“Sweet dreams, babe. Call me if you need me to help you get back to sleep later.” I know she won’t because she considers that a huge imposition and a disruption I don’t need before a big game.
I wouldn’t mind if she woke me up at two a.m. for me to talk to her until she fell back to sleep. She says the dreams feel so real that, when she opens her eyes, she imagines that she’s still the little girl lying between her parents freezing cold bodies.
I blame myself for her night terrors. They didn’t start up again until I moved into her apartment, which is why it’s so important that I keep my shit together and do everything she instructs. She saw her father in me the night she yanked me out of my apartment, and she was worried sick. I can’t let her down.
“I will. Good night, Alex.”
“Night, Charlotte,” I say before clicking the End call button and setting my phone down on the vanity in the bathroom.
Now, I have to figure a way around Mickey’s rules. Because, when I get home, I want to take my girl on a proper date without having to hide our relationship.
Coach
My nightmares are worse without Alex here. Since he left with the team, I wake up, calling out for my father in my sleep, drenched in sweat that mats my hair in chunks to my forehead. Even my skin is sticking to my sheets, the fabric encasing my body like plastic wrap. A scream dies off in my throat once I open my eyes and realize I’m in my bedroom. I blink a few times to make sure.
This is definitely my apartment and not the crummy, run-down housing development where I grew up. The walls are bright white, without a trace of graffiti, and my floors are free of clutter, no syringes, crack pipes, or rolled up pieces of tinfoil left behind from another wild night of partying. To this day, when I see old men smoking a pipe or food packaged in foil, a chill runs through me. Ever since I decided to help Alex, I have relived some of those painful memories each night.
I suck in a deep breath and let it out, trying to focus on getting myself under control. It took me years of therapy and learning how to cope with the loss of my parents to move on with my life and figure out how to start over. For years, I did exactly that and eventually found my place among my peers while I played for Villanova. Basketball was the breath of fresh air I needed after years of life knocking me down, only to have my dreams slip away from me in an instant. A few seconds is all it takes to change a life forever.
I wipe the tears from my eyes, but they keep coming, refusing to let up, as I grip my pillow in my hands and scream into it. Everything hurts. My stomach is in knots. The knives digging into my skull continue to stab harder and faster as I bawl my eyes out. Without Alex here to hold me and take my mind off the past, I doubt it will ever end. I need him, and that scares me almost as much as my dreams.
Moonlight shines through the crack in the curtains behind my bed, providing enough light that I don’t have to feel my way in the dark as I reach over to turn on the lamp on my nightstand. Sitting up, I peel the comforter from my legs and throw it on the floor, still mildly hyperventilating from the jolt of adrenaline running through me, making my heart feel as though it’s jumping out of my chest as my blood pumps faster.
Coach doesn’t need people, but Charlotte does, and right now, that little girl is alone and terrified and missing the shit out of Alex Parker.
How did I let this happen between us?
The clock on the table reads five in the morning, which is better than calling him in the middle of the night, something I’ve refused to do while he’s been away. He needs his rest and focus for the game even though I know he’d sit up with me all night if he had to.
Fumbling for my cell phone, I finally get a grip on it and slide my finger across the screen to open my Contacts. He not only found his way into my heart, but he also made it into my list of Favorites in just a few weeks.
The line rings three times before Alex answers, his voice hoarse and low but also with a hint of concern. “Charlotte, are you okay, sweetheart?”
“I needed to hear your voice,” I whisper as I sink back into the stack of pillows behind me, unable to stop myself from crying. “I miss you, Alex,” I choke out.
“I know, baby. I miss you, too. I’ll be home in two days.”
“I wish you were here.” Using my pillowcase, I dab my eyes and then rest my head on the cotton. “I feel so weak to admit that I need help. This was under control for so long—”
He sighs loudly into the phone, and I can hear him shifting his weight in bed. “I thought the same thing for a long time, Charlotte, but look at what you’ve done for me. Even the best head coaches need a good assistant coach, and the same thing goes for players. Do you think Michael Jordan would’ve accomplished half of what he did without an assist from Scottie Pippen or good defense from Dennis Rodman? Let me be your wingman, Charlotte.”
He always knows how to cheer me up, and working basketball into this conversation just gave him at least another ten more points in my scorebook.
A broad smile tugs at my mouth, and my heart swells from the overwhelming emotion that washes over me. “I think that’s the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me. I’m actually surprised that you didn’t use Gretzky and McSorley. I have to say, I’m impressed with your basketball knowledge. You know that wouldn’t work on most girls.”
He laughs. “That’s because you’re better than most girls. You’re my girl.”
I am Alex Parker’s girlfriend. The idea excites me, yet at the same time, I’m equal parts nervous because Mickey will never approve, and no one can know about us.
Alex
“Thank you for a wonderful dinner,” Charlotte says, her smile so wide, she’s practically glowing. “It’s a good thing you’re sort of famous because even Mickey’s connections couldn’t get us a reservation at Luciano’s on a Saturday night on two hours’ notice.”
“Sort of famous.” I laugh as the elevator doors open to our floor, and I slide my hand behind her back, guiding her off the elevator.
