End Game (Bad Boy Football Romance) (Cocky Bastards & Motorcycles Book 6)

by Faye, Amy

  She waits. They finish, the bill comes. Mr. Weston pulls out a small plastic credit card and hands it to the waiter. He brings it back a minute later, and leaves a moment after that with a signed receipt, and they leave.

  Craig leans his head back against the head rest of the rental car as soon as he slips into the seat.

  "Is it always like that?"

  "Which part? The silence, or the terrifying, oppressive atmosphere?"

  "Whichever."

  "Not usually silent. But most people get that impression from him."

  "Oh, good. So I'm not the only one."

  "I've been his son my entire life, and I was a little nervous the way he was looking. You poor thing; must have been scared out of your mind."

  Emma tries to look natural. "I don't know. It wasn't so bad."

  He smiles over at her. "I think we're going to head back to the house and get settled in. Dad didn't say as much, but… it's pretty late."

  "Oh," Emma says. Somehow she'd thought they were getting a hotel. It didn't really occur to her that they were going to stay with his family. And if they are going to stay with the family, what does that say about where she's going to sleep?

  They all seem to be operating on the assumption that she's dating Craig. He's insisted that it's not the case, but…

  There's something going on with that. Something that Emma can't quite explain or put her finger on, but the Craig that they know clearly isn't the Craig Weston, lady killer, that has prowled the campus for the past three years.

  Which begs the question, immediately—who is the real thing? The answer seems obvious the instant that the question comes into Emma's mind. But then it switches. And then switches back.

  He would have restrained himself in his home city, right? Living at home, you wouldn't just go out all the time. And you'd want to protect your father's image. Or at least, Emma would, if she had a father like that.

  But at the same time, the change of scenery, the change in how people see you… that can have a strange effect on people. And the way that they seem to just naturally assume that he'd be dating someone…

  There's a story there, no doubt. A story that Emma's not going to find out about, because it's none of her business. But a story, nonetheless.

  She leans her head back, but unlike Craig the headrest doesn't settle into the crook of her neck. Her head hits it perfectly, so instead of laying back and relaxing, her entire body straightens up a little bit, without an ounce of effort on her part.

  The car beneath them comes to life as Craig turns the key, and they're driving. It's only twenty minutes to Craig's family home, which shouldn't be as surprising as it is. Nor, Emma thinks, should the size be.

  But she can't quite help noticing as they drive up that it's not near as big as she thought it might be.

  Being a Senator's son, and the owner of, oh, half the sports teams in Oklahoma, and—the list of Craig's father's accomplishments goes on—she had envisioned some sort of colonial mansion.

  Someplace huge. A manor house.

  The house they pull into is large, but not overly so. Big enough to look comfortable for a large family, without being extravagant.

  Craig puts the car in park and cuts the engine. The Jaguar in the driveway in front of them tells Emma that Mr. Weston is there first. The SUV in front of that… she has to take a guess, but it's not a wild one.

  So she's walking back into the lion's den, it seems.

  Wonderful.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Craig's doing the math in his head, and it all adds up. He does it again to be sure. There were six bedrooms. Counting the guest bed. His and the girls, all by themselves, made four. The master bed is five. The guest bed is six. Which means it's not going to be a problem.

  The twinkle in Allison's eye says that he's mis-counting something. She seems to be very amused by the whole thing, like they've concocted some plan specifically to screw with him. But they wouldn't do that, would they?

  That made, very literally, no sense at all. They have no reason to mess with him. Dad speaks for what might be the third time today, turning to Emma.

  "Here, let me carry that."

  She seems reluctant, but she shrugs the backpack off her back and hands it over. Dad's getting older, sure. He's not half the bull he used to be. But that still leaves him as a pretty big guy, and he easily rolls the bag, probably forty pounds of stuff, over his shoulder.

  He takes a few steps before looking back at Craig. "You coming?"

