The All-Star Antes Up (Wager of Hearts #2)

by Nancy Herkness

  “Most people think I’m whining.” His face was somber. “Or faking it so I’ll look like a regular guy.”

  She decided to lighten the mood. “I’m afraid you’ll never look like a regular guy. It’s just not in your genes.”

  That brought light back into his eyes. “I thought I looked good in my jeans.”

  “You look even better out of them.”

  “Lady, you just delayed your tour by an hour or so.” He snaked his arm around her waist and hustled her into a huge living room that had one full wall made of glass. She had a quick glimpse of the lights of the Verrazano Bridge before Luke pressed her down on a room-filling sectional sofa covered in butter-soft tan leather. It reminded her of a well-worn saddle.

  He took off his hat and knelt in front of her. “Sweetheart, I want to taste you. You good with that?”

  His words sent a rush of desire prickling over her skin. It amazed her that he always asked permission. He never assumed that she wanted the same thing he did, and he never used the strength of his body or the steel of his will to compel her.

  She looked into his eyes, now on the same level as hers, and marveled at the change from ice to fire. She leaned forward to comb her fingers through his hair, slightly mussed from the Stetson, and let them drift down to his shoulders. As she traced his muscles with her fingertips, she caught the intake of his breath. “I won’t say no to a hungry man,” she said, leaning forward to brush her lips against his.

  Without breaking the kiss, he came forward to push her back onto the cushions. He lifted his head and ran his hands down the front of her shirt, dragging them over her hard nipples to make her gasp, before he palmed her thighs and pushed them apart. She felt a moment’s embarrassment as he just stared down between her legs, his eyelids heavy and his jaw tight with the control of a man trying to take it slow.

  He moved suddenly, lowering his mouth to lick the sensitive spot he’d exposed. As intense sensation speared through her, she closed her eyes and left thought behind. His tongue flicked and pressed and thrust, making her rock against him as she moaned and gasped, his touch driving fire through every inch of her body.

  He hooked his hands behind her knees and pulled her closer to the edge of the cushions, lifting her legs to crook over his shoulders. He slid his big hands between the leather and her bottom, cupping and lifting her so she was open more fully to his mouth. She bucked in his grip as the heat and pressure of his teeth and tongue and lips wound the tension to a fever pitch low in her body.

  “Not so fast, sugar,” he murmured, the huff of his breath against her highly sensitized clitoris making her buck again. “I want you to feel it all the way into your bones when you come.”

  “My bones are already sizzling.”

  “That’s what I like to hear.” He flexed his fingers into the curve of her backside, curling them into the cleft and making her jump at the extra stimulation. He kept going, sliding one finger into the hot, slick longing inside her from behind.

  “Ahhhhhh,” she moaned as the satisfaction of finally being filled rolled through her. He withdrew and slid two fingers in, stretching her with glorious pressure. “Yessssss.”

  “You feel so good,” he breathed against her as he pushed his fingers farther inside her. “Like hot, wet silk wrapped around my fingers.”

  “Please,” she said, grabbing the edge of the cushion so she could pulse her hips in supplication. She was almost there.

  “When a lady asks so nicely—” He twisted his fingers inside her, the unexpected sharpness of the motion sending a shock wave through her. Then he flicked her clit with the tip of his tongue and set off the explosion that had been building. Her blood ignited, and her muscles wrenched into an orgasm so extreme that she arched upward and clamped her thighs around his head to survive it.

  She heard a shriek of near pain and realized it was hers as her insides seemed to shatter and liquefy in the overwhelming release.

  He lapped at her as she convulsed, sending her up and over another peak. She could feel her muscles squeezing around his fingers, responding to the penetration with power. She rode the wave until it collapsed into a series of exhausted tremors.

  “No more,” she whispered as her muscles softened and released.

  He eased his fingers out of her and angled forward to slide her knees off his shoulders. As she sagged down onto the cushions, he swung her around so she lay fully on the couch, the shirt bunched up around her waist and her arms flung over her head with spent abandon.

