Holding (Moving the Chains Book 5)

by Kata Čuić

  Taking advantage of my favorite teddy bear seems like a much more fun way to spend the afternoon instead of discussing the next phase of our media campaign. I do have pity for him though, so I start off easy. “Who has the best rack you’ve ever seen?”

  His eyes impossibly glaze over more. A sort of dopey smile spreads across his face. He’s looking right at me, but also through me. “There was this stripper…”

  On second thought, this is a horrible idea.

  “…my teammates hired to tempt me because they’re a bunch of assholes. She was so temptacious.”

  That’s not even a word, and I hate this story, but I laugh anyway.

  “Best rack I’ve ever seen, even with clothes on. Full, round—definitely real.” He tries so hard to wiggle his eyebrows, but it just looks like he has a tic. “Turns out she wasn’t a stripper at all. Still got to see the goods though. She stripped for me when she was drunk, and she ended up being my unicorn, and yeah. Best rack ever. I even get to play with them sometimes.”

  I almost, almost slap him for messing with me. As in, my hand is a centimeter from his arm before I remember the whole reason he’s being so funny and loose-lipped. “Okay. You got me good. I have the best rack you’ve ever seen.”

  He grins. “They’re the best peaches I’ve ever put in my mouth.”

  A bolt of lust zings between my legs. There hasn’t been any mouth on my peaches in a few weeks, courtesy of injuries and playoffs focus.

  “Do you love your peaches?” I take the melted ice pack off his knee and rearrange the heating pad there. Mindless activities to go with a mindless question.

  “I do.” He reaches up to caress my cheek with a single finger. “I love my Tori.”

  I mentally kick myself. He hasn’t said that out loud to me yet, and this was a horrible occasion to hear words that might come back to bite him in the rear. His sweatpants emphasize the definition of his erection, so it only seems fair to use what he’s giving me to work with. It buys me a few more minutes anyway.

  “What do you want to do with the peaches you love so much?”

  He squints one of his eyes at me like he’s trying to think really hard. “Do you want the short list or the long list?”

  More stalling? Yes, please.

  Maybe he’ll give me some direction for planning without his usual filter in the way.

  “The long list.”

  “Okay.” He blows out a harsh breath. “Anal. Maybe some light bondage—I’m not into whipping or anything, but some handcuffs might be nice. For you, not me. I could probably be persuaded to wear the shoe on the other foot if the moment’s right. I’ve overheard some of my teammates talking about prostate massages. The idea kind of freaks me out, but I’m also curious. Who wouldn’t want to experience the best orgasm ever? Hard pass on any threesomes or sharing, but toys might be okay. How do you feel about nipple clamps? I’m not into pain—for obvious reasons—but some of these guys are members of actual sex clubs. You wouldn’t believe the stories I’ve heard.”

  My eyebrows might never come back down, and my mind might never stop imagining new, unexplored possibilities. “Wow, um. That wasn’t what I meant at all, but okay. What does the short list look like?”

  He sort of shrugs from his prone position. “Oh, easy. Get married. Have some babies. But later. Way, way later. I’m honestly a little terrified of being a father. What if I turn out like mine?”

  How can I tell him what I need to after such a heartfelt admission?

  “Is there anything I can do for you?” My conscience is eating me alive.

  He nods. “I would like a massage.”

  “What?” I replay his words, but that’s definitely what he said. “You told me massages are bad, and I should never, ever try to give you one.”

  “Between my legs,” he clarifies, his words slurring a little. The pain pill is definitely kicking in now.

  Anxious laughter pours out of me. Mike usually insists sex be all about me—not that I’m complaining at all. A generous lover is never something to whine about. It’s just that I can’t ever shake off the feeling it’s because my big mouth blabbed I was missing out on searching for my unicorn by pretending to be with him. So, he does what he always does. Solves the problem in front of him.

  This…this would be different. Giving without receiving. Giving because he wants it, and I want to.

  I so want to.

