Night Games (The Storm Inside #6)

by Alexis Anne

  “But why?” And then he softened, cupping my face and running his fingers into my hair.

  “Can’t I just find you unbearably attractive? Does it have to be anything more?”

  “You find me unbearably attractive?” He dipped down and kissed my cheek, then down my throat. “I find you unbearably attractive too, so I get that part.” His breath came hot and heavy against my skin. “But why do you keep treating me like a problem you need to get rid of?”

  “Because that’s exactly what you are.”

  He froze.

  I hurried on. “Ever since I first heard about you,” I sighed and looked away. “Well, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you and it’s pissing me off. When I learned we had mutual friends I was hoping we would meet so I could get you out of my system.”

  There. Brutal honesty.

  Embarrassing honesty, but honesty.

  I glanced back and found him grinning. “I’m under your skin, Doc?”

  I rolled my eyes. The last thing this guy needed was me inflating his ego. “You’re a hot guy who is actually pretty funny and charming. It’s your own fault for having a YouTube channel.”

  His grin grew and his eyes started that damned dancing again. It was infuriating how attractive he was in person. “Thank you. And I apologize. I jumped to conclusions.”

  I shrugged. He probably had women throwing themselves at him all the time. It was silly of me to not realize that it came with its own set of problems. “I get it.”

  What I wouldn’t tell him was that I understood all of it. When he brought up the assumptions I faced day in and day out, it hit me hard that he understood that.

  “But what I don’t get is why having me under your skin is pissing you off.” He resumed his kissing and massaging of my legs, hooking them around his waist so he could grind against me.

  My head fell back and all I wanted to do was get lost. Talking complicated things. It wasn’t what I was here for. And yet. . .

  “My life is my work. I don’t have time to waste on daydreaming.” He nipped my earlobe and I gasped. “Even if those daydreams have a fantastic body.”

  He lifted me off the desk and stripped off my dress. “Says the woman with a drop-dead gorgeous body of her own. You’re killing me, Doc. These curves are sinful.” He ran his hand over the outside of my breasts, down my waist, stopping on my hip, leaving a trail of longing in his wake because it wasn’t nearly enough. I wanted him to touch me over and over again.

  “That’s why I have fun with my down time,” he whispered in my ear. “Baseball is a game, but it’s my life. When I’m off the field I need to relax because I spend so much of every day focused on one thing.”

  “You can focus on me for the next hour.”

  He didn’t say anything to that, which I thought was strange considering how chatty he’d been up to this point. Instead he slowly unbuttoned his shirt and stripped out of his pants, casting everything to the side.

  His body was everything I hoped it would be. A body designed and honed to run as close to perfection as possible. I let myself enjoy soaking up every inch of his frame. The human body wasn’t just a superficial thing to me. It was muscles, ligaments, bones, and cartilage working together. When I got to enjoy a body so perfectly physically formed, I took it.

  And Wes Allen was most definitely perfection.

  He stepped into me, reaching between us to find my clit. “You think I’m funny, huh?”

  As his hand moved in a slow, insistent circle, I forgot about everything but him. “I like the way you make people smile.”

  His hand paused, then he dragged his scruff along my jaw until we were nose to nose. “That is the nicest compliment I’ve had in a long, long time.”

  My heart beat in triple time. “What was it you said earlier? We should celebrate life more? Well, making people smile is a rare gift, Wes. I certainly can’t do it.”

  “I haven’t stopped smiling since I laid eyes on you.”

  And now my heart stopped all together. I never made anyone smile. That’s not what I did. I fixed their torn knees and elbows. I was a shoulder to cry on for a few special people. That was it.

  “What’s that look for, Doc?” He began those slow circles again, backing me toward the desk.

  “What look?”

  “The surprised one.”

  I schooled my features. “I’m not surprised.”

  “Yes you are.” He dropped to his knees and lifted my left leg over his shoulder. I automatically reached back and braced myself against the edge of the desk.

