Play Me (Brit Boys Sports Romance Book 4)

by J. H. Croix

  Um, you’re gaga over him, so probably.

  I was so screwed. A part of me, a very big part of me, worried I was setting myself up big time with Tristan. Yet, even if he broke my heart, which was a pretty certain thing if what I knew about him was accurate, I didn’t want to miss out on what might be the best sex of my life. He’d already given me the best orgasm of my life.

  ***

  “So tell me when you’ll be able to play again?” I asked, looking across the table at Tristan.

  We were seated at a booth in another new restaurant—this one a bustling Greek diner named Apollo. There were statues and paintings of the Greek god scattered about the place. It had a tacky feel to it, what with the salt and pepper shakers shaped like Apollo, but the food was as delicious as the local papers had declared. I took a sip of wine and eyed him.

  Tristan looked so good, I wanted to lick him all over. As was always the case, his black curls were a tad rumpled. He wore nothing other than a navy blue t-shirt, which served to show off his perfect chest, and worn jeans that hugged his muscled legs like a lover. I’d decided tonight he had the best forearms ever.

  Forearms. I was horny over forearms. God help me.

  “I finally got cleared to practice last week, so I’ll be playing when the season starts,” he replied before taking a drag off his beer.

  I watched, practically transfixed at the sight of him swallowing and remembering the wicked magic his mouth had wrought on me the other night.

  Focus, Daisy. Focus. It’s your turn to say something now.

  “So Tim cleared you then?”

  I was referring to Tim Maxwell, the physical therapist who worked with most of the athletes that passed through surgery with one of my besties, Olivia Reed. She was an orthopedic surgeon badass. Once she did the surgery, she handed them over to Tim who bossed them around all the way through their recovery. Tim was also a good friend of ours.

  Tristan set his beer down, and his lips quirked. “Yes, Tim cleared me. He didn’t make it easy, but he finally gave me the all clear last week. I’ll still be working with him for the next few months. Coach wants me to baby my knee, and he figures Tim won’t let me be stupid.”

  “More like Tim won’t hesitate to call you out if you try to ignore him.”

  Tristan rolled his eyes. “Eh, no he won’t. I tease him about it, but I trust that guy with my knee more than anyone. Hard to believe, but I feel stronger than I did before the ACL tear last season. Tim does not fuck about with recovery.”

  “Well, he works with the best surgeon around, so I’d say not.”

  I was super proud of Olivia and didn’t miss a chance to say so.

  Tristan caught my comment and grinned. “Of course, none of it would be possible without Olivia.”

  Conversation carried on, and I remembered yet again why I’d tried so damn hard to avoid Tristan. Aside from the fact he was drool-worthy by any standard, he was a great date. He was smart with that sly, understated humor. I enjoyed actually being able to talk work and have him not only follow along, but have something to contribute. To make matters even worse, while he could’ve easily gotten away with being cocky, he wasn’t. Oh, he was confident, plenty confident, but not even a drop of that obnoxious cocky attitude so many guys waved around like they were waving their cock.

  Did I mention yet I was screwed? As in totally, completely, one hundred percent screwed. In that vein, I intended to make sure Tristan lived up to the full intent of his promise to me last week. I’d wanted an orgasm with a guy, which he’d delivered. Yet, I wanted the full deal.

  The moment my mind started heading in that direction, my body hummed restlessly. I knocked back the rest of my wine and stood quickly. I needed to move, or I’d be jumping Tristan right here.

  “Let’s check out the art gallery on the corner,” I said.

  We’d walked past a new art gallery that appeared to be having an opening celebration. I needed something to do other than obsess about getting naked with him, so I mentioned the first thing that came to mind.

  Never one to be rushed, he finished off his beer and stood. “After you,” he said, gesturing for me to walk ahead of him. I remembered my purse at the last second and hooked it over my shoulder. When we moved to make room for a waiter carrying a laden tray of plates, Tristan’s hand rested on my low back and stayed there as we walked to the register. I was instantly disappointed when he removed it to pay.