  Craig doesn't say anything, just starts moving to catch up. If you've got time to answer, you've got time to do what Dad wants. That's how it's always been. Easier to just keep his mouth shut and do what he's told, rather than risk running afoul of a bad temper.

  They go on up the stairs. Dad doesn't say anything about it, but he heads straight to Craig's room and sets Emma's stuff down on the bed.

  "I don't have to tell you not to get weird, do I?"

  Craig feels every bone in his body start to melt a little bit at the look his father's giving him.

  "I don't—"

  "I get it. You don't want to talk about it. Fine. Just don't make a lot of noise. Some of us are going to be sleeping."

  Parts of Craig want to try to argue, or convince him that there's no reason to put them together. But another part of him doesn't want to fight, another part wants to know why they're not in separate bedrooms, and a third doesn't want to argue with getting his way. The second part wins out.

  "What happened to the guest bed?"

  "Well, your mother thought it would be nice to have a sewing room, you see."

  "Oh."

  "So it's covered in fabric."

  "No guest bed then."

  "You're standing right next to it."

  "Oh."

  Dad's face pulls into a wide, thin line that might have been a grimace or a smile, depending on the circumstance. It's supposed to be comforting, right now, Craig thinks. Pretty sure, anyways.

  He walks off, leaving Craig standing next to the queen-sized bed he'd slept in for the majority of his high-school life, in a room that isn't particularly his any more, next to a bunch of Emma's stuff.

  Emma comes up a minute later, clearly directed there by one of the girls. They might not have had this whole thing planned from the beginning, but now that they had the situation in their hands, they weren't going to let a good thing go. Allison especially. God damn it.

  "So—"

  "I'll take the floor, if you'd rather."

  "I don't want to kick you out of your own bed, though."

  Emma can barely keep her eyes off it. Every few seconds, in spite of her best intentions, no doubt, her eyes slid over to the bed, and then snap back as if he might not have noticed if she moves her eyes fast enough.

  "It's really no problem."

  Emma closes the door and moves over to sit on the bed. "Are you feeling okay?"

  "Sure." Why is she acting like this? Clingy, almost. Worried over him. Worried in ways that she absolutely doesn't need to be.

  "If you need to talk, I'm here, okay?"

  "Sure."

  Emma sits quietly and watches the wall. "I brought my pajamas, so it's not a big deal."

  "I don't know what to say."

  "You don't need to say anything. I'm just telling you."

  "Emma—"

  "I think your sisters are trying to set us up."

  "Yeah?" Similar thoughts had crossed his mind, but if she was suspecting something, then it must have been more obvious than he thought.

  "That, or they want you to just admit we're dating. Not sure."

  "But we're not dating," Craig says. His voice is soft.

  "No," she agrees. Emma lays back on the bed. Craig watches her do it. She looks so relaxed. The way she's laying there, so pretty. It puts thoughts into his head that he shouldn't be having.

  There's a long silence. He can't help the thought running through his head. They don't have to not be dating. They
could date. But then again, with how badly that had worked out before…

  "Can I ask you a question?"

  Craig sidles onto the bed halfway. Emma looks down her body at him. "Sure."

  "I don't get it."

  "Don't get what?"

  "They seem to think… I don't know. Forget I said anything. I'd be coming off like a bitch. I don't want to ask weird questions."

  "Well now you've got me intrigued, you have to ask."

  "You have to promise not to get upset."

  "Fine."

  Emma swallows, rolls her eyes a little. It's a very theatrical production, from her.

  "Well, they all thought it was perfectly normal for you to bring a girl, right? Like you date. Like you date seriously."

  Craig doesn't want to answer the question, so he lets her continue. Waits just as long as he has to.

  "But you've never dated. It's the big gossip thing. You're not a dating-type guy."

  "It's different," he says, finally. "I don't know what to say."

  "Well, I'm pretty smart. I can probably catch on if you get me started."

