Pippa's Fantasy

by Donna Gallagher

  “I’m safe and clear, and dying a slow death without you inside me. Please, Rook, make love to me.”

  His first thrust was almost enough to bring her to orgasm, his penis stroking her throbbing clit as he entered her, seating himself fully and joining them together. She began the now familiar climb towards ecstasy. She looked into Rook’s face—it was a study of concentration, his lips pulled back over his teeth in what was almost a grimace, his eyes squeezed shut, an adorable crease in the centre of his forehead. She knew he was fighting to hold on, fighting to stop his own release before she had reached hers. The realisation of it, and of the fact that she was the reason for his struggle, made her orgasm peak. She was aware of Rook reaching his own pinnacle—he shouted her name as her inner walls clenched around him, and with one final surge he tensed and arched. Her own orgasmic sensations washed over her, a wave of warmth, satisfaction and a feeling of ultimate joy left in their wake.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Making love to Pippa had been monumental. Rook lay watching her sleep. She had drifted off after their third round of lovemaking, and he was enjoying just watching her, studying every delicate feature of her face close up, without the need for stealth. There was now no need to hide his attentiveness. She was breathtaking. He could see that her lashes were still blonde, the colour not completely hidden by the black goo that she had covered them with. There was a smattering of very faint freckles over her nose and cheeks. Her lips, relaxed in sleep, formed a slight smile, and her chin jutted out just a touch, begging to be kissed.

  He held her hand in his, brought it to his chest, over his heart, and rubbed the pad of his thumb—lightly, so as not to disturb her—over the back of her hand. These hands had, over the last few months, wrought so much pleasure and torturous frustration. As she had tended to his recovery, all the massages and all the touches that her warm, slender fingers had inflicted on his recovering muscles, which he had not been able to reciprocate…they had driven him mad with lust. And now she was his, free to lust over whenever he wanted. Rook smiled to himself at the thought, knowing that he would be lusting often.

  Rook did take a moment to thoroughly dissect his emotions, verify without hesitation or doubt that what he felt for Pippa was true. Was it possible that he and Pippa could really feel that strongly for one another? Yes—they had known each other for a long time, but most of it, until just recently, had been spent apart. They did have a lot in common, enjoyed a lot of the same things. His sport was not only his career, but also hers. His friends were her friends. She shared and was a part of many of his memories.

  Rook did know one thing for a fact, and that was that his heart was so full that it felt as if it was about to punch through his chest. Looking at her sleeping form, he could not imagine being anywhere else, could not imagine making love to anyone else and sure could not bear to think of Pippa touching or being touched by anyone but him.

  He was so caught up in his own thoughts that Rook didn’t notice Pippa’s eyes had fluttered open until she spoke. He realised she was awake and studying him, as well.

  “You are so handsome, perfect. You make me melt just looking at you, Mitch. I know we haven’t spent any time together—well, apart from professionally, that is—but I do know you, Rook. You are the same Rookie who was kind to Riley way back in the days after his folks died, and he and Caitlin were left to fend for themselves. The same Rookie who used his first contract payment to financially set his mum up in her own business. The brave Rookie who saved Mandy from her vicious ex-boyfriend without a thought to his own safety, and the same honourable man who turned away a fanciful young girl before she embarrassed herself.”

  Rook was humbled by her high opinion of him, unsure that he was worthy of her praise. He believed that most men—or sons—in the same position would have mimicked his actions, but he couldn’t not notice the warmth in her eyes as she spoke of him. A sliver of worry began to grow in the back of his mind that maybe she was only attracted to his younger self.

  Pippa, as if somehow connected to his thoughts, continued on in her praise of him, and his fears began to recede. “And look at you now—matured and impossibly more gorgeous, a successful businessman as well as a well-respected member of the Jets. Captain, leader, mentor to the younger players. Gareth speaks so highly of you—well, except where I’m concerned.” She giggled. “Even after I tricked you into sleeping with me you kept my confidence. You could have embarrassed me in front of the team, undermined the job I had trained for, but no. You treated me with respect. More than I deserved. You, Mitchell ‘Rook’ Harris, are a good person and the man I love. Will always love.”

  Rook was stunned, shocked and speechless. Pippa had managed in just a few minutes to make him love her even more.

  She saw him in such a wonderful way. She was so generous in her praise for him. Maybe if she believed he was good enough for her, then that was enough. Rook knew it not to be true, though—she was infinitely better than him. Pippa was not only streets ahead of him in intelligence, with a degree at university to prove it, but she was also gracious and caring. She had friends and family who had stuck with her throughout her whole life, and she made more friends every time she turned around. Rook had his mum and Trevor, and perhaps some of his Jets teammates, to call family. New friendships for Rook were often tainted by who he had become, and not who he was.

  And she was sexy as hell. And she was his.

  “I love you, Pippa. I always will. I will marry you, Pippa, and I will get down on my knees and beg you to say yes, but first I need to have a conversation with a few people. Your dad, Dave, for starters, and then Brodie, JT and Gareth… Probably should throw Riley into the group while I’m at it—pretty sure the kid will have a few choice words to say about it all. But first I need to love you some more.”