  Within moments, I was unaccountably delighted to have his palm like a hot brand on me again as we walked down the sidewalk. It was a cool evening, the air scented fresh from an earlier rain. We didn’t talk as we walked toward the gallery, yet my mind was spinning its own little web of thoughts about just what the hell I was doing.

  Shut up. You’re doing what you’re doing.

  I knew it was bad when I was ordering myself to shut up. I was relieved when we reached the gallery and were surrounded with a bustle of people. Seattle was famous for a number of things, including its cluster of glassblowers. This new gallery was filled to the brim with spectacular pieces of blown glass—everything from small pieces to large installations. Translucent colors filled the space as we meandered through. The gallery was situated in a corner building that had once housed an old clothing factory. I’d have presumed the gallery would only occupy a small part of the building, yet it took up all of it. The glass artists worked on site, so we meandered through watching the artists at work and checking out room upon room of their artwork.

  The gallery had gone all out for this opening with hors d’oeuvres served on small tables in every room and wait staff circulating with trays of wine and champagne. I was abuzz—inside and out—with the hum of my body’s need for Tristan growing louder by the minute. His nearness made me crazy. It was fairly crowded, so we were often walking close with his hand hot on my back and me itching to have him slide it down over my bottom.

  As I’d have expected, he was as engaging a companion here as anywhere. He chatted with a few of the glassblowers and kept pulling me into whatever he was looking at. All in all, I felt rather distracted and was probably drinking too much wine, but I needed something to take the edge off my restlessness. We exited what appeared to be the last room. I paused and glanced both ways in the long hallway. To our left was the way we’d come and led back to the main room. Looking to the right, I presumed we’d finally reached a part of the old factory they weren’t using. A faded sign was atop the door—‘Offices’ was all it said.

  Next thing I knew, Tristan slid his hand off my low back and curled it around mine, tugging me with him to the door. To my surprise, it opened when he turned the knob. In a flash, we were on the other side. He spun me around so quickly, my back slammed into the door.

  “What…”

  My question was cut off by his mouth slamming to mine. Oh, well, that was just fine. He crowded against me, and I moaned at the feel of him—every hard, muscled inch of him pressed flush to me. This was no slow, gentle kiss. The second our lips met, his tongue swept into my mouth. It was hot, wet, and rough. He tangled a hand in my hair, adjusting the angle of my head when he yanked his lips away and trailed them down my neck, muttering something.

  Heat spread like wildfire through my veins, and I sucked in a breath. My channel throbbed with need, and I wanted him so badly, I ached with it.

  I wore a blue silk blouse with a scoop neck that cinched at the top of my breasts with a ribbon. He caught the ribbon in his teeth and drew back, quite effectively untying it. The silk sagged, revealing my black lace bra.

  “Jesus, Daisy. You’re so fucking hot,” he murmured, his lips making their way into the sensitive valley between my breasts.

  I slid a hand into his hair—because I needed something to hold onto. “Tristan, what…”

  My question ended on a moan when he laved his tongue over my nipple drenching the lace. A shiver of pleasure ran down my spine. My nipples were so tight, they hurt.

  “Yes?” he asked, b
elatedly enough I didn’t even recall I’d said anything for a second.

  I dragged my eyes open to find his waiting. My heart gave a hard thump when our gazes locked. I took a shuddering breath and scrambled for purchase in my mind.

  “What are you doing?” I finally managed to ask, my voice raspy.

  “I didn’t think I could make it all the way back through this bloody place without kissing you,” he replied bluntly.

  I liked to consider myself a strong woman, one who didn’t need the approval of a man to feel good about herself. Yet, hearing how much he wanted me nearly made me swoon, the effect heightened by the state of my body—liquid need burning like fire in my veins.

  “Oh,” was my brilliant reply.

  His hand was palming one of my breasts. He chose that moment to drag his thumb back and forth over my nipple. I moaned because I couldn’t help it. My sex clenched, and I could feel the slick, wet heat there. I needed more than just the feel of his cock pressed at the apex of my thighs. I needed him, all of him, inside of me.

  “Should we maybe go somewhere?” I asked, for the first time glancing around us.

