Not My Romeo

by Madden-Mills, Ilsa

  Her tongue dabs at her lower lip.

  I rest against the locker. “Hmm, I think you want me to kiss you right now.”

  Another step. Her chest rises.

  “This feels like high school, and we’re having a tiny tiff. I’m ready for the makeup part,” I say, pulling her hair out of her ponytail, sighing when it falls around the curves of her face. “Take your glasses off, Elena.”

  She tucks them in her purse. Takes another step closer. “You’re bossy. I don’t know how any woman has ever put up with you.”

  “I don’t either. I don’t deserve a nice girl. Keep talking.” Because with every word, she’s almost in my arms.

  She tilts her chin up, her scent sweet and soft and floral, and I suck in a breath at the full force of her, the way my heart twinges, shifting around in my chest.

  “And I do not want to kiss you. It comes with a price. My dignity. I have a vibrator at home, all charged and ready to go—”

  “Fuck that. You will not use a vibrator. Not when I’m right here,” I growl. “Do you think about me when you use it?”

  “No.” Her color rises.

  I chuckle. “How do you imagine it, Elena? You underneath me, pliant and willing, begging for more?”

  “No!”

  “Me behind you. That’s it. You love that. That sound you make when I slide all the way inside. Been thinking about that a lot. Feels like a year ago when I had you.”

  “Stop talking dirty.”

  “I think it’s you under my tongue, Elena. That’s what I think about, the taste of you. You came like that in the kitchen with me on my knees. Did you like that? Me worshipping you?”

  She breathes heavily. “Pfft. I barely remember it.”

  I count the white rays in her irises, the way they make her eyes shine.

  “You’re a terrible liar.”

  “You should stop.”

  “Make me,” I grunt as she takes that final step, her sweatshirt pressed against me.

  “I will, Jack. Don’t test me.”

  “Elena, you can’t get me out of your head.”

  “Someone needs to teach you a lesson in humility.”

  “Please do.”

  She touches my chest, and I groan. “Fuck, Elena. Kiss me. Because I’m dying here. I’m barely able to stand up—thank God for lockers—and all it took was your fucking wrist to get me hard—”

  She stands on her tiptoes and takes my mouth, and I rumble out my victory, my hands landing on her ass like they were made for that spot, picking her up and switching us around until she’s against the lockers. Her legs curl around my hips, her lips pressed against mine, her tongue battling mine without reserve, all fire and heat. Her hands knead my shoulders, digging and caressing, pulling, tugging, wanting.

  “All it took was your stupid forearms in Milano’s,” she mutters in between kissing.

  “Good goddamn thing you sat down,” I mutter back, sucking on her neck.

  “Good thing c-l-i-t-s are your specialty.”

  “Elena,” I breathe. “So many tricks up my sleeve . . .” My lips trail along her cheek. “I want to show them all to you.”

  I kiss her again, deeply, paying attention to the fullness of her upper lip, nipping at it, loving that sweet spot near her ear that makes her shiver.

  “What are we doing?” she breathes.

  “Making out.” I shove a hand in her hair, holding her head to the side, slanting my lips across her for a hard kiss, sucking on her tongue in a decadent, rhythmic way, like I’m fucking her.

  “I’m not signing that stupid NDA,” she says.

  “I haven’t brought it up.” I kiss her again, my hips swiveling into her pelvis. She arches closer, her hands pulling on my shoulders.

  “Are you wet for me, baby?” I murmur, my hand easing between us, brushing against her apex.

  “Damn you.”

  I laugh, rubbing my thumb across her leggings, rotating against her mound.

  She shudders, her hands in my hair now, tugging me closer for another kiss.

  Voices and people walking out of the gym reach my ears, and I press my forehead against her. “We’re out in the hall for anyone to see. Not a good idea.”

  She wiggles out of my arms, chest rising rapidly, and takes my hand. “Come on. I know every room in this place.”

  She takes off, dashing down the hall, and I jog after her. I don’t know what I’m doing, because I swore to myself I’d leave her alone, that I’d stick to her decision, but . . .