  "There was a girl. Like. All through high school, right?"

  "And then, what? You left, and decided that now that you were free, you were going to sow your wild oats?"

  She doesn't seem to be good at picking up expressions, but the look Craig gives her shifts her face from playful to apologetic.

  "It's a long story. It was time for a change."

  "So you didn't leave, then."

  "Not really."

  "Oh."

  Yeah, Craig thinks. Oh. That was about how he felt about it, too. 'Oh.'

  Oh, how little four years apparently meant. How easy it was to suck some nobody's cock in the parking lot of a Taco Bell.

  Oh, indeed.

  "Picking up on it now?"

  "Yeah. I mean. Kinda."

  "Good enough. I don't want to talk about it."

  "Sorry to have brought it up."

  "No, it's fine."

  "There's just one other thing I don't get, though."

  Craig's stomach does another flip. She's already been rummaging around in his past, finding pretty much every embarrassing thing she can manage.

  Is there anything else for her to find? Not that Craig can think of. Which is going to make it real impressive when she manages to find something that makes him want to jump off a bridge, seemingly out of nowhere.

  "Okay."

  "Well just. I mean. What the fuck?"

  That earns a raised eyebrow. Has she cursed before? Once or twice. It's still strange to hear it coming out of her mouth. Emma looks twelve, no doubt about it. She doesn't have the body of a twelve-year-old, but her face is just so young-looking that the dichotomy is strange.

  "What the fuck, what?"

  "Look at you, Craig Weston. You take a girl seriously… how exactly does she hope to do better?"

  Craig lays back on the bed next to her, stares up at the crack in the ceiling. It doesn't look like it's any bigger than it was three years ago.

  "I don't know."

  Emma moves up onto her side, next to him. She's looking at him. Watching his face. Which she definitely shouldn't be doing. But that doesn't seem to have stopped her. And then, for a second time, she presses her lips against his, and for a second time Craig feels the wall of self-control slipping.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  There is still a very real question, repeating in Emma's mind, of whether or not this is a good idea. It probably isn't.

  That doesn't seem to be stopping her, though. The thought of stopping has already occurred to her, and she's already decided not to.

  Unlike last time, where the hormones were running high, it's been surprisingly easy not to think about Craig that way, and now that she's got a chance to think of him that way… well, she's decided to take it.

  She rolls over a little further, straddling his hips. She can feel him stiffening in his jeans, even through all the layers of fabric. She can feel how close he is to her, even though they've got at least two thick layers of denim between them.

  She rubs her hips against him, enjoying the way that he moves to press up into her in spite of himself. Craig puts a hand on her chest.

  "We shouldn't," he says.

  Emma stops a moment. "Do you not want to?"

  What she doesn't do, in spite of herself, in spite of just about every part of her saying that it's the right thing to do, is get off of him. Because that would mean giving up, and she's not going to give up yet. Not if she doesn't have to.

  "I didn't say that," he says. His voice sounds a little breathless. And to her extreme surprise, he's very quiet. Trying to keep his voice down. Emma suddenly remembers, as if out of the blue, exactly where they are.

  "Then what?"

  "You don't want to do this, Emma."

  "Says who?" She presses her lips against his again, enjoying the way her body fits into his arms.

  Whatever arguments he might have made, he doesn't bring them up now. A hand comes around to grab her ass. Emma enjoys it, somewhere deep inside her. As if she's coiling up inside like a spring, and he's the one going to release her.

  Craig turns his hips and flips her over easily. What was previously a little sexy suddenly turns much more overt as he presses himself against her, between her legs, her thighs lifted up on her hips.

  His teeth find her neck, sending delicious sparks through her entire body, the pain of his bites only serving to make the pleasure of his kisses more vibrant.

  Craig takes one of her breasts roughly in hand, kneading it through the fabric of her clothing. Emma can feel herself arching into his touch without meaning to, and then she doesn't care any more.

