Dirty Player (The Dirty Suburbs Book 2)

by Cassie-Ann L. Miller

  I reach up and press my palm to his cheek before my fingers trail down over his heart. He traps my hand in his, holding it to his chest.

  His eyes are fixed on my lips. "I don't want to go," he confesses. His voice is deep and husky now.

  "Then stay..."

  It’s that simple. All he has to do is stay.

  I leave him by the front door and move down the hallway to my bedroom. I shrug out of my coat and drape it over the chair in the corner. I slide open my drawer and take out a box of condoms, leaving them right there on the dresser. I watch in the mirror as his shadow slowly stalks up behind me and enters the dark room. My breathing is ragged as he gathers my hair tightly in his fist. I gasp, aroused and startled by the sting at my roots. He doesn't speak as he uses his other hand to glide my zipper down the curve of my back. His breath is warm and sweet on my neck. One hand stays knotted in my hair, the other digging into my hip. I take a small step back, just to feel my body pressed against his. I feel his erection solid against my spine. My moan echoes off the walls in the quiet room.

  His voice is gravely and strained when he says, "Put your hands on the dresser, Faith." A helpless whimper slides past my lips and I do as I'm told. My body ticks with anticipation, aching to see what he’ll do next. I feel him smile against my neck when reaches around me and slides one sleeve off of my shoulder and then the next. My dress tumbles from my body, landing in a pile at my feet. The cool air in the room tickles my skin. "Bend forward," he rasps. I lean toward the mirror, pressing my ass against him and his hand slides up the inside of my thigh.

  When his fingers skim the edge of my lacy underwear, he knows that I’m ready. I’m wet. I want him. He doesn’t waste any time. He pushes my panties to the side.

  His fingers part my folds as his thumb circles my clit. I mutter helpless sounds into the air and my body keens, desperately seeking release. “Maxwell…”

  He groans into my flesh. “Say my name, baby. Tell me you want me.”

  I close my eyes against the wave of arousal crashing in my bloodstream. “I want you, Maxwell. I want you. Now.”

  He unbuttons his jeans and pushes them halfway down his legs. “You want my cock, baby? You want it in that tight, little cunt?” He presses the crown of his erection against my hungry seam.

  “I want it,” I beg shamelessly. “I want it in my cunt. Please.” I thrust my hips back, the lips of my greedy pussy swallowing the tip of his cock.

  He hisses as his forehead falls to my shoulder and the rest of his movements still. “Faith…” he groans. “Why’d you do that? Shit, that pussy is pure silk. God, I just want to fuck you raw right now. I want it so much it hurts.”

  I smile to myself in the dark. “Shh…” I say, turning to face him. “Let me kiss it better.”

  I drop to my knees in front of him, taking his shaft into my hands. He hisses again when I touch the tip with my tongue. “God, Faith.” I run my tongue along the underside, cupping his balls in my hands.

  I swallow him slowly, sensually, gradually taking the whole length of him into my mouth, down my throat. His eyes close against the pleasure and his hands dig into my scalp. He thrusts against my mouth and I can see his restraint coming apart at the seams as he moves faster, more frantically.

  “Faith!” When his knees wobble and he reaches out to brace the dresser, I know that it’s only a matter of seconds until he explodes. I grab his muscular legs for support and I suck harder, faster.

  My own moans vibrate throughout my body as his sweet, salty desire pours into my mouth. The erotic sounds escaping him probably fill the entire building. Down on my knees in front of him, I stare up at his sculpted figure. It’s dark so I can’t make out his features but I can see the strong lines and sharp chisels of his body as he presses his hands into the dresser, struggling to recuperate.

  He reaches a hand out to me. “Stand up, Faith. Bring that sweet, little body closer to me.”

  I put my hand in his palm together with my heart and my good sense. He helps me rise slowly to my feet. He turns me so that my back is pressed to his hard, warm chest. I melt into his heat, abandoning myself to his touch.

  His right hand moves up my torso to fondle my left breast. His breathing is still ragged as he caresses my tight nipple. His other hand slips between my thighs, dipping into my ready cave.

  “You make me feel so good…” I whisper into the quiet.

  His hand leaves my breast and travels up my neck before cupping my cheek. He angles my face so that I’m looking up at him. We stay like that for a long moment. His eyes are cloaked by the darkness of the room but I can feel him. More than I’ve ever felt anyone.

  “Faith…” he groans. “I love…” His voice trails off, leaving so much hanging in the air.

  He kisses me tenderly, swallowing the words back down. His lips suck on mine, drawing out every silent emotion that’s welling up in my body.

  God, Maxwell – I love you, too.

  He carries me to the bed and fucks me too many times to count. Hours pass as we touch each other and kiss each other and climax together again and again.

  As day breaks, we hold each other. Under the covers, whispering sweet nothings, our moans filling the air. Nobody has ever touched me the way this man does. Nobody has ever known what my body needs. And whether he means to or not, Maxwell Masters has pierced into my soul.

  Chapter 27

  Maxwell

  “Why the fuck did you do this?!”

