Filthy Player (A Rough Riders Novel Book 2)

by Stacey Lynn

  “Good afternoon,” he said. “Name’s Shane. Anything you need today, let me know.”

  “I need a good slap to the face of reality,” Melanie said.

  I snickered. In the two weeks since she’d been at our place, I’d found out Melanie wasn’t just a really great and patient nurse, she was hilarious and sweet. I didn’t possibly think there were really people in the world as gentle and kind and good as her.

  She also came from one of the most normal sounding families I’d ever heard of. She had a sister and a brother, parents who were married for forty-nine years. They still got together once a week for family dinners.

  When I stayed home on Friday, Melanie and I opened a bottle of wine and had an impromptu girl’s night in.

  It was the exact kind of night I missed from living in Charlotte and one I’d desperately needed.

  “I’ll slap you,” I offered Melanie.

  She giggled and settled my dad right behind the top row of chairs. “This okay?” she asked, locking the wheel and getting Dad’s attention.

  “Perfect. Thanks, Melanie.”

  She patted his hand and came to my side. I was standing back, surveying the field but it only took moments for me to recognize Beaux out on the field as the team warmed up.

  It helped he was the one throwing the ball and I knew his number. Even without that, it would have been easy to spot him. Besides being one of the tallest guys out there, I’d spent the last week memorizing his body, running my hands over every accentuated muscle.

  “Careful,” Melanie whispered, “I think you might be drooling.”

  I shook my head. “I can’t help it.”

  She clapped her hands together and nudged me with her hip. “Which one do I get?”

  Apparently Melanie was just as taken with the idea of dating a Rough Rider as I was starting to be.

  “Don’t know,” I murmured. “I don’t know who’s single besides Kolby.”

  A door opened behind us and the sweetest little voice I’d ever heard cried out, “Yook, Namma! Dere people here!”

  Melanie and I both turned as Mya skipped into the room. She was wearing a teal skirt and white shirt with the Rough Rider’s logo on it. On her back, which I saw as she twirled and danced straight up to us, was Kolby’s name and number.

  “Hi,” I said, crouching down her level. “You must be Mya.”

  “I yam,” she almost shouted. “Who are you?”

  “I’m a friend of Beaux’s. Your dad said we could watch the games this year with you. Is that okay?”

  I looked from her to a beautiful African American woman who had entered behind her and arched a brow in question for her as well.

  “Kolby said what he’d done,” she said. Her smile was friendly as she approached. “I’m Charlayne, Kolby’s mom, but everyone calls me Char.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, I’m Paige, and this is my dad, Sam, and his nurse and our friend Melanie.”

  We made the introductions all while Mya bounced to each of us, shouting more hellos and then she skipped off to where Shane stood.

  “Chocowate milk, pease, Mister Shane!”

  “Already have it ready,” he said. He grinned at her, I was certain all of us were. Mya was a sweet little bundle of energy. It was no wonder why Kolby said she’d enjoy the game with more people around here.

  “That girl is either hopped up on sugar while she’s here or bored to tears. It’s nice to have some company,” Char said, getting my attention from Mya who was slurping chocolate milk out of a straw and handing it back to Shane requesting more. “I’d tell her no more, but it’s pretty much the only time Kolby allows her to have sweets.”

  “Strict dad?”

  “Ha! Doting dad, but he’s got a sweet tooth unlike I’ve ever seen in a grown man. During the season he refuses to allow anything unhealthy into his body. When it comes to sweets, he has the self-control of a mosquito.”

  I laughed at the image of Kolby Jones not having self-control. “I suppose it’s done him well, he’s looking great this year. Thanks for letting us join you guys, too. It was really nice of the guys to do this for my dad.”

  “Child,” she said and set her hand on my arm. “All of us go through hard times. Trust me, I seen ‘em all, lived through most of ‘em. And when times are harder, ain’t nothing better than people at your back to hold you up. Sounds to me like you got that now if you didn’t before.”

