by Naima Simone
Her body tightened; a telltale signal of a cataclysm she didn’t know she was prepared to face sizzled at the base of spine, in the soles of her feet. She cried out, shaking her head, because she wanted to meet it, combust in it. But at the same time, she feared it, wasn’t sure if she would survive the explosion.
But Zephirin didn’t give her a choice. Reaching down between them, he pressed his finger to her clit, drawing his thumb around the nub of flesh in a ruthless, demanding circle.
“Give it to me, baby. Let go,” he urged, the strain harshening his voice, tautening his features into a carnal mask of lust. Another rub, another stroke.
And she flew.
Soared.
Then imploded.
Slowly, she opened her eyes, the stars in front of them slowly clearing, the ringing in her ears gradually disappearing. And just in time. As if her orgasm snapped free the leash he’d clipped on his control, Zephirin bucked above her, plunging into her with a power and focus that stole what little breath she’d just recaptured. With one last thrust, he froze. Then his body quaked, shuddered, and a long, low groan wrenched from him.
It was the most erotic thing she’d ever witnessed in her life.
After several moments, he dropped, the support of his arms preventing him from crushing her. But she would’ve welcomed his weight, loved being covered by him.
He nuzzled her neck, placing an openmouthed kiss along her throat, and Sophia wrapped her arms around his shoulders, a calm—a peace—settling on her after the raging storm of passion.
“Giovanna,” he rumbled against her skin.
A shaft of icy cold pierced her chest. Despair, anger, guilt, shame—they roiled inside her, spilling over until that freezing burn turned her into a rigid icicle.
She’d had the most amazing sexual experience of her life and had felt closer to this man than she had to anyone else in years.
And he’d just had sex with her sister.
Chapter Six
“Uhh…are you going to actually lift that or just glare at it for the rest of the afternoon?” Ronin asked from his position behind the weight bench Zephirin lay on. The wide receiver arched an eyebrow, his hands in position under the bar, preparing to spot the 285-pound weight.
Zeph had already put up ten reps, with five more to go. After he finished bench pressing, he’d conclude the workout with bent-over and upright rows. Organized Team Activities, or OTAs, had tied up a couple of hours ago, and only he, Ronin, and Dom remained in the weight room. Good. He didn’t feel like putting on an “everything’s cool” facade with anyone. Not that anyone with eyes would’ve believed everything was fine. Not after today’s performance during drills and practice.
As if reading his mind, the clang of metal striking metal heralded Dom’s appearance next to Ronin. “Something going on you need to get off your chest? I know we all have off days, but you were shit today.”
“Yes.” With a grunt, Zeph lifted the weight bar, pressed it to his chest then returned it to the cradle. Exhaling, he slanted Dom a look. “I do want to talk about it. And then afterward, we can braid each other’s hair and paint our toenails. Just text me a yes, maybe, or no.” He gripped the bar again, did another rep.
“Wow.” Ronin smirked. “I thought fucking was supposed to mellow you out. Usually works for me.”
Dom snorted. “Maybe that’s the problem.” He squinted down at Zeph. “Is that the issue? Was Little Zeph only half-cocked, so to speak?”
“Why are you so interested in my dick?” he gritted out between clenched teeth, preparing for another rep. And avoiding both of the boneheads’ questions.
Ronin shook his head even as he spotted Zeph, heaving a dramatic sigh. “Your dick today, my balls last night. Maybe we should be talking about what’s going on with you.”
“Shaddup, you.” Dom returned his attention to Zeph, the piercing focus and intensity that made him a great quarterback turned full blast on him. “When your pecker is screwing with your head and, by association, the team, then yeah, I’m interested. And even though you’re being a complete douche, I’m your friend, too.”
“What he said,” Ronin added, moving to the free weights and removing them one by one, effectively ending Zeph’s workout. Bastard.