  Closing her eyes, she let out a long sigh as pure contentment sluiced through every cell in her body.

  She felt his lips on her inner wrist, a delicate brush against her skin. It was so tender, tears burned behind her eyelids. Luke was the only word she could muster.

  “Too much?”

  She rolled her head back and forth on the couch in a strong negative. “Perfect, but mind-blowing. And nerve-blowing. And muscle-blowing.”

  The couch sank under her, and the leather of his chaps brushed the bared skin of her hip. “You taste as good as you look,” he said.

  She let her lips curve into a smile, but she kept her eyes shut. The intimacy and power of what he’d done made her oddly shy about meeting his gaze. She was afraid of what she might reveal about how he made her feel.

  “You look like you’re falling asleep. I promised you a bed for that.”

  His weight shifted, and she forced her eyes open, putting her hand against his chest to stop him from moving. He was looking down at her with banked desire, his tousled hair falling forward around his face. “I’m not sleepy,” she said. “I’m just coming down from the mountaintop.”

  He feathered his fingers through the hair at her temple. “Take your time on the descent, sugar.”

  She followed a tendon up the side of his neck. “You are the most generous lover.” His pulse beat beneath her fingers, and she marveled at the strength of it.

  He gave her a wicked smile. “I’ve learned that generosity gets repaid in spades.”

  “So it’s pure self-interest on your part?”

  “Let’s just say that having you come against my mouth and around my fingers is not torture for me.”

  “Thank goodness! I’d hate to think you’d sacrificed yourself for my gratification.”

  “Are you sassin’ me, woman? Because that is a dangerous thing to do in your position.” He ran his hand down her body to the side of her bare behind and gave it a gentle smack. His smile evaporated into a look of such heat she thought her skin might burst into flames.

  She tilted her head to check the swell of his erection under his jeans and thought of how it would feel inside her. All the nerve endings she’d thought were too wiped out to respond came roaring back to life. She grabbed his shoulder to pull herself into a sitting position. “Time for me to ride you, cowboy.”

  “No rush. We have all night.” But his eyes went even hotter.

  The prospect of what they could do with all that time sent a thrill through her. Followed by another stab of regret that it would be their last.

  “But we have a lot to accomplish, so maybe we should get going.” She skimmed her fingers down over his steely pecs to circle his nipple.

  He started to move, but she scrambled to her feet first. Putting both hands on his shoulders, she used her weight to keep him seated on the sofa. Or rather, he allowed her to keep him there. “My turn to ride,” she said.

  “You sure you aren’t saddle sore, cowgirl?”

  Her answer was to unbuckle the waistband of his chaps.

  “Yee haw,” he said, helping her yank off his boots, chaps, and jeans in rapid succession. He retrieved a condom from his jeans pocket and kicked the pile of clothes away.

  As he leaned back against the leather cushions, she luxuriated in the full glory of his naked body, letting her gaze trail down over the mass of his shoulders, across the gilt-dusted planes of his chest, along the laddered ridges of his abs, and past the tower of his cock. She tr
aced along the ridges of his thigh muscles and drifted down his powerful calves to the strong arches of his bare feet planted squarely on the floor.

  “Yee haw is right,” she said, stunned as always by how beautiful and male he was.

  He was watching her under half-closed eyelids. “Darlin’, you looking was almost as good as you actually touching me. But not quite.” He sat forward and seized the front of her shirt to pull her closer. “This needs to come off,” he said, flicking the buttons out of the flannel and shoving it off her shoulders.

  His hands were on her breasts, lifting them and rolling his thumbs over the nipples. She swayed on her high-heeled boots as electric desire sparked through her. Seeing her totter, he brought his hands to her waist to steady her, his thumbs nearly touching at her navel.

  She stepped forward so she stood straddling his legs. “I think I need to sit down.”

  He reached for the condom.