  A lump lodged in my throat at her poignant but blunt words. “Right.”

  “Now I don’t know about you, but along with Kolby’s ban on sugar, he’s also banned alcohol. This here’s one of the few times I can imbibe in some wine and not get scolded by my grown son. You want something with me?”

  “I’d love some. Melanie?” I asked, turning to her, but she was already at the bar. Elbows propped on it, she was leaning over it, talking to Shane.

  Oh Lord.

  “Great,” I muttered. “All I need is her flirting with the bartender.”

  “Shit,” Charlayne said. “If I were thirty years younger, I’d be doing the same thing. That man is fine.”

  I kissed my dad on the cheek and took his request for some water, all while he grumbled about not being able to have a beer due to his meds. Charlayne and I met up with Melanie still hitting on Shane, flipping her pretty platinum hair over her shoulder and making it known a drink wasn’t all that was on her request list.

  Then we settled in for the game, talking and cheering and laughing, all while my dad fought to stay awake. I felt bad for him, was worried we were overdoing it, but when he nodded off shortly after halftime began, I forced myself to stop.

  Melanie knew what he could handle, and he didn’t seem bothered by our noise, mostly Mya’s as she entertained us all game long with her cheers and dances.

  And since the Rough Riders pulled out a win over the Saints twenty-four to eight, we all left in high spirits.

  We parted ways at the elevator with John escorting Melanie and Dad back to the car. I followed Char and Mya along with Ryan down to the player’s tunnel beneath the stadium so I could go home with Beaux.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  BEAUX

  Games were a mixture of exhaustion and adrenaline rush. I usually left the game trying to decide if I needed a four-hour nap or run a marathon.

  With Paige sitting next to me in the car, reciting every single play I made plus laughing about Mya’s silly antics and relaying the information that not only was Melanie flirting with the bartender, but she’d also demanded a list of all the single players under the age of thirty, I wasn’t thinking about a nap.

  I definitely wanted a marathon—in the form of sex. In multiple rooms of my house.

  Definitely multiple positions.

  That, I was more than ready for.

  Unfortunately, my big sister was trying to play cock blocker and I hadn’t yet warned Paige.

  I pulled down the back alley of my brownstone and parked my truck in the garage.

  Paige rested her head against the headrest and turned to me. “Have I said thank you, yet?”

  “About a million times. I’d prefer to not hear it anymore. But you can keep showing me your gratitude.”

  “Always,” she mumbled, opening the door and hopping down. “Always with the sex with you.”

  I followed her out. “Only when you’re around.”

  She rolled her eyes and met me at the front of the truck, easily slipping her hand into mine.

  Once we were inside, I locked the door behind us, re-engaged my alarm system, and pushed her against the wall.

  “What the—”

  It was all she got out before my mouth descended on hers.

  She instantly responded, curling her fingers into the front of my suit jacket, holding me to her.

  “Fuck,” I groaned. We had maybe thirty minutes and I needed this to be quick. “Turn around,” I said, already guiding her where I wanted her.

  “Beaux—”

  “Need you. Want
you here. So no matter where I am in this house, I can look right here and remember you letting me do what I want to do to you.”

  Her body shivered and she pressed her lips to mine before turning the rest of the way.

  “Hands on the wall.”

  She complied. I ran my hands down her arms, and fuck there was nothing sexier than seeing her in a shirt bearing my number.

  “I want to fuck you wearing nothing but this shirt,” I groaned, reaching around to her front to undo her jeans.

  “Jesus,” she whispered. “What’s gotten into you?”

  “Have no fucking clue.”

  It was the truth. When I was around Paige, my brain malfunctioned. As soon as she was in my arms, animal instincts took over. The urge to claim, mark, make her mine in every possible way.

  Doing it while she’d already marked herself as mine was hot as fuck, and my dick was punching against my zipper, searching for her heat.