  We were in a dingy hallway. This part of the factory didn’t appear to have been touched in a few decades. The paint was peeling off a door to one side and the concrete flooring was covered in heavy dust. Dusty cobwebs adorned the corners.

  When my eyes made their way back to Tristan, his mouth was curled at one corner. Oh fuck me. My channel throbbed.

  “Perhaps we should,” he finally replied.

  He didn’t move though. We stood there in the dingy hallway with the voices from the gallery filtering dimly through the door. His thumb kept teasing my nipple with idle strokes, and I thought maybe we shouldn’t leave.

  “I have an idea.”

  His gruff voice sent a shiver over my skin. Whatever his idea was, I didn’t doubt for a second it was a good one. Hell, I’d have walked through fire at this point to have him inside of me.

  “What’s that?”

  “You said you wanted two things, right?”

  A dash of reality slapped at me. Yes, I had. I wanted to have an orgasm and a commitment. I really, really didn’t want to think about the whole commitment thing right now. Whatever. I wasn’t going to play dumb and act like I hadn’t said that. Although, how stupid I’d been? I’d thought the truth would be the guarantee Tristan would stay miles away from me.

  “Right. You’ve partially met one,” I replied, drawing on my bold self to taunt him a little. That’s the only way I’d stay sane in this madness with him.

  I could tell my dig hit its target. He arched a brow. “Partially?”

  I shrugged. “Oh, I definitely had an orgasm, and you helped make it happen. But I meant an orgasm when I was having sex. You didn’t deliver that.”

  Have you lost your fucking mind? You like him way too much and now you’re pretty much daring him to take this to the next level.

  I was out of my mind. No doubt about that. But I wanted what I wanted and I didn’t want to let it pass me by. I figured I’d find a way to keep from falling any deeper into this emotionally.

  His gaze darkened as we stared at each other. His thumb made another slow pass over my nipple and then he caught it between his fingers and gave it a pinch before stepping back. Without a word, he dragged my blouse back together and tied the bow. Only then did he speak.

  “Give me a month. I’ll make sure you have an orgasm any way you want. At the end of the month, we’ll reassess.”

  “Reassess?”

  I couldn’t help the laugh that escaped. Leave it to him to sound so haughty and stuffy. That turned out to be a good thing, otherwise I might have started thinking. Rational thought would have reminded me I was setting myself up for almost certain heartbreak.

  He held my gaze. “Yes. I figure you’ve got a few years of bloody boring sex to make up for. I’d like to take all the credit, but I’m no fool. I know chemistry when I feel it. We’ve got it in spades, so let’s see if we can burn it off. Like I said before, you can’t guarantee commitment in advance anyway.”

  He’d thrown the gauntlet down. Either I chickened out and walked away, or I took him up on his offer. Whether he knew it or not, he had my number. If he’d approached this any other way than the dare it felt like, I’d have told him to fuck off. Instead I found myself nodding.

  He simply nodded in return and curled his hand around mine. In seconds, we were walking swiftly through the gallery. Tristan’s height was an advantage. The crowd simply parted for him as he strode boldly through.

  I practically had to run to keep up with him. All of the sudden, a thought stopped me in my tracks. I planted my feet. He swung back swiftly.

  “Yes?”

  “One condition,” I said.

  He merely arched a brow.

  “For the month, it’s just us.”

  I waited with my heart banging a staccato rhythm against my ribs. I was being reckless and stupid as it was. I wasn’t up for wondering who else he was fucking while I was at it.

  He didn’t even hesitate and nodded. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  Chapter 11

  Tristan

  A soft drizzle started to fall as I drove back to Daisy’s place. I forced myself to keep both hands on the steering wheel, although the sight of her bare thighs was an unholy temptation. Yet again, she was wearing a skirt that was just a tad too short for my sanity. I’d walked through that damn gallery, watching her hips swing and wondering what it would feel like to flip that skirt up and slide my hand between her thighs for over an hour. That’s what had led me to shove through that door and kiss her.