  I slip him out of his sweatpants. He’s firm, thick, and clearly wanting in my grasp. I give him a good squeeze to test the waters.

  He throws his head back against the arm of the couch and moans, his eyes drifting closed. “Peaches, yes. Please.”

  “What do you want?” I coax, my mouth brushing over the velvety soft skin of his crown. My dirty mind runs rampant with images of me on my knees, Mike taking my mouth in the way that pleases him most. Rationally, I know he’s not capable of that right now, but he’s never let me do this to him before.

  His voice is a guttural plea. “Suck me dry.”

  The sensitive flesh between my legs swells and aches for attention. No-filter Mike Mitchell is a dirty, dirty man, and it’s turning me on. Which is saying a lot because this guy is a professional football player who’s stacked with muscle and well-endowed with a package he definitely knows how to use for my pleasure. He keeps my fire burning on low heat at all times.

  He’s taking it to the next level, and I’m not even sure he knows what he’s doing to me.

  I lick him, tasting his soap and an indescribable flavor that can only be labeled as…Mike. Clean, yet earthy. Smooth but with a spicy afternote.

  He’s delicious. My mouth waters for more.

  He groans and threads his hands through my hair like he’s going to give me a massage. Even doped up, his touch is loving and gentle.

  “Nuh-uh, buddy.” I disentangle the hand from his bad arm and replace it against his chest. “If you want this, then you have to behave. No doing anything that will only hurt you more later.”

  His eyes are glazed over. He swallows thickly. “Okay. I’ll be good. Promise.”

  I take him fully into my mouth and swirl my tongue around his head, all while meeting his gaze directly. Playing the part of the sexy vixen. Just to see if he’ll really follow orders.

  He does. His good hand fists tighter in my hair, but he leaves his other arm flat against his chest.

  I’ve wanted to do this for so long. Now, I have free rein. I trace every veiny ridge with my tongue, laving his skin with the sort of adoration he’s always shown me. He’s so firm, I’m tempted to bite. Instead, I graze my teeth—just the barest pressure—up his length.

  A stuttered groan rattles his chest. His skin breaks out in goosebumps.

  “Do that again,” he begs.

  “Mike Mitchell…” I breathe against his head. Surprise coils my muscles with anticipation. I’m way too eager to see who he might be when he’s not being so careful. “You do like a little pleasure spiked with pain.”

  “I didn’t know it until just now,” he slurs.

  Oh, crap. It’s probably the meds. He might not be able to tell me if I’m actually hurting him. Better not to risk it.

  I seal my lips over his crown, sucking until his hips tip up like he can’t control himself.

  He hums—a deep, low sound that emanates from his throat. His eyes slide closed again.

  Satisfied he’s enjoying himself, I slide further down his length.

  He shudders. “Deeper. I wanna feel the back of your throat with my cock.”

  I’m not sure I can go much deeper, but I’m absolutely going to try. A burning need to please him overrides my anxiety. I can’t tell him I love him, but I can give him this.

  I fold my lips over my teeth and relax my tongue, inhaling through my nose.

  Mike’s fingers squeeze my scalp. “Suck. Hard.”

  There’s something so deliciously sexy about him telling me exactly what he wants and the way he wants it. This isn’t hard and fast until h
e gets off. Rather, savoring slowly so that the journey is as good as the destination.

  I don’t think I’ve ever been more turned on in my life, and I’m not even the one receiving any of the pleasure I’m obviously giving him. Could he possibly know how much empowerment he’s giving me?

  I might never again rush through the act to reach the goal line or hesitate to tell him exactly what I want.

  His fingers twitch in my hair then he pulls firmly until I follow his direction. He guides my head up and down his shaft—slow, steady, purposeful. The entire time I hollow my cheeks and suck hard as he commanded. Being at his mercy strangely makes me feel free.

  Desire pools between my legs. A steady thrum of insistence keeps rhythm with the motion of his hand pushing and pulling. The bite of my scalp wars against the building pressure between my legs. I’m going to come. Another myth I would never have believed possible until this moment.