She flashes me a smile, her body pressed against mine, as we walk down the hallway and toward her apartment. “Well, it wasn’t your good looks and winning charm that got us that table, Parker.”
“Watch it, Coach,” I joke. “You’re on thin ice tonight.”
Once we reach her apartment, she sticks the key into the lock and pushes the door open before turning around to face me. “Is that so? What got me in trouble this time?” Placing her hands on her hips, she flashes me a knowing look. Taking a deep breath, she speaks, “Was it my dirty mouth?” She glances down at her tight black dress that is more conservative than what some girls would wear, the hem stopping an inch above her knees. But the top is cut low, her cleavage on perfect display. She pulls her bottom lip down with her finger, locking eyes with me. “Maybe you need to teach Coach a lesson.”
“Jesus, woman.” I step forward, closing the space between us, our bodies only inches apart, the heat radiating off us in waves that prick my skin. “I’m going to fuck you so hard, your pussy—”
Before I can continue, her lips crash against mine, her kisses eager and hungry, and she slips her tongue into my mouth with an animalistic passion I haven’t seen from her before.
Her apartment is already open, so I reach down and grab her ass in my hands, lifting her onto my rock-hard erection as she wraps her long legs around my back. After almost two weeks on the road, I had to get off on the thought of her legs in this very position.
Charlotte hooks her arms around my neck, threading her fingers together, neither of us coming up for air. I want to explore every part of her body, take my time and make her beg me to come, but when I slow down, she speeds up, her kisses becoming angry and more violent. If that’s what she wants, then I have no problem giving it to her.
Dropping her to the floor, I spin her around, shove her up against the wall, and kick the door closed with my foot before spreading her legs open with my knee.
She moans when I massage her breast over her dress, the fa
bric so thin that I can feel her nipple hardening from my touch. As I lean down to kiss her neck, she attempts to turn around, and I pin her hands together, pulling them over her head, and push her up against the wall, like the animal she’s expecting.
“Is this what you want, baby?” I growl into her ear.
“Bad, Parker,” she purrs, looking at me over her shoulder, her eyes seductive and her voice soft. “Using violent force to push a player up against the boards will cost you.” She shoots me a wicked grin and winks. “Five minutes for boarding.”
Hockey and sex, my two favorite things, and now, Charlotte just called out a fucking penalty, as if we were in the middle of our own game. My God, this is hot. In some ways, I guess sex is a game to her because she’s been toying with me for weeks, and I’m more than willing to play.
“Fuck, Charlotte,” I mutter. “Keep it up, baby. I’m so fucking hard right now. How are you going to make me serve my penalty? Are you going to punish me?”
Please say yes.
She nods her head, taunting me as she flicks her tongue across her lips. “Yes, now, take off your pants. You like breaking rules so much, then someone should teach you a lesson to show you that all rules are not meant to be broken.” She’s referring to the rule about not dating clients, something she mentions to me often.
“I like this game,” I say, reaching for the button of my pants.
She spins around to tug at my belt buckle.
She reminds me of a sexy teacher in this dress. I can’t help thinking the biggest turn-on would be for her to go get that whistle she uses to coach basketball and wear only that. I want Coach tonight.
Gripping the leather in her hand, she slips the belt from the loops of my dress pants and pulls it out in one swift motion.
“Are you going to beat me with that, Coach?”
I usually call her Charlotte, so the fact that I’m using her nickname causes her to stop for a second. Now that I have an idea of what’s in that crazy head of hers, I want to use her game to my advantage. Sliding my hand up her thigh, I use the other to pull her into my chest and rock against her.
“Holding!” she says with a smirk already on her lips. “Two more minutes, Parker.”
I love that hockey is turning her on right now because knowing she’s going to continue this charade excites me more than when we had phone sex. When Charlotte steps out of her comfort zone and reveals different layers, an urge deep inside me wants to peel them all back until everything is exposed and there is nothing left between us to hide.
“Go get your whistle,” I growl. “I want you in that and nothing else.”
“Tonight, I make the rules, and you follow them, got it?”
I lick my lips. “Whatever you say, Coach.”
My dick is so hard, I’m in physical agony from it pressing up against my pants. I wonder if I will even last long enough to satisfy her, especially since she’s the only girl I’ve had sex with since the trade and my hand has not been cutting it lately.
But she must like the idea because she bends over to where her purse fell on the floor while we were kissing, giving me a spectacular view of her ass. She extracts the whistle and lowers it over her head. She raises the whistle to her lips and lets it sit there, looking up at me beneath her brows, but she doesn’t blow on it.
“I could make better use of that mouth. C’mere, baby,” I say, moving my index finger to call her forward.
She wants to be in control just as much as she likes submitting to me, and she does as I commanded, the whistle falling from her mouth and situating between her breasts.
Sliding her dress further up her legs and over her hips, I tug at the thin lace panties so hard that I hear them rip. The material falls to the side, exposing her delicious skin, and I want to have a taste.
“Take them off,” I order.
“Like this?” she says, taking her time and giving me the slowest strip tease ever just to torture me.
