"I'm sorry." Is she crying? She sounds like she's crying.
Fuck's sake. I roll to my side, face her. She's not crying, but it's close. "Go to sleep. Please." I'm begging here.
"I can't. I keep thinking about somebody breaking into my apartment. I don't think I'll feel safe there anymore."
"Well, you don't have to worry about that. You're never living there again."
Curious blue eyes shine up at me. "What do you mean?"
"I'll find another place for you to live. A safer one."
"Safe places tend to be expensive."
"Don't worry about the money."
She sits up. "Of course I have to worry about the money. Sometimes that's all I think about."
Her maddening scent surrounds me. A lock of her gorgeous auburn hair slides down to curl over her left breast. If she doesn't stop, she's going to drive me insane. I glare at her. "I'll give you the money. Go to sleep. Please."
"I can't accept money from you! I'll move in with Mar and save my pennies until I can afford something."
"Where does she live?"
"In the South Side."
That's in an even worse part of town than her current address. "No. You're not moving there."
"You can't tell me what to do, Ty." She drops back on the bed, crossing her arms against her chest.
"Somebody's got to. You don't have the sense God gave you moving into that place."
"Easy for you to say. With all the millions you have." She lets out a hard breath. "Maybe it wasn't such a good idea me staying here. I think I better leave."Rolling off, she comes to her feet on the other side of the bed.
I immediately jump out. "You're not going anywhere."
Her eyes round. No wonder. I'm hard as stone and my cock's curled up almost to my belly button. Well, what the fuck does she expect? Any red blooded male would react the same way to her smell, her voice, her.
She pries her gaze from my dick to glare at me. "Says who?"
"Me."
"You're not the boss of me."
"Real mature, MacKenna." I cross my arms against my chest, widen my stance. "It's past three in the morning, tell me, where would you go?"
"I'll find a motel somewhere near by."
"This is a residential neighborhood. Nearest hotel is several miles away. How would you get there?"
"I'll call a cab same as I did before."
I fling down my arms, knot my hands into fists. "The hell you are. You're staying here with me."
"No."
I stomp toward her, pick her up, drop her on the mattress. My shoulder screams with pain. Fuck. Fine job I'm doing of resting it. "If you don't stay put, so help me God, I'll tie you to the bed."
"You wouldn't dare!" Sparks flash in those beautiful bluebell eyes of hers.
"Watch me." I beat feet to my dresser, yank out a couple of belts, turn around and swing them at her. "Now, what will it be?"
"You're a Neanderthal."
I shrug off the insult. Been called worse.
"Fine. I'll stay." She slams back to the mattress.
Not one to trust her I shove the dresser in front of the door. "And don't even think about sneaking out the window. If you do, an alarm will go off."
"It didn't go off last time I was here."
"I forgot to set it that night."
I crawl into bed, wide awake and jacked up by the turn of events. Good luck falling asleep.
She's breathing hard next to me. "I hate you."
I roll over and face her. "No, you don't. You want me." I point to her hard little nipples. "See."
"If you were any kind of a gentleman, you would not point that out." She bands her arms around her boobs which does nothing but put them in gorgeous display.
I could say something, but I don't. Elbows bent, I prop my head on top of my hands and stare at the ceiling. It's going to be a long night.
For a while, the only sounds to be heard are the sawing of our breaths.
"Maybe we should just do it."
What!!! Is she suggesting what I think she is? "Do what?"
"Have sex."
Shhiiiitt! My cock is pulsing so hard it's fucking leaking by now. "MacKenna, I'm not going to take advantage of you. Not now when you're not in a good place." There. I acted like a gentleman. Disgusted, my cock tears up my player card.
"Ty." She touches my arm and I hiss out a breath. "See? You can't sleep. I can't sleep. I liked it when we had sex last time. I liked it a lot. Maybe if we have sex all this tension will disa—"
I tackle her to the bed. My hand snakes beneath the hem of her shirt, skims her soft thigh, and heads for the promised land. I tried. God knows I tried, but there's only so much temptation a man can withstand. "You're wet."
