Players to Lovers (4 Book Collection)

by Ketley Allison

  It should be awkward, but it’s not. When I lift a leg, Easton scrapes his hand down my exposed thigh, kissing my hip before pulling at the strap of my panties with his teeth and snapping it back.

  The elastic sound seems to ricochet around the small room, but Easton grins up at me, showing his teeth.

  “I hope this isn’t your favorite underwear,” Easton says, his voice rough. “Since I’m about to rip it to pieces.”

  My answer is to part my lips, strands of hair falling into my face as I look down at him.

  Easton’s stare darkens. “Good God, woman, you’re gorgeous.”

  “I need you. Right now,” I whisper, and move to lay on the couch underneath him.

  He stops me with a hand on my arm. “No.”

  “No?” My brows pinch together.

  Easton stands and slides his shirt and pants off in what is effectively one seamless move. His briefs go next, and suddenly I’m staring at All Man.

  His hand grips his dick. His tone is thick, dark, and man when he says, “Ride me.”

  Easton sits back down, one hand reaching out to me, the other stroking idly.

  It’s like I walked into my own porno film, and I love every second of it, but most especially, I love the fact that there’s a gorgeous, naked man on my couch who wants to fuck me.

  I don’t dawdle. I slide my hand in his.

  When I’m close enough but still standing, Easton uses his index finger to hook one side of my panties, then bends forward and rips the flimsy piece of material with his teeth. Soundlessly, the lace falls to the ground.

  I reach back to unhook my bra, but he stops me. “Leave it. I can’t take not being inside you much longer.”

  Smiling, feeling wicked, I straddle Easton and push his hand away from his dick and replace it with my own. He groans with invitation.

  Foreplay isn’t on either of our minds as we stare each other down, so I position myself to take him in, and he slides into me easily, quietly, and fully.

  I tilt my head back, irresistibly clenching against his girth.

  His hands span my waist, yet, I realize he doesn’t start pounding. Opening my eyes, I see that he’s staring at where we’re connected, moving only when I tighten around him, working with me rather than taking control. But at each pulsing grip of my inner muscles, Easton moves deeper, hitting a part of me so pleasurable, so insurmountably surreal that I start to see stars instead of the copper glint in his eyes.

  The sight and feel of him brings me as close to the edge as I’ve ever come. I meet him, thrust for thrust, until we find a rapturous rhythm, but I can’t climb higher.

  “Easton … I can’t…”

  He bites his lower lip and his hand goes down, down to where I’m spread around him. Using my own slickness, he lubricates the swollen, sensitive nub until he’s able to massage, flick and circle in ways that have me arching and writhing, gripping him harder, tighter, until I’m nothing but ecstasy driven by greed.

  “Yes. Yes, right there,” I think I say, but my mouth is nearly as swollen with pleasure as the rest of me, and I ride, writhe, and twist until the edge re-appears.

  Every sense of mine is stimulated. Our sexual scent, the slick sound of our mutual thrusts, the taste of Easton’s fingers as he drags them across my lower lip and continues our erotic rhythm. And his face, like the sight of a fallen angel discovering the pleasures of engaging in sin—

  I gasp, climaxing, breathing in the air between us, and with one last, wholly encompassing thrust, Easton shudders in my arms before all of our limbs go limp.

  He collapses to the side, bringing me with him, until we’re both curled up on the couch.

  “Shit,” he says after settling a throw blanket around us.

  “What?” I ask, angling so I can see his face in the ambient darkness.

  He chuckles. “You’ve just about ruined me for any other woman.”

  “Do send them my apologies when you meet those poor souls.” I settle back onto his chest, and grin as I glide down his body and feel him harden under my palm. “Because until then…”

  His gaze sparkles against the night. “I’m all yours.”

  I slide down until just before I take him into my mouth, smiling mischievously. “Until I’m done with you, anyway.”

  Easton grins in response, thrusting his hips ever so slightly. “Good thing there’s a lot for you to finish.”

  31

  Easton

  It’s like these next two weeks are a gift.

  My hearing stays the same, and while it’s not what it used to be, I can talk and respond to people just fine. Only when my back is turned and someone’s talking to me do my wires get crossed and I need them to repeat themselves.

