Coming down off of a win always sucked. The thrill faded and the adrenaline subsided far too quickly, leaving me searching for other ways to fulfill my lust for the rush.
Not many other things in this world could equal the same kind of buzz I got when scoring on the field, but one of them came pretty damn close.
I loved chasing women.
Actually, I loved what I got to do with the women after I caught them. The chase was just part of the game they liked to play. I called it a game because they all wanted to be caught. They just liked to play a little hard to get.
I had yet to find a woman who could be honest and up front about what she wanted. They liked to think they were going to be the one to finally snag the infamous Crawford Hawkins. I let them believe whatever crazy fairytales they drummed up, when in reality I just wanted to fuck.
I was a sex junkie. I never denied it.
All of my time off the field was spent getting wasted or getting my freak on. My agent, Savannah James, hated it and advised me quite regularly that I shouldn't be so free with the dick, but it was a part of who I was. If I saw a woman in need, then I felt like it was my duty to help her out.
Savannah said I was her biggest pain in the ass and that was saying something. She represented some pretty big douches, but their antics were preschool compared to mine.
My reputation started in high school. I was caught under the bleachers by the school principal fucking a hot ass redhead that just so happened to also be my biology teacher.
Twice.
Yeah.
That didn't end so well, but it fueled my reputation. A reputation I was proud of.
Playboy.
Asshole.
I'd been called it all. There was a time I used to let it bother me, but those times had long since passed.
There was no reason to change. Why should I?
I intended to die in the throes of passion when I was eighty with a twenty-something little minx. A bachelor until the day I died.
Some men liked to play the field until they found someone they thought they could settle down with and spend the rest of their lives with. Five years in, they realized it wasn’t what they wanted and then decided to bail, leaving the woman at home to raise a baby with no money and no help. I refused to be one of those men.
Marriage is a joke.
And I don’t get the punch line.
At least the way I’d done things had always been upfront. Women knew what they were getting when they decided they wanted a night with me. It was never more than sex. And it sure as hell was never less. I played football like a rock star and fucked even better.
The DC Sharks were creatures of habit. We ate in the same restaurants. Drank in the same bars. Chased ass in the same clubs. Call us territorial bastards, but we liked to stake out our grounds.
As I walked into Catch, I was hit with the familiarity of a place I had spent practically every night after a big win.
The succulent smell of perfume and sex hit my nostrils. I breathed in deep, feeling my cock stir in my pants. Somewhere in a dark corner I heard the sounds of pleasure and my dick hardened. I fucking loved this place.
I made my way to my usual table and waited for the rest of the guys. I thought I would be the last one. The press conference with Coach was short and sweet. I wasn’t much for reporter questions. We won. What was there to talk about?
A cute little waitress saddled up to the table within moments. She looked young and innocent. Her uniform fit like a glove, tight in all the right places. Her breasts were pushed together, bobbing over the edge of her shirt. I could almost envision her on her knees with her mouth wrapped around my cock. My hands fisted tight in her pig tails while I fucked her mouth. It was as if this moment was supposed to happen—this girl was meant to help me celebrate my win.
She nervously tucked her hair behind her ear. “H-hi. Can I get you something to drink?” she asked.
I leaned forward. I’d never seen her here before. She looked out of place. Almost too good for Catch. Too good to serve me. It was the lightness in her eyes and the way her blond hair fell over her shoulders in waves. She was a good girl.
“A couple of beers,” I answered. My eyes trailed her throat. Damn, she was gorgeous.
She scribbled down my order on her waitress pad. “Anything else?” she asked.
“I guess you’re new here?”
She chewed her bottom lip. Damn, her nervousness was even sexy. “It’s that obvious?”
“Not many girls write down two beers.” I chuckled.
Her eyes fell to the floor. Shit.
“Sorry.” Her voice was soft and apologetic.
“No need.” I grinned. “I think you’re doing a fine job.”
Before I could tell her what else she could do for me, she turned and darted off toward the bar for my beers.
“She’s hot,” Joe said, slapping my back as he walked up behind me.
He caught me staring through her clothes as if I had X-ray vision.
“No shit,” I snorted. I wanted him to know I had first dibs on her.
He turned the chair next to me, straddling it. “You asshole. You always get the best ones," he said, punching my shoulder. I grinned and nodded, knowing it was true.
Maybe the guys deferred because I was the quarterback, or maybe it was because I had established how things worked on the team. I really didn’t care as long as they understood the system. I always walked out of here with the girl I wanted.
“Sorry, man. Did you see those fucking tits?” I shrugged my shoulders.
“You’d have to be blind to miss them,” he replied, studying her ass while she cleaned the table next to ours. “How’d you beat me here?”
My attention was on the girl. She was flustered. She knocked over a chair on her way back to the bar. The bartender scowled at her and said something out of the corner of his mouth. I didn’t like the fucking way he talked to the girls here. And something about this one pissed me off even more.
“Crawford? Man, did you hear me?”
“Yeah. Yeah. I took a cab.” I didn’t look at him.
She quickly came back with our drinks. I could tell she was concentrating on the tray so she didn’t spill them. As soon as the frosted mugs were out of her hands, I grabbed her wrist, pulling her onto my lap. It was instinct. Need. Drive to touch her that overtook me.