  “I’m not.”

  He stopped, his lips a fraction of an inch from kissing me there. “Oh, there you go lying to me again. These games of yours need to stop.” Then he finally kissed me, lighting me up from the inside. He swirled and sucked until I was panting, then stopped. “I think you’ll find—if we spend any more time together with our mutual friends—that I’m a pretty perceptive guy.”

  And oh, so good with the female anatomy. He wasn’t kidding when he said he knew a few ways to bring on an orgasm. Not to be overly technical, but he was kind of an expert at finding and stimulating my clitoris.

  “Which is why,” he said, looking up at me as his fingers began to dance along my folds, “I knew right away I wanted to get to know you, Dr. Carrie Anne Walker.” He slid a finger just barely inside me, teasing and testing.

  My hips bucked forward, searching for more. “What does that mean?”

  “That you’re interesting.”

  Now that was a compliment I’d never heard before, and most likely not a line. He reached for his pants and found a condom, sheathing himself before he stood in front of me. “Are you ready for me, Carrie?”

  Physically, I was so ready for him. Mentally? I didn’t know if I’d ever be prepared for someone like him. I had the very strange feeling that he wasn’t going to be satisfied with a simple, quick shag in an office.

  “I’m ready for you.” I sat on the edge of the desk and watched as he positioned himself at my entrance. He was. . . large. Thick and long. He probably didn’t need a ton of skill with that much anatomy at his disposal, and yet he’d taken the time to learn how to turn on women with his mouth.

  The muscles in his neck and shoulder flexed as he restrained himself. “And here I thought I was just going out for drinks with the guys. I did not see you coming.”

  He probably hadn’t even seen the guys. I’d captured him instead. Stolen him away so I could use him for my own pleasure. That was how I operated. I found a goal, made a plan, and executed until I succeeded. It didn’t even occur to me that this might be a terrible idea. He’d come willingly, though under protest. Not that I really heard it. Not until much, much later.

  “Are you complaining?” I asked.

  His jaw flexed and his eyes rolled back in his head as he pushed inside, stretching me and taking my breath away.

  “No, Doc. I am most definitely not complaining about getting the beautiful woman. Just surprised is all.”

  He pushed deeper, so thick it nearly blinded me. I closed my eyes and concentrated on staying relaxed. Tensing up would only make this harder on both of us.

  “Surprised women want you? Now who’s lying?”

  He took my mouth. Kissed me hard at the same time he surged deeper with his cock. “Oh, yes!” I called out when he pulled back. The push and pull. The constant change was a lot to handle.

  “Surprised you wanted me.” He was panting now, thrusting harder, deeper.

  I lifted off the desk, holding myself up by my hands, giving him full access to pump into me. He took my cue and grabbed onto my hips, plunging deep.

  “Oh god!” I cried out. Every muscle tensing, seeking friction, wanting more.

  Suddenly I was airborne in his arms as he walked me to the wall. “I need more leverage,” he gritted out as my back hit the wall. He pumped into me over and over, burying his face between my breasts. “May I?”

  How was this a question at this poin
t? We were already having sex. “Please.”

  He slowed his pace as he nuzzled my nipple, then gently sucked. I bucked against him as a current shot from my nipple to the place where his cock was buried deep.

  Leverage. We definitely needed more leverage.

  Knock, knock, knock. “Wes? Are you in there?” It was a man’s voice.

  Wes’s eyes shot to mine, wide with surprise. “Yes. Why?”

  “Is Carrie with you?”

  This time it was my eyes that went wide. “Who is that?” I whispered.

  His eyebrows rose up in this cute little mischievous way. “Roman.”

  “Carrie!” June yelled.

  “Who’s that?” he asked.

  “June,” I hissed.

  We shared a look that said we both knew those two needed to be doing what we were doing.

