by Liz Crowe
“You started what amounted to a master and slave relationship with a professor. She picked up on the vibe—that you enjoyed getting off from pain. There’s nothing strange about that. Lots of people do. I do, sometimes. But it got me in trouble, too, thinking my abuser was someone who cared about me.”
He blinked then his face flushed red again and he grabbed her wrist. “Someone hurt you?” He practically growled. Her skin pebbled at the sound. The natural connection they shared was so very real at that moment, she could see it, shimmering, like a cord stretching between them.
“Yes. He nearly killed me. Stole money, ran me into debt. He came back, just before we…” She took a breath, did not want to relive this, not now. “You caught him in my office when he was…he…well, you nearly pounded him into the floor, which was great.” She pulled her arm out of his grasp. “He’s in jail.” She marveled even now at how far she had come since falling into Frank’s trap.
“How did we meet? I mean when…we…you know.” He blushed like a schoolboy again, forcing her to stifle a giggle.
“We met across my desk, when you signed your first contract four seasons ago. Rafe had plucked you off some team where you were languishing as back-up keeper, I forget where. So there you were, signing day, my second season with the Black Jacks. I was overwhelmed, desperate, scared of screwing up, at my first real job since…since Frank and all that mess.”
“You said you had another business.” His low voice rumbled around in her brain, reminding her of different, more intimate words in his honey smooth familiar accent.
“Yes. I was Madame Katrina.”
Brody tilted his head, looking confused.
“A Dominatrix-for-hire. I did very well at it. I had—have—a business partner Lance. He handles security and screening. You were a client once, I guess. I mean you showed up out of the blue, calling yourself Robert.” It was Sophie’s turn to blush when Brody’s eyes darkened, and he leaned closer to her.
“You called me that…before,” he said. “I know it’s the name on my driver’s license, but no one ever uses it.”
“Except me. Because you were Robert for me, that night. You are Robert…to me.”
He started pacing her small deck, rubbing the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger. She stayed in her seat, wanting to help, upset for making him anxious with her info dump. But she had to do it because he deserved to know why they would never be together. Not as long as Amber lurked around the edges with her stupid report.
“We, um, played that night. Sort of. One of the most intense moments I’d ever had.” She startled when he whirled to face her, fury on his face.
“Then what? We just jumped into the sack? I knocked you up? What?” His voice, harsh and angry, didn’t surprise her.
“No.” She rose and started scooping birthday-cake-encrusted paper plates into the garbage bag. “No,” she whispered again, reliving it—her rejection of him, his repeated attempts to get her to go out on a date. “We sort of flirted, I guess, for awhile. Texting, emails, Skype chats while you were gone on road trips with the team. You asked me out on dates. I wouldn’t go.”
His face lost some of its angry tightness at that. “Hmm, somehow that doesn’t surprise me.”
“Yeah.” She sighed at how much actual mess they had to clean up and sat back down, giving up for the moment. “I did though, because you, well, then Frank showed up. My ‘bad guy’.” She hooked her fingers around the words but got a chill recalling that day. “He came to my office after some money he’d been hiding in my house, money he stole from me. He got physical. You burst into my office with security, and…well, I owed you. So we went out. Well, actually we never made it out of my house that night.”
He smiled then and her heart soared at the sight of it, and the memory she’d not allowed, of that incredible night. It had been difficult, painful in a way, but they’d purged something between them. “It was great. That night.” She was unable to stop the tear from sliding down her cheek. He touched it. Put his finger to his lips.
“But you had a concussion. You should not have been playing.”
“Yeah, Nicco told me that.” He heaved a sigh.
Her heart pounded. “Nicco told you…what exactly?”
“He told me not to tell you he did, but he did. A few days ago he came to my packed-up condo and told me about you, and me, and about Sam, because he wanted me to not fuck up, to not marry Amber. And because he blamed himself.” Brody touched his head, his face confused and unhappy again. “Goddamn me. I can’t remember any of this.”