"You make me wet." She purrs.
Jeezus, how can I hope to be a gentleman with that admission?
One handed, I wrestle the shirt off her, toss it to the floor. "Are you sure MacKenna? Are you absolutely, positively sure you want to have sex with me?"
"Yes, Ty. I'm sure." She curls one of her soft hands around my neck and tugs me down, brushes her lips against mine. And then she pulls back, a horrified look on her face. "I'm sorry. I forgot."
"Forgot what?"
"You don't kiss."
"Did Marigold tell you that too?"
"Yes."
Man that chick's a fount of information when it comes to me. "She's right. I don't kiss other women. But"—I kiss her soft shoulder, her supple throat, her satiny cheek—" I very much want to kiss you." I haul her body directly beneath me. Her eyes darken as I swoop in for a kiss. I keep up that swaying motion while I kiss her soft lips. She smells of everything that is sweet and good in this world.
Her hands clamp down on my shoulders while I play with her mouth, nibbling, licking the edges, sucking in the luscious bottom lip. Her pussy's drenching my cock. She loves what I'm doing to her. But as much as I want to pound into her, I keep up the soft, easy pace.
I suck her tongue into my mouth, gently explore hers. She's breathing hard and so am I. Don't know how long I can keep up this gentle pace. But this is MacKenna, not some groupie interested in hard and quick. She wants the tenderness, the romance. I'm going to give her exactly what she wants. Even if it kills me.
But first I need to make sure she's protected. I reach for the drawer in the night table, fish out a packet, rip it with my teeth and roll the latex over my cock. The damn thing's so hard I struggle to get it on.
Eyes wide, she lies watching the whole operation. "Do you always—?" she asks.
"Yes." Every damn time. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing. It's just . . . the condom makes it real. You know."
"Have you changed your mind? About the sex I mean?" Like there's another offer on the table.
She curls her soft hand around my neck and pulls me down for a kiss. "No. I haven't."
"These beauties of yours drive me crazy. So plump and bouncy." I slip the tip of one into my mouth and suckle.
She moans. "Oh, God. Ty. Do that again."
"With pleasure." I settle down to feast on her skin while my hand plumps and kneads the other one.
She wiggles and I notch my hard on between her legs right where it will do the most good.
"Oh, yes. More, please."
I'm a big man and she hasn't had much experience, so I ease into her an inch at a time, while I savor the sweet skin of hers. Man, she tastes of brown sugar all over. And her scent? Well, I don't have to tell you what that scent does to me. I keep up that surging motion while she writhes beneath me.
"You like this, MacKenna?"
"Yes, Ty, yes."
I kiss her, a deep soulful kiss that goes straight through me. And her too, going by the way her body trembles. "A little more, sweetheart?"
"Okay."
I do, and she bites down on her lip.
"Too much?"
"No." She curls her hand around my neck and brings my mouth to her lips. "Just right."
I try to g
o slow, for her sake. Hell, for mine as well. I want to enjoy this as long as I can. But soon her motion becomes more frantic and her moans become more urgent. When she scratches my back, something inside me breaks. And I let go and pound into her, giving her everything I have.
"Ty, oh, my god, Ty." Her climax hits and she screams.
I bury my head in her neck and reach for my own release.
Minutes, hours later, our breathing, our heartbeats return to normal. I know she can't leave, not with the blockade at the door, but even so, I curl my body around her and latch my arm around here. If she so much as twitches, I'll know.
Chapter 15
MacKenna
I WAKE IN A SNUG COCOON, engulfed in blankets. The heat never worked right in my apartment. But this morning even my toes are toasty warm. I pat the bed around me, hoping to find Ty, but emptiness greets me. Maybe he's in the bathroom? But only the sound of silence greets me. Wrapping the comforter around me, I head for the bathroom, taking care not to walk too fast. After last night's marathon session, I'm aching in all the right places.
On the bathroom mirror, I find a sticky note. "Off to practice. Back in the afternoon. Make yourself at home. Plenty of food in the fridge."
