Filthy Player (A Rough Riders Novel Book 2)

by Stacey Lynn

  “You can take off,” I said to Jaxon after I sent the text.

  “Not until Beaux’s here.” He’d crossed his arms over his chest on the chair at the other end of the couch, kicked up his feet on the coffee table. Despite his relaxed posture, I knew he was still alert.

  It wasn’t necessary. Hannah was gone as gone could get.

  Jaxon’s presence still comforted me like a thick blanket.

  “Thanks, Jaxon. You’re the best.”

  He arched a brow. “No Rambo?”

  “I thought you hated it.”

  He shrugged a shoulder. “It was starting to grow on me.”

  My phone buzzed in my hand and I smiled at Beaux’s response. Love you too. Heading to plane now. Be home late.

  Home. I couldn’t stop the smile from splitting my cheeks so wide they ached.

  They’d played an early game but with the time change, he still wouldn’t get home until after eleven.

  That meant eight more hours alone with only Jaxon.

  My fingers flew across the keypad. I’ll be here, in OUR bed. Naked and ready for you.

  His response was almost instant. Jesus. Now I have a fucking hard-on and I’m sitting next to Quinten.

  A laugh burst from my throat. Better not let him touch what’s mine.

  Woman.

  I could practically hear his sexy growl.

  Still laughing, I turned to Jaxon. “So, Rambo. What do you think of Melanie?”

  That growl, I definitely heard.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  BEAUX

  “Damn it,” I groaned, and tightened my grip on Paige’s head.

  When I arrived back to my place—or, our place, rather—after the game, she’d practically attacked me as soon as Jaxon left.

  It was fitting, I suppose, considering how many times I attacked her as soon as she walked in the door.

  Now, my back was against the wall, and she was on her knees. She had her good hand wrapped around my cock and her mouth doing most of the delicious work.

  My balls were pulled tight, ready to blow, but no way was I letting that happen.

  The first night we spent together, living together, I was having her slowly, taking my time with her body, drawing out our orgasms until our echoes came close to shattering the windows.

  “Paige,” I groaned, trying to pull her off.

  She responded by taking me deeper and opening her throat until I hit the back of her.

  “Fuck.”

  Screw it. If I got off now, it gave me more time to play with her later.

  She hummed around my dick like she knew what I was thinking and liked the idea, so I tossed my head back, locked my knees so I didn’t collapse, and I let her take me there, her hot, wet mouth clamped around my cock, her hand working in tandem on my shaft. I let Paige set the pace of the world’s best damn blow job.

  “Yeah, honey. Just like that.” I pushed her hair off her face and watched every damn moment. Her eyes met mine and that was my ending.

  Because every damn time she looked at me since I knew she loved me, she could never hide it in her eyes.

  Brimming with love, her gaze locked with mine, and my orgasms soared through me.

  “Gonna come, honey,” I warned her.

  She hummed her response, tightened her hand on my shaft.

  I thrust into her, felt my dick swell, and then I held her gently while she took everything I gave her, swallowing it down and making me feel like the luckiest damn man alive.

  She slowed her hand and slowly pulled off me, leaning back to her knees with a noticeable grimace. “Welcome home,” she whispered.

  “You’re hurt.” The rush of my climax quickly evaporated. I yanked up my pants and zipped them. “Come here.” I held out my hand and helped to her feet. When she was standing, I gently pulled her into my arms, picking her up.

  “I’m not that hurt,” she said, tucking her head into my shoulder. “But I did want to make you feel better after the loss today.”

  I kissed her forehead. Her temple was still swollen, an ugly purple bruise rimmed with jagged cuts that made me almost fucking happy Hannah was dead every time I looked at her.

  “I appreciate the gesture, and I’ll take them whenever you want to give them, but I don’t need help feeling better. You win some, you lose some.”

  I walked up the stairs and she tightened her hold on me.

  “Really?”