But hell, they were right. About his performance today and their entitlement to be concerned. Zeph prided himself on always showing up prepared to work, to show out. Yeah, like Dom said, everyone had a bad day, but too many of them and murmurings started. Questions about if you were losing your edge, the thing that had made you a premier player for your career in the league. And there was always that back-up man ready, waiting, and hungry to snatch your spot.
After his world had gone to hell two years ago, Zeph couldn’t afford to show any weakness. Literally.
Sitting up, he straddled the bench, roughly dragging a hand down his face. Dom leaned against the wall, arms crossed, while Ronin sank onto another bench nearby.
Aside from his grandmother and sister, he was closest to these two men, and yet he didn’t know where to start. Not without sounding like a pussy-whipped asshole who hadn’t learned his lesson the first time around.
“It’s not what you think,” he finally said. “I’m not going back there.”
He didn’t need to go into any more detail than that with his friends, because they knew to what he referred. They’d been there.
Shalene Gallow.
His high school sweetheart, whom he’d broken up with before entering LSU. The woman with whom he’d reconnected with years later, after he’d signed on with the Washington Warriors. At first, he’d believed bumping into her on one of his visits home had been coincidence. But later, after he’d moved her out to Seattle to live with him, he’d discovered how wrong—and naive—he’d been. During their first year in the league, almost all rookies were schooled on what to be aware of, careful of, and flat-out avoid. Women seeking out players so they could reach the so-called status of WAG—Wife and Girlfriend of a sports star—were included in that speech. Knowing this, Zeph had still fallen for the trap…had never suspected the girl-turned-woman whom he’d grown up with, and loved for years, would betray him. For a reality TV show and, in the end, for money.
Shalene had lied and schemed—conspiring with his agent behind his back, renegotiating clauses in his endorsement contracts to benefit her, stealing funds from his accounts. But the biggest lie, the most painful deception, had come after their relationship ended. That lie had almost ripped him in two.
By the time he’d discovered the whole truth, his season had almost been in the shitter because of his lack of concentration and focus, new endorsement opportunities started to dry up, and his team had started to lose their trust in him.
He refused to return to that place. He was six years into his football career, when the average one lasted about four years. And, he was playing at the top of his game. All of his focus needed to be on football. He refused to allow someone so inside his head that he risked losing everything he’d worked and sacrificed for—his grandmother had sacrificed for.
“You sure?” Ronin asked, his tone uncharacteristically serious.
Zeph stared at him, for a second thinking his friend questioned whether he would once more place all his trust in a deceitful woman. Then he replayed the conversation. Right. Ronin referred to Zeph’s assertion that this situation with Giovanna…or Sophia…differed from Shalene.
“I’m sure,” he affirmed. “Hell, for starters, I was head-in-ass involved with Shalene. Last night was a…” He didn’t know what the hell it was, actually. Well, that wasn’t completely true. He could say it’d been the hottest sex of his life. His cock had nearly gone into a fucking coma afterward. He damn sure had. And when he’d awakened, Giovanna/Sophia had been gone. That still burned. “Last night was one night.”
Outside the restaurant, when she’d added that stipulation, an inexplicable twinge of irritation had vibrated within him, but he’d squelched it. Relief that he could hav
e her with no strings, no pretense of commitment had flickered briefly before even that had been capsized by the lust she’d ignited in him from the moment she’d walked on the photo set.
“If that’s true, then what’s with today? And I’ve seen you play a game, jump on a plane, grab a couple hours of sleep, and then get out there and practice. So I don’t believe lack of sleep,” Dom pried.
Zeph scrubbed a hand over his head. Dom was right, and the knowledge rubbed him raw. One night of sex with her shouldn’t have upset his focus. It was the very reason he didn’t do relationships. And especially not during football.
“I don’t know,” Zeph said in response to his friend. He shot to his feet, restless energy surging through him like electric currents. He paced away from them. “It was sex. She left. Stop reading more into it. Is a repeat tempting? Maybe. But the point is, there isn’t going to be another night. Football comes first. I’m not risking my career ever again.”
“Wait—what? Left?” Ronin cocked his head to the side. “You took her back to your place?”