  And Rook made good on his threat, smug in the knowledge that he had made Pippa fall apart in his arms more than once before he gave in to his own desire.

  Epilogue

  Three months later…

  Pippa was so proud she thought she would burst. Not only had her fiancé successfully returned to the playing field—knee fully recovered—but Rook had carved up the opposition as well, scoring and setting up tries left, right and centre. She could tell by the grins on the faces of her friends—Brodie, Caitlin and Riley, JT, Mandy, Cassie, standing there beside Laura and Trevor—that they were all as relieved as her that Rook had made it through his first game back from injury safely.

  Her dad—the coach who had signed Rookie to the Jets—and her mum had made a flying trip from the UK to visit. They stood beside her as Rook, with his arm possessively wrapped around her, yet still managing to sign autographs for his adoring fans, was analysing the game with Gareth. Rook eagerly included her dad in the footy conversation, so honest in his respect and admiration for her father that it just made it all the more perfect a moment for Pippa.

  Life had given her everything she could possibly have dreamed of, and still more. Pippa no longer needed her fantasies—she had the real deal standing beside her in all his sexy-fleshed, toned-muscled and strong-boned glory. Rook had given her his love and she would love him in return, forever.

  Also available from Total-E-Bound Publishing:

  League of Love: Laura’s Light

  Donna Gallagher

  Excerpt

  Chapter One

  “This is pointless. What on earth was I thinking? Forty-two-year-old women do not accept dates from thirty-four-year-old men, especially when the man in question is a famous and mouth-wateringly hot television personality.”

  Laura Harris scolded her reflection in the full-length mirror she was standing before. “This is a nightmare. What do old, desperate women wear to this sort of thing?” she groaned as she took in her appearance grimly.

  “Nope, too much cleavage,” she said as she ruthlessly tossed aside the little black dress.

  “Far too short…” was the decision that condemned the blue dress to the pile
of discarded clothes that was becoming a mountain on the floor of her small, but usually tidy, bedroom.

  “Yeah, okay… Maybe these black pants with this sweater—I do love the feel of the soft wool and these little pearl buttons are so sweet… Oh, my God—sweet. This is ridiculous! I’m too old for sweet. Sophisticated. Mature. That’s what I need. How do people do this…dating thing?” She waved frantically at her dishevelled self in the mirror. “I’m terrified.”

  She took a deep breath, then shook her hands a few times to try to dispel the anxiety that was eating her up.

  “No, Laura, get a grip. Terrified is finding yourself pregnant at twenty. Terrified is being kicked out of home by your unforgiving parents with no way of supporting yourself. This is just dinner, dinner with a man who presents a sports programme on TV. A man who knows your twenty-one-year-old, football-playing son.”

  Having now managed to turn down the panic level a few notches Laura perused the mess on the floor. The ruby colour caught her eye, and as she picked the knee-length, full-skirted dress with the tailored bodice from the floor, she thought, What the heck, why not?

  It wasn’t that bad a sight that greeted Laura in the mirror’s reflection, once she had finished primping and pruning for the good part of an hour. Her blonde, almost white hair was in a loose updo and grey-and-silver eyeshadow highlighted her pale blue eyes. Happy with the way her dress fit tastefully over her trim body and noticing that her moderately high black pumps gave her calves a nice shape, Laura twirled one more time, reasonably pleased with the overall result, before picking up the small clasped handbag she had set aside.

  “Well, as my mother used to say, ‘That will do for the fella you’re after and the chance you’ve got’.” The sound of the snort she made in response to repeating one of her estranged mother’s pearls of wisdom was not at all ladylike, in Laura’s opinion. “Great, and now I’m turning into my mother,” she mumbled as she headed towards her living room to await her date’s arrival.

  “Hey, Ma—did you say something? Wow, what’s with the get-up? Where are you going?”

  Laura hadn’t heard her son come home but it was no shock to see him sitting on the couch with the TV on—probably a replay of the last year’s winning Grand Final. She smiled to herself, noticing the surprised expression on his face when he saw her.

  “What’s wrong, Mitchell? Don’t I look okay? Do you think I should change? Yes, you’re probably right. It is a bit too much for dinner…” Laura had really got herself into a tether and rambled on until she felt her son’s hands come down gently on top of her shoulders.

  “Slow down, Mum, you look fantastic. Hot—which is quite awkward for me to notice.” Mitchell Harris—known as ‘the Rookie’ to fans of rugby league—shuddered visibly in response. “What’s got you into such a state, and all dressed up like that? Where are you going and who with?”

  Laura would have laughed at the ridiculousness of the moment, if she hadn’t already felt as if she were about to faint from the nerves caused by the quickly approaching dinner date. Her son had sounded just like her father in his demand to know her plans. Nice turn of events, she thought.

  “Huh, not that it is any of your concern, young man—you are still the child in this relationship and me the mother—but to answer your question, I’ve been invited out to dinner. Pretty sure we’ve already had this conversation. Mitchell Harris, were you not listening to me…again?” Laura looked up into her tall son’s face, trying to appear stern, but she couldn’t hide her affection for her only child.

