Leather & Lace

by Brynley Bush

  Even better ;) Tell me.

  Oh crap. I should have known he’d call my bluff. He beats me to the next text while I’m trying to figure out something witty to say. Where are your fingers? Are they between your legs?

  They are now. Yes, I text back.

  Slide them in and out slowly.

  I do as he says. A minute later, my phone pings.

  Are you wet, baby?

  Oh yeah.

  Show me.

  Oh damn. Am I really going to do this? Hell yes, I am. I snap a quick picture of my glistening fingertips and send it to him. He responds immediately. Fuuuuuuuuck! I am rock hard now.

  Show me. Oh my god. Did I really just ask for a dick pic? And is he really going to send me one? My phone pings again and I glance down apprehensively. And laugh. He’s sent me a picture of a rock.

  I snap a picture of me pouting and send it to him. He immediately types back, I love that pout of yours. Then…Get back to work. My pussy’s waiting.

  Yours????

  Yes. Mine.

  If I wasn’t already dripping, those two words would have done the trick. As it is, I’m precariously close to coming. The texts start coming one after the other.

  Keep going.

  In and out.

  Faster.

  Spread the juices over your clit. Is it hard?

  God yes. I’ve never sexted before, but it’s beyond hot.

  Good. Trap that little clit between your two fingers and squeeze, but keep moving your fingers back and forth.

  I follow his instructions, wondering how I’ve never thought to do this. It feels amazing, and I throw my head back and lose myself to that familiar sweet gathering in my core. I’m close, so close, when the ping of my phone brings me back from the edge. Right. Knox.

  You still there?

  Yes. But I’ve got to go… I hesitate, then type, …make myself come.

  His response is instantaneous. No! Do it on the phone with me. I want to hear you.

  I wait for a count of ten, then type, Oh. Too late. Sorry.

  There’s a pause, then…You came?

  I’m shaking with laughter as I imagine the look on his face. After a minute, I take pity on him. Just kidding. It’s fun to wind you up.

  Grrrr.

  I like it when you growl.

  You may not like it as much when you’re naked and helpless and over my knee.

  I think I’ll like it even more then :)

  I wait, but he doesn’t text back. Oh my god. Did I really just type that? And why has he gone silent now? Just when I’m starting to panic, my phone rings.

  “Hello?” I sound like one of those breathless movie stars from the fifties.

  “Leila.” His voice on the phone is deep and husky and steeped in sin. “You owe me an orgasm. And I intend to collect it.”

  Unfortunately, Knox has tickets to the Broncos game with his brother tonight which means I can’t see him until tomorrow. Somehow, while we’d dirty-talked on the phone, he’d made me promise I wouldn’t come until he said so, which means I’m aroused and frustrated, which isn’t a good combination. But I can hardly expect him to ditch an NFL game and hang out with me just so I can have an orgasm.

  I’m relieved when Monica calls, offering me a welcome distraction.

  “Guess who called me?” she says by way of greeting. She pauses, then continues dramatically. “At home. On a Saturday.”

  “Who?” I balance the phone against my ear as I dig through the freezer. If I can’t have an orgasm, I’ll substitute with the next best thing—ice cream.

  “Cordelia. She wants you to do an article for Bravura.”

  That gets my attention. “What? Are you serious? When? Why? How?”

  “Well, I’m kind of pissed that I had to hear it from her,” she says with a huff. “Why didn’t you tell me you were dating the hottest football player in the NFL?”

  “What? I’m not dating anybody. I mean, there’s this guy here who’s the grandson of my Nana’s friend Rosie…” Oh my god. It couldn’t be.

  “There was picture of you in the paper today with Knox Beckinsale. He was feeding you pie and looking at you like he’d like to devour you. Call it whatever you want, but he sure looked like he has the hots for you.”

  “Knox is an NFL football player?” The pieces click into place—his finely tuned body, our encounter at Achilles HeAl when he’d assumed I wanted his autograph, the guy taking his picture at Jax, his supreme self-confidence.