“Yeah,” Zeph replied, tone brusque. He didn’t need a secret decoder ring to decipher the astonished expression on both men’s faces. Some guys had no problem bringing women back to their homes. Zeph wasn’t one of them.
“Again, you sure there isn’t something more between you and Giovanna Cruz?” Dom asked, unfolding his arms, his gaze narrowing even more.
“No.”
“Do you want there to be?”
Zeph halted mid-pace. Another “no” sprang to his tongue, but he just scowled instead.
“It’s been two years, Zeph,” Dom continued. “Yeah, me and Ronin might be manwhores, but you’ve never been. There’s no shame in admitting you might want something more than a wham-bam-thank-you-now-get-out-ma’am.”
Zeph strode over to where he’d dumped his T-shirt and jerked it on. “I don’t want that right now.” Maybe not ever. Definitely not with someone whose job required the limelight and fame. Someone who would see him as either a limitless ATM card or a stepping stone in her career. “I just need to get her out of my head.”
“Or system,” Ronin added, rising to his feet and walking to the corner of the weight room for his own shirt. “Giovanna is a gorgeous woman, no doubt. There’s something about her that obviously does it for you. And hell, that’s not a bad thing. Go find her, take her back to your place again, and figure it out.”
“So basically you’re telling me to fuck her out of my system,” Zeph drawled.
Ronin splayed a hand over his chest and assumed a wounded air that would’ve been more convincing if not for the wide grin splitting his grill. “Did I say that?”
Zeph snorted, and Dom shook his head, wearing a smirk.
“I’m going to take a shower. I’ll hit you up later. And”—he jerked his chin up—“thanks.”
With fist bumps to both men, he headed toward the weight room exit, leaving his friends to argue behind him.
“…not a manwhore, by the way. I think my mother would take exception to that,” Ronin complained.
“Well, it’s a good thing I didn’t call her one, isn’t it?” Dom shot back.
Shaking his head, Zeph let the door slam shut behind him. But he couldn’t eject Ronin’s advice from his head as easily. Everything he’d stated was true—he didn’t want a relationship. But he couldn’t say the same about not wanting to be back inside Giovanna’s body. He hadn’t even had a chance to put his mouth on her breasts or discover the undoubtedly sweet taste of her pussy. Due to her disappearing act, he’d been cheated out of having her on her knees in front of him again, only this time with nothing separating her mouth from his cock.
As blunt and even crude as Ronin’s suggestion had been, maybe he’d been right.
If she hadn’t left him last night, he could’ve fulfilled at least half of the images parading through his mind like a porn movie. But since she had snuck out, maybe indulging in some unrestrained, unlimited fucking for a short time would satisfy this insane hunger and allow him to devote all his concentration on where it belonged.
The game.
Since he was a kid, he’d loved football. And to be able to make a living out of his passion was a dream most people would never realize.
A sense of resolve eased through him, and with it a calm. Decision made, he removed his cell from his pocket and quickly dialed a number.
“Wilder Investigations. Jason Wilder speaking,” a deep, familiar voice echoed in Zeph’s ear.
“Hey, Jason. I need your help. And it’s a rush job,” Zeph greeted his friend, owner of a private detective firm.
“Shoot.”
“I need you to find the home address of someone.”
Chapter Seven
“Sophia, can I have a word with you before you go, please?”
Hell no. Go play in traffic. “Sure,” she said to her supervisor, Brian Schultz, before turning around to finish shutting down her laptop. And to hide her wince. Not that he would’ve noticed anyway. He didn’t wait for her but pivoted on the heel of his leather Stacy Adams shoes and headed back toward his office.
Most of the time, she loved her job. And then there were the instances she had to deal with Brian “Kneel Before Zod” Schultz. She understood why people committed boss-icide. Sighing, she stowed her computer in her bag and reluctantly followed him down the hall.
“Close the door behind you, please.” There wasn’t a request in that arrogant tone, and he didn’t glance behind him to see if she complied. Instead, he rounded his desk, unbuttoning his suit jacket before lowering to his chair.
