Playmaker: A Baltimore Banners Intermission Novella

by Lisa B. Kamps

  Need, burning and urgent, exploded inside him. His touch turned desperate, frantic. He grabbed the hem of her sweater and dragged it up, his knuckles skimming soft skin. She moaned again when he broke the kiss, stepping away just enough to pull it over her head. He tossed it to the side and let his gaze roam over her, his eyes drinking in the sight of her creamy skin, the lushness of her firm breasts behind pale green lace, the toned tightness of her flat stomach. Hunger and need filled him, swift, aching, powerful.

  Bridget shifted, her arms coming up to cover her. Derek grabbed her hands and held them out to her sides, stopping her. He met her gaze and shook his head then released one of her hands, holding tightly to the other.

  He ran the tips of his fingers up her arm, the touch light, soft. Up to her shoulder, where he traced the thin strap of her bra down to the triangle of lace. Up again, tracing the flare of her collar bone, down, down. Slowly, until his finger dipped into the soft cleavage of her breasts. Her chest hitched on a swift breath, her head dropping back.

  He traced the edge of the lace, spreading his fingers over the firm roundness of her breast. Her nipple hardened even more, the tight peak poking against his palm. A small growl built in his throat; he tugged at the lace, pulling it to the side, baring her to his gaze.

  Her fingers tightened against his hand, squeezing. He dragged his eyes away from the pale skin of her breast, up to her face.

  “Beautiful.” The word fell from his mouth on a ragged whisper. And she was, with her thick vibrant hair flowing past her shoulders, her head tilted back, her soft lips parted with each quick breath.

  Derek cupped her breast in his hand, its weight full and heavy in his palm. His thumb flicked over the nipple, grazing the tight peak. Then he dipped his head, his mouth closing over her nipple, licking, sucking. He nipped the peak with his teeth, pulling it deeper into his mouth.

  Bridget cried out, her back arching as her free hand cupped the back of his head, her fingers clenching against his scalp.

  “Derek.” His name was a ragged whisper, hoarse and husky, filled with desire. Filled with need. The sound unleashed something inside him, snapping his control.

  His hands slid to her jeans, his fingers fumbling with the snap and zipper. She pushed them down her legs, shimmying out of them when he released his hold on her. He stepped away, just long enough to shed his own clothes, grabbing a condom from his wallet before throwing his pants to the floor.

  Then she was in his arms again, bare flesh to bare flesh. Her mouth was hot and wet under his, her tongue meeting his, thrusting, demanding. She ran her hands down his chest, lower, her nails dragging along his hip bone. Then her hand closed over him, her fingers circling the hard length of his cock, stroking. Long, hard strokes that froze the breath in his lungs.

  Bridget trailed her mouth along his neck, down to his chest. Her teeth nipped, her lips tasted. Insanity, desperation. His bedroom was down the hall, a short walk away. He should pick her up, carry her—

  She was on her knees in front of him, her hot mouth closing over him, and all thought fled from his mind. There was just feeling, sensation. Her mouth, hot and sweet, sucking deep as her tongue swirled around his length. She licked him, from the base of his aching balls to the smooth tip, back down again. Over and over.

  He fisted his fingers into the smooth tresses of her hair and held her in place. His hips pumped, slow and easy, driving his cock into her mouth as she sucked and licked.

  Derek’s head fell back, his jaw clenched, his fingers tightening in her hair. She cupped his balls in one hand, squeezing, caressing. And still her mouth worked him, so hot, so wet.

  Christ, he was ready to explode. Right here, right now. He hadn’t planned on this, hadn’t thought—

  He tried to pull away, her name barely more than a whisper on his lips. But she didn’t stop. One arm came around his hips, holding him in place. No, not holding—pulling him closer. And Christ, it was too much, her mouth too hot, too sweet, too wet.

  Derek tightened his hands around her head and pumped his hips, thrusting. Once, twice. Once more. His climax exploded, tearing a groan from his mouth. Over and over, until his legs turned to rubber, no longer able to hold his weight.

  He dropped to his knees, his arms folding around Bridget, pulling her against him. His mouth crashed against hers, his tongue sweeping inside, stroking, tasting. Christ, he was ready again, need coursing through him, hardening his cock.

  His hands closed over her arms as he stood, pulling her with him, stepping closer to the bar. His hand swept along the surface, closing over the condom. He tore it open and sheathed himself, then tore his mouth from Bridget’s.

  She looked up at him, her eyes wide and dazed, her lips moist and swollen from his kisses. Her hair was a wild tangle around her face, falling past her shoulders and down her back. A thick strand hung over her shoulder, the curl resting just above the creamy fullness of one breast. He reached out, his fingers stroking the curl.

  “Beautiful. So beautiful.” He kissed her again, slowly, his mouth lingering on hers. “I need you. Now.”

  “Then take me.”

  That was all he needed to hear. His hands closed around her hips, lifting. Her legs wrapped around his waist, her hips thrusting, searching. He cupped her ass, holding her, guiding her as she lowered herself onto him. Taking him in, squeezing. Tight, so fucking tight.

  “Bridget.” He was barely able to utter her name, sensation robbing him of thought. There was only her, tight, wet, clenching, seeking.

  He tightened his hold around her and took two steps, bracing her against the wall. His hands kneaded her ass, spreading her cheeks as he pumped into her, over and over. Her head fell back, her breasts thrust forward, their hard peaks teasing the bare flesh of his chest.

  She grabbed his arms, her fingers closing over his biceps, her nails biting into his flesh. Their hips clashed together, over and over. Deeper, hotter. Her fingers dug into his arms as her muscles tightened, clenching around him.

  A whimper, a moan. A soft scream. Then her climax exploded, her inner muscles squeezing, milking, coating him with liquid heat. He held her still, his hips pumping. Hard. Fast. Deep. Over and over. Derek groaned, clenched his teeth, and lost himself, following her over the edge into fiery abandon.

  Chapter Eleven

  “What is your problem, Caulton?”

  Derek tightened his hand around the glass but beer still sloshed over the side, spilling over his fingers to pool on the varnished table. He scowled at Mat then flicked the beer from his hand before reaching for some paper napkins.

  “What the hell? Is there a reason you had to knock into me so hard?”

  “Yeah. You weren’t paying attention.” Mat slid closer to the table, edging between him and Justin. He propped both elbows on the smooth surface and stared at Derek. “So what gives?”

  “What? Nothing. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Derek lifted the frosted mug to his lips and took a long swallow, avoiding Mat’s stare.

  The Maypole was crowded tonight, like it was every night, filled with women eager for the attention of the half-dressed male waiters—and for the men who came to the place because of the women patrons. The place had also become a hang-out for some of the team, mainly because Randy’s girlfriend and his sister owned the place.

  Derek