  This time around, I don’t take the everyday sounds traveling through my ear canals for granted.

  I spend most of those perfect, clear as glass days with Taryn and Jamie, focusing on forming words and sentences with my hands. Taryn’s also thoughtful enough to walk me through her home, showing me the special appliances or safety mechanisms she’s installed for Jamie’s benefit, and the clever uses of mirrors and lights to communicate with him when sound can’t.

  When Taryn’s at work, I don’t linger at her house. What we have is so new, and I don’t want to add “creepy couch potato” to it. I admit, I do a few drive-bys, ensuring there’s no presence of a bitter, abusive ex lurking in the bushes, but so far, he’s leaving them alone.

  And I’m wondering why.

  Jamie gets out of school around three, and that’s when I usually head back to their home, teaching him the drums for a few hours on the brand-new pad kit I bought him. Witnessing the true joy on his face when I revealed it to him one evening was almost as good as seeing Taryn put her hands on her hips and sigh, stretching her work blouse over her breasts and creating a delicious dip in her lower back while she clips around the apartment in her heels, muttering, “I better not regret this…”

  I shouldn’t be thinking of all the crude ways to bend her over with her son in the room, so I force my stare away from her ass and get back to business, explaining to Jamie that while the pads don’t feel the same as actual drumskin, it’s a great way to learn sheet music and timing. With Jamie, it’s slightly more difficult, as a pad kit doesn’t provide the same vibrations, of which I realized too late. Or just in time, depending on whose side of the fence you’re on, mine or Taryn’s. In no way does Taryn support a full-sized drum kit in their small, ground-floor apartment.

  That just means you have to come over to my place and we can learn in my sound proof room, I sign to Jamie one day. Well—I hope I sign it.

  Jamie snorts at my amateur hand signals, but he gets the gist. When? Now?

  I laugh. Soon enough.

  If Taryn still wants me to talk to my bandmates, she doesn’t push it. I think she’s happier with my attention on preparing for the next steps in my life, whenever fate decides to throw down its trident. I’m doing things like outfitting my home with specialized fire alarms, wearing a vibrating watch for an alarm, and studying how Jamie interacts with basic household chores.

  He doesn’t cook in the usual ways people are alerted when food is ready. He can’t listen to the timing between pops of popcorn kernels, the threat of an overboiling pot, or the snaps and cracklings of hot oil. Instead, he uses a vibrating timer on his phone for things like the microwave or oven temperature timer. He also doesn’t leave the kitchen and remains incredibly attentive when he has food on the stove, so it doesn’t burn.

  I’m overwhelmed by this kid. For a small dude who puts such stock in his tablet, you’d think he’d be dismissive when it comes to responsibilities, but he’s incredibly reliable, and as Jamie points out aspects of the kitchen, I look over his head and meet Taryn’s eye, and she smiles softly as she curls up on the couch with her work stuff, consisting of mostly piles of paper and her laptop.

  I’m finding it hard to believe Taryn’s allowing an unemployed, washed up, B-list Rockstar who’s go
ing deaf have sex with her, but I’m a lucky guy.

  The actual A-list climbing rockstars of Nocturne Court text me during these days, although Rex remains strangely silent. I see the notifications, read them, but don’t respond. Not because I’m mad at them—I’ve never given any of the guys the full story—but … I don’t know what to say. Or how to approach a topic that will change my life in ways I’m convinced won’t be better.

  “Here,” Taryn says as she sits next to me during the eve of our fourteenth day together. Jamie’s just gone to bed.

  She hands me a sheaf of print-outs containing deaf and ASL resources located in New York City.

  As I’m staring at them, she adds, “Jamie’s a great tutor, but he’s no audiologist. And I think you’re at the stage where you can start talking with some professionals on how to approach these next steps.”

  I keep my attention on the pages, but I’m not reading them.

  “Easton?”

  I set the papers aside.

  Taryn says softly, “I know this is a lot to process. But you’re doing so well—”

  She doesn’t have time to say anything else, because I catch her lips with my own, wrapping my arms around her torso and leaning her down onto the couch cushions. Stroking with my tongue. Lingering on her lips.

  Taryn moans, and I dive deeper.

