Players to Lovers (4 Book Collection)

by Ketley Allison

  “Lachlan Hayes to the rescue,” I say, lifting from the couch.

  Instead of polite relief over being lifted up from the floorboards, Carter screeches. I have enough time to say, “What the—” before she whacks my nose and I go down on the ground with her.

  “Ow!” I whisper-shout, hand to my face. “Ow, fucking ow!”

  She rolls over, I suppose to comfort me but instead splays out like a jellyfish on my chest. “Sorry! I’m so sorry!”

  “No you’re not. You’re laughing.”

  “I’m not. I’m-I’m catching my breath.”

  Even though I can only see the top of her head, her shoulders are shaking with mirth.

  “Have fun with my sister, did you?”

  “Sure, so much.” Carter’s still laughing.

  “You hit my nose.”

  “You’re acting like I threw a football at it.”

  “No, just your fist.”

  “Are you bleeding?” She looks up, her eyes glittering through the dimness. “I can’t see.”

  “No, I’m not bleeding,” I answer begrudgingly. “But if you wake Lily up, we’ll both be sorry.”

  “Shit!” She uses her palms to lift up, except they’re digging right into my gut. I wince but refuse to emit another noise of pain.

  “Did we wake her?” she asks looking over her shoulder.

  “We?” I grit out through the pressure on my chest.

  “Yes, we. You scared me. On purpose.”

  “Did not. I was trying for chivalry while you were sprawled out in front of the bathroom.”

  “I’m not drunk.” She lifts off into a sit, and I can breathe again. I sit with her. “Simply tipsy.”

  “Did Astor bust out the tequila?”

  “Within the first twenty minutes.”

  “Oh boy.”

  “She’s scary.”

  I nod. “Oh, yeah.”

  “But I think she likes me.”

  “That’s good.” And I’m weirdly touched by the idea that Carter wants my sister to like her. “Do you like her?”

  “Yeah, although she’s way nicer when she’s drunk.”

  I chuckle. “She comes off as…tense to people she doesn’t know.”

  “She’s got a stick, right here.” Carter points to her ass, and while we’re in the dark, just outside of my daughter’s nursery, my eyelids flare.

  Carter hesitates as if she notices it. Then pulls at her skirt as if she’s figured out just how much gorgeous leg she’s showing. I track the movement, travel all the way up her hip, her breasts before our eyes lock.

  “We had a talk, your sister and me,” Carter almost whispers.

  “I figured.”

  “You sound really sexy in the dark.”

  I jerk at that. “Is that what you two talked about?”

  “You’re joking. Making a joke. That’s good.”

  Shit. Here is this girl outlined in midnight gloom, and for once, I have no idea what to do with such a sexy thing after a night out.

  I love women. Women love me. And I tell them my intentions from the beginning—we’re not going anywhere, but we can be excellent for one night. No phone numbers, no promises.

  Before the epic fuck up of my knee, I could provide a quick summation of my life easy:

  Train.

  Play.

  Fuck.

  Repeat.

  No surprise, but the after became a hell of a lot more complicated. Not because women no longer wanted me, although, with no lucrative contract or pro football moniker to my name, some ladies probably wandered away. It was more because I didn’t want to. My swagger was crushed. My cravings all but disappeared. A quick fuck with a hot chick wouldn’t fix my leg.

  I tried—hell if I tried—but my goddamned knee was a constant goddamned reminder I wasn’t the same anymore. The first time I tried, it was like I was a virgin all over again. I bucked, in all the wrong ways, on top of a girl with perky tits and a great ass…and that’s all I remember because I blacked the fuck out after her thigh rammed into my knee.

  These days, I fucked more out of habit. A twisted maintenance of what I once was. It took a lot of practice and patience to get close to where I once was in the sack. After the injury, I could be summed up like this:

  Sleep.

  Drink.

  Fuck.

  Repeat.

  Only to be sidelined by a baby. My baby.

  I wasn’t a player anymore, in either sense of the word.