  I knew I was out of my mind with what I’d just proposed, but I didn’t care. I was hanging my sanity on the hopes that a month of Daisy would burn out the chemistry between us. It was a long, taut drive to her duplex. By the time we arrived, I was beyond caring about the fact I was still rock hard. I forced my movements to stay measured as I opened the passenger door and closed it behind her. My control slipped again as I watched her skirt swing with every step on the slate walkway to her door.

  The door slammed behind us, and I spun her back against it, fitting my mouth over hers and pouring hours of need into hers. Her purse fell to the floor, her keys following in a clatter. Shoving her skirt up, I didn’t even bother trying to take it slow. I slid my hand down her thigh, groaning at the feel of her silky skin. Dinner and that fucking endless walk through the gallery had been foreplay enough to make me want to explode. I slid my hand around her bottom and groaned again when I discovered she was wearing a thong.

  God, I fucking loved how soft she was. I couldn’t resist squeezing the lush curve of her bottom. I finally tore my mouth free when she dragged her hand over my cock. Our eyes locked, and I didn’t even know how it was physically possible, but my cock got even harder.

  I let my finger follow along the strip of silk between her cheeks. The silk covering her core was wet. I dragged my finger roughly over it. “Fuck, Daisy. You’re going to kill me.”

  She leaned her head against the door, those wide brown eyes pinned to me. Her mouth—fuck me that mouth—curled on one side in a lopsided grin as she stroked across my cock again.

  “As long as you make good on your promise, I won’t kill you,” she murmured.

  That did it. In a blur, I tore at her clothes. I needed to see all of her. I’d had enough of the taunting and teasing her body had done all night, hidden inside that silky blouse where I could see her nipples pressing against the silk and that skirt that shouldn’t even be legal. At least, not when she was wearing it.

  She didn’t hold back and made quick work of my shirt before she yanked my jeans open and slid her hand inside my briefs. My cock jumped at her touch. I gritted my teeth and yanked on the reins of control slipping through my fingers. Much as I wanted this to be rough and wild, I wanted enough control I could make sure I didn’t rush so much that I reneged on my promise to Daisy.

/>   I stepped back.

  Big mistake.

  She stood before me, her skirt pooled around her ankles, her blouse and bra on the floor beside her. Her breasts—full and round with her nipples taut and perky, practically taunting me with their existence. Her hair had come loose from its twist and fell around her shoulders—a honey gold tousled mess.

  If I touched her now, I didn’t think I’d make it away from this door. I grabbed her hand. “Come on.”

  Thank fucking God she didn’t hesitate, and thank fucking God her bedroom was only maybe twenty steps away. After nothing but a blur, we were on the bed, and I was stretched out beside her, devouring her skin with my lips and tongue. It would remain an utter mystery why Daisy had such shitty luck with men and sex before. She was the most responsive woman I’d ever been with. Just as she approached everything else, she went at sex with boldness. She was generally loud in conversation and just as much so in sex, except now it was breathy moans that nearly made me lose control, gasps and little cries. She swore plenty too, which I fucking loved.

  “Fuck Tristan, stop that!” she exclaimed, trying to wiggle out from under me as I drew my tongue along the sensitive skin on the inside of her thigh.

  I gripped her hips and looked up. My cock throbbed at the sight of her—her skin was flushed pink and her hair was a wild mess on the pillows.

  “Why? It’s obvious you like it,” I countered, dragging a finger through her folds and savoring how wet she was for me.

  Her hips rolled into my touch. After a low moan, she narrowed her eyes.

  “Not fair. I want…”

  I didn’t wait for her answer and put my mouth right where I wanted it, sinking a finger knuckle deep inside of her right then.

  Her head fell back. “Oh God.”

  I settled in, exploring every inch of her folds with my tongue while stretching and fucking her with my fingers. She came in a noisy burst, her hips bucking against my mouth.

  She yanked at my hair. I was so close to the edge of my control, I couldn’t draw it out any further. I’d had enough sense to snag a condom out of my pocket when I kicked my jeans off earlier. I smoothed it on and settled against her. The wet heat of her entrance kissed the head of my cock, but I waited.