  I flicked open the button on her jeans, ripped down the zipper and while I shimmied her jeans and panties over her hips, I pressed my chest to her back. “This okay, though?”

  My hand slid to her stomach, dipped to her folds. She mumbled something incoherent, but she was nodding.

  Good.

  “You’re already wet.” I kissed her throat, nipped at her ear. Jesus. I was turning into a damn animal and I didn’t give two shits. My fingers slid through her wetness, spreading around her moisture.

  She rocked back against me, shoved her ass right against my erection, and I tapped her feet with mine. “Open wider. This is going to be hard and fast, baby.”

  “Damn,” she whispered. “I’m already close.”

  She always was. The girl went off like a rocket with a short fuse. Talk about boosting a guy’s ego.

  With my other hand, I reached beneath us, struggling with my zipper and undoing my pants. I shoved them down to my thighs and freed myself, pushing against her while driving her crazy with my fingers.

  “Fuck,” I groaned, pressing my forehead to my shoulder. “I don’t have a condom.”

  “Pill,” she gasped, rolling her body against me. One of her hands disappeared from the wall and she wrapped it around my cock, stroking it. “Please. I trust you.”

  Fucking hell.

  Ungloved.

  I didn’t date women long enough to experience it and I was always careful. I was never going to be the guy who knocked up a woman.

  She must have sensed my hesitation because her hand stilled and she turned to look at me, question clear on her face. “Do you trust me?”

  “I’m clean. I trust you, it’s just I’ve never—”

  “Yeah?” she asked, and her hand started moving again. “Never?”

  God. She was going to make me come in her hand. I pulled back but she gripped me tighter, just the perfect amount of pain and pleasure, zinging straight to my balls. “Always careful. And I’m clean, Paige.”

  “I like the idea of you never having this before me.”

  Fucking hell. This girl.

  I leaned in and kissed her, teased her clit more and slid two fingers deep inside her to make sure she was ready for me. Hell, I was nervous. This was intimacy at it’s closest.

  Funny I found it with the first woman not impressed by my money and willing to douse me with ice.

  She gasped my name, rocking into me, increasing the speed and pressure until I feared we wouldn’t make it to the final event.

  I slapped her hand away.

  No way was I missing out, and time was ticking down.

  “Ready?” I asked.

  “Yessss.”

  Her reply was needy, so damn greedy for me. I felt the same way.

  Then I was pulling back, lining us up, gripping her hip with one hand and sliding inside her.

  “Shit,” I hissed.

  Hot, wet heat surrounded me and holy shit condoms were the giant lying sack of shit things other guys had always said they were. Fucking heat surrounded my dick and I felt her walls, so damn tight around me. All of it minimized by rubber I was never.wearing.again when it came to Paige.

  “Holy shit,” I chanted curses. Sweat beaded at my temples. “This feels so fucking good.”

  “I know,” she whimpered. “Move.”

  “I’m afraid I might come.” I wasn’t even ashamed to admit it. That’s how damn good she felt. Like winning the Super Bowl, except hotter. Better. Sexier.

  Her laugh was blissful, quiet but sweet, it made her cunt grip around me. I shoved balls deep inside her, rocking out. And damn…sex with Paige wasn’t just hot or sexy.

  It was fun.

  She wasn’t only different from other women, she was something special. Someone special who could grow to mean a hell of a lot to me, or she already did.

  “Brace yourself, honey,” I ordered, moving her hand back to the wall.

  I moved, snapping my hips against her ass, my balls slamming against her. I took her hard. Rough. Fast.

  She ate it up and demanded more, crying my name and digging at the walls with her hands.

  I added my fingers, teased her, shoved a hand up her shirt to push her bra out of the way so I could wrap my hand around her breast, pinch her nipples.

  I tugged and pulled, took her wildly against the wall, and when she came, throwing her head back to my shoulder, her entire body quivering and shaking with pleasure, her pussy gripped me tight like a vise. I followed her over the edge, slamming into her, releasing inside of her.

