Hard Tackle (A Stepbrother Warriors Novel)

by Loren, Celia

  The main difficulty will be in continuing to act normally around him. I can't start fawning over him or his defenses will go up and he'll break everything off. I don't want to keep up the charade of dating Miles, but it will help. Jack will think my real affections lie elsewhere and we're just a fun fling. Then, in a couple months, sometime after the football season starts, I'll say that Miles and I broke up. It won't matter then, anyway. Jack will be on the road and probably with a different woman in every city.

  My heart contracts at the thought, but I swing my legs out of bed, feeling resolved. I've got two months with Jack before then, so I should make the best of it.

  I leave the robe hanging on the door of the bathroom, and brush my teeth, humming to myself. If I don't think about the fact that this relationship, or whatever it is, has an expiration date, I can actually enjoy this feeling. Love. So this is what it feels like. I bounce back into my bedroom and pull on a t-shirt and a pair of shorts. I'm about to head downstairs when I spot my computer sitting on my desk.

  I haven't written for a while because I couldn't think of what should happen next in my story, but all of a sudden my head is flooded with images. I sit down and snap open my laptop, quickly pull up the file, and begin typing. I lose track of time, something that only happens to me when the critic in my head really shuts up. When I finally look at the clock, almost two hours have passed, and my stomach is rumbling.

  I press save and then head for the door, hurrying down to the kitchen in search of food. I don't spot Jack until I'm halfway to the pantry, and the sight of him, shirtless, almost stops me in my tracks, but I press on, trying to appear nonchalant.

  "Where've you been?" he asks, scrolling on his phone, his long limbs stretched out on two chairs by the breakfast table. "I've already had one workout and a shower."

  "Writing, actually," I reply proudly. "I was feeling—well, like I knew what to write." I almost said "inspired," but I thought that might sound too emotionally heavy, even though it's true. I've always heard that artists can experience a rush of creativity when they fall in love, but I've never experienced it for myself.

  "You've never told me what your book's about," he comments, eyeing me above the screen.

  "It's about a girl who begins to exhibit strange powers after she's stuck in a lightning storm," I say matter-of-factly. "Do you think that's silly?" I ask, feeling suddenly self-conscious. Usually I never talk about what I'm working on until I'm done, because even a single critical word can put me off the project altogether.

  "No. I love lightning."

  "Me, too. It's sort of got a gothic tone to it, and the girl ends up running away, because her father is trying to exploit her powers."

  "Daddy issues, huh? Wonder where you got that…" he says with a smile.

  "Oh, boy, you gonna analyze me now?" I ask, rolling my eyes as I pour myself a huge bowl of cereal.

  "I would never attempt to figure out what dark mysteries are going on up there," he says, pointing to my head. "Hungry?" he asks, with a naughty smile as I pull out a chair to eat.

  "I managed to burn off some calories last night," I reply with a straight face.

  "Oh? Cardio?"

  "Well, my heartbeat was certainly elevated."

  "A proper amount of cardio is very important. I tell you that as a professional athlete," he says, his eyes twinkling. I shiver. His posture is so relaxed, but I can tell by his energy that he could pounce at any second.

  "True," I reply. "But then again, it's also important not to overdo it. I'm sure you know that, as a professional athlete." Nothing would please me more than some immediate cardio, but I don't want to show my hand.

  "Also true," he concedes. "But there's nothing worse than getting rusty and out of practice. That's the fastest way to lose your spot to a second-stringer." My eyes narrow and I kick his leg under the table. "Joking! Joking," he says, raising his hands in a gesture of mercy. "You have plans with Miles today?"

  "Um, no. He has to work," I lie, trying to sound disappointed.

  "Want to take out the yacht?" he asks, nodding toward the giant boat docked at the private dock.

  "Do I want to 'take it out'? You know how to drive that thing?"

  "Sure. It's not hard, really. The difficult thing is reading the map, knowing where the channels are."

  "You have fishing rods?" I ask hopefully.

  "There should be some in the boat house. You fish?" he asks, sounding surprised.