Sinking into the armchair flanking his desk, Sophia snuck a peek at her cell phone. It was 5:42 p.m. Damn. She’d been so close to a clean getaway. She should’ve been out of FamFit’s offices twelve minutes ago. Friday after five o’clock, and her number of fucks given started to rapidly dwindle. Now, sitting in the office of the one person she actively tried to avoid, that total hit zero.
“So,” Brian said, leaning back and arching an eyebrow over the rims of his black, hipster glasses. “You were off yesterday.”
He fell quiet and studied her, as if his silence would prod her into offering an excuse to explain the reason behind her scheduled personal day. Well, he and his faux hawk would be waiting a long-ass time.
Prick.
And not because of his shiny, skinny leg pants, gelled metrosexual hairstyles, and smug, you’re-a-peon attitude. Although those were plenty of reasons.
Except when under a tight deadline, for the most part, FamFit boasted a laid-back atmosphere: open floor plan of spacious cubicles with low-walled partitions so people could easily see one another and toss ideas as well as jokes back and forth; a huge break room where at least once a week parties for birthdays, baby showers, or Friday were hosted; and a relaxed dress code where most employees wore jeans, Converse, hoodies, and graphic T-shirts with geek slogans. Case in point, Sophia’s current “Back That Thing Up” shirt sporting a thumb drive.
Then there was Brian.
Still, she could deal with his uptightness and personality of a pencil eraser.
No, what made her supervisor a prick and had her aching to go all Grand Theft Auto on his ass was him being a backstabbing thief.
“So,” he continued, clearing his throat. “I had a meeting yesterday, and the company is looking to release a new app outside our current weight, exercise, and nutrition trackers. Something more interactive.”
As he continued to speak, excitement and dread twisted inside her belly. Excitement because she loved creating new apps. Everything from the brainstorming of ideas, to the writing code and watching it come to life, to the roll out and waiting on pins and needles to see how the public reacted to it. It was a rush, a heady satisfaction.
Dread because with Brian as a supervisor, any idea had a 99.9% chance of being “stolen” and claimed as his baby. Ethically and professionally, because she worked under him and for FamFit, her work was his and the company’s. But m
orally, promoting her ideas to the Powers that Be as totally his concept and work, without any input from her, was underhanded and low. Especially since he only ever stole from Sophia and the one other female developer in the department. Brian wouldn’t dare try that shit with the guys. They might look like extras from The Big Bang Theory, but they were positively feral about their work and receiving credit for it. Particularly since credit translated to bonuses and profit-sharing proceeds.
She, on the other hand, was apparently fair game. The first time it’d happened, she’d reluctantly brushed it off, convincing herself that maybe she was being too sensitive. The second time, she’d approached him, and he’d reminded her that she was still new, still had her dues to pay. But that if she continued with the hard work, the next time might be hers. A barrage of words—some of them four-letter and others denigrating his parentage—had weighed down her tongue, but she’d held them back. As a young woman and a minority in a field dominated by white males, she felt like she had to tread carefully. It sucked that she risked being known as the Loud Latina Woman in the office if she dared to stick up for herself.
At twenty-four, she realized how fortunate she was to work in a career she loved. Yes, she was relatively young, but she’d graduated with dual degrees in computer science and software engineering, and, last year, completed her master’s in software development. Not to mention she’d also been building apps since her junior year in college. So, yes, she truly loved her chosen field. But Brian was stealing that joy as surely as he pilfered her ideas and credit. And she had no shame in admitting that she wanted acknowledgment of her hard work. Anyone who claimed differently was a liar or had ambition the size of gnat booty.
Had she called him a prick and thief? She’d meant a misogynistic, backstabbing prick and thief.
“…We have two weeks to deliver a proposal. I’ve chosen a few of you to submit a concept, and I need it delivered to me in one week. You’ve proven very innovative in the past, and if yours is chosen, it could mean project manager for you.”