  Since Lily, I’ve denied myself all sins. Alcohol, fucking, anything that could derive chemical pleasure in my brain was rendered null. But that’s what it was, wasn’t it—chemically induced. But because of her, my actual baby, I’m experiencing natural highs previously unknown. No touchdown gave me the rush of seeing her grin. No championship game lightened my heart like the sweetness of her laugh tickling my ears.

  But…with Lily’s laughter comes Carter’s answering smile. With her cries, comes Carter’s comfort. With Lily’s presence in my life, comes Carter.

  And here Carter is, one shoulder bared from her dress going crooked, the exposed skin gleaming from the window behind her.

  “I shouldn’t say something like that to you,” she says, and that has me giving a hard blink back into the present. “Especially after what Astor and I talked about.”

  “What did you and my sister talk about?” I ask in a low tone.

  “You.”

  “Yeah, I got that much.”

  “Me.”

  “That’s also unsurprising.”

  “How there can never be a you and me.”

  I go still in the darkness. “I can understand that, too, because that would require you wanting me.”

  She snorts. Actually snorts. “You’re not that dense, Locke.”

  I cock my head.

  Carter covers her face with her hands. “I’m an idiot. Make me stop talking, please.”

  I inch closer because fuck if it’s taking everything in me to keep my hands off her. “Don’t stop talking.”

  She pulls her hands away from her face, carefully, shakily, before she looks at me again. “What I have to say could get us both in deep trouble.”

  I can’t. Can’t fucking do it anymore. I have to touch her. I lay my hand on her bare thigh and squeeze. She gasps, and I lock my jaw before moving my hand farther—under.

  “I’m pretty sure we’ve already crossed that line,” I say.

  “Locke…”

  “If you tell me to stop, I will.” And I would. But shit, it’ll take all the reserve I have left to walk away from this vision, pooled on my floor, tousled like I’ve already had her.

  “I don’t want you to stop,” she whispers. “And that’s what scares me so much.”

  I lighten my grip on her thigh, stroking with my thumb. “What I’m feeling for you, it’s real.”

  “Don’t lie to me.” She’s still looking at me, but her eyes are glittering harshly like they’re filling with tears.

  “It’s not a lie.” And I realize, with trepidation, that it’s not. I want this girl, more than a quick fuck, more than a one-night stand, more than a training run to get back to the Locke everyone knew and wanted to fuck. And I want all of her. Right now. “Let me prove it.”

  “I…”

  My hand moves from her leg to the back of her neck, caressing through the soft strands of her hair curled from the humidity, and pulling her close enough that I can lean forward, touch my forehead to hers.

  “We can’t,” she whispers.

  “I know.”

  “We shouldn’t.”

  “I know.”

  She tilts her face up so our noses brush and our lips are the barest breath away.

  If it’s an invitation, I’m taking it.

  I start by licking the seam of her mouth, testing. I don’t want to scare her, and if she doesn’t want this, I’m not going to force it. But when she opens for me, when her tongue tentatively meets mine…

  I’m a goner.
>
  I cover her hot mouth in a second, our tongues twining, and I take her with that kiss as if I’m already driving into her. She meets me all the way, groaning, and my cock hardens at the sound. When she submits, her head tilting back, her mouth opening wider, I move on top of her, both of us sliding until she’s on her back. Her legs make room for me, and my free hand slides down the fabric of her dress until I meet warm, goose bumped flesh. I squeeze the back of her thigh, this time much harder, eliciting more groans, more frantic movements from her hands. She scratches as she pulls me closer, her nail tips grinding through my shirt and into my shoulder blades, but I crave the pain, her reaction. I want her naked underneath me.

  One of her hands escapes, cups the back of my neck, her fingers twining through my short hair. I move until I’m under her skirt, shifting her underwear to the side…

  “Wait,” she pants. “Stop.”

  I freeze, both of us breathing heavily.

  “We can’t—we can’t have sex,” she says.

  “Okay.”

  My cock aches, pulses to be let loose, but I’ll keep it in my pants. For her. Though, boy, it fucking hurts.