  "Yeah, Carter taught me."

  "Good. Maybe you can catch us some dinner, start earning your keep around here." He flinches as I kick him again.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  "What's upstairs?" I ask, pointing to a staircase in the corner of the boat house.

  "Lex's bedroom," Jack explains, and I realize for the first time that I've never seen hers in the main house. "She went to boarding school for high school, but she moved out here during the summers. She said living in a house with my dad was suffocating her."

  "In a house that big? They each could have had their own wing!" I exclaim as I run my hand over the fishing pole options.

  "I think she meant it more as a gesture of defiance," he explains. "So what are you going to catch?"

  "Well, what I'd like to catch is Spanish mackerel, but you never know. There are plenty of species out there. You've never fished off the yacht?"

  "My dad hardly has time to use it. And when I use it, it's more to—"

  "Escape to international waters?" I joke, selecting my pole.

  "Exactly." He leads me out to the yacht, helping me up the gangplank before drawing it up after us and casting off. I stand next to him as he slowly guides the boat away from shore before opening up the throttle. A giggle escapes my throat as the prow of the yacht noses up into the wind and we go skimming over the short waves. It's a beautiful day with just the right amount of wind to cut through the late summer humidity.

  Jack heads for open water, but suddenly ducks down. "Take the wheel," he instructs me.

  "What's going on?" I ask worriedly as I spot a group of college-aged women on Jet skis, their lifejackets standing out against the cool water as they shriek with laughter.

  "Nothing, I just don't want to be recognized. That's one of my main demographics." I giggle and shake my head at the sight of him crouched down, and offer a friendly wave to the Jet skiers as we go flying past them. After a safe distance, he stands back up and moves behind me, placing his hands over mine on the wheel. I relax back against him, raising my nose to inhale his scent as it mingles with the salt air.

  "You ever get tired of it?" I ask, tilting my head back and getting a good view of the underside of his chin.

  "What?"

  "Being a sex symbol."

  He grins. "Not yet, though sometimes I wish I had some more privacy."

  "So you're going to end up an old bachelor, huh?" I ask lightly, though I feel myself holding my breath as I wait for the answer.

  "Yeah," he says with a laugh, and my stomach drops. "Me and Jack Nicholson." Wait, is he joking? But I don't have time to check. He pulls back on the throttle. "Is here OK? I don't really know the good fishing spots, but there's a small reef right over there," he says, nodding to a bit of water that looks slightly lighter blue.

  "I guess it's as good a place as any other, then," I say, picking up the pole. "Wait…did you get any bait fish?"

  "Did I? I don't even know what that is."

  "Oh, I'm such an idiot," I moan, slapping my forehead with my free hand. "My brother always took care of the bait so I didn't even think of it."

  "So much for dinner then," he says with a laugh. He restarts the engine and guides the boat closer to the reef. "There's snorkel gear under that seat," he says, nodding behind him.

  A few minutes later, I'm jumping into the water in my bra and underwear, because I managed to forget my swimsuit, too. I blame my addled mind on Jack's muscles. I turn around and watch him step down the back steps of the yacht, then raise his arms above his hea
d and dive in, barely making a splash. He has remarkable grace for such a large human being.

  I feel something grabbing at my bare leg and laugh. "Did I get you?" he asks, surfacing next to me and shaking the water out of his eyes.

  "No, I managed to remember that sharks don't have fingers," I reply, adjusting the snorkel on my face.

  "I saw an eight-foot reef shark out here once," he says, wiggling his eyebrows.

  "Which would you rather encounter swimming in the ocean, a reef shark or a bull shark?"

  "A reef shark," he answers.

  "Correct. Why?"

  "Because bull sharks can also survive in fresh water, and are therefore much scarier. But could we not talk about sharks while we're treading water?"

  "You brought them up!"

  With a laugh, he takes my hand and pulls me toward the reef, sticking his face in the water. I don't know how long we swim above it, stopping every now and then to dive down and get a closer look at a piece of coral. By the time I tug his hand, indicating I want to go back to the boat, my limbs are exhausted.