  She wants him to keep going, wants him to touch her more. Wants that feeling back from before, the feeling that drove her wild and over the edge.

  Craig's hand drops between them. She can feel him undoing his belt between them, slipping it loose.

  "Did you lock the door?"

  "No," Emma says, breathless. He presses a kiss against her lips and stands up, leaving the space between her thighs feeling oddly empty, as if by being there he'd made her entire body into something made for sex.

  The door clicks softly as he turns the lock, and then he pulls his belt free and sets it down on the dresser. His pants unbutton easily, and he slips them down over his narrow hips. She can see the whole outline of his cock where it presses against the fabric of his boxers.

  Emma starts moving to the ground, knowing instinctively what he wants without being sure how she knows. Craig comes closer to her, his manhood looming larger by the second. How is something like that ever going to fit inside her?

  "Suck it," he says. His voice is low and hoarse, and it's got a raw sort of sexuality that lights a fire in Emma's stomach that burns down all the way into her deepest places.

  She hooks her fingers into the elastic around Craig's waist and pulls down, his hardness springing free. She takes him in her hand, giving it an experimental pump. He twitches in her hand like a sign of approval.

  She looks up at him through her eyelashes for a sign of approval. His eyes are closed, whatever part of him that doesn't want to take advantage of things forcing the rest of his body to stay in check.

  Emma opens her mouth and takes the head inside, careful not to touch with her teeth. Craig lets out a long, unsteady breath. His hand rests on her head, and then jerks off like he's been burned.

  She takes things at her own pace. Her tongue moves to lick as she tries to bob her head. Craig's hand finally settles on her head, moving with her. Not forcing, but certainly testing, trying to push her in certain directions.

  She can feel her arousal starting to rise, from the way that he seems to be totally enraptured by the way that her mouth feels. It's almost disappointing when he finally pulls away, his hardness slipping out from between her lips, still glistening with wetness.

  "Are you sure about this, Emma?"

  "Are you
?" She'll trust him. Maybe that is a mistake. She's made enough safe decisions. It's fine if there's one little mistake in her life.

  He helps her back to her feet and presses a kiss against her lips. It's not an answer, but she knows what it means either way. She lays back and lets him pull her pants down over her hips and off. They fall onto the floor, and then he spreads her legs.

  She's already prepared for whatever comes next. Emma's stomach twists in anticipation and fear. She knows what's supposed to happen, at least in theory. Theory, though, is very different from practice. Very different, indeed.

  The thin fabric of her panties pulls away, as well, now, as Craig's hooked fingers slide it down her legs. Emma feels vulnerable all of a sudden. His fingers do quite a bit to off-set the nervousness that brings on as they dance close to her entrance, lighting her body up with sparks of pleasure.

  "Are you ready?"

  "Stop asking so many questions," she says. Her voice sounds nothing like herself. Low and erotic and sexy.

  The head of his cock presses against her gently. She can feel herself spreading for him. There's nothing stopping him, and she's already slick with arousal. She's already full, though, it seems. Only an inch in, and she can't imagine how much more she can take.

  Then he presses inside, another inch. And another. Deeper inside her. And then, somehow, he's pressed all the way inside. Emma can feel her breathing, heavy and quick and desperate for more.

  Her entire body feels on edge, and yet all she wants is more. Craig rocks his hips back gently and drives into her again, and the pleasure is already unbearable and getting worse.

  She clamps her mouth shut. She's not going to make any noise. She can't. Not here. He pulls out a little more this time, driving himself back home. Hitting her inside her deepest places. Making her crazy.

  One of his hands lifts up her shirt, reaching under her bra to pinch a nipple. It sends an intense ripple through her body, every part of her tightening up at once. He pulls out a little more again this time.

  Only, this time, as her body tenses up again with a hard pinch of her nipple, he's not gentle pushing back inside. He pushes himself in, hard, and there's nothing that Emma can do to stop the yelp from escaping her.