  “I’m sorry, Ma, I didn’t mean to sound nosey… But who are you going out with, again? I forgot.”

  Laura had always had a hard time not falling for that puppy dog look Mitch had perfected early on in his life when he’d really wanted something. Many a time it had broken Laura’s heart to disappoint him, but money had always been tight back then. She thanked her lucky stars, every day, that their life had taken a turn for the better. Not that luck had had much to do with it. No, it was all Mitchell and his amazing sporting ability that had given their small family a leg-up in life.

  “Trevor Hughes. He is taking me to Mia’s. Caitlin James is singing tonight—it’s the first time since the wedding that she’s been back at Mia’s. In fact, it was at Brodie and Caitlin’s wedding that Trevor and I made the plans for tonight. You would have known all this if you ever listened to me, Mitchell.”

  Before her son could shut his now gaping mouth and respond to her, the sound of the front doorbell ringing interrupted them.

  “Well, that will be Trevor now.” Laura told her motionless, slightly horrified-looking son. “Don’t wait up,” she couldn’t resist adding to further tease him as she opened the door.

  All joking was immediately forgotten when Laura caught sight of the most enormous bunch of red roses she had ever seen blocking her doorway—and holding those roses, far outshining their spectacle, stood Trevor Hughes. The man was an Adonis, dressed to kill in an expensively tailored suit that emphasised his wide shoulders beautifully. His light brown hair was slightly mussed, as if he had run his fingers through it recently, but it was his dimpled smile that took Laura’s breath from her lungs.

  “My, you’re gorgeous! I-I-I mean those roses—they’re gorgeous,” she stuttered, and wanted to die from embarrassment at her slip-up, certain her cheeks were as red as the flowers themselves. “Are they for me?” she asked in a small voice as a sudden wave of shy apprehension stole over her.

  “Yes, they are for you, Laura, but they fade in comparison to how beautiful you look tonight. You look amazing.” The smooth, rich tones of Trevor’s voice and compliment did nothing to extinguish the burning in her cheeks. As Laura reached to take the offered roses, the door was thrust all the way open and Mitchell almost knocked her aside as he stood, his stance tense, glaring daggers at Trevor.

  “G’day, Rookie,” Trevor said, using Mitchell’s footy nickname.

  Just about everyone but Laura called her son Rookie, much to her horror. It only made things worse when she caught herself using the name, which was happening more often lately.

  “Was just telling your Mum how amazing she looks. Really beautiful, don’t you think, Rookie?” Trevor continued. Laura wasn’t sure whether Trevor had picked up on her son’s animosity, but he was doing a good job of ignoring it if he had.

  “Let me just put these in water and then we can head off. Mitchell, move out of the way so Trevor can come in off the front step.” Laura gave her son a firm shove to get him to move as she made the request. “Come in, Trevor. Welcome—make yourself at home while I fix these. Mitchell, see if Trevor would like something to drink. I think there is some beer in the fridge, or I do have wine if you’d prefer, Trevor? Just let Mitchell know your preference.”

  I’m rambling again, Laura thought and caught herself, stopped talking, and stood awkwardly in her family room, not sure what to do first. She had never really entertained a man in her house before, especially not with her son hovering about, trying his best to act intimidating.

  “Thanks, but I’m good, driving and all that. I’ll save it up and have a glass or two over dinner. Go do what has to be done with the roses, I’ll sit and watch the replay with Rookie.” Trevor, after graciously declining her offer of a drink, turned towards her son. “I see we’ve interrupted your viewing. This was such a great game. You played your socks off, as I recall.”

  Laura, thankful for the change in subject, hurried off to find a vase big enough to set the flowers in. She ended up just sitting them in a large saucepan full of water, eager to get back to her living room and make sure Mitchell had not thrown Trevor out of the door while she’d been busy in the other room. Not that Laura could see her son—as big and fit as he was—achieving the task. Trevor was also a prime specimen of manhood, all tall and muscled.

  She giggled girlishly, the sound a shock to her system, making her shake her head. Her palms were moist and her heart was beating double-time in her chest.

&nb
sp; “Oh, my… You are in way over your head this time, Laura Harris,” she told herself as she took a moment to smell the heavenly scent of the roses. “These roses must have cost a small fortune—such an extravagant gesture. Please don’t let Mitchell have scared him off.”

  Get your copy now

  About the Author

  Sydney-born Donna Gallagher decided at an early age that life needed be tackled head on. Leaving home at fifteen, she supported herself through her teen years. In her twenties she married a professional sportsman, her love of sport—especially rugby league—probably overriding her good sense.

  The seven-year marriage was an adventure. There were the emotional ups and downs of having a husband with a public profile in a sometimes glamorous but always high-pressure field. There were always interesting characters to meet and observe, and even the opportunity to live for a time in the UK. Eventually Donna returned home a single woman, but she never lost her passion for watching sport, as well as the people in and around it.

  Now happily re-married and with three sons, Donna loves coffee mornings with her female friends, sorting through problems from the personal to the international. But she’s on even footing with the keenest man when it comes to watching and talking rugby league.