  “No. I’m frustrated.” I kissed her head again. “Losing sucks and I hate it, but we played a shit game, couldn’t find our groove regardless of what we changed, and I wasn’t entirely in game mode this weekend.”

  “Beaux.” Her voice went sad but I kissed her, gently setting her on my bed and following her until I was on top of her.

  “Not your fault, Paige, but you can’t expect me to go out there and not be worried about you.”

  “I’m fine. Or I will be.”

  “I know, which is why I only got sacked once tonight instead of the six times I should have been. You’re strong, you’ll heal, and we’ll move on, but someone important in my life was hurt and because of that, my mind was on you and that not only made me play like shit, the other players not only felt it, but they were worried too. It was just a crap day, one I want to forget.”

  I brushed her hair off her shoulder, fanned it out on the bed and came closer, pressing my lips to her jaw, her throat, her collarbone.

  She shivered beneath me, dug her fingers into my shoulders.

  “You need to get out of your suit then.”

  I laughed against her skin and then thought of how she’d flinched downstairs. “Are you too hurt? We can wait.”

  “I don’t want to.” Her hands were on my shoulders, pushing under my suit coat and shoving it off. I leaned off her, straddling her waist, and shucked off my suit and then unbuttoned my shirt enough so I could pull that off, too.

  “I want you,” Paige said, her gaze roaming my bare chest.

  She looked at me like I was her hero. I still felt like shit. Jaxon did too. It’d take awhile to wash that away. Which was the main reason why I played like such shit. To my coaches’ and team’s credit, as pissed off as they were, and as frustrated as they’d been with me, they also understood. We’d come back. Seattle was a damn good team, anyway, and on the best days, it would have been a hard fought battle.

  Sitting in this bed, now belonging to both Paige and I, and watching as she wiggled out of her T-shirt beneath me, none of it mattered.

  She wasn’t holding our faults and failures against us.

  She was now living with me.

  Soon, when the time was right, I’d get a ring on her finger and plant a baby in her and then we’d have everything we ever wanted.

  I couldn’t tie her like I wanted, like she enjoyed, and I couldn’t hold her hands like I fucking loved doing while I was inside of her, but I could still make this night exceptional.

  I stood from the bed and kicked off my pants and boxers, ripped off my dress socks, and moved to the end of the bed. Leaning over her, I kissed her ankle, up to the back of her knee, grinning as she spread her legs.

  “Beaux.”

  Her voice was already breathy and needy little gasps fell from her lips as I teased her knee, her inner thighs with my lips and my tongue. My touch was gentle, reverent.

  I wanted to pour everything I felt for this crazy, strong woman, into this night, into this moment, so she would know down to the marrow of her bones how much she meant to me.

  Tugging down her shorts and underwear, I pressed kisses just above her center, adding teasing flicks of my tongue to her already swollen clit.

  God, she was gorgeous. Everywhere.

  She arched into me and I pressed a hand to her hipbone, holding her still.

  “What do you want, honey?”

  “You,” she gasped as I slid a finger inside her and twisted. “You. Only you.”

  I love you didn’t even the same impact as those words did. She meant all of
them, but that admission struck me hard and fast in the chest. She was being truthful. I could have been a mechanic, a bartender. I could have sold cars or taught school, or been the world’s richest tech giant. She didn’t care about money or fame or expensive shit, if anything, I’d learned me having it made it harder to get through to her.

  But I’d busted down those walls weeks ago, and now, there was just us.

  Her. Me. Only us and who we were at our cores.

  “Fuck, I love you,” I whispered.

  “Please, Beaux,” she gasped.

  I quit teasing. I bent down, slid my tongue through her folds and then I ate her.

  She writhed as soon as I groaned against her hot and slickened flesh, and with my finger inside her, I added a second, stretching and twisting until I reached the rigid flesh inside. I rubbed against her, continued sliding my tongue over her clit until she bucked wildly.

  She came, screaming my name, pulling on my hair, grabbing for me like she always did when I made her come.