  She stops at the door on the right, letting out a gleeful sound when it’s unlocked. She pulls me inside a darkened room, the only light the glow from the moon coming in from a window. I take in a big desk and a wall of mirrors with a long bar along the middle.

  “Ballet room?” I ask as she turns to face me, hair everywhere where my hands were. Her mouth is swollen, red, and lush.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck . . . what is she doing to me?

  “Yep, but we aren’t dancing. Welcome to my second-grade classroom. Take off your clothes, Jack. Let’s make this quick.”

  Heat pierces me, sweet and excruciating at the need in her voice. With Sophia, sex was never like this. Consuming and fast, as in I-can’t-wait-to-have-you kind of feeling. Football kept most of my attention; I never thought about Sophia unless she was right in front of me. Elena . . . I can’t get her out of my mind . . .

  “This will not be quick,” I say.

  She pulls her sweatshirt over her head, her red lace bra making me groan. She toes her shoes off and shoves them out of the way. Leggings disappear until I see the tiny red thong, the contrast of the color against her pale skin intoxicating.

  I groan, my gaze all over her. “Are you sure?”

  “I’m not thinking clearly, and I don’t want to. And you being Romeo is driving me crazy! Maybe this is the only way to work you out of my system.”

  I frown, not liking that statement. But her wariness is my fault. Since the moment I walked in, we’ve been sparring, and I know it’s my distrust that makes her scared.

  She said she’s team boyfriend.

  And I am not a boyfriend. Not like she needs. I just . . . can’t go there. My mother loved Harvey, and look what it got her. I thought I cared about Sophia and—

  “Snap out of it, and stop staring at me. We have to hurry,” she says, dashing to the door and checking the lock. She moves swiftly, uninhibited in her near nakedness, her curves lush and creamy.

  I sweep paper, pencils, and books off the desk in one movement, my body in full-on let’s-do-this mode. So what if I’m in public? So what if she hasn’t signed the NDA? Take this and run with it—and right now. I don’t care about anything but getting inside her.

  And if she wants to work me out of her system, sign me up.

  “You’re still dressed, Jack. Fix it.” She approaches me, her nipples beading under that lace.

  I whip off my shirt, unzip my pants, and shove them off, fighting with my black sneakers. I kick them across the room.

  “Commando,” she breathes, looking at my hard cock.

  I fist myself, giving my arousal a pump, watching her eyes widen, her hands twitching at her side.

  “Me. You. Desk.” I hold her hot gaze, afraid if we stop looking at each other, this tenuous bond might break.

  Her chest rises as she takes me in, her breasts straining against the lace of her bra.

  “Come to me, Elena.” I’m panting at just the sight of her, already thinking of how I want to fuck her. And then again. And again.

  She reaches the desk and drops to her knees.

  “Elena,” I groan. “I want you on that desk, bent over.”

  “And I want you in my mouth. We haven’t done that.”

  Her hands wrap around my length and stroke. I hiss when she takes me in her mouth, her tongue sliding down, then back up, her lips puckering around my head.

  “Am I doing it like you like it?” she murmurs.

  “You are.” I don’t recognize
my voice. Torn. Ragged. It’s not that I was celibate for a year, but the fact that her lips are on me. I’ve been sucked off many times—in clubs, hotel rooms, locker rooms—but not one of them compares to her plump, sassy mouth on me.

  I stumble back, my ass landing on the desk, my hands wrapped in her hair, guiding her down as far as she’ll let me. I let out a string of curses when I feel the back of her throat, my head lowering, the muscles in my legs tightening as the urge to come zips over me.

  “Elena! I’m going to . . .” I groan, reaching for control.

  Her eyes find mine. “Don’t ruin this for me. This is my first time. Say some of your lines.”

  I focus on Romeo, managing to sputter out a few. They make no sense. Some of them are her lines.

  “That’s terrible. Use more emotion, like you did when Romeo and Juliet kiss.”

  I close my eyes, remembering how she gazed at me during the read through. “Thinking about kissing you just makes it worse.”