Her eyes widened with alarm. “W-what are you doing?”
I wrapped my arms around her waist. She smelled like fucking heaven. Everything about her was subtle and intoxicating.
“Seriously, I can't afford to get fired. Please let me get back to work.” She wrestled my arm away from her hips and took a step back.
“Just a moment, darlin’,” I replied. I wanted to pull her back into my lap. Inhale her. Kiss her.
“If it’s about the order, then tell me.” She set her eyes on me. I saw the resolve there. The strength to stand up for herself.
“Damn,” I muttered to myself, but I wasn’t entirely sure she didn’t hear me. Another vice of mine—I said whatever was on my mind. And right now it was this girl.
“No, the beers are fine.” I picked mine up and took a swallow to prove a point. It wasn’t the beer I wanted. It was her.
“Ok, then I’ll check back with you soon.” She turned to go.
“Wait, you have a name?”
She swiveled on her heels, then pinched her lips together as if she were deciding what name to give me. “Mia.”
“Nice to meet you Mia.” I held out my hand to touch hers. “Crawford. And this is my buddy Joe.”
Joe grimaced. “Don’t buy his lines, darlin’. We call him Hawk for a reason.”
I gritted my teeth. “You call me Hawk because my last name is Hawkins.”
“Oh, ok, so which is it? Crawford or Hawk?” she asked.
I grinned. “I’ll let you choose.”
Her eyes fell to the floor again. “I’ll be back to check on your beers.”
Before I could keep her at the table for another round of sparring she wedged herself between an oncoming party and disappeared.
“Fuck,” I whispered. There was a certain thump under my ribs. Women were my vice. And for a quick second I thought that one had the potential to kill me.
“Looks like we’re going to be here all night ordering drinks.” Joe laughed, watching her retreat into the darkness of the bar.
I touched the glass to my lips, seeking the poison to fill my veins with the kind of speed and power I needed.
I placed the empty glass on the table. “I'm trying to behave for Savannah. She's always busting my balls for drinking too much and being seen with too many different women.”
“Tonight’s not going to help your case.”
I shook my head. “No, it’s not.” I searched the few tables for any signs of Mia.
Joe kept talking. “Kenny is the same way. Always trying to be my daddy. What’s the deal with these damn agents?”
I shrugged. My attention was somewhere else tonight.
I spotted a familiar face coming from the bar and I smiled. I stood, meeting him at the table with a warm hug. He slapped me on the back a few times before pulling up a chair.
“It’s good to see you, Pops.”
“You too, son.”
Pops was my neighbor growing up. He taught me all about women and was the epitome of what a ladies’ man should be. I probably shouldn’t have taken his lessons so literally, but as a young kid without a dad, he was like a god, especially with women.
“How have you been, Crawford? It's been a while. How’s life at the top of the food chain?” he asked with a wink.
“Not bad. Sharks are two weeks from the playoffs.”
He nodded. “I know. I never miss one of your games.”
My stomach clenched. I was so used to doing my own thing, I forgot there were people out there who remembered when I was a kid. When I didn’t have shit for parents. Pops, who watched me on television, like a dad watching his son.
“Just a game away,” I repeated. I looked around for Mia. We needed another round.
“I tried to get to one earlier this season, but $400 a ticket is too rich for my blood.”
I stared at the man who had tried to replace the biggest void a boy could have in his life. He stepped in when no one else tried. “If you want tickets, you’ve got them.”
“No. No. You don’t have to do that.”
“Fuck if I don’t. You’re going to the next game. Family box.” I eyed him. “No arguments.”
He was getting ready to say something when the hot waitress appeared.
Pops smiled at her. He saw what I did. What every hot-blooded man in this bar saw. She was sexy as hell.
“There you are.” I winked.
The blush on her cheeks traveled down her throat to the tops of her breasts. Fuck.
“Did you want another round?” she asked, clearly bothered by the attention.
I held her eyes for a moment, nodding but not answering. I definitely had found my mark for the night. I just needed to know if she was up for it.
“Three more.” I held up my fingers.
“All right. Anything else?”
I closed my eyes and imagined everything I would do to her. My hand reached out gently, caressing hers as she turned toward the bar. I heard a sharp intake of air and I had my answer.
Two
Mia
I wiped my forehead with the back of my hand, waiting at the side of the bar for the last drink order.
“Three beers for you, sweetheart.”
“Thanks, Hal.”
I placed each beer on the tray and lifted it carefully from the surface. All I had to do was drop these drinks off at the table and I could walk away.
I didn’t have to look at Mister-six-foot-five-sex-on-a-stick. I certainly didn’t have to flirt with him. And like hell if I had to let him keep touching me, no matter how much I liked it. I straightened my shoulders.
As soon as those football players walked in tonight, the other waitresses started fighting over who got to serve them. But the bar was divided into sections, and they sat in mine. Mine. As if I had some kind of ownership over Crawford Hawkins.
I took a big breath and walked steadily to the table.
“Here you go.” I served each beer.