  "Oof," Jack groans, tossing his snorkeling gear into the boat before pulling himself up. He leans back down to offer me his hand, and lifts me out of the water without almost any help from me. "I never skip workouts, but I might have to skip my second one today. Are you sore?"

  "Not yet, but I bet I will be," I reply as we walk back up to the helm. He raises his eyebrows at me as he tosses a towel at me. "Oh, there. Yes, a bit. I think moving around helped, actually."

  "You want to explore below decks?"

  I laugh. "Oh boy, there are so many boat-related puns to make, but honestly yes, I do!"

  He leads me down the steps and into a living room that's nicer than the one in my old apartment. A long, L-shaped couch faces a flat screen TV and there's a table in the corner. We pass through and then down a hallway. He ignores several closed doors and leads me to the one at the end.

  "The master bedroom," he says, pushing the door open. I give a low whistle at the sight of it, covered almost completely in white with a king-sized bed facing us. "Mind if we explore the shower next? I want to get this salt off me."

  "I don't know why I'm surprised there's a shower, but I am," I say, shaking my head. He leads me into a similarly white bathroom and turns on the water in the glass-walled stall.

  "The fresh water won't last forever, but for a while, at least," he says, tossing his towel on the toilet and pulling his suit down to the floor. I blush and look at the ceiling, then realize what I'm doing.

  "I'm still not used to this…familiarity," I explain as he gives me a quizzical look and then steps into the shower. "I don't think I've seen you naked in the light of day before," I add, as I pull my bra over my head, feeling a bit self-conscious.

  "How do I hold up?" he asks, spreading his arms and turning from side to side as the water streams down over him.

  "Not that I have anything to compare it to, but pretty well, I think," I say as I push my soggy underwear to the side with my foot and step into the shower with him.

  "Not even Miles?" he asks, pulling me into the stream of hot water.

  "Not yet," I hurriedly explain. "Soon, though. He just moved into a new place, actually," I offer. At least that part's true.

  "I feel a little weird talking about him while we're both naked," he admits. He's smiling, but he looks a bit pained.

  "Sorry, I just…"

  "It's not your fault. As soon as you become exclusive, though, we have to stop."

  "Of course," I reply, swallowing the sudden lump in my throat. He leans down and kisses me, and my body swells with warmth, pushing away the thought of whatever we have ending. I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him back hungrily. He pulls back and looks down at me for a moment, then reaches for a bottle on the ledge of the shower.

  He squeezes some of the body wash in his hands, then rubs them together, creating a lather. His eyes find mine again, and he reaches forward, placing his hands on my shoulders and sliding them slowly down my arms. I take a deep, steadying breath as I feel a throbbing sensation behind my nipples and they harden without him even touching them.

  His hands move down my stomach, slick with the lather, gliding in circles as he gently scrubs me. He starts down my right leg, wrapping both hands around my thigh and massaging me with his strong fingers. He kneels on the tile as he goes lower, behind my knee and then down my calf. My eyes close as I luxuriate in his touch.

  His hands leave my right foot and then immediately reappear on my left foot, moving in the opposite direction now. My stomach muscles clench as he reaches my thigh again, but still doesn't touch me there.

  "Turn around," he orders me. I feel the low growl of his voice reverberate in my body as though he's physically touching me. I turn around and reach behind me to pull my long hair over my shoulder, leaving it trailing down just over my left breast. His palms slide over my butt cheeks, gripping them firmly before he rubs his thumbs back and forth on them. Then he slides them up into the divot of my lower back and he stands to spread them across my shoulders.

  I feel the heat from his body against my back as he brings his hands down to my waist and then slides them toward the front of my body. I moan as he finally crests them over my breasts, massaging them firmly and then rubbing my nipples between his thumb and forefinger.

  "Hands on the wall," he instructs me, and I gasp in surprise, less at his commanding tone and more at the fact that it turns me on. I reach forward, resting my hands about shoulder height on the cool tile. "Higher."