  “Well, then think about football or whatever.”

  “Impossible,” I gasp out, watching as she unclasps her bra and takes me again in her mouth, firm, perfect tits against my legs. I reach down to brush my thumb over her rosy nipple, her breasts cushioning me as she takes long drags.

  “Elena, shit . . .”

  Her big eyes stare up at me, her lips tight around me, and it’s a submissive thing, that she’s on her knees, but underneath I wonder if she knows that it isn’t submissive at all. She’s got all the fucking power with me, and I don’t think she even knows how much I want her. I clench the edge of the desk. I needed this. Her. Especially after the anxiety from earlier. This, her, soothes everything inside me.

  She slides me between her breasts, slick and warm, as I pump between her cleavage. Her head dips, and she takes me inside her warm mouth and hums against me, and I . . . I . . .

  “In my mouth,” she murmurs, like she’s said this a thousand times, but my librarian has never said those words to a man, and it makes me shudder, my chest heaving, watching her suck me deep. Mine. Territorial alpha claws to the surface, and I come with a roar, eyes on her face, searching, imprinting this moment in my head.

  Breathing heavily, she swallows all of me, her tongue laving my dick.

  I look at her magnificence for as long as I can until I collapse back on the desk, panting, body shuddering.

  “Pants. Condom. Get it.”

  I hear satisfaction in her voice as she stands. “You’ll need a minute. I think I did very well. A-plus for me.”

  “I am not an old man yet. Get the condom, woman. My legs aren’t working.”

  She laughs, shuffling sounds reaching me as she goes through my jeans.

  I’m dizzy when I rise up. She tears at it with her teeth as she walks over to me.

  She glances down at my arousal and laughs. “How can you be ready again?”

  “It’s you. And don’t laugh. He’s sensitive. He might get soft.”

  She laughs again, doubling over, and I chuckle, watching her, feeling comfortable and easy. Maybe this is what incredible sex is, when two people crave each other—and not just their bodies but their personalities.

  “What’s taking so long?” I ask, sitting up more. “You’re wasting precious time.”

  She holds the condom package up to her face, squinting. “Crap!”

  “Amateur. Give it to me.”

  She dashes over to her purse on the floor and slides on her glasses, her face horrified as she glares down at the wrapper. “Jack! I ripped it! There’s a tiny hole in it. Do you have another one?”

  “That one’s been in my wallet forever.” I stand, weaving a little, my legs still like jelly. “Do you have any at your house?”

  She shakes her head. “No, tossed them a while back. Expired.”

  I rake my hands through my hair. “Is there a store here in town where I can buy them?” I’m going to die if I don’t have her again.

  Her eyes flare. “You can’t just waltz in the Piggly Wiggly at nine at night and pick up a box of Trojan Magnums! Everyone knows your face. What if the cashier takes a pic?” She pauses. “How do you buy condoms?”

  “Amazon. Fake name.”

  We study each other, eyes searching.

  “I have plenty back at the penthouse.”

  “Of course you do.”

  I study the planes of her face, trying to read what she’s thinking, but her hair hides her face.

  She walks over to her bra and puts it back on. Next come her shirt and leggings.

  Chucks are next.

  Dammit! Why did I bring up the penthouse?

  She picks up her purse and pushes up her glasses.

  I grab my shirt and slide it on. I grab my pants and put them on. “Fine. I’m going to the Piggly Wiggly, and then we’re going to your place. Don’t they have those self-checkout things?”

  She huffs out a laugh. “Have you ever used one?”

  “No, but it can’t be too hard.”

  “It can be a surprising pain in the ass. Self-check or not, everyone in town will know by tomorrow.”

  “I’ll wear a hat. I have one in the car.”

  “Won’t work. Your hotness is world known, apparently, by everyone but me.”

  We stand there for a few seconds, and it feels as if I should say something here.

  Invite her to your real home, Jack.

  But I can’t.

  I want to, I do, but how can I trust what I’m really feeling right now?

  I don’t even know what this is!

  She watches my face, and I know what she sees—me retreating. Fortifying my castle walls. Digging a moat around it.