I jumped when I felt a hand palm my ass. My instinct was to slap it away, but I froze, absorbing the way he touched me. What in the hell was I doing?
“I’ll check on you gentlemen in a few minutes.” I tried to exit the table, but his fingers dug in a little harder. A little deeper and I almost let out a groan. Holy shit.
I wanted to say or do something, but didn’t know how or what just yet. My brain said one thing, and my body said something totally different.
I needed space. Air. A place to breathe. I knew that much. I bolted from the table and found a quiet place in the back hallway on the other side of the storage room. There was a screen door that led to the employee parking lot. I leaned against the wall and tried to steady my breathing.
My first night. The very first night here and I was acting like a drunk college girl being hit on by the school’s quarterback. I had to get my shit together.
I tensed when I heard the sound of boots cross past the employees only boundary. His shadow made it around the corner before I saw him. The only light came from the storage room. His face was dark. His body towered over mine.
“Hey.”
He pressed his hand into the wood over my shoulder, closing the gap between us. I placed my hands against his chest like I was going to push him away, but I didn’t. I couldn’t.
“Hi,” I whispered.
I didn’t know what was happening. I could smell the beer on his breath and faint traces of cologne from his shirt.
“What are you doing back here?” he asked.
I hadn’t been able to look him in the eyes all night. Too much lust and hunger was buried there, but I took a chance. As soon as I did, I knew it was a mistake. He wanted to devour me. Now.
“I needed a break,” I whispered.
“Break from what?” he teased. His body leaned into mine and I sighed. He was a solid mass of muscle and strength.
I knew exactly what I wanted to hear from him. Some kind of reassurance that he wasn’t the man I had read about. That the fact that he had followed me back to the private hallway meant he didn’t think of me like he did the rest of the bimbos that worked here. I wanted something that I knew Crawford Hawkins wasn’t capable of giving me. So why didn’t I get the hell out of this shadow?
“What is it exactly that you want from me?” I asked, my voice raspy with nervousness.
His lips brushed over mine without touching my skin. “I wanted to see if I was right.”
My heart pounded. Thank God there was blaring music and a bar full of people celebrating the Sharks’ win or he would hear what he was doing to me.
“Right about what?”
“How wet you are.”
My eyes grew wide as I drew a ragged breath.
Before I could return his blatant presumption with a smartass comment, he ran his fingers over my lips and slowly dragged them down between my breasts. I sighed with lust. So much fucking lust. He stopped just shy of the waistband of my cutoffs and wrapped my other arm around his waist.
“H-how…” I squeaked out as his fingers slipped under the hem of my shorts.
Even in the dark I could see his perfect sexy grin.
“Nice. Cotton panties? That's a first. Usually women have lace or nothing at all.”
I could barely control my breathing. “I’m not your type.” And I wasn’t. I’d never done anything close to this before. Why was I doing it now?
“Oh darllin’. I don’t doubt that, but I don’t need a perfect compatibility match for what I want to do to you.”
“What do you want to do?” I wanted to hear him say it. I wanted to know.
“Fuck you. I want to fuck y
ou. Hard,” he whispered in my ear, and I could feel the sudden wetness between my legs. My breathing was erratic and the only way I could keep my knees from buckling was to squeeze his arms as tightly as I could.
“You always get what you want?” I asked, knowing the answer.
“You don’t get the top by being a loser. I'm a fucking winner. I'm the star quarterback for the DC Sharks and in my professional career, I’ve scored more touchdowns than any other man before me. I'm quick and I'm skilled, on and off the field. Am I cocky? Damn right. Who wouldn't be in my shoes? When I want something, I go after it and I get it.”
Oh God. He was an arrogant asshole. Cocky. Brash. And yet I was falling for it like a damn groupie. I was pinned against the wall, reveling in the feel of his body holding me in place.
I rolled my eyes, needing to find some of my own strength buried somewhere inside me. “Did you really just say that to me?”
He smiled and slipped his fingers past the fabric. My breath hitched and I moaned.
“You do have a wild streak somewhere in there, don't you?” he asked as my wet warmth covered my fingers. I groaned as he slowly circled my clit and ran his finger to my entrance.
“I-I can’t do this here. We’re in a hallway.” I didn’t even recognize the raspiness of my own voice.
“Call me Hawk. I want to hear my name on your lips when I’m fucking you. You understand?” he asked as he plunged a second finger inside me.
My head fell back against the wall. His fingers were thick and skilled. My hips jumped at every touch.
“Do you want more? Do you want me to kiss you? Do you want me to fuck you? Tell me.”
I laughed and he pressed my clit with his thumb, almost bringing me to my knees. Holy shit. The heat radiating off our bodies was palatable. I liked it and now, more than even I imagined, I wanted more.
“Hawk, I can't do this,” I whispered, knowing I was clenching and gripping his fingers with sudden rhythm.
“Why not?” he asked, running his lips down my neck. My eyes closed from the intensity of everything we were doing.
The eroticism of potentially being caught. The taboo of hooking up with a customer on my first night. The good girl in me craving this bad boy. Knowing everything about this was wrong. So much wrong.
Double Mountain Trouble: A MFM Menage Romance Page 36