  “Yeah. He’s one of the best slot receiver’s in the league. He been on the A list since he was drafted right out of college by the North Carolina Knights. He played for them until they traded him to the New Jersey Torpedoes earlier this year. So you are dating him?”

  “Yes. No. It’s complicated. Mostly we’re just having sex.” I hold the phone away from my ear until Monica is finished shrieking. “But what does Knox have to do with Cordelia wanting me to do a story?”

  “Are you kidding? This is your big break, Leila. He’s famous. Like, mega-famous. But until that picture of him with you showed up, no one knew where he was. He got into a fight on the field during a pre-season game against the Knights and got suspended for a few games. Then he just disappeared. Fort Collins will be crawling with the media in a day or two, but you’re already there and you know him, so you can get the inside scoop first.”

  “The inside scoop on what?”

  “Why he’s in Fort Collins. What really happened in the spring. Why he and Mack Jones hate each other. Is there really a sex tape, and who’s in it?”

  “A sex tape! Who’s Mack Jones?” I sigh. “You’d better start at the beginning.”

  Thirty minutes later, I hang up with Monica, open my laptop, and look up Knox Beckinsale. I have to see for myself if what everything Monica said about him is true. He’s definitely got that bad-boy aura, and he’d mentioned making some bad choices, but surely it’s not as bad as she’s made it sound.

  But sure enough, it’s all there in black and white. And gorgeous full-color. His face, with that familiar cocky grin that never fails to give me butterflies. His carved, muscular body in the dark blue and white Torpedoes uniform, the pants conforming to hard muscular thighs that have been wrapped around mine. It’s surreal.

  Unfortunately, the headlines confirm everything she said about his checkered past, beginning with a highly-publicized money laundering scheme involving his friend and teammate, LaKendrick Smith, who was represented by Knox’s cousin, a high-powered white-collar criminal attorney named Adam Holder. Although Knox wasn’t indicted, there were rumors that he was somehow mixed up in the scandal, and his cousin’s prominent work on the case caused further speculation that Knox had been entangled in it but Holder had pulled strings to protect his young, superstar cousin. However, that seemed to be the turning point when Knox became noteworthy news and thrust into the media limelight.

  I don’t have to look hard for mentions of him, or photos. He certainly gets around, and there are literally hundreds of photographs showing him living the life of the young, wealthy and famous football star that he apparently is, with a different woman on his arm each time. Knox had been telling the truth when he said he didn’t know any other women like me. The women he dates are all impossibly sensual, gorgeous, and exotic-looking, with a worldly sophistication about them. In other words, nothing like me. My heart hurts a little as I continue reading.

  Just as Monica had said, something had happened in the spring that involved Knox and his former teammate Mack Jones, although the details are sketchy. I feel like there’s a rock in my stomach that just gets heavier as I read.

  New Jersey Torpedoes superstar slot receiver Knox Beckinsale’s career is under increasing strain as the two-time MVP player is charged with breaking and entering former North Carolina Knights teammate Mack Jones’ 10,000-square-foot home last night. The player has pleaded not guilty, saying he had left some personal items at Jones’ residence. Jones denies giving Beckinsale access to his home and
says he intends to press charges. Knights teammates confirm there has been bad blood between the former best friends for a while. The reason for their fallout remains unclear, but the animosity between the two began about the same time that rumors of a sex tape involving the two players surfaced.

  Rumors have persisted about a sex tape involving Beckinsale, Jones, and an unnamed female, but there has been no evidence of a tape, although Jones has alluded to it on more than one occasion. Beckinsale, who according to his coaches and teammates is an extremely talented player, seems intent on ruining what could be a promising career unless he cleans up his act. Just a few months ago, Beckinsale was loosely implicated in a money laundering scheme with another Knight’s teammate, LaKendrick Smith, although charges were never brought against Beckinsale. Interestingly, Beckinsale’s cousin Adam Holder, represented Smith.

  Although I read half a dozen more news articles, there aren’t many more details, only unanswered questions. What caused the dramatic rift between the two former teammates and best friends? Is there a sex tape? If so, who is the mysterious female who spent the night with two NFL players and recorded it? And why hasn’t she leaked it? She could undoubtedly make a fortune.

