Going Deep (Imperfect Love Book 2)

by Nikki Ash

  “I’m manly enough to admit I might turn into mush around you, but I’m not scared.” Giselle rolls her eyes, but as she turns back to watch the couple, I see a small smile splayed upon her lips.

  We watch the couple for a few minutes, and the kid finally gets enough guts to slink his arm around the girl. She turns toward him, and you can see it from a mile away, he’s going to go in for a kiss. Completely invested in this couple, Giselle leans in closer to the window. “It’s like watching a love story play out,” she murmurs. “Will he do it? Will he kiss her? Will she let him? Will she kiss him back?”

  Giselle’s grin widens as the kid leans in. His lips press against hers and she doesn’t back away. “Whoop!” Giselle cheers like she’s watching a football game and the receiver just scored a touchdown. When she glances around her, she remembers she’s in a quiet coffee shop. She cringes slightly, but then goes back to watching the couple make out.

  “Oh! Look!” She smacks my chest to get my attention, and I realize I’ve been watching her the past few minutes. “It’s a horse drawn carriage!”

  “It’s like thirty-five degrees outside,” I point out.

  “So what! It’s romantic, and they’re bundled up in blankets.” She sighs. “I should take a picture to show Olivia. It looks like Cinderella. She could do this for her wedding.” She snaps a photo and sends it to her friend. “I wonder if he’s going to propose, or maybe it’s just a romantic evening out.”

  As I listen to her talk about how romantic it all is, it’s clear that while she may be tough, she obviously has a soft spot in her that loves the idea of a romantic fairytale. She sighs in contentment as she watches the carriage go by, and I realize the key to her heart just may be through romance. And then it hits me that I want the key to her heart.

  “Oh my god! Kill, look!” Giselle squeals, throwing her head back in laughter. The couple who were sitting on the park bench are now running and ducking behind the bench as several kids throw snowballs at them. With the bench being used as a shield, they gather snow and make their own snowballs to throw back.

  “Let’s join them!” I say, standing and grabbing Giselle’s hand.

  She looks at me in shock, then grins devilishly. “Okay!”

  We run across the street, and the two of us start gathering up snow to make balls out of. The kids are still engaged in a snowball fight, and they don’t see us coming. With a few icy cold balls in each of our hands, we step out into the line of fire. Giselle throws the first ball. It hits one of the kids in the arm and gets all of the kids’ attention. They all turn to look at us.

  “You want in?” the kid she hit, who can’t be more than ten, yells. “Better watch out!” He grabs a snowball from his pile and throws it right at us. We both duck and it misses.

  “You need to take some throwing lessons!” I shout before I throw a ball at him. It hits him directly in the chest, and his eyes widen in shock. The other kids start laughing, and everyone goes back to their snowball fight. Giselle and I run all over the park with the kids for who knows how long. We get hit several times, and we definitely get a lot of good hits in. When I notice Giselle’s cheeks are a deep pink from the cold, and she’s nearly out of breath from running, I take her hand in mine and raise our arms in defeat.

  “We’re out!” I say, waving the metaphorical white flag. The kids all laugh.

  “Hey! Are you…aren’t you Killian Blake?” one of the kids asks.

  Giselle’s eyes widen, afraid I’m worried about getting caught. I’m not, though. It’s part of the job.

  “I am,” I admit.

  “Holy shit!” another kid yells. “We just threw snowballs at Killian Blake.”

  This time Giselle laughs.

  “Don’t use that language around here,” I admonish. There are tons of little kids running around. The kid has the decency to look sorry. “And you did. What’s your name?”

  “I’m Drake and this is my brother Dean.” He points to the kid next to him. “That’s my sister, Dana.” He points to the girl who was making out with the boy earlier. They’re standing next to each other and holding hands. “And that’s her boyfriend, Mark.” Drake scrunches up his nose in disgust.

  “Nice to meet you.” I shake their hands. “This is my friend, Giselle.” I put my arm around Giselle and she smiles softly at me.