  She can’t be done with me. Rationale tells me she’s only trying to help with these print-outs, but panic sits at the helm, whispering with its goblin voice that Taryn’s tired of supporting a confused, wayward adult and wants to get on with her life and her son.

  I groan into her mouth, rubbing my dick between her thighs, and she meets my thrusts.

  I’ll admit it—I’m using sex as a distraction, or a reminder that it’s fucking mind-blowing between us, so that maybe she’ll second-guess her instinct to kick me out.

  With one hand between us, I undo the button of my pants, slide into my briefs and pull my cock out. Taryn knows exactly what I’m doing and pushes my hand away so she can do all the stroking, squeezing, wetting my dick with my pre-cum, before she raises her hand up and spits on it, then lowers it back down.

  Jesus, this woman. She’s so well groomed, a strict but loving mother and successful lawyer. Yet, she hides a layer underneath, and it’s a bad, bad girl. And I … and I…

  Oh fuck, I can barely hold off with the thought of her bad girl pussy so close by.

  My upper lip curls with a growl as I hike her tight skirt up and push aside her panties. There’s no time for clothes removal—in fact, it’s blasphemy to even think it, because that’s time away from sinking into her velvet silk.

  Taryn doesn’t balk at my urgency. Instead, she greets me with equal eagerness, legs parting, arms wrapping around my neck. I fill her on a low, deep glide and swallow her gasps as she accommodates me.

  Once her eyes open and meet my own, I slow down, become gentler in my thrusts as our noses brush and I fall into Taryn’s stare. It’s a place where all I want to do is pleasure her, enjoy her. Keep her.

  Her breaths become erratic, our urgency rebuilding, and I cup her ass and pull her closer, creating a curving canal where my thrusts hit her G-spot, my balls practically sinking into her.

  Every sound she makes gives me goosebumps. I’m surrounded by her, scent and taste and touch, and I refuse to blink as I take her over, her lush muscles tightening and straining. My vision blurs.

  Taryn hides her face in my neck as she comes, gripping my upper back, her cry vibrating into my skin.

  I lower my head and come with her, my fingers digging into her porcelain skin, cracking a flawless exterior I always thought was way too good for me.

  On a husky exhale, I finish, my face buried in her hair.

  Taryn wraps boneless legs around my hips. She keeps me inside her, and I’m all too willing to stay.

  I can’t lose her.

  I can’t.

  Not when I’m barely grasping at anything.

  32

  Taryn

  I’m happy.

  As I stroke Easton’s hair, his head laying on my chest as he snores softly, I repeat to myself, I’m happy.

  There are only a few times I’ve felt this way. Jamie’s birth, Bryan’s exit, passing the bar, scoring an internship at a coveted law firm, and this.

  We have our work cut out for us. Easton has a long road ahead, and while Jamie’s journey was altogether different, I would still be committing myself to another decade of teaching a person how to live without a crucial sense. The patience involved, the upset … and there would be many angry moments from Easton. Frustration and unease, refusal to learn, depression.

  There could be so much badness coming my way, but as Easton’s body lays against mine, a hairy thigh tossed over my legs and the slightest dribble of drool falling onto my chest, I think, this is where I want to be.

  I nuzzle the top of Easton’s head, inhaling his soapy scent, my eyes fluttering closed as I kiss him soundlessly.

  Sleep doesn’t come, despite how tired I am. My mind has other ideas, signaling a reminder that there is one thing holding me back from a happily ever after with Easton, and it’s not his condition.

  Maybe it’s the comfort of my home, the dull roar of traffic outside creating a dome of endless, relaxing quietude, that I find the bravery to just end it already.

  With careful shifts and scoots, I untangle myself from Easton’s heavy limbs and rise off the couch, padding over to my phone with bare feet. As I pick it up, it lights up the dark with eerie, artificial blue rays, and I send the text I know will change everything.

  “Hey,” I say as I slide out of the front door of my apartment building and onto the stoop. I leave it cracked just slightly.

  “Hi, Teddy.”

  Bryan’s stare sheens in the darkness, oddly predatory despite the suit and tie meant to brand him as human.