  At the last second, I pulled out, shoved her shirt up her back, and wrapped my hand around my dick, tugged…and splashed the rest of me onto her ass.

  “Fuck,” I groaned.

  I collapsed against her, careful of my cum and her body and pressed my fingers back to her pussy, fucking her with my fingers. I was inside of her, in more ways than one. She chanted my name and no more and please and yes, unable to make up her own damn mind on what she wanted, but she took what I was giving like such a good girl.

  I took her mouth right as she lost herself in another climax. I wrapped my other hand around her waist, holding her up as I rubbed her clit, took her through her second orgasm until she was spent, panting into my mouth, hot and sweaty.

  A perfect match for me.

  “Goodness,” she whispered, shaking her head back and forth. “That was insane. Did you…did you come on me?”

  “Yeah.” She looked surprised. I was, too. “Told you, you in my shirt, claiming me, I don’t know what came over me but I had to do the same.”

  She laughed and shook her head like I was crazy. Which was fine. I felt crazy around her.

  “I need to go clean up. Quickly.”

  “Hold on,” I said.

  She gave me a look. I was already tugging on my pants. “Honest, don’t move. I’ll get something.”

  I ran to my kitchen, grabbed a paper towel and came back to her, fighting the urge to laugh but unable to do anything but admire the curve of her ass, the summer tan lines that proved her swimsuit was fucking tiny.

  I wiped me off her back and then held out her panties and jeans. “Shower if you need to,” I said. “My sister and Powell are coming for dinner. They’ll be here soon.”

  “What!?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  PAIGE

  His sister. His freaking sister was coming. Nothing like throwing me into the fire. While I tried calming down as we took a quick shower, rinsing off our bodies and keeping my hair mostly dry, I still wanted to slaughter him.

  What if they’d shown up early?

  How would I face her knowing I’d just let her brother have sex with me against a wall?

  I wasn’t exactly a prude in bed. I liked variety. I liked changing it up now and then and like most girls in their mid-twenties, I survived dry spells with my handy-dandy operated helper.

  But being thrown against a wall and taken like that, having someone finish on me and not in me…well, that was new.

  It was also passionate, filled with a fire I cou
ldn’t stop burning whenever I was around Beaux. Since I had no intention of dousing those flames, I stopped being mad and started worrying about Shannon.

  They were close. From everything Beaux had told me, and he always talked about Shannon, she’d not only pretty much raised him, she’d always protected him. She took care of him. She sacrificed what she wanted in order to help Beaux reach his dreams.

  When he could, he repaid her by buying her a building for her own business, something I saw talked about constantly on local design blogs. Her jewelry was cool. Funky metal bangles and bracelets and necklaces and earrings, she handmade everything herself. The woman must have been a sorceress, able to stop time with a blink of her eye or wiggle of her nose.

  I had no idea how she worked so hard and managed to have a life.

  Plus, she was engaged to Oliver Powell. One of the hottest and most famous tight ends in football. Hell, he’d even done some commercials and appeared on television shows over the last couple of years.

  Together, they seemed like an unstoppable force. At least a couple I wanted to make a really great impression on.

  I wasn’t certain fucking her brother and still being wet from a shower when they arrived was the best way to handle that one.

  I was fixing my mascara with Q-Tips and water because since Beaux hadn’t warned me, I didn’t have anything at his place. I hoped Shannon didn’t think my flushed cheeks were after sex glow, but excitement over the win.

  I needed a drink.

  “Beaux!” I shouted. He’d already left the room, but I was still fussing with running makeup and frizzed out hair.

  “What?” he shouted back. Seconds later, I heard pounding footsteps on his wood stairs as he rushed up to me. “What is it?

  I held out my hand, trembling like I’d drank too much caffeine. Nerves and crazy sex adrenaline crash the causes for sure.

  “Do you have wine? I need a drink. A big one. A box, maybe, not a bottle. Do you have anything?”