  I do find out that Knox was ultimately charged with breaking and entering. He wasn’t sentenced to jail time, but he paid a hefty fine and a restraining order was issued prohibiting him from being within five hundred feet of Jones off the football field.

  Then, the first time they’d come face to face on the field during the preseason game, Mack had tackled Knox in what many news accounts say was a dirty hit, injuring Knox’s hip pointer. In retaliation, Knox had decked him on the field, earning him a two-game suspension. The event, and the obvious animosity between the two players, had caused the rumors from the spring to resurface. Once again, Knox Beckinsale is big news, and not in a good way.

  I remember Knox mentioning his bad choices that night at the brewery. He’d probably tell me what happened if I asked, and according to Monica, Cordelia has made it clear an article about Knox would guarantee me a job at the most prestigious magazine in the United States, if not the world. It’s the career opportunity of a lifetime. It’s not like I owe Knox anything; there’s nothing between us beyond incredibly hot sex. But I spend the night tossing and turning, haunted by a vague sense of guilt tinged with regret.

  Chapter Six

  KNOX

  “Fuck!”

  I pull out the thick thorn that’s buried in my thumb and automatically suck on the wound. Rosie’s gardens are a mess, and I’ve spent the last two hours trying to prune and contain the antique roses that have overrun the sadly unkempt flower beds.

  “Want some help with that?”

  I turn at the sound of Leila’s husky voice. Is it already five o’clock? Rosie had insisted I invite Leila over for dinner before we go out tonight, and when I’d mentioned it to Leila she’d eagerly accepted. Of course that means no fooling around for several more hours, and I wonder how Leila’s holding up. She’d been pretty needy yesterday after what was arguably the best phone sex I’ve ever had, even though neither of us got off. I smile to myself. I intend to keep her on edge until I can finally finish what we started yesterday.

  For now, she appears calm, cool, and collected, wearing another one of those short, flirty, little summer dresses she seems to favor that show off her legs and make me instantly start thinking with the wrong head. Today, instead of sandals, she’s wearing a pair of casual wedge heels that somehow make her tanned legs look even longer, and I wonder if ditching dinner is a possibility. She steps closer, and without a word, she grabs my hand and takes my thumb into the wet heat of her mouth, sucking on it gently. Hot damn.

  “You’re going to get that sweet little ass of yours in all kinds of trouble if you keep that up,” I growl.

  She smiles at me coquettishly. “I certainly hope so.”

  I groan, pulling my thumb from her mouth. “I guarantee it. But we have to get through dinner with Rosie first. And I lost track of time. I meant to shower before you got here.”

  “It’s okay. I like you sweaty.” She glances around the yard. “It looks like you have your work cut out for you.”

  “Yeah. It’s something I can do while I’m here to help Rosie out. These gardens used to be beautiful, and I intend to get them back to that point, although in a way that will be easier for her to maintain. I’ve always loved landscape design and getting my hands dirty. It’s hard work, but I enjoy it.”

  She smiles, and if I didn’t know better, I’d think the glitch in my heartbeat was the result of being on the receiving end of it instead of a palpitation from working all afternoon in the dry heat.

  “Tell me what it’s going to look like when you’re finished.”

  I explain my vision for Rosie’s yard and she listens attentively, asking questions from time to time. When Rosie comes outside with two glasses of lemonade and a pointed reminder that we’ll be eating at six thirty, I realize I’ve probably bored her to tears.

  “Sorry,” I say a little sheepishly. “I got carried away.”

  “No! Don’t be sorry. I loved listening to you talk about it. You’re obviously passionate about what you’re doing, and you have some really great ideas. I could totally see everything the way you described it. I can’t wait to see it when you’re finished.”

  She helps Rosie in the kitchen while I shower, and when I come back the two of them are chatting like old friends as they chop fresh vegetables from Rosie’s garden for a salad. Dinner is surprisingly relaxed, and I can tell Rosie likes Leila a lot. After we finish eating, Leila and I insist on helping clean up until Rosie shoos us off, claiming it’s a perfect evening for a walk. Leila’s already out the door and on the porch when Rosie catches my arm, stopping me. “She’s exactly the kind of girl you need, Knox. Don’t mess it up, you hear? Or break her heart.”