  He really might be my unicorn. Life is so unfair.

  Suddenly, he shoves my head down until my lips seal around the base of his cock. My gag reflex kicks in, but I swallow it down. Hard. On a long, low moan he releases, wave after wave spilling down my throat.

  That’s all it takes for me to break even as tears roll down my cheeks.

  Ecstasy seizes my muscles. I cry out my own release through swallows, my throat working double time to take and give.

  “Fuck. Peaches,” he grunts. He holds my head in place as he thrusts once, twice into my mouth, deeper than I ever thought possible.

  My body trembles as the waves crash and break, ebbing slowly away but leaving a decidedly hollow sensation in their place.

  I suddenly realize why Mike has never let me do this before. The last time someone put their mouth on him, it wasn’t his choice. He was drugged then, too. For an entirely different reason.

  Warmth unfurls through my chest as the implications of his request sink into my bones.

  He trusts me. He loves me.

  There’s nothing fake about it.

  His hand is limp in my hair. He disentangles his fingers then pets me as I rest my cheek against his stomach, my tears spilling onto his skin.

  If he notices, he doesn’t say anything. His eyes are half-lidded, and he releases a long rush of air. “Thank you, babe. Now, come sit on my face.”

  I hide my face against his stomach as laughter loosens my tight muscles. “Number one, that would likely hurt you. Number two, not necessary.”

  He barely raises an eyebrow. “Oh, really?”

  I nod, still hiding as I fight to pull myself together. “I should be thanking you. That was one of the most erotic moments of my life.”

  After several beats of silence, I peek up at him. He might be confused, but it’s hard to tell with the muscles in his face so relaxed.

  “Can I come lay with you?” A need I can’t squash begs for our hearts to beat together as closely as possible. Maybe for me. Maybe so he can feel this wasn’t fake on my part either.

  If only I didn’t have to say the words I have to say.

  He opens his arms, his movement sluggish.

  I crawl up his body, careful not to jostle his bad knee or elbow. When I’m comfortably cradled against his chest, I press my nose into the soft, masculine scented skin at his neck. My tongue darts out for a tiny taste. Just a sliver.

  He hums, a satisfied, sleepy sound.

  I smile. “You’re dirty, Mitchell, but you’re still my teddy bear.”

  There’s a smile in his voice, too. Even though his words are more slurred than ever. “You can’t call me that in public. I’ll never live it down. It’ll be so much worse than Monk.”

  “Speaking of in public…” Great. Now, I’m crying again. “We have to break up.”

  I am so exhausted. It has nothing to do with the training camp I just co-hosted at my old high school. It doesn’t even have anything to do with helping my buddy pull off another marriage proposal in a place that still gives me the absolute creeps. The past ten weeks have felt like a goddamn eternity, and there’s only a small break in sight. I slam the door to the hotel room behind me like it’s responsible for this bullshit.

  Then, do a double-take at the bed.

  Where a red-headed goddess is splayed out in peach-colored lace lingerie.

  Her smile is shy. “I figured the least I can do is make all this sneaking around worth your time.”

  “Oh, you’re worth my time and then some,” I breathe. My tongue lolls out of my mouth, probably like a damn cartoon character.

  She looks like something out of my best dreams. No makeup, hair a wild mess fanning all over the pillows, smooth, pale skin spread out across the mattress. The lace teddy stretches across her full breasts, barely enough to cover them completely. My gaze sinks lower, taking in all the crisscrossed ribbon that’s wound around her waist like a goddamn gift. And then my eyes zero in on what’s missing. There’s no way to tell she’s a natural red head now. Because she is completely bare.

  My mouth feels drier than desert sand. There’s only one thing that’s going to quench me.

  My exhaustion forgotten, I practically jump on the bed and dive between her legs, giving her a firm lick right through the lace. Her taste is pure heaven, and I have been in serious withdrawal.

  She squeals then moans then threads her fingers through my hair.

  “How did it go?” she pants, spreading her legs wider for me.