  “Thanks for coming,” I say, stuffing my hands in the pockets of Easton’s sweatpants. It’s more for something to say, since I can’t seem to stifle the butterflies winging a hurricane throughout my insides.

  What’s so frightening? We’re out in public, and I’m a door-push away from sprinting inside if things get scary. Easton’s right upstairs if I need him. So is Harper. Bryan’s been out of my life for six years. He means nothing to me, and I have every right to tell him to fuck off.

  “I’m glad you texted,” Bryan says. He mimics my body language by throwing his hands into his pants, splaying out his blazer and showcasing his pec muscles through his white work shirt. “Does this mean you’re coming back to me?”

  Swallowing a sneer, I reply, “It means the exact opposite, Bryan. You lost your chance with us.”

  “And you didn’t want to tell me this over the phone?”

  “You never take phone calls seriously. Isn’t that what you always said to me? It’s only face-to-face, man-to-man, that you get deals done. Well, this is the deal of my life, and I’m saying, to your face, that I will not be coming back to you. And I will not be modifying the custody agreement, formally or informally. And”—I refuse to choke—“I’m not afraid of you anymore.”

  Bryan chuckles. “So that’s why you wanted to meet. To prove you’re a courageous teddy bear and tell me in person that you’re going to keep hibernating. You can’t avoid me forever, you know. I’m James’s father, whether you like it or not. And I will fight—”

  “You can’t use your fists this time,” I say, as shocked as Bryan when I bare my teeth. But that’s where mothering instincts will take you. “Jamie and I are done with you. Done, Bryan. He’s a happy, healthy, well-adjusted boy, and you are not going to swoop in and screw with his head the way you used to. You don’t accept him. You don’t love him. You don’t love me.”

  Bryan holds up a hand. “Now, that’s just—”

  “If you want to try and own us again so bad, take it to the courts,” I spit.

  “Why, because you’re not afraid of me there?” His tone drips with humor. “Now that you’
re a little lady lawyer?”

  I dare to step closer to him and tilt my chin up when I say, “It’s where I’m comfortable. It’s what I’m good at. And I will rip you to pieces in front of a judge, the public, the law, and I’ll win.”

  “Oh, Teddy. Try as you might, you just can’t be scary.”

  “I don’t have to be frightening to get what I want. Jamie is better off without you.”

  Bryan’s glittering orbs turn to slits as he looks down at me. “And you think he’s better off with a wannabe fucktard who sleeps on your couch?”

  I cover my hitch in breath, but Bryan’s gaze goes to my mouth anyway. “How dare you come here and judge—”

  Bryan darts forward, and I stutter back a step. “Why shouldn’t I? Huh? You have some strange man over here at all hours of the day and night, having access to my child and being alone with Jamie in ways where my son could be taken advantage of—”

  “Oh my God, Bryan.”

  “And how do you know he’s safe, darling? Is Jamie able to tell you? Does he have the verbal capacity to let you in on what his step-daddy’s doing to him—”

  “You shut the hell up,” I whisper dangerously. “This, right here, is the reason why you don’t deserve one hair of my son. He communicates just fine, and if there were something wrong—which I am utterly confident there isn’t—he would come to me. Because Jamie trusts me and knows me and loves me because I am his goddamned parent who has been with him from the beginning!”

  The end turns into a screech, but I’m past caring.

  Bryan throws a finger in my face. “This is just the beginning, Teddy. I will get my lawyers to search every inch of you, of that fading rockstar up there, of this home, the conditions of my son’s upbringing, and I will tear you down. That total waste of space you have taking up real estate in your crappy home will be made into a pedophile. You will be made into a negligent mother who’ll have her son torn from her arms and sent to better living conditions with his father. You’re a lawyer, honey, you should know these things. Powerful, connected men always win. Isn’t that why you wanted to come play in our world? Become a lawyer and pretend you’re an equal? Isn’t that why you bolt your doors at night?” His laughter flows into the air. “Isn’t that why you gave yourself a point to bravery by texting me and facing off with me on the stoop of your dilapidated apartment? Big time attorney, huh. More like a fucking screw-up, like you’ve always been. I was the only thing that made you.” He palms his chest. “I’m the only thing that keeps you from living off city rat entrails. I know you cash my custody checks.”