  “You have a good arm,” I say to Drake, whose face lights up at my words. “You play ball?”

  “I do! All of us do…well, not my sister.” He shrugs. “I want to be a quarterback just like Nick Shaw…no offense.”

  “None taken,” I tell him. “Nick’s my best friend and a very talented quarterback.”

  “It sucks he’s retiring,” Drake states.

  “Yeah, well, he wants to go back to school. He loves reading and writing,” I say.

  “That’s cool, I guess.” He shrugs.

  “I can’t believe you’re here,” Dean cuts in. “And my ball is at home. I can’t even have you sign it.” He shakes his head in regret. “Damn it.” He glances at me. “I mean, darn it.”

  “How about this? I’ll write down the email of my publicist. She’s the lady who is in charge of my life. Have your parents email her, and she’ll give you passes to the first home game next season, and I’ll make sure to sign whatever you bring then.”

  “Are you fu—are you serious?” Drake yells. “Heck yes!” The kids all cheer. I ask a woman nearby for a pen and scrap piece of paper and write down Amber’s email address. Using the kids’ cell phones, Giselle takes a few pictures of me with them and then we say goodbye.

  “That was very sweet of you,” Giselle says as we walk toward Broadway to catch a cab.

  “It’s part of the job.”

  “No, catching a ball is part of your job. What you did back there isn’t a requirement.”

  “Those kids are why I have a job. They watch the games and buy my jersey,” I tell her honestly, then change the subject. “So, what’s next?” I glance at my watch. It’s still relatively early, and I’m not ready to say goodnight to Giselle yet. The past couple hours we’ve put aside all the drama from the outside world and have had a really good time.

  She blows out a harsh breath. “I don’t know…that snowball fight exhausted me.” She grins playfully. “I can’t remember the last time I used that many of my muscles at once.”

  “I think the last time I was part of a snowball fight was as a kid in North Carolina.” I smile as I remember my childhood growing up.

  “Is that where you’re from?” she asks. We continue to walk down the street, and since she hasn’t mentioned wanting or needing to go home, I go with it.

  “Yeah, I was born and raised in North Carolina. I received a scholarship to the University of North Carolina and that’s where I met Nick. My parents still live there. I have one brother, Dylan, but he lives here in New York.”

  “I’ve met your brother,” Giselle admits. “The game Nick was injured during, your brother and his wife were there. He seems nice.”

  “He is. He used to be a family attorney back in North Carolina, but didn’t love it. So, he moved here and opened up his own firm focusing on sports law. Shortly after, he met his wife, Christina, who was a model. They got married and settled down and gave me my niece, Julia. She’s an awesome kid.”

  We stop walking and I realize we’re standing in front of my building. “Want to come up?” I ask. “We can order in…” Giselle flinches, but quickly covers it with a tight smile. “Or if you’re tired, I can call you a cab.”

  “I am a bit tired,” she admits. “I worked all day then had to take the trip up to see my mom’s doctors, but I’m okay. We can go up to your place.”

  “You sure?” I ask just to make sure.

  “Yeah.” She smiles, but it isn’t the same one she had earlier. I want that smile back on her face.

  When we get up to my place, I tell Giselle she can have a seat in the living room. I pull out a few takeout menus from the drawer in the kitchen and
grab us each a bottle of water. When I walk back into the living room, Giselle is sitting on the couch. She’s removed her jacket and gloves. She’s wearing a pair of black slacks and her pink top is see-through, but I think it’s the way it’s made. Her bra underneath is the same color pink. She’s checking something on her phone, but when she hears me, she sets it to the side.

  “If you don’t see anything you like, we can order something else,” I tell her, handing her the stack of menus and sitting next to her. She takes them from me and sets them aside.

  “I’m not really hungry,” she says. “I was thinking we could get right to the nightcap.” She takes the bottom of my hoodie in her hands and lifts it up. I help her by lifting my arms and removing it from my body. She lifts my shirt next. This time I stop her.

  “Giselle…” I say slowly. I don’t want to offend her, but we’ve talked about this.