  The angry roar fills Faith’s apartment, ripping me from my sleep. I bolt upright in the bed, rubbing sleep from my eyes.

  “What are you doing here?” she says frantically in a loud whisper.

  By now, I’m on my feet, yanking my jeans up my legs. “I’m here to find out what the fuck is going on, Faith! I’m here for answers!”

  “You’re fucking crazy! Leave! Now!”

  I button my fly and pull up my zipper as I stride down the short hallway to the front door. Just as I’m rounding the corner, I see Faith grip the edge of the door and try to slam it shut. The shaggy-haired man in the doorway sticks a foot out to stop the door from shutting. Then, he pushes his way inside.

  “Dustin!” Faith screeches as she stumbles into the wall.

  At that moment, I see red. All grogginess and hesitation fall away from me. I launch into motion. I fly past Faith and grab a stunned-looking Dustin by the collar of his jacket. I lift him off his feet and toss him to the ground, readying to stomp his ribs in with my bare feet.

  “Maxwell!” Faith grabs my arm, trying to restrain me. Her terrified eyes instantly make me reconsider my next move.

  “You need to stay out of this, asshole. I know all about you. I’ve looked into you. I’m NYPD.”

  Dustin’s pathetic threats cause me to roar with laughter. “You’re not in N.Y. anymore, Toto. And here in Reyfield, the P.D. tend to take issue with strangers who show uninvited to harass the young women in town.”

  He opens his mouth to protest, but I cut him off. “Look, let’s keep this simple. Stay the fuck away from my woman and stop fucking contacting her. You blew your fucking shot. Move on or I’ll have to unscramble your brains for you.”

  I don’t wait for him to utter another word. I slam the door shut, leaving him lying there on the floor.

  I turn the Faith. She’s visibly shaken by the whole encounter. “You okay?” I ask, bracing her by the shoulders and lowering my face to hers.

  She exhales a ragged breath and throws herself into my arms. “Thank you,” she whispers against my chest as I press my lips to the top of her head. I hate to think of what this dipshit would have done if I hadn’t been here. If I’d gone to Keeland’s last night…I don’t even want to think about it.

  I hold her even tighter. “Shh…It’s okay. He won’t bother you again.”

  Chapter 28

  Maxwell

  “Surprise, motherfucker!”

  I punch Keeland in the shoulder as I kick off my shoes and push past him, stepping into th
e foyer of the house where we spent most of our childhood. My older brother just acquired the house from his father-in-law and became the legal owner of the old shack. Now, he’s in renovation mode. There’s hideous blue plastic covering all the living room furniture and a rolled up carpet leaning against the wall. Boxes of tiles are stacked high next to tins of paint near the kitchen entrance.

  “What’s up with the plaid shirt and construction boots? You a lumberjack or something now?” I joke glancing back at him as I hook my sweater on the coatrack. The cotton blend knit is no match for Reyfield’s frigid temperatures but I wasn’t exactly planning on this trip when I left my house yesterday to drop Faith off at the airport. It sort of just happened.

  He ignores my teasing. “What the fuck, dude?” he says, his jaw hanging open as he follows me into the kitchen. “What are you doing here?”

  I laugh as I slam down the bottle of scotch in my hand onto the kitchen counter. I picked it up at the liquor store on the way over. “I’m home for the holidays. Is this how you greet your guests?” I pull open a cabinet and pull out two tumblers.

  He leans against the counter next to me, feet crossed at the ankles. “Well, excuse me but I’m pretty damn surprised. Your ugly face is the last thing I expected to see when I opened that door.”

  I crack open the liquor and pour a measure into both glasses as I shrug. “Like I said; surprise, motherfucker!” I glance around again. This place is utter chaos. “I hope you have a clean shirt to spare somewhere in this messy ass house of yours because I packed light.”

  Understatement of the year. All I have with me is the shirt on my back.

  “Fuck if I can find anything in this chaotic house,” he laughs gesturing impatiently for me to hand him the scotch. “Upstairs is even more of a mess. Our bedroom…the master bath…the baby’s nursery…” he shakes his head, looking exasperated. “Sammie’s been trying to convince me to hire help. I insisted that I could manage it on my own, but I think I might buckle under the pressure and hire a contractor.”

  “Mr. Fix-It-All,” I snicker. “I see you still have a hard time accepting help.”

  My brother lifts a shoulder before folding his thick arms over his chest. I just shake my head.

  “Where’s your better half, anyway? Sammie’s much better to look at than you are,” I smirk then take a drink. “Where are you hiding her?”

  “You just missed her. She went out to pregnant lady yoga class.” My brother beams. I’ve never seen him as happy as he is now that he’s finally wifed-up his teenage crush and put a bun in her oven. “Her best friend, Isla, is a yoga instructor.”

  That makes me grin. “So, you’re gonna be a dad, huh?”

  He doesn’t even try to conceal his excitement. “I’m gonna be a dad.”

  I’m really happy for my brother but I’m still trying to wrap my head around it all. “Life throws you some unexpected curveballs, huh? Shit you just didn’t see coming.”