  “I’m here,” I yelled. Wes pumped into me again and I let my head fall back against the wall. “We’ll be out in a few minutes.” Or however long it took to find our orgasms—and not a moment before.

  “Is the floor too hard?” he asked, his voice strained.

  Good. He was feeling it too.

  “I think so. Desk? If I lie down?”

  “Yes!” And suddenly I was moving through the air again. He held me tight against him as he lifted the laptop off the desk and laid me out. “Brilliant idea.”

  I loved the smile on his face, the light in his eyes, and that he was up for anything. Where had he been my whole life?

  Wait. No. Scratch that. That thought never popped into my head.

  Dammit. Except that it had.

  I also loved the way he surged against me with enthusiasm. My core pulsed with each stroke, my orgasm building quickly. He was going to make me come and I was going to make him come. A perfect quickie. I should be happy. I’d accomplished exactly what I came to do.

  Except that I hadn’t at all. Wes Allen wasn’t out of my system. Not by a long shot. The more time I spent around him the more time I wanted to spend around him. Like this. Bantering. Seeing him smile.

  Fuck.

  He leaned forward, planting his hands on either side of me. “You feel good. You feel, really, really good.”

  “So do you.” So did the muscles in his back and shoulders, not to mention the way his ass flexed as he fucked me. One might even say he felt too good.

  And that someone would be me.

  Which was a perfect example of how wrong I was thinking. I shouldn’t be fucking him out of my system. Not when he was this good in a tricky space and limited time. Any other woman would be jumping for joy that she’d found the sex unicorn.

  But that meant keeping him around.

  So it was a tricky situation to say the least.

  Not that I had time to think about it as he bucked into me harder with each stroke until I came around him, the orgasm lighting me up until, for one brief moment, I felt genuinely relaxed.

  Damn. Wes Allen was magic.

  He collapsed on top of me panting and looking every bit as satisfied. “Doc. Wow. That was amazing.”

  “Tell me you really do know a dozen other ways to make me come.”

  He laughed between hard breaths. “Does that mean you want to do this again sometime?”

  “Hell yes!” What was wrong with me? This was not the plan. Not the plan!

  “Good.” He kissed me once, hard on the lips, and pulled out. “Then I did exactly what I was hoping to do.”

  “And what was that?”

  That mischievous grin was back and it was starting to turn me on a little more every time he did it. “Win you over to the dark side.” He winked. “Come have fun with me. Next weekend. Please?”

  7

  Wes, present day

  Truth be told, I really liked getting dressed up for a night out. My pop would say it was pathetic, but I loved clothes, shoes, shiny watches, and melting panties off of women who thought well-dressed men were hot.

  But tonight? Well, there was only one woman whose panties I wanted to melt and I knew exactly what she liked. I was dressed in head-to-toe Armani—her favorite. She always said the clean lines and trim cuts complimented my long frame and made me look like James Bond could play ball.

  I didn’t go overboard though. This wasn’t a full suit kind of shindig. I wore a crisp white dress shirt that had been specially tailored to fit my wide shoulders, and a pair of light grey trousers. My black belt matched my shoes and three thousand dollar watch.

  “You’re trying too hard,” Zoe hissed in my ear.

  “I haven’t done anything.” We were standing in the driveway waiting for the bride and groom to arrive. We all held sparklers and lighters.

  “You’re wearing the sexy outfit.”

  “Zoe . . . ” I cocked an eyebrow.

  She rolled her eyes. “It’s an observation. Anytime you want to make sure you have Carrie’s undivided attention you wear Armani. You’re wearing Armani. You might as well be wearing a neon sign.”

  Good. Then she’d get the message loud and clear. “I don’t see what the problem is. I’ve let her know that I care and I’m giving her space.”

  Zoe just looked me up and down like I was nuts and lit her sparkler. “You better not cause any trouble. This isn’t your night.”

  Did she really think I needed a reminder? I cared about Roman and June too much to ruin this.

  So I lit my sparkler and handed the lighter off to my former teammate, Erik Cassidy.