Of course, he's at practice. He's a football player after all. They train just about every day, as I discovered during my interview with Ron. But can he practice with his arm in that brace? When I asked him about it, he clammed up. I make a mental note to find out about it.
After a soak in the tub, I throw on some clean clothes and head to the kitchen for some much needed coffee. While the Keurig's doing its thing, I open the refrigerator door. He's not kidding about the fridge. It's jam-packed with all kinds of food. Keeping it simple, I scramble a couple of eggs, make toast, pour orange juice. As I'm cleaning up, my cell rings. It's him.
"Good morning," he says in a voice full of gravel.
"Morning."
"Whatcha doing?"
"Just finished breakfast."
"Good. Had a great time last night."
I blush, remembering all the things he did to me, all the things we did together. "Yeah, me too."
"I'll be home by one. See you then?"
Not an odd question. I did walk out on him before. But that's when I had somewhere to go. Right now, I don't. "I'll be here."
"Great." His voice perks up, as if it's that important I remain in his house. Why? I have no idea. It's not like we're an item. Yes, we've had sex—twice. But surely for a playah like him, that's nothing. Except he doesn't sleep with the same woman twice, and he certainly did with me. But I was the one to force the issue last night, wasn't I, after I crawled into bed with him? So it shouldn't mean that much to him.
I can't think about this right now. Not when other things clamor for my attention. I call my boss to let him know my apartment was broken into and my laptop was stolen. He'll need to file a claim with the insurance company and also get a replacement. To his credit Mr. Bartlett is more concerned about my safety than the computer.
"Machines can be replaced. Human beings can't."
"Thank you, Mr. Bartlett. I appreciate that."
"Do you have a place to stay?"
"Yes. I'm bunking in with a friend." I don't tell him which friend. If he finds out I'm in Ty's house, he'll hit the roof. At the very least, he'll take me off Ty's interview. And I can't have that. I have to interview Ty. I need to interview Ty.
He's hiding something. And I'm going to find out what. Ty may not want anyone to know about his past, but unfortunately, secrets have a way of coming out at the worst possible time. But what if it's something bad? Something that could damage his career. And football is everything to him. If it's something unpleasant, I'll deal with it when the time comes. The last thing I want is to hurt him.
"If you need money, let me know. We can float you an advance on your paycheck."
Even though I could use the cash, I decline his offer. I'll need funds to get a new place to live. When I find one, I can ask for an advance then. If I find one. Cheap apartments in safe neighborhoods are thin on the ground in Chicago. "Thanks, but I'm good."
"Well, you let me know, if you do." He clears his throat. "Did you check the Sunday edition of the Windy City Chronicle?"
"No. With what happened last night, I haven't had a chance."
"You might want to."
Does he mean what I think he means? Did the Ron piece make it on the paper? Suddenly breathless, all I can say is, "I will. Thanks again, Mr. Bartlett."
Dying to find out if I'm right, I fire up my smart phone and enter the website's address. Sure enough. My Ron Moss article is front and center. I squeal. And it has comments! I squeal again before settling down to reading them. Individuals who have dyslexia, parents of dyslexic children. And every post is positive, praising Ron for his courage, for bringing this topic to light. There's even one from an eight-year old boy saying he doesn't feel so alone any more. That one brings a tear to my eyes. The more comments I read, the more my heart fills with joy. This is why I wanted to be a journalist. To bring social issues to the fore. Who knew I'd find it by writing a piece about a football player?
I want to call Ron and share my joy with him. But he's got to be in football practice as well, so I put it off until the afternoon. In the meantime, I need to get back to reality. I dig out my landlord's business number. When I call, all I get is voice mail so I leave him a message telling him what happened.