  My brother scoffs, swirling the contents of his glass. “Yeah, you mean like you and Faith getting engaged?”

  I spit out a laugh, taken off guard by his humorous comeback. Good one, Keeland! “Oh, so I see that married life has improved your sense of humor.”

  He tosses back his scotch in one gulp. “Wait – where is Faith?” he asks, his forehead crinkling with worry. Or maybe it’s the burn of the scotch making its way down.

  “Relax. I dropped her off outside of her sister’s house before coming over here.” I refill his glass. As soon as I’m done visiting with Keeland, I’m swinging back over there to pick her up. I’m staying with her for the next few days to make sure that her scumbag ex-boyfriend isn’t still lurking around.

  My brother’s face grows serious. “I’ve been trying to reach you for days, Max. What’s this shit about you two being engaged? Mom seems to think that it’s a PR stunt but it’s been all over the internet.” He folds his arms over his chest, his glass hanging loosely between two fingers as he waits for my response.

  I scrub my hand against my scalp. “Yeah…about that…It’s not exactly as it seems…”

  “Explain.”

  “Well, you know the Boomerangs were giving me a hard time about all the trouble I’ve been getting into. I figured that they’d lay off of me if I made Faith pretend to be my fiancée.”

  My brother’s eyes bulge as he slams down his glass on the counter behind him. “Are you fucking serious?”

  I give a sheepish grin as I shrug one shoulder and sip on my drink.

  Keeland is pissed. I can hear it in his voice. "Maxwell! I asked you to help her out, not to blackmail her!"

  I push a hard breath past my lips. “I know. I’m sorry,” I say feeling tension crawl into my shoulders. “It didn’t work anyway. I got cut from the team.”

  I watch as he slaps his hand to his forehead before dragging his palm down the side of his face. “Maxwell…”

  “They’re probably gonna make the announcement soon. I don’t know. I’ve been sort of off the grid these last few days.”

  He pauses and watches me for a moment before speaking again. “I’m really sorry, bro.” He slaps my shoulder.

  “I’m sorry, too,” I say trying not to sound resentful. “But it’s not like I didn’t deserve it. I’ve got to admit, I’ve been an entitled jerk for a long fucking time.”

  My brother puffs out a frustrated breath. “You’ll land on your feet. You’re the best quarterback in the league. Some other team will snatch you up before you know it.”

  Hoping that he’s right, I echo his words. “Yeah, some other team will snatch me up.”

  My brother must sense that I want to change the subject because he says. “So, what happened to your phone anyway? Why couldn’t I reach you?”

  I bite my bottom lip to keep from grinning. “Had a bunch of chicks calling me while I was driving back from Vegas with Faith so I tossed it out the window.”

  He looks at me like I’m crazy. “What the hell is going on with you?” Even as he’s chuckling, I see the concern in his stare.

  I pour myself more scotch just for an excuse to break from his eye contact. “Look, you know I’m not the type of guy to lose my head over some chick, right?”

  He nods slowly. “Right.”

  “I never invest in one woman. I diversify my risk. That’s like the number one rule of investing. Diversify your risk.”

  “Maxwell, what are you saying?” he asks impatiently.

  I look him dead in his silver-blue eyes. “Faith Monroe has got me all in, brother. This girl has got me one hundred percent invested and she doesn’t even know it…and I don’t know what to do about it.”

  Chapter 29

  Faith

  Grace smiles at me with red-rimmed eyes as she pulls me into a tight hug. "Hey – how was New York?"

  Guilt bubbles up in my chest at the question. I kick off my boots and duck into the house, dusting snowflakes out of my hair. I look for a way to stall. “Sebastian the Pooh, there you are!” I coo as I hurry over to the bouncer seat where my nephew is gurgling away as he pokes at the buttons of a scientific calculator. “Look how big you’ve gotten, baby! And even more handsome!” I turn to Gracie, an amused smile dancing on my lips. “What’s up with the calculator? Don’t tell me you’ve got him doing algebra already. The boy isn’t even a year old yet.”

  I barely get a smile out of her. Instead, she wraps her pink terrycloth robe tightly around her waist and pads into the kitchen, her fluffy house slippers slapping the floor with each step. “Oh, that? He thinks it’s a cellphone.” She clicks on the burner under the kettle. “I’m making tea. Want some?”

  “Yes please,” I say as I scoop the baby up into my arms and follow my sister. I settle into a chair at the table, allowing him to sit upright in my lap. “Is it just me or is it…different around here?” I look around, studying the house and trying to put a finger on exactly what has changed since the last time I was here a few weeks ago.

  My sister’s shoulders go t
ense as she pours hot water from the kettle into two mugs. “Different? What do you mean?” The tone of her voice causes an uneasiness to ripple through my body.

  My eyes wander around the room again and that’s when it hits me.

  Daniel’s ratty jogging shoes aren’t sitting at the front door and his legal magazines aren’t on the counter next to the fruit bowl. His favorite coffee mug isn’t sitting in the dish drainer and those super-expensive Italian biscotti that he likes aren’t next to the cookie jar.