As her panties fall to her ankles, she steps out of them and shoves them behind herself with her foot. In a pair of red high heels that place her at around the same height as me, she takes them off so that I have a few inches on her.
I need to have her now. The thought of consuming her, devouring every part of her body, makes my pulse speed up and my heart race. So much adrenaline rushes through my body from the high that Charlotte provides me. It’s been so easy to kick drinking and partying when I am replacing those lonely and pathetic moments with Charlotte.
As my hand travels further up her thigh, she spreads her legs wider, and I slip two fingers inside her, plunging them so deep that she moans and falls forward, holding on to my chest as I move faster.
“More,” she demands, clutching on to my biceps to keep steady.
I withdraw my fingers, only to add another one, and continue to fuck her slick pussy. She rests her forehead on my shoulder, moaning and screaming my name, as she clamps down on my fingers, her body trembling as she orgasms. I waited far too long to hear her come for me, and I have no plan to stop anytime soon.
“Take your dress off,” I instruct. Then, I suck her juices from my fingers.
“Make me,” she challenges as she starts walking toward the kitchen.
No way am I letting her walk away from me, not until I am done with her. She wanted to play a game; let’s play a fucking game then.
I reach for her, and she steps to the side, but I get a firm grip on her hip and then grab the other side, her backside slamming into my erection. As she leans forward to wiggle free from me, she fails miserably with the vise grip I have one her. She gives in, placing her palms on the dividing wall that separates the kitchen from the entryway. She turns her head to the side, allowing me better access to her neck as I leave a trail of kisses on her soft skin.
“Take it off,” I say in a harsh and demanding tone.
She wanted to see this side of me. Well, she got it.
After she yanks the dress over her head, I unhook her bra and slide the straps down her arms. While I massage her breast and pinch her nipple between my fingers, feeling the tiny bud harden from my touch, she reaches behind herself to feel my erection over my pants. Fumbling with the button of my slacks, I pop it open, pull down the zipper, and push my pants and boxers to the floor.
There’s no time to remove my shoes or discard my clothes before she swings around, taking my cock in her hand. She gives it a few hard strokes as she sinks to her knees. As she positions me in front of her mouth, her lips part slowly, and she sticks out her tongue to lick the tip, her languid movements driving me crazy.
I rub my thumb across her cheek when she stops.
I’m two seconds from begging her to continue when she says, “What do you think your punishment should be, Parker?”
Of course she waits until after she comes to flip back to being Coach instead of the submissive girl who practically begged me to finger her pussy.
“I don’t know.” I run my fingers through her hair and to the back of her head, guiding her mouth.
“I want you to beg,” she says, loosening her grip on my cock.
It feels too good not to beg.
“Please,” I say.
She rewards me with a kiss, her tongue gliding over my sensitive skin, but she continues to taunt and bait me into whatever game we’re still playing.
I thought we were done with that after I made her come, only to find out she plans to torture me—preferably before my dick chokes to death from lack of oxygen.
“Coach,” I grunt because I know that’s the name she wants to hear, “can you help my player out before he ends up on the injured reserve?”
That comment gets me a wide grin that reaches up to her eyes, and before I have to embarrass myself further, she leans forward and takes my entire length in her mouth, not stopping until I can feel the back of her throat.
“Damn, woman,” I croak as her pace quickens, her hand and mouth moving in a harmonious rhythm.
Like Charlotte, some th
ings are worth the wait, and this is one of them…until she stops moving. I’m so close to finding my release. I think she’s trying to kill me with her sadistic ways, deriving pleasure from my pain.
She looks up at me, her hand still wrapped around me, and says, “How do you want to come?”
At first, I’m confused until I realize, this is all part of her game, which is why I choose the opposite of what I want—although I’d rather have both. “In your mouth.”
Rising to her feet, she slides her hand beneath my navy button-down shirt, her hand navigating every ridge of my muscles. “This needs to go along with the rest of your clothes,” she says, now standing, “and then you’re going to fuck me hard and good until you’ve worked off all your indiscretions.”
The way she speaks to me might make some men feel a little emasculated, but dirty talk from Charlotte is so unexpected that I wish she’d keep this up. I could get used to seeing this side of her in the bedroom more often. But, now, it’s my turn to take control of this situation and show her who’s in charge by fucking the smirk from her beautiful face.
I remove my clothes in record time, throwing my shoes and shirt and kicking off my pants and boxers. She points at the kitchen island, completely free of clutter and debris, unlike my apartment, and there are no words required because I know what she wants. I kiss her violently and with every ounce of passion that she expects, threading my fingers through her hair and pushing her into the counter.
Breaking away from her lips, I hold up my finger for her to wait, and I lift my pants from the floor to fish a condom from my wallet. By the time I’ve rolled it down my length, Charlotte is already bent over the kitchen island, her palms flat on the marble, as she assumes the position.
Grasping her by the waist, I accidentally poke her in the ass, and she calls out, “Spearing! You’re a very bad boy, Parker. You stabbed another player with your stick.”
Parker (Face-Off Series Book 1) Page 15