  I slide them upward another foot and stop. Satisfied, he begins to knead my breasts more firmly, and I feel him press his hard cock against my slick lower back. His right hand leaves my breasts and slides down my stomach. I spread my legs a little wider in anticipation, and my eyes roll back in my head as his fingers find my clit.

  I moan as he circles his middle finger around me. Just as my nerves are beginning to feel overwhelmed, he slides his finger back and up inside me. He goes slowly and gently, probably remembering that I'm sore from last night. I tense as I feel a slight stinging sensation, but relax into him as he slowly circles his finger inside me.

  "Come here," he suddenly says, withdrawing his hands and stepping back.

  "Mm?" I reply unintelligibly, confused and disappointed by this sudden change of direction. He takes my arm and pulls me into the shower.

  "Let's get these suds off you," he says, directing the stream of water over me.

  "OK," I reply, but wilt against his strong torso. I just want to burrow here for a while.

  "Bree," he says, taking me by the shoulders and standing me back up. "The faster you rinse off, the faster I can get you in bed."

  "Shoulda said that," I reproach him, and turn around so the water can wash off the soap on my back. He laughs and steps out of the shower, grabbing a fresh towel and hurriedly drying himself off. I turn off the water, hoping I got all the soap off, and step out into a towel he's holding up for me. I squeak as he vigorously rubs me down, and then lifts me up and carries me into the bedroom, depositing me towel and all on the bed. I squirm my way over to him as he rummages through a drawer in the bedside table. "Could we do it like in the shower? That position, I mean?"

  "Sure," he says with a smile, pulling out a sleeve of condoms. "Woah. Way to go, Dad."

  "Gross," I moan. "Talk about a mood-killer."

  "Oh, you're not in the mood now?" he asks, arching an eyebrow at me.

  "Maybe," I reply with a grin, placing my feet on his abs and curling my toes around the outlines of his muscles. He grabs my ankles and pulls my legs apart as he tugs me toward the edge of the bed. His head dives down and he takes a long lick of my slit that almost launches me off the bed in excitement. "OK, I'm in the mood again," I gasp out.

  He responds by standing up and pulling my feet back together, and then placing one hand under my butt and flipping me over onto my stomach. His hands slip under my hips and he tugs them up into the air so that
my knees come up onto the bed. I hear the rip of the condom foil and shiver in anticipation. His hand slips back between my legs and I moan as he slides it around my wetness. His thumb slides into my opening as his finger circles my clit, and his other hand presses my knees a bit farther apart and my hips lower. His thumb and finger move away and I feel his cock at my opening.

  His hand reaches around my hips now and his finger presses against my clit from the other direction. With the pleasure he's eliciting from there, I find it easier to relax the rest of my muscles to allow for his size. He begins to thrust in, and I bite my lip at a sudden shot of pain. It's not as bad as last night, but now it's combined with some soreness. He continues slowly, moving his finger around my clit the whole time. He is able to proceed a little faster than last night, and soon I feel that remarkable sensation of fullness again as he sheathes his cock inside me.

  "This position has its advantages," he says quietly, and I feel his hand that's not in use grasp my left breast, massaging it as he pulls back out. My mouth drops open as he thrusts back in. My nerves are on fire all over my body as he continues his three-pronged assault. He begins to move faster, and I find myself curving my ass up to meet him and slightly pressing my hips back against him. When he feels my response, he thrusts harder, and I cry out as he makes direct contact with my g-spot.

  He drives on harder. My hands begin to slide forward on the bed, and instead of pulling me back, he presses down on top of me. My knees straighten as he lies down, keeping only a little of his weight up on his elbows on either side of my back. He takes my hands in his and intertwines his fingers with mine, keeping me pinned in place. I turn my head to the side so that I can breathe just as he pulls out and thrusts back in. I scream out as I'm overwhelmed with the sensation.

  "Pull your legs together and cross your ankles," he growls in my ear. I obey, and feel an added pressure on his cock as he pulls out and drives back in. Now each of his thrusts elicits a corresponding cry from me as he pounds mercilessly in and out. I'm beyond any kind of control and completely in his power. "You're mine," he growls. "Say it!"