  I peek up at her. “Seriously? You seriously want to have a conversation about my day right now?”

  “I haven’t seen you for months!”

  No, she hasn’t. She also hasn’t abandoned me just because our puppet masters demanded it. She’s walking a very thin line of losing her scholarship if our little secret is discovered.

  So, if she wants to talk all night, then that’s what we’ll do.

  Still, she can take a little payback for torturing me this way. I latch onto her bud and give a good solid suck before disengaging.

  She whimpers when I crawl up her body.

  “Hey, you asked for this,” I remind her.

  “Mmm.” She wraps her arms and legs around me. Even though she still hasn’t said the words, I feel like the most loved man in the entire world. No number of fans cheering my name could ever be this good. “I know, and I’m sorry, but I miss you so much. I got so used to being together nearly every day.”

  Music to my ears. I pull away to grin at her. “I miss you, too, Peaches.” I wink at her. “But not in public.”

  She tilts her head to the side and squints her eyes a bit. “I don’t know. Shouldn’t you actually miss me in public? How are you supposed to gain fan sympathy if you don’t seem miserable because I dumped you to pursue my master’s degree?”

  “Okay, fine. I’m fucking miserable, and I hate this shit.” I’m not pouting for pretend. This is completely real.

  “I know. Me, too.” She soothes me with her mouth.

  I haven’t kissed this woman in forever, so I pour everything into it. Her lips are pillow soft; her tongue molds to mine like she’s part of me. Her taste bursts in my mouth like my favorite flavor that I never want to share with anyone else.

  How did I ever live without this? It doesn’t matter that I didn’t know what I was missing for most of my life.

  I don’t break away until we both desperately need to breathe.

  “I’m not sure how long I can keep this up,” I confess, burying my face against her neck. Maybe if I can just inhale enough of her, it’ll last me for the next few weeks until we can sneak away again. “I thought I was signing up to play professional football. How was I supposed to know I’m actually a walk-on in a soap opera?”

  She runs her fingers through my hair and nuzzles me. Yeah, she won’t say it out loud, but she can’t hide her feelings anymore. “I’ve actually been researching that. I might not be a lifelong football fan, and I was only an intern with the Wolves, but…This seems extreme, even to me. Not normal, you know? Anyway, from what I can tell without in
sider information, it seems to be dependent on the team. Not every franchise in the league operates this way.”

  I smother my grin against her neck. I don’t want to be too smug about more proof that she’s thinking of me even when she doesn’t have to be. I know damn well how busy she is with her classes. “I could’ve told you that. Even Rob’s team doesn’t play games this way. After he tanked his debut season, they didn’t jerk him around like a trick pony. Alex loves the celebrity part of the job, but that doesn’t come from his team’s front office.”

  She sighs, her body moving against mine in ways that aren’t going to let me hold back much longer. “I hate to say this, but maybe you should have a discussion with your agent about getting you out of Albany. Who knows what they’re going to make you do next?”

  That’s a chilling prospect. Enough to make shivers race down my spine for a not so pleasant reason. “I’m locked into a four-year contract. I still have two seasons left. The only way I can get out of it is if the Wolves release me.”

  I can’t fail my family like that.

  Who will make my sisters’ tuition payments? Who will pay off my mom’s mortgage if I go a year or two between steady paychecks? Hell, what if Chelsie’s situation gets worse, and she decides to call in my offer for help?

  If I get released from the team that drafted me, there’s no guarantee another will even be willing to pick me up.

  Then, I’ll be useless to everyone.

  “Mike…” Tori kisses my cheek and sighs again. “I’m not there to mitigate threats to you anymore. I know how much you love football, but what if they assign Kaylie to be your fake girlfriend after enough time has passed? Are you just going to go through with it? What if they want you two to fake an engagement? Then, what?”

  A hint of anger simmers in my stomach, but the excitement in my chest tap dances all over it. I push myself up to gaze at Tori’s beautiful face. “Are you saying you want to get engaged?”