  “What?” she asks sounding genuinely confused.

  “I told you I don’t want to be sexual with anyone until I’m in a serious relationship.”

  She frowns. “You requested a nightcap…I thought you changed your mind.”

  “I requested a what?” And then it hits me. The different options with A Touch of Class. A nightcap means coming back to the client’s place for sex. When I called Bianca earlier today on my way to Giselle’s place, I told her I wanted Giselle every day and night she’s available for the foreseeable future. At first, she gave me shit saying she already has regular clients booked, but once I offered to pay double, she gave in. She must’ve marked me for a nightcap.

  “Your boss must’ve included it by mistake,” I tell her. “I wouldn’t pay you to fuck me.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I regret saying them. I didn’t mean it like it came out.

  “Oh,” she says. “Well, make sure you get that fixed. It’s a waste of money to pay for it and not get it.” She laughs, but it sounds off.

  She opens the top of her water bottle and takes a sip, then sets it down and laughs softly. “I understand you not wanting to have sex, but you do know you can’t get a woman pregnant from oral, right?”

  I let out a loud laugh that has her grinning, and it’s the one I love to see on her face.

  “Yeah, I know, but oral is a gateway to sex. When I first started my NFL career, I was young and women would throw themselves at me. At first, I thought maybe they were doing it because they liked me. I’d meet a girl at a party and we would make out. Sometimes it would lead to more. Her giving me head or me going down on her. I would stop it there, though, not wanting to continue until I knew there could be a future with us. The girls would get pissed.” I shake my head thinking about how many times a girl would accuse me of being gay.

  “As I got older, I realized most women wanted me because I was a professional athlete with money in the bank. While many made it clear they would be more than happy to commit, they weren’t what I was looking for. Because I didn’t want to lead them on, or put myself in a position where I would have to explain why I wasn’t going to have sex with them, I eventually stopped being with them in any capacity.

  “I told myself I was going to wait until I found a woman I could see myself having a baby with, but it never happened. Every woman I came across I just couldn’t imagine creating a family with.” I shrug. “Look at Nick and Olivia. Sure, it worked out for them, but what if she didn’t attend the football game? He would’ve never known he was a father. She would’ve had to raise their baby fatherless. I guess I’ve just never been willing to risk it…” Until now, I find myself thinking but don’t say out loud.

  “That makes sense.” She nods in understanding then stands. “But you did give me an orgasm.” Her cheeks burn pink.

  “I did,” I agree, remembering how fucking good she felt as she came around my fingers and the fact that I wasn’t the least bit concerned about where it would lead to.

  “I should probably get going,” she says. “I have to work tomorrow and…”

  Before she can finish her sentence, I lean over and kiss her. Our lips curl against each other and we kiss for several minutes. She tastes like the vanilla latte she drank, and fuck if I don’t want more. When we finally separate, I don’t give her a chance to say whatever negative thing I’m sure is going to come out of her mouth.

  “Stay the night with me.” Her eyes go wide. “Not for sex. Let’s have dinner, watch some crappy television, and when we’re tired we’ll go to sleep.”

  “Why?” she asks.

  “Because when you’re around I don’t feel so broken or lonely.”

  Eighteen

  Giselle

  Killian’s hands massage my breasts as I moan in pleasure. His fingers tweak my nipples, and my back arches, needing more of his touch. “More, please,” I beg. “Suck on my nipples, Kill,” I plead. I’m so close to coming.

  “You sure you want this?” Killian asks.

  “Yes!” I demand. A little more and I’m going to explode. “Suck on my nipples, please!” I beg again.

  He doesn’t listen, though. He just continues what he’s doing—massaging and pinching. My hands move to his head to force him to wrap those full lips around my nipples, only his head isn’t anywhere near my breasts.

  Then who’s touching my breasts? Am I dreaming?

  My eyes shoot open. My gaze goes to where Killian’s face really is—between my legs. I glance around at my surroundings. I’m in Killian’s room, in his bed. I look down and notice the hands that are on me aren’t Killian’s—they’re mine! My hands are massaging my breasts. My fingers are pinching my nipples.