Having done as much as I can about the apartment, I turn my thoughts toward my next interview. Without my laptop, I don't have anything to write on, so I go searching in Ty's kitchen for something to make do. I strike gold in a kitchen drawer where I find a small pad. The kind you use to make shopping lists with. Music helps me channel my inner journalist, so I fire up one my favorite playlists on my smartphone. I spend the next couple of hours, jotting down notes for my interview with Mad Dog Buchinsky. The key to him is to reveal the soft marshmallow heart of the strong linebacker. I'm so lost in my process, I don't realize Ty's home until he rolls in behind me and drops a kiss on my shoulder.
I squeal and practically jump out of my skin. "God, you scared me."
He walks around the end of the couch, lifts me and kisses me like I'm his last hope of salvation. When he presses against me, his erection brushes against me. Amazingly, he's just as hard as the night before. When I lost my mind with lust over him. My face grows hot as I recall the things I did, the words I yelled while we had sex.
"I missed you."
"Oh." Busy as I was jotting down notes, I didn't miss him. What does that say about me? Am I using him as a hook up? As a crutch? Or maybe I was just trying to fill my mind with thoughts about my career to avoid any personal introspection. Wouldn't be the first time I've done that.
He breathes in my hair. "You smell like me."
"Yeah, I used your stuff when I bathed." His body wash had been right there in plain sight, as well as his shampoo and conditioner. I'd brought my own, but it'd felt right to use his. If he couldn't be here, I could be surrounded by him. Boy, am I confused. Do I want him or not?
He sweeps a lock off my face, and kisses my lips again. "Are you sore from last night?"
My face heats up. "A little. But I don't regret it one bit."
A boyish grin pops up on his lips. "Good." He reaches for the remote, turns on the TV, and a show pops up on the screen. A bunch of men talking about football. "The Raiders and the Cowboys. Should be a good game."
"Okay." I cut the music app on my phone.
"You want something to eat? I'm starving." He throws over his shoulder as he walks away. "I make a mean sub."
"I'll take half of one." I follow him to the kitchen where he's already pulling stuff from the fridge—sub rolls, luncheon meats, cheese, all the fixings.
"So what did you do this morning?" he asks as he starts making a Dagwood-style sandwich. Who thought he'd be so domesticated? Not only that, he's happy I'm here. Strange, since he's the love 'em and leave 'em ty
pe.
I tell him about my conversation with my boss.
"You didn't tell him you were staying here."
"No. That would not have gone well." I park my bottom on one of the kitchen stools while he slathers mayonnaise, avocado, and some dressing on one of the sub rolls.
"He's bound to find out sooner or later."
With any luck, he won't. I plan to move out as soon as I can. "Ty, I thank you for your help, but last night was a one time thing. Well I guess it's a two-time thing. If I moved in with you, my boss would hit the roof. I can't get personally involved with my interview subjects. If I did, I couldn't write an objective piece." Never mind it would break about a zillion journalistic rules.
"That ship has sailed, hasn't it?" He plates my sub, adds a mountain of chips, and slides it over to me. "You want something to drink?"
"I'll take a coke." He does have a point, but I believe I can still write an objective piece on him. But only if I'm not living beneath the same roof as him.
He grabs the soft drink and a bottle of some artisanal beer I've never heard of, and plops down on the stool next to me. Grabbing the remote, he turns the kitchen television to the same pre-game show.
Great! Now he has two tvs blaring football.
After taking a huge bite of the sub, he washes it down with the beer before pointing to mine. "Eat."
"Yeah." I tear off a piece of my sandwich and chew carefully.
"You like?"
I nod before swallowing. "You make a great sub."
When his tongue darts out to lick his lips, my senses come alive. I know what he did with that tongue.
A grin pops up on his face and he winks. Does he know what I'm thinking, what I'm feeling? Probably. He wouldn't be the player he is if he couldn't read women. But I can't go down that road, not when it will interfere with what I want out of life. Sooner or later the fact I'm in his house is bound to leak out.
Finished with his sandwich, he takes his plate to the sink. Here's he gone and wolfed down his food, and I've barely taken a bite. "I've been thinking. If you stay here, I can help you."
"How so?"
Dirty Filthy Boy (Chicago Outlaws #1) Page 10