  I start moving off her, but she stops me by gripping my biceps. “Wait. Stop,” she says again.

  “Okay?”

  “I…I don’t want this to end.”

  “Carter, honey,” I say through the blue balls. “You gotta be clearer with me, here.”

  “To…” Her gaze slides from mine, thinking. “To keep doing this. But only this. God, I’ve wanted this.”

  I think I can follow her words, but I have to be absolutely sure. My hand’s still cupping her thigh, so I trace the soft, sensitive skin lightly. “Do you want me to keep touching you?”

  She breathes out, “Yes.”

  The tips of my fingers brush against her sex. “Like this?”

  When she tips her head back to the ceiling, her back arches. Her chocolate hair falls from her shoulders, darker than night. Her plump, dewy lips part for her moan. I might come on the spot. “God,” she breathes, “I’m going to hell.”

  I stroke, and she’s hot and wet against my fingers. I slip in. “I’ll be there to greet you, baby.”

  Her hips move in tandem with my fingers before she realizes it, her eyes closed, chin tipped to the ceiling. When she bites her lower lip, an approving growl escapes me, and I bow down, taking that lip for my own.

  Her groan vibrates through my mouth, spearing right for my dick and I grind in tune with my fingers, our sex-fueled dance silent against the floorboards, but setting us alight inside.

  “Locke…” she says, brows furrowing, teeth digging into her lower lip. “I think I’m…oh, God, I think I’m going to…”

  “Come for me,” I say, and don’t recognize my voice. It’s a low bass, so vibrating that I need to put it to good use.

  She opens her eyes when I stop moving, and they’re full of questions. I flick her a grin before going down.

  “Oh…I don’t…”

  Her hands pull at my shoulders, but it’s a weak effort. She’s still in the throes I’ve caused, and damned if I’m going to let her insecurity take her out of it.

  “Let me,” I say, but it’s muffled, because my mouth is on her stomach, kissing, sucking, as I push her dress up her body.

  “I…”

  My fingers take up the dance again. Her chest heaves, but she doesn’t take her eyes off me.

  Fuck, she’s hot. The sexiest creature I’ve ever seen, writhing on the hardwood. I’m so hard I want to grab her legs, open them in a V, and torque into her as she screams my name.

  Carter deserves more than that. A gentle guide.

  But that doesn’t mean I can’t put expert skills to use.

  My tongue finds her, replaces my fingers, and everything about her—the silky feel, the wetness, the swell of her passion, has me growling, wanting to dive deep and own.

  Her elbows fall out from underneath her, and she smacks onto the floor as her cries increase in sound. She’s so startled she covers her mouth with her forearm and screams, a forced effort to muffle her pleasure.

  I take it all in as I do what I do best. I wonder if she can feel my smile.

  Carter’s hand comes down, and she grips my head as much as she can, asking me to go further, harder, and I’m happy to meet her demands.

  Her cries increase; the intensity is impossible to endure. She’s bucking, heeding to my hands, my mouth, and I coax her to keep going, keep falling, drop entirely into my control, my pleasure, and I’ll make sure she never wants to leave.

  “Locke,” she says over and over, and it’s like a new drug to try, a hit I’ll take again, as I stroke and kiss and suck.

  And bite at just the right time, a sharp, surprising pleasure, that takes her exactly where I want her.

  Her back arches, her grip on the back of my head tightens, and she breathes out a long, heat-soaked cry that I’ll hear well into my slumber.

  Carter goes slack, everything except her belly going up, then concaving in, with heaves. I rise, but kiss certain places on my trip back up, ensuring the connection. Letting her know I’m not going anywhere.

  Her gaze is faded and to the side when I place my palms on either side of her shoulders. I’m gripped with sudden anxiety. “You okay?”

  She blinks, her throat bobbing. But when she looks at me, all worries drift away, because she smiles. “That was…I have to recover.”

  I trace her lips with my thumb. “Take all the time you need.”

  But her eyes take on an eerily sober light as my thumb catches. “Kiss me again. Please.”