  Killian’s hands are holding onto the insides of my thighs as he licks and sucks on my clit. I don’t even have time to ask him what is going on before I’m coming so hard my butt lifts off the bed.

  “Jesus, woman,” Killian murmurs, “that was so fucking hot.” He sits up and lifts the bottom of his T-shirt to wipe his mouth, his perfect set of abs peeking out just enough to give me a tease.

  I take a second to slow down my breathing and then ask, “Did you just make me come while I was sleeping?”

  He gives me a quizzical look. “I’m pretty sure you begging for more indicated you were awake.”

  “I thought I was dreaming!” I pull my shirt down and sit against the headboard. I glance down and notice the boxers I borrowed from Killian last night are no longer on me but instead on the floor.

  “Giselle, did you have more to drink last night other than the one glass of wine with dinner?” He stands and picks his boxers up from the floor and throws them to me.

  “I thought you said you wouldn’t pay to touch me!”

  “No,” he says, “I said I wouldn’t pay to fuck you, and I wouldn’t. However, it’s eight in the morning. I paid for you from five p.m. until midnight, which means you’re off the clock. Plus, you came on my tongue and fingers, not my dick.”

  “What happened to oral being the gateway to sex? This is the second time in a week you’ve made me come!”

  “You woke up this morning begging for me to make you come. A man only has so much restraint.” Killian tilts his head to the side. “Wait a second…when you were begging me, you were asleep?”

  “I—” I clear my throat. “I think so…” I try to remember begging Killian to make me come but can’t.

  Killian smirks. “So that means that while you were sleeping, you were dreaming of me making you come?” His grin grows wider. “I haven’t had sex in over ten years, yet I’m pleasing you while you’re awake and in your dreams.”

  Cocky. Fucking. Bastard.

  Grabbing his boxers, I slip them on and get out of bed to go pee. When I’m done, I change back into my clothes I left in the bathroom. I’ll need to stop at home to shower and get dressed before I go into work. Shit! Work! It’s already eight and I have a client meeting at ten.

  I step out of the bathroom and Killian is changing his clothes. His shirt is off and his back muscles are on display. My goodness, no man should be this good-looking�
��this perfect. He turns around and grants me a sexy lop-sided grin, and I just about melt into a pile of goo.

  “You’ve made me come twice,” I blurt out. Killian’s smile grows bigger. “When are you going to let me reciprocate?”

  His smile deflates slightly, but it’s still there. “When you make the choice to want me.” He shoots me a wink. “Now, let’s get going, so you’re not late to work. I have a meeting I need to get to and can’t be late.”

  The entire drive to my place, I think about what Killian said. When you make the choice to want me. Last night, despite only hanging out with him because I was getting paid to, was a lot of fun. Until we got back to his place, I don’t think I once thought about the fact that I was getting paid. It was also the first time I spent the night at a client’s place, but the truth is, I didn’t view Killian as a client. After he told me he didn’t mean to request the nightcap, I could’ve gone home. Without a nightcap, a client only has until nine o’clock, unless he pays extra because of an event that will run later. I stayed because I wanted to.

  Killian parks in front of my building and I get out, but before I close the door, I lean into the car, so I can look at him while I speak. “Just so you know, I’ve never spent the night with a client.” His eyes widen in understanding. “Last night, when I spent the night, I made the choice to.”

  I close the door and head upstairs. I take a quick shower and get dressed for work. When I come out, Olivia is sitting on the couch reading a book to Reed.

  “Morning,” she says cautiously.

  “Morning,” I reply.

  “Giselle.” “Livi.”

  We laugh at having said each other’s names at the same time. Reed has no idea why we’re laughing, but he joins in, which only has us laughing harder.

  “You go first,” she says.

  “I’m sorry for hiding so much from you.” I open my arms and Olivia stands and gives me a hug. “I love you.”

  “I love you too,” she says.