paint on my face to make me more of a badass.
“Off the record here,” Coach asked and Marcus looked at me with sad, pleading eyes. Damn him and his sexy pout that made me want to kiss him back to happiness. I was majorly fucked and will likely be majorly fucked by him often if I signed this contract. I squirmed in the chair as I thought of that ten-inch piece of him taking me where I longed. This could be worse. Yeah, that would be my new mantra.
“Sure, off the record,” I agreed.
“You need to have sex with him and often. Like tonight. The poor man has been beside himself. Can’t remember a thing he learned over the last eight years in the NFL. His future belongs in your hands.” My hands? I would say my vagina.
“Marcus?” I had to ask one question before I signed this paper. “Do you even find me remotely attractive?”
Marcus rose from his seat on the leather sectional and kneeled in front of me. He enclosed my hands with his and looked me square in the eye. Those hypnotizing eyes of blue that made me think of cloudless skies. He tightened his jaw as he posed before me with a hard determination.
“How could you even ask that?” He scanned over my body and left a heat wave over my skin. “You have it all. You’re the total package.”
One of his hands found my knee and began to stroke over the top of it. His hands were so massive that his fingertips reached the middle of my thigh. A scant few inches away from the promised land.
“Your petite, curvy body. A D-cup, right?” I nodded as his eyes laser focused on my chest. If I ever doubted he was one cocky bastard, I don’t anymore. “Your mouth makes me insane. Silky hair I want to see covering every part of me. And these legs.” He brought his other hand to my neglected knee and caressed it too. I parted my legs without even thinking and he followed my lead as he continued higher and skimmed the laced-edge of my panties. Teasing me, he immediately drew back lower to a safer zone. After all, Coach was there only a few feet away.
“I would be attracted to you even if you weren’t the only woman able to get me hard. But as luck would have it, you’re the only woman that has me worked up.”
Speaking of worked up, my hormones shot through my body at the speed of light. My insides were on fire.
I knew what I was going to do before I said it, but hell, I loved football and used to love sex from what I remember of it back in my pre-med days. Since med school, I had one boyfriend and he ran on batteries....
“Hand me the damn pen,” I said in defeat though I was pretty sure I would win a lot from this deal. Sure it would be hard to explain to my family and friends, since I couldn’t talk about it under the damn NDA, but being hitched to the biggest, sexiest football player in Chicago would have to be enough.
Note to reader:
The rest of Marcus and Cali’s story comes out later this year in an expanded and lengthier version. Be watching for the rest of HARD LUCK.
Marcus Flynn had Chicago and the sports world under his thumb as the star quarterback for the Bears. Women loved him. Hell, men loved him too. No one could deny the sexy player what he wanted.
Marcus lived life fast and “hard” with his choice of hookups until one night in New Orleans when he picked out the wrong woman, a voodoo priestess. She put a sexual curse on Marcus after feeling scorned by him that night.
Poor manwhore Marcus was thrown completely off his game and the Bears season looked doomed as he couldn’t “get it up in the air” both on the field and in the bedroom. Then Marcus mets an erectile dysfunction doctor, Dr. Cali Jones, who happened to be the one woman with the power to break the supposed voodoo curse. Now Marcus has to convince her to marry him...
Also by Liv Morris
Coming Spring 2016:
MARRY SCREW KILL
See MARRY SCREW KILL,
The standalone you need to read sitting down here on GOODREADS
About Live Morris
Raised in the Ozark Mountains of Missouri, Liv Morris now resides on St. Croix, USVI with her first and hopefully last husband. After relocating twelve times during his corporate career, she qualifies as a professional mover. Learning to bloom where she's planted, Liv brings her moving and life experience to her writing.
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The Decoy – An Undercover Prequel by Emma Nichols
CHAPTER ONE
My phone chimed at the worst possible time.
“Dammit! I thought you turned that thing off when you went to bed,” Roan complained as he pounded against my ass. “Way to ruin the moment.”
As I grabbed my cell and put it on vibrate, my eyes narrowed, not that my expression mattered since I was facing the headboard. The text was from Denzi, my roommate.
Denzi: Are we riding to work together or taking separate cars?
For a moment, I considered her request. Sometimes we did. Since I wanted a reason to get out of here, after twenty minutes of this torture, it gave me the perfect excuse.
me: Hell yeah! Be home soon.
Then I moved the phone back to the nightstand where it slipped out of my hand and clattered as it hit it the wood. Behind me, Roan sighed loudly. Mostly, I didn’t care. After all, he woke me up to have sex and it was meh sex at best.
“Really, babe?” He growled as he gave up and flopped on the bed beside me, landing on his back. His bent arm covered much of his face, but from the way he bit his lower lip, I could tell he was frustrated.
Rolling over, I let my feet hit the floor and immediately set to work finding my pile of clothes. The skirt and shoes were easy enough, since I dropped them beside the bed, but then Roan had decided to get involved and tossed the rest of my clothes around with little care, which would explain why my bra was draped over the lampshade and my sweater dangled from the footboard. The location of my panties was a mystery for a moment until I glanced at Roan and found them dangling from his forefinger. “Thanks,” I muttered as I started to shut myself in the bathroom.
“What? No apology?” He glared at me from the bed where he lay propped on his side.
Taking a deep breath, I considered for a moment precisely what he wanted me to say. Nope. I had nothing. “And what am I supposed to be sorry for this time?” I didn’t even try to hide the annoyance in my voice.
“We didn’t finish.” He gestured to his semi, like I was supposed to stop and handle it for him. Judging from the pile of Hustlers I’d stumbled upon not so long ago in his closet, he didn’t need my help.
Come to think of it, if it weren’t for my vibrator, I wouldn’t have had an orgasm in freaking forever and he never apologized to me. Fuming, I reached into the bathroom drawer, pulled out what I sought, an
d tossed him the KY Warming Lube. “Handle it.” Then I slammed the door.
Relationships weren’t supposed to be like this. We were never supposed to be dating anyway. Roan had been bartending one night and I stayed to hang out after my assignment. I may have done a few too many shots and he took me home. His home. This very apartment. The sex had been amazing, spontaneous, fun, sexy, and perfect. I almost never had one-night stands, except for like four times, and when he wanted to see me again, I agreed.
While I showered, I remembered how everything had worked between us for a while. The first six months had been great, but lately we were in rut city. We never had fun. We always argued over stupid stuff. And I had started feeling used because I couldn’t remember the last time I had an orgasm during sex. Seriously, even now as the steaming hot water washed over me, the particulars of that momentous occasion escaped me. Hell, the sex had been meh long before I stopped having orgasms apparently.
As I turned the water off, Roan passed me a towel. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to start a fight, babe.”
While I dried my face, I gritted my teeth. ‘Babe’ had been a cute nickname at first, but now I wanted him to call me by my name or find a new term of endearment. It felt so...basic...and I was anything but basic, according to that Facebook quiz. “Do you even remember my name?”
“Of course, I do.” Roan shifted uncomfortably against the vanity.
I wrapped the towel around me and tucked in one corner near my boob to hold it in place. Then I crossed my arms over my chest and smiled sweetly at him. “So what is it?”
“What do you mean?” He rubbed the back of his neck and I could see him struggling to deflect my question. “Wanna meet up after work tonight?”
“Answer the question, please.” I took two steps towards him and leaned against his chest. He had a nice body. Honestly, his looks were my favorite thing about him, which made me feel terribly superficial.