  “Not yet.” She bent her knees and sank onto the steel girders of his thighs, reveling in the feel of his strength under her backside. Taking his cock in both hands, she stroked up and down the hard column.

  Luke groaned and let his head fall back on the sofa cushions, closing his eyes. “You have hands like velvet, sugar.”

  She circled her thumbs around the tip of his erection, making him moan again. When she reached between her thighs and his to cup his balls, his hips pulsed upward and he lifted his head.

  “Time for me to do some of the work.” He reached for the condom and rolled it on before he gave her a questioning look. “You ready for that?”

  Just straddling his thighs had made moisture pool inside her. The thought of being impaled on his cock made her inner muscles clench. To answer him, she scooted her knees onto the couch cushion and braced her hands on his shoulders so she was poised over his erection. She looked into his eyes and smiled. “Spare a horse. Ride a cowboy.” Then she sank downward to drive his erection inside her.

  They cried out in unison. His hands came to her waist again, this time gripping her like iron bands as he held her there, her legs spread over his lap, her clit grinding against the wiry hair around the base of his cock. The tendons on his neck stood out as he let her absorb him inside her. “You’re so sexy,” he said, his gaze resting on the swell of her breasts.

  His cock seemed to thicken inside her. To see if she could break his control, she squeezed her internal muscles.

  He released one hand to give her behind a light slap. She yelped in surprise, but the tiny sting ratcheted her arousal up another notch.

  “You did that to bother me, sugar,” he said, his voice a rasp.

  “Just seeing how long you can hold out.”

  “Back to the competition,” he said. He flexed his hips to shift his cock inside her.

  She tightened her muscles again, winding her own tension tighter.

  He growled and seized her hips, lifting her upward until he was barely inside her. She breathed out a mew of disappointment, and then he brought her downward as he pushed his hips upward. They slammed together, sending an earthquake of heat and friction shuddering through her. For a moment they stayed there suspended, his cock driven deep. Then his hips dropped and he pulled her up again, leaving her almost empty before he reversed the motions.

  “Ahhh, yessss,” she moaned, tilting her pelvis so that she forced him even deeper.

  “Miranda,” he growled. And then he positioned her so he could let loose, thrusting and withdrawing with a relentless rhythm. He went still before he bucked and howled his release, his voice echoing off the glass wall as he pumped and throbbed inside her. He held her there until she felt his cock soften. When he slid out, the slight friction made her moan.

  “Now, you,” he said, slipping his thumb up inside her while his fingers played her clit.

  Her muscles clamped around his thumb as her core went incandescent. She rocked and cried out. He touched her again, and her orgasm pulsed once more before releasing her.

  She collapsed over him, her head on his shoulder, barely twitching when he withdrew his thumb. She felt the back of his hand brush against her as he stripped off the condom, eliciting a minuscule flicker of sensation. All she could do was sigh against his neck.

  He swiveled them around so he could stretch out on the couch, bringing her down with him.

  “Won’t this hurt your bruises?” she asked as he wrapped his arms around her back.

  “What bruises?”

  “Seriously, I shouldn’t be on top of you.”

  He tightened his hold. “You make the best kind of blanket.”

  His big body radiated warmth like a giant heating pad. “You can’t possibly be cold.”

  “Not yet.”

  She stopped arguing because she liked the feel of her breasts compressed against his chest and the way his thigh rode between her legs. She enjoyed the ropes of his arms across her back. Her head rose and fell gently with his breathing, and his heartbeat thumped in her ear. His body was so hard that it made her feel very female and soft by contrast. Her muscles were fluid and relaxed, almost as though she had melted over him.

  Her eyelids had drifted closed when a loud rumble made her start. “Was that your stomach?”

  “Yeah. Ignore it.” He sounded embarrassed, which she found funny.

  She remembered that she hadn’t eaten dinner, either. “I’m a little hungry, too.”

  “As soon as I can bring myself to let you go, I’ll fix us some quesadillas.”

  She nestled into him again. “You can play football and cook. Wow.”