  The seriousness of her request gives me pause, but I do as she bids and replace my thumb with my mouth.

  It’s softer this time, more controlled. She sucks on my lower lip gently, scraping with her teeth, and I angle, so she gets more access.

  Carter lets go, and when she does, she’s holding my face in her hands. “I just wanted to make sure it’s real.”

  I swallow because her stare is derailing something inside, an organ usually so well-protected in its cage of bone. “It is.”

  “Okay,” she says, gliding a small thumb across my cheek. She offers a soft uptick to her lips, and I’m nearly toppled.

  “I should sleep,” she says. “I think I’m going to be super tired tomorrow.”

  “Oh, ya think?” I say, voice back to normal.

  I lift off and offer her a hand to help her rise. She takes it, straightening her skirt, and I’m amused at the modesty. As if I hadn’t just explored every crevice of her with my tongue.

  “You want some water, maybe?” I ask.

  “That’d be great.”

  “One sec.”

  I move to the kitchen, grab a palm of ice, toss it into a cup, and fill it with water from the sink. When I come back to the main room, Carter’s setting up the couch with a spare set of sheets she must’ve found…somewhere.

  Freaking Astor.

  “You’re going to stay on the couch tonight?” I ask, handing over the water.

  She takes a few quenching gulps, then wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. My dick, left to its own devices during this entire nightly exchange, throbs longingly.

  “I don’t want to disturb Lily. I’ll probably be up a lot.” She gestures to the water glass as an explanation.

  Before I give any time to talk myself out of it, I say, “This couch is terrible for sleeping. Believe me.” The mere memory of crashing out on it a little over an hour ago has me rubbing my lower back like a grandpa. “Why don’t you sleep with me?”

  She freezes in the middle of taking another sip.

  “In my bed,” I amend. “Only that.”

  “No funny business?”

  I cock a brow. “Not unless you ask.”

  She hesitates. “Promise?”

  “Pinky swear.”

  But she doesn’t take my proffered little finger. Instead, she says, “You have more restraint than the college girls ever gave you cred
it for.”

  I smile with my teeth, my dick stiff and uncomfortable beneath my shorts. “Don’t think I ain’t suffering for it.”

  She looks down as if she can tell, and every part of me wants to push her down on her knees and get those swollen, red lips around my dick. Spill into her and really make her mine.

  After looking me up and down, Carter gives me a coy glance before spinning away. My eyes narrow on her retreating ass, and I wonder if Miss Jameson is offering a teasing good-bye as a test. Or if she really wants more.

  I trail after her like a horny mutt, hard cock bobbing along, and I realize with horror that I’m willing to do anything she asks if only to have those peachy cheeks in my palms again.

  And my knee?

  Fuck if I feel any pain at all.

  21

  Carter

  Light cracks through the spaces where my eyelids haven’t shut properly. When I blink, it hurts. Like, all the spaces in my head feel the sun, spearing and heating and melting with its rays, and I sit up, groaning, with a hand to my forehead.

  The mattress groans with me, and it’s more comfortable than usual. In fact, it encases my legs like a heavenly, firm pillow meant only for angels. It’s a good mattress.

  And that’s the key word.

  Mattress. Not my futon.

  I space my fingers apart so I can tentatively survey where I am, how I might’ve gotten here, and why I’m only in my bra and underwear.

  C’mon brain, work for me. Give me the recall I need to figure out my environment and where Lily—

  “LILY!” I screech awake and scramble out of bed—Locke’s bed, Locke’s room—rushing around for some item of clothing and settling for one of his tees.

  “Omigod, what have I done?” I say to myself, practically pulling out my hair on both sides. I’ve left Lily all morning when I should’ve been the first to see her, to pick her up and wish her good morning and see her face, so happy that night was over and people were back to smile at her…

  I spear through the armholes of the shirt and straighten it while storming out of the room when the door opens on its own.

  “Why bother investing in an alarm clock?” Locke says as greeting, Lily content and eating a cheese string in his arms. “When I have you to scream us into submission at any cost?”