  It was fucking wild. It was heaven.

  I wanted to flip her over, take her hard and fast, but with her back, I didn’t want to risk hurting her.

  As she was still coming, I slid my fingers out of her, running them through her slit until I reached a barrier I hadn’t yet gone past.

  Her eyes flew open as I pressed against her. “What are you—”

  “Ever been taken here?” I asked.

  She shook her head, and I went back to her pussy and gathered more moisture. “Would you?”

  She shivered, goose bumps popped all over her as I teased her again, pressing against her with the tip of my finger.

  I had this insane need to take her everywhere, having every single inch of her body known to me.

  I pressed inside and a shudder racked her entire body. “Okay?”

  She flinched and I paused. Then her hand came out of my hair and she lifted up, wrapping that hand around my wrist. “I’ll give you anything you want, Beaux, anytime you ask.”

  “Fuck, but I love you.” I pressed further inside.

  She fell back to the bed and moaned. I followed over her, bending back down and went back to her pussy. Her clit.

  I teased her everywhere while I began pressing and pulling my finger in and out of her ass, going slow, taking my time, and it wasn’t long before she was fucking drenched.

  Panting. Writhing. She gripped my arm, pleaded for more and she came again, louder than before. Her legs shook while she came and I slid my finger out of her, moving up her body, kissing everywhere I could touch. Her stomach, her breasts, her nipples.

  I was hard as a rock, ready to blow again, but I held back, giving her time to come down and when she opened her eyes, she looked at me and smiled.

  “I love you, too.”

  “Good. Then show me how much by making love to me.”

  She wrapped her body around me, arms and legs at my shoulders and hips, and I slid inside her.

  We made love slowly, lazily, kissing and giggling, and it wasn’t just the best sex of my entire life.

  When we came together, me holding out long enough to give her a third orgasm, we came with our hearts beating against each other’s. Our mouths fused together, and our bodies joined as one.

  It was the only way I wanted us to be, for the rest of our lives. If life had taught me anything, especially in the last forty-eight hours, it was that everything could change in the blink of an eye.

  I wasn’t waiting, taking anything slow with Paige. We had the rest of our lives to live together, but we were starting them now.

  EPILOGUE

  PAIGE

  Loud cheers erupted as soon as Oliver pressed his lips to Shannon.

  The minister had just pronounced them man and wife, and they kissed. He held her flushed to him, bending over and tipping her back. Oliver kissed Shannon like it was the best damn kiss of his life and he ended it to another loud round of hoots and hollers.

  I stood to the side as a bridesmaid, Shannon’s best friend from Iowa, Melissa was her maid of honor. She grinned at me and I laughed, shaking my head while they continued practically having sex with each other on the small stage they’d constructed on their property for their wedding.

  Finally, Oliver pulled back, and he spun Shannon to the crowd and they raised their hands in the air.

  Music blared, escorting them down the aisle, and I quickly followed Melissa. She took Danny Rudolph’s arm, Oliver’s best man, and I waited for Beaux to reach me.

  When he did, he kissed my cheek and whispered, “Our wedding kiss will be better than that.”

  I playfully slapped his arm. “Too bad we don’t have much time to practice.”

  He’d just proposed last week.

  “We don’t need practice. We already are perfect.”

  He was absolutely right.

  Beaux walked me down the aisle, and we headed straight for the dance floor and reception area set up at the back of Oliver and Shannon’s house. Bethany Carlson was there with her band. A famous country singer, she was also a good friend of Oliver’s and now Shannon’s. She’d volunteered to provide entertainment for the night as her wedding gift to them.

  There was also a full bar, an enormous catered buffet of seafood and steak and more piles of meat and vegetables than I’d ever seen anywhere, but most of the team was in attendance and those guys ate.

  Six weeks ago, the Rough Riders won their second Super Bowl in a row, filling the new stadium in Minnesota while they took on the Green Bay Packers.