  She inches closer to the door, her hands behind her back, probably on the doorknob.

  With fumbling fingers, I button my pants. “Elena, don’t go.”

  Why am I always saying that?

  There’s a long silence, the only sound our breathing in the quiet room.

  “Elena, I didn’t plan on this. I just wanted to . . . kiss you, and then I don’t know. Let’s go somewhere else.”

  A smile crosses her face, tinged with regret and wry acceptance. “I know exactly what this was. It was you walking in this gym, and me wanting you, and you wanting me. Just two people without commitments. Isn’t that what you want, Jack?”

  I close my eyes briefly. “Yes.”

  A long silence wraps around us as we stare at each other.

  “That’s what I thought.” Her eyes drop to the floor, then rise up to meet mine. “See you at the next rehearsal.” She scans the room, her gaze everywhere except on me. “Do you mind putting the desk back together?”

  And then she’s gone, opening the door and walking away from me.

  I don’t try to stop her.

  Chapter 21

  JACK

  “The MRI isn’t great. You need surgery, Jack. It’s either that, or you’re going to take a hit on that shoulder, and the damage to your tendons might be irreparable.” Dr. Williams gives me a sympathetic glance, his hand holding my thick folder of records. He’s the best orthopedic in the state, well known for treating superstar athletes, from tennis players to baseball greats.

  I came in last week for some x-rays and the MRI. Since the episode at the church, I’ve had another spasm that hit me while I was working out at the stadium. I was lifting when it hit, nearly making me pass out with the pain. Thank God Aiden wasn’t in the gym that day.

  I exhale. “It isn’t even a football injury.”

  He nods, taking a seat behind his desk and considering me. “Right. It’s an old wound, but the way you use your body isn’t like the average person. If you didn’t play football, you might never have had any issues, but as it stands, your tendons are being pulled away from your bone. I can reattach them, no problem.”

  “Thank God.”

  “Don’t get too excited. Have you had a particularly hard fall lately?”

  I grimace, recalling the defender who yanked my face mask and sl
ammed me down during the Super Bowl. The five interceptions that followed. “Super Bowl.”

  He nods. “I’m assuming you still want to keep playing?”

  I feel dizzy and grip the edges of my chair. “Hell yes. I still have good years left, Doc. I’m twenty-eight!”

  He taps a pen on his desk. “I’ll be frank. I’ve done surgeries like this, and even when things go well, including rehab, some athletes never get back to full one hundred percent.”

  My heart drops. I know the stats on shoulder injuries for quarterbacks. Even for a college player, once news of a shoulder injury reaches the NFL teams, it affects their draft status, pushing them down in the ranks. Few teams want to take chances on a player with an injury. For a seasoned player like me, it could be less playtime, early retirement. Fuck that. “I’m not most athletes. I’m the best. I’ve been using massage, needling, cupping, everything for the past few years. I even pay out of my own pocket for treatment. And those guys you’re talking about have the injury on their throwing arm. This is my left shoulder.”

  “True, true. I just want you to know what to expect. If you take a hard fall again, even after surgery, you might injure it again.”

  My stomach lurches. “Fine. Lay it out for me, then. What should I expect? Summer camp starts in June, and I want to be ready for it.” I pause. “Shit. I’m doing this play for the next month.”

  “I saw that on ESPN. Nice touch.”

  “Yeah. The fans like it.” Even though it makes me uncomfortable as hell, my image has improved slightly. I haven’t gotten any glares when I take my table at Milano’s lately. But fans are fickle. And if they knew I had a shoulder injury. Damn. They’d be ready for Coach to trade me in a heartbeat. They’d fall in love with Aiden. He’s poised and ready . . .

  He continues. “Let’s pencil you in for early April. The first two weeks you’ll be moving hand to mouth only; then we’ll progress to driving around week six. After that, we’ll see about summer camp.”

  “Damn.”

  “I know you like to work out, Jack, but take it easy. Stick to running. It’s the off-season. Go on vacation like a normal person. Take it easy for a while.”