  “Quesadillas are not cooking. Anyone can throw some meat, cheese, and salsa on a tortilla and heat it up. Mine are only good because my housekeeper, Carmen, makes the salsa and the guac from scratch.”

  The thought of fresh guacamole made Miranda’s stomach mutter.

  He chuckled. “It’s a chorus.” He helped her roll off him and onto her feet.

  She turned to watch him rise from the couch in a ripple of muscle and sinew that took her breath away. “You should really let an artist sculpt a nude statue of you.”

  “Yeah, my teammates wouldn’t give me too much grief about that.”

  She stepped close to him and traced a ridge of muscle in his lower abdomen. “It’s just that your body reminds me of the Greek and Roman statues at the Met.” She followed the muscle downward. “Only better, because you’re warm and alive. And I get to touch you.”

  She heard the hiss of his breath and lifted her head. He had a strange look on his face, a mixture of disbelief, pleasure, and arousal.

  “Why do you see me so differently from everyone else?” he asked.

  “I can’t be the only one who thinks your body is a work of art.”

  His gaze followed her finger as she drew it upward along the clearly defined line in the center of his torso. “My coach sees it as a useful tool. My trainer sees it as something to be whipped into shape. Most women see it as—well, let’s just say they’ve never called it art.”

  “How do you see it?” She couldn’t believe he didn’t have any idea of his physical perfection.

  “Necessary for my job.”

  Chapter 22

  Luke seized her hand and started toward the kitchen. “Let’s eat.” He swung around as he felt Miranda pulling back against his forward motion.

  “I’m not eating naked,” she said.

  “Well, damn.” Disappointment rolled through him as he bent to snag his flannel shirt off the floor. He loved the way her bare breasts quivered as she walked on those spike-heeled boots. He handed the shirt to her with reluctance. As she buttoned it up, he grabbed his jeans.

  “Hey, I didn’t say you couldn’t eat naked.” Miranda gave him a lascivious smile.

  “The chef needs protection,” he said as he pulled them on, leaving the button undone so they rode low on his hips.

  She dropped her gaze to his crotch. “We definitely don’t want to damage anything down there.”

  Grinning, he wrappe
d his arm around her waist to hold her against him as he walked them toward the kitchen. Her hair was a riot of tangled waves and smelled like some kind of flowers when he dipped his head to inhale. He splayed his hand over her hip just to have another point of contact with the soft heat of her.

  Despite his hunger, he’d wanted to lie on that couch with her hot little body draped over his for the rest of the night. Or until he could make love to her again.

  He stopped in front of one of the high stools by the counter and lifted her onto the leather seat, provoking a startled Oh from her and a twinge from his bruises. A smile twitched at his lips as she yanked down the shirt his hands had rucked up.

  “Stop smirking,” she said, but she was smiling back. She crossed her legs and started to pull at one of her spike-heeled boots.

  “Let me.”

  She moved her foot away from his hands. “No tickling.”

  He easily caught her foot and straightened her leg out in front of her. “Okay, Cinderella.” Slipping the boot off her slender foot, he kneaded the high curve of her arch with his thumbs.

  “Ah,” she said, her head falling back and her eyes closing. “Another talent to add to your long list.”

  He worked the boot off her other foot and gave it the same treatment. He savored the feel of her skin, the subtlety of her pale pink nail polish, and the little sound she made in the back of her throat, like a cat purring.

  “You enjoy being touched.”

  Surprise showed in her eyes. “Doesn’t everyone?”

  He thought of several women he’d dated who disliked having their hair mussed or their lipstick smeared. Miranda looked delightfully disheveled and didn’t care. She was good with him looking disheveled, too. “You’d be surprised.”

  She considered that a moment. She did that a lot: listened to what he had to say and thought about it. “I guess not everyone can handle that kind of intimacy. It must be hard to feel so separate from the people you love.”

  Trevor’s comment about their parents flickered through his mind. “It is.”