  “You’re making me look bad,” he said.

  “How so?”

  “I’m over here in regular old clothes and you’re over there in designer.” Erik was one of those steady guys—like Roman but even more serious. I had never been able to drag him into one of my videos or crazy plans. He watched. He helped when things got out of control. But he never participated. He was so steady that it was as obvious as a spotlight on a dark stage that he was nervous.

  “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I think you look good.”

  Erik cringed. “This never happened.”

  I shrugged. I had zero boundaries. I was very confident in my manhood and could give no fucks about whether I was complimenting a guy or a lady or a dog. Compliments were compliments and everyone deserved one. “What’s got you so worked up?”

  His eyes darted past me.

  To Zoe?

  Really?

  Now that was interesting.

  “Nothing, man,” he said instead of giving me the honest answer. “I just feel weird when I’m not in uniform.”

  And wasn’t that the truth of it? We spent so much time in cleats and clay that the clothes felt apart of us. But unlike Erik, I really enjoyed the change. “Get ready to party.”

  The car pulled up and the bride and groom jumped out. Roman’s eyes were wide with shock and the massive grin on his face broadcast to everyone loud and clear that he was as happy as a man could get.

  Then I stupidly took a chance and glanced at the woman I loved. The expression on her face just about killed me. Her entire body was rigid. The smile on her face was so fucking forced. And her eyes . . . that was the killer. They were cold in a sad way. Like she wasn’t feeling a damn thing inside.

  She faked it well enough that June in all her giddy newlywed excitement only hesitated and cocked her head to the side, silently asking Carrie what was up. Carrie smiled even bigger and faker, brushing her off, telling her to go have fun.

  I understood now why Zoe warned me off. Carrie wasn’t pissed or mad. No, what she was experiencing was a whole other level of misery and I didn’t understand why.

  What I did understand was that watching that brief interaction had done something to me. Like a little sliver of ice had been carefully inserted into my heart. The shock was breathtaking but the slow creep as that ice slid into my veins and worked its way out to my limbs hurt in ways I’d forgotten you could feel from your own emotions running wild.

  I needed to tread carefully and I needed to learn why our unexpected marriage was
causing her so much pain.

  “Drink?” Erik asked as the crowd moved into the house.

  “I’ll meet you there.” I might be giving her the room she needs but that didn’t mean I couldn’t make sure she got inside safely. I moved off toward the garage and tried to look busy with my phone.

  The voices around me dimmed into a hum so I took a chance and glanced up—and found Carrie giving me the stink eye. I tried to shrug it off but she didn’t buy it and instead of escaping inside, she marched over and stopped in front of me, hands on her hips and fire in her eyes that matched the red on her lips.

  “Are you waiting for me?”

  I had a choice. I could play this super safe and insist I needed the space to answer a very important text or I could be dangerous and push her buttons.

  “Yes.” Let’s face it. This is who I was. I was the man who played with fire. I always had been and I always would be. I really didn’t know how else to live, even if my brain was screaming at me to slow my roll. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

  Her eyes narrowed in that way I knew all too well. She was imagining kicking me in the balls. I grew up with three girl cousins two houses down. They were like my sisters. And I earned that exact look more times that I could count.

  Shit.

  “Do I look like the kind of woman who needs anyone to take care of me?”

  Whoa. That was a very specific and very uncalled for statement. Which normally would have set me on my heels vying for a way out of a very bad situation, but in this case I was excited.

  “Absolutely not. It is basic decency to make sure the people you care about are safely inside an event. It’s called manners and while I lack a great deal of other social skills, manners are one of the few things my pop managed to beat into my head.”

  She blinked, looking a little shocked. “Well, I’m fine.”

  And I was feeling smug. Based on the way she was flailing for a way to reply, I’d managed to hit on more than few interesting points. For one, she was surprised to hear I cared. Because she cared. And she cared that I care.