  I grab Leila’s hand as we stroll through Rosie’s neighborhood, stopping to admire the charming homes and lushly landscaped lawns in this old, historic part of Fort Collins. Rosie was right; it couldn’t be a more perfect evening for a walk. The air is balmy, and it’s that magical time just before sunset when the sky is painted with a hundred shades of pink and purple swirled together, the outline of the mountains the perfect backdrop. I’ve loved living in Manhattan for the last six months that I’ve played for the Torpedoes—the energy of the place is amazing, and you can find a club or bar open just about anytime day or night—but there’s something calming and serene about Colorado. Or maybe it’s just being with Leila.

  “You’ve never told me what you do work wise,” she says, looking up at me with those big, soulful, blue eyes. “Are you a landscape designer professionally?”

  I take a deep breath, contemplating what to tell her. This is the moment of truth. It’s rare to find someone who has no idea who I am, and it’s been refreshing as hell to be with someone who wants to be with me because I’m me, not because I’m rich, or famous, or a professional football player. I hadn’t realized how jaded and lonely I’d become surrounded by fans and people who just want the fame by association.

  But I knew my ruse would have to come to an end eventually. Someone had recognized me Friday night when Leila and I were at Jax, and although I’d been able to reason with him about protecting my privacy, sealing the deal by giving him my agent’s number and the promise of tickets to a Torpedoes game, I know it’s only a matter of time before the press figures out where I am and starts stalking me. And I’d rather her hear it from me.

  “Actually, I’m a professional football player. I play for the New Jersey Torpedoes.”

  I study her face, watching carefully for her reaction, secretly dreading the mindless adoration that seems to always follow when people find out who I am. But her face doesn’t even register surprise. More like a hint of disappointed resignation, which makes no sense at all. Unless…

  “You already knew that,” I say flatly.

  She sighs heavily. “I didn’t for sur
e until now. I had no idea who you were at all until yesterday, when my friend Monica told me that Knox Beckinsale, the grandson of my nana’s friend, is really Knox Beckinsale the famous football player. She was appalled I had no idea who you were.”

  Fuck. Why am I so happy to hear that? And even happier that she doesn’t sound remotely impressed. If anything, she sounds a little disgruntled about it.

  “Is that a problem?”

  “Well, yeah! What girl wants to go out with a guy who not only has girls falling all over him because he’s gorgeous as hell, but because he’s famous to boot?”

  I laugh at the wonderful absurdity of her statement. “Actually, quite a lot of them.”

  “So you keep telling me,” she says glumly.

  “Hey, I didn’t mean it like that.” I stop and take her in my arms, forcing her gaze to mine with a finger under her chin. “Leila, I love that you don’t care that I’m Knox Beckinsale the football player. I love that you are completely unimpressed by me, and that you consider it your God-given purpose in life to keep me humble and that you never hesitate to call me out when I’m being a cocky bastard.” I lean in, intending to give her a soft, sweet kiss, but one taste of Leila is never enough, and before long my fingers are fisted in her hair and my tongue is exploring her mouth.

  “Get a room.” We pull apart guiltily at the shouted reminder we’re in public. Leila blushes and I salute the guy passing by on his bicycle.

  “So…you think I’m gorgeous as hell?” I shoot her a mischievous grin. I’m not above blatantly angling for a compliment from her.

  “You’ll do,” she says with a smile, dissolving into giggles when I give her a menacing look and throw her over my shoulders, smacking her bottom playfully before spinning her around until we’re both dizzy and she laughingly admits that I am in fact the most gorgeous man on the planet.

  It’s dark by the time we end up at Mugs Coffee Lounge, and as we sit outside at one of the iron tables with steaming mugs of coffee in front of us, I find myself telling her how I ended up side-lined for punching Mack, and consequently in Fort Collins.