  Beaux had said it held an extra special moment of love for him since he’d started his NFL Career in Minnesota.

  After the parade Raleigh had for the team and the media craze died down, we immediately went on a two-week long vacation to Fiji.

  We were going back next month for our wedding. My dad, Melanie, Mike, Shannon, and Oliver were going to be our only guests.

  It was an easy decision. My dad’s broken leg had long since healed and over the last several months, he’d regained even more movement in his right side. He used a walker or a cane now, his wheelchair rarely pulled out of the corner. He spent his nights playing poker at the clubhouse and while he couldn’t golf, he’d go out with a group of a guys and drive the golf cart. He came to the garage occasionally and hung out when Mike or I would bring him. He always had company and had made dozens of new friends.

  We ate together at least once a week, usually at our house. When Beaux traveled, I went to Dad’s place and watched his game in the clubhouse. Most of the men and many of their wives would join us for a potluck dinner while we screamed and shouted and cheered at the ninety-seven inch projector screen television.

  Melanie was no longer his nurse, but instead, she’d become my best friend, and we got together at least once a week for dinner or lunch.

  Our lives were settling. The pain of my accident and Hannah was a memory neither of us talked about much. She was laid to rest days after the accident, and when I knew that was happening, I’d cried in Beaux’s arms, falling apart in our living room, so damn thankful I was okay, that Beaux and I were together, but so utterly devastated at everything that had happened. It was the last time I cried over it, but when I continued having nightmares for weeks, Melanie talked me into seeing a therapist.

  That had helped, and after a few months, the nightmares went away and so did my therapist.

  By the time the Super Bowl came around, Beaux and I were more in love, my dad was happy, and I had absolutely everything I could have ever wanted.

  Life was perfect.

  Or it would be in four weeks when we flew to Fiji and exchanged our own vows.

  Overall, I couldn’t complain. Had nothing to complain about.

  So, I let Beaux sweep me into his arms, pull me onto the dance floor.

  We celebrated the entire night with our family of football players and their wives or girlfriends.

  I drank champagne with my new sister-in-law and brother-in-law.

  We la
ughed.

  We partied.

  And when we went to bed that night, after making me come three times, Beaux pulled me into his arms.

  I threw my leg over his like I always did and rested my head on his shoulder, my arm draped over his stomach.

  Playing with his thin trail of hair beneath his belly button, I kissed his chest.

  “I love you, Beaux. You’ve given me more than anything I ever wanted, ever dreamed possible.”

  “Jesus,” he gasped and tightened his hold around my back. “I love you too, Paige.”

  “There’s just one more thing I want from you,” I said, still kissing him and sliding my hand down.

  He was already hard and I wrapped my hand around him, sliding up and down his shaft.

  “Shit,” he gasped. “What is it?”

  I tilted my head up. “I want a baby, a boy with your blue—”

  It was all I got out before I was tossed to my back, and he was on top of me. He kissed me, stealing my words.

  “Tomorrow you go off the pill. We start trying right away.” He pressed the tip of him to my center and slid inside.

  I kissed his throat as he began moving. “I threw them away tonight,” I admitted.

  Beaux would give me anything I ever wanted, and I had no doubt when I knew we were ready to have kids, he’d want to start trying as soon as possible.

  “You’re crazy,” he said, laughing and kissing me. “And I fucking love you.”

  “Fucking love me? Or love fucking me.”

  “Yes.”

  I laughed and pressed my mouth to his. “I love you too. Forever.”

  We moved, joined together, touching everywhere. His hands clasped around mine and he held me down, pinned me in place, and as we made love, both of us crying out our climaxes at the same time, I’d never felt so utterly, completely, free.

  Excerpt of Upcoming Release

  Continue Reading for a sneak peek at FAKE WIFE, an upcoming release by Stacey Lynn.

  Published by Random House Loveswept, FAKE WIFE will release on January 9th, 2018 and is available for pre-order on all retailers