Without thinking, she reached out to touch his rough face. In a flash, he grabbed her and before she knew it had her pulled onto his lounge chair, his mouth on hers, urgent, seeking, both of them making noises of protest while tugging at clothes, zippers. He shoved his hand up her short skirt and yanked her panties down. All she wanted in her life, she had, right now, in her arms. The ugly, lonely, sleepless nights, missing him, wanting his help with Sam, with a major decision she had to make about her career, all overpowered her.
“Oh,” she said when his lips slid down her neck, as he hit all her sweet spots immediately. “I think you remember some things.”
“Please,” he whispered into her skin, as they lay side-by-side on the lounge chair. “Sophie, I need you so much. I’m…”
“Shh…” She held him close. They were shielded from neighbor view by the large umbrella that shaded the deck, but suddenly she didn’t care who saw or heard her cries of delight. He maneuvered them around so she straddled him. His warm flesh, so familiar to her, his body so full of memory. She shifted her hips, took him inside her. He thrust deep, pulling her down to meet his lips.
“Robert…” she whispered, fighting back tears. The orgasm hit her hard as he gripped her hips and stared at her while she let it roll through and over her, wave after wave of pure pleasure.
She smiled down at him then lowered her mouth to his nipple, sucking and biting as she tightened her body around him. “Come,” she muttered into his skin. “I need to feel it.”
“No…” he grunted, obviously trying to stop himself from matching her climax.
She raised her face from his chest and placed her palms on his firm, strong torso. “No holding back, Robert.” She rolled her hips, anticipating what the new angle and change of friction would do for him. He cried out so loudly, she covered his mouth and rode him, having another little spasm of pleasure and the warm sensation of his climax inside her. They lay together awhile, she draped over his body, both of them still half-dressed, their breathing calming.
“Amber found out about the Madame Katrina thing somehow. It’s now a more organized dating service, a specialized one, for people who require a little more than the usual…you know,” she said, finally, then climbed off him, taking a seat on the lounge chair next to his legs. He lay there, one arm propped behind his head, gazing at her.
“What I do is not technically against the law. At least not the way I have the business structured for government purposes. I pay my taxes, report my employees…I even offer them insurance coverage. If, at the end of the date, there is play and there is sex, money is not exchanged, not that night…” She shrugged. “Amber found out. Showed up at my office accusing me of running a prostitution ring and saying she had to report me to child protective services.” She shivered, wanting Brody’s arms around her again. He zipped up his tuxedo trousers and sat up, putting his arm around her shoulders
“I won’t let her do anything like that, I promise.”
“It’s probably too late. She knows you would come to me. She knows Sam is yours. You were too busy the last three years fucking your way through Detroit socialites, then getting sucked into her witchy circle, to notice the kid right under your nose who was like a Brody mini-me. Jesus.” She jumped up, rubbing her elbows, already regretting this whole thing.
He frowned and stood, tried to hang onto her, but she wrenched away, furious for being weak and giving in to her b
ase need for him, again. Terror washed over her. The woman had probably already leaked her stupid report. It would be all over the news.
“Shit,” she spat out, already wondering how she could possibly spin it.
“I have a few things on Amber she won’t want revealed. Let me handle it.”
“No, damn it. I don’t want to get into a pissing contest with her. She’ll win.”
“No. She won’t. You’ll just have to trust me.” He grabbed her and folded her into his embrace. She gave in, burying her nose in his chest, wrapping her arms around him. “I’ll fix this.” They stood together, arms around each others’ waists, the night sounds resuming around them. “I want to be with you, with Sam.”
She pulled back, so she could look straight at him. “Tell you what, let’s go slow. I can’t let you back into my life, not yet. I will let you get to know your son, however. He’s getting to the point where he needs his father. So this works.” Already compartmentalizing about how she might share Sam, but not her heart, not again. “But…I don’t know how we can if you’re in Boston.”
“I’m not going to Boston.” His dark eyes shone. “God, I love kissing you.” He tried to do that, but she ducked away.
“Uh, they are expecting you. Paid for you already. Contracts signed remember?”
“Yeah, but I’m sorta close to the head of legal for my team. I hear she’s pretty damn tough. I’ll bet she can get me out of it, if I work really hard to convince her it’s worth it.” He grinned wickedly and slid his hands down her back to cup her ass. “I’m a hard worker…” He kissed her then and she did nothing to stop him, gasping when he managed to get her on the knife edge of another orgasm within minutes, shoved up against the outside wall of her house, his lips on hers, his fingers under her skirt.
“This is not going slow…” She sighed and let it happen anyway.
“I know. I think you’re right about that. But I’m not going anywhere, not anymore. You can’t make me.” He grinned. “Let’s just have another little reunion moment, shall we?” He pulled her palm down to his zipper. “Turn around,” he whispered. “Put your hands on the wall.”
She did and the sensation of him inside her once more never felt more perfect. He gathered her close at the last moment, filling her ear with his sounds of pleasure. “I don’t remember much. But I am game to make some new memories,” he said, his voice low and hoarse.
Stupid girlie tears of relief made her sniffle. “I don’t know. I just….”
“I do know. For once, you are going to listen to me. I won’t hurt you, I promise, but you have to trust me. I’ll fix the thing with Amber.” Sliding his hand up to her throat, he held just tight enough to turn her on all over again. “I will get to know our son.” His hips moved, thrusting, rolling, their bodies staying connected. “I will get to know you again.”
“Yes,” she said, smiling and reaching back to clutch his hair.
Epilogue
Brody watched from the porch while the kids rolled around with the puppy he’d brought home much to Sophie’s extreme displeasure. He smiled, shaking his head at the coffee cup she offered him, tugging her down into his lap for a kiss instead.
“I told you, no dogs.” She spoke into his lips.
“I’ll make it up to you.” He cupped her bare breast under her sweatshirt.
“Cut it out.” She smacked his hand away when their sons bounded up the steps and barreled past them into the house.
Sam had two brothers, adopted, and beloved by all, including their stay-at-home dad. The year they had spent after that night on the deck of Sam’s birthday had been tough. She’d rebuffed him emotionally after convincing Jack to take the monetary hit and buy him back for the team.
Of course, Sam fell head over heels for his dad, and by the time he turned five, the two of them had concocted an elaborate treasure hunt for her that took her all around the neighborhood with hints and prizes. When she found the final prize, and had the small ring box in her hand, her first inclination was to scoff and remind Brody she had no intention of getting married, to anyone, ever.
But as she stood near the back shed, her fingers covered in dirt where she’d had to dig around to find the damn thing, she saw Brody kicking the soccer ball around with Sam, keeping an eye on her, his face neutral. She’d nodded and Brody had said something to Sam, who then came running at her, yelping with delight.
“Under one condition,” she said later, as her man held her close, the adult celebrations concluded.
“Anything,” he gasped, trying to catch his breath.
She sat up. “You retire.” She frowned down at his seeming blasé acceptance of her words. “I mean it. Your headaches are back again. I am not going to marry you, make us a family, and then lose you to this stupid fucking game. You stay home, consult, coach, I don’t give a shit. I make plenty of money and you have enough saved. I want us to be happy a long time. No more pro goalie play. It’s the only way I will agree to this.”
“Hmmm…” He stretched. And her mouth watered at the sight of his sexy, tattooed torso. “If I’m staying at home, I might get bored.”
“Just text me and I’ll rush back to alleviate boredom.” She’d settled back into his arms, content.
“Then it’s a deal.”
And now, she sat in her husband’s lap, enjoying the morning, and reflecting on her luck. They had agreed they wanted more kids, but that she that should not risk pregnancy at her age. Given his background, it made sense for them to find boys who needed good homes.
So they had three sons now, Allen, almost Sam’s age exactly and a shy, but sweet kid, whose single mother had ended up in prison for cooking meth in his bedroom. And Calvin, the two-year old who got placed with them within weeks of welcoming Allen to their family which made for some pretty crazy days and nights as they assimilated into their new configuration.
Calvin had come to them with his arm in a cast from a fall and with horrible burn marks on his forehead from his time at a foster home. Brody had heard about it one morning from their attorney and had her in front of him to sign papers by afternoon. She still wasn’t quite sure taking on another boy would be a good idea and so soon after adding Allen to the family.
But he had the whole thing in control, the boys, the house, everything. She’d been general manager for the Black Jacks for four years. Her sons were five, ten, and eleven. She loved her husband, but for that damn dog, whining now because he couldn’t get up the steps to follow the boys into the house.
Brody consulted with Rafe and handled recruiting for the team for a while, until the adoptions started coming through. Now, a self-proclaimed Mrs. Dad—as opposed to Mr. Mom which he didn’t like, he did almost everything. They’d hired someone to help out with laundry and housecleaning. Leaving him free to concoct meals, field trips, and outings, generally being the father he’d never had.
He managed boys all day long, from morning to night, and planned to start coaching as soon as Calvin started school. And the Amber thing had gone away, just like he promised. She had done a few shady things with several of her male clients, some of them performance-enhancing drug-related, which Brody had found out when she had tried to get him to visit one of the innocuous clinics in Florida. Turned out her concern about her rep and career overshadowed her desire to be Mrs. Vaughn.
“How did I get here? With you?” Sophie sighed, curling up in his lap just before a small world war built in the house behind them.
“Luck.” He kissed her. “Karma,” he muttered around her lips.
“All of the above.”
“Hop up, Soph.” He pushed her off his lap. “Sounds like my presence as referee is required inside.”
“Thank you,” she said, dropping into the chair he’d vacated.
He cupped her chin. “No, thank you.”
The End
Man On
(The Black Jack Gentlemen – Book 1)
His first session with the psychologist, an earnest, nerdy-looking guy with
square glasses and a cleft chin, had been brutal. But Nicco knew he’d been deflecting, pretending, and to his credit, the shrink had let him front and show off for a full hour.
Then, just as he was getting up to leave, convinced the whole thing had been a total waste, the guy looked up at him, pinning him with eyes so sharp and clear they made Nicco gasp in spite of himself. “Nicco,” he’d said. “When you’re ready to face up to your addiction, I’m here to listen. I know you have a problem with sex. You know you have a problem with sex. I’m glad you made this appointment. Next time, let’s make it more useful, shall we? And for the record, I did not support the concept of putting you out there as poster boy for gay rights or gay athletes.”
The man had removed his glasses, still staring Nicco down as if he could see into his very soul. “I am gay. I have been with the same partner, a man I love dearly for six years. I understand, on a certain level, what you’re dealing with. So,” he’d put the glasses back on and glanced down at his tablet computer. “When will I see you next?”
Now, he pulled the card from his pocket and stared at the therapist’s name and phone number. Then he ripped it into small pieces as the rest of the new team filed into the room. He noted two German players he’d had run-ins with in World Cup play, a South African player who must have cost the casino owners a pretty penny, at least three Brits, a Welsh guy or maybe Irish, and two South Americans whose dark, intense good looks made him shiver with memory.
A handful of fresh-faced young Americans interspersed in the group made him feel old. And that pissed him off. What was that Inez pup thinking anyway? There were two per position in the room, two strong players for each spot—except his. He sipped his water bottle and glared at the Germans. Nervous tension gnawed at his gut but he kept his face calm. Finally when their new coach showed up and flipped the blinds closed, he relaxed.
So everyone in the room has to fight for their spot except me? That works. He dropped his feet to the floor at Rafe’s pointed glance and propped his elbows on the table prepared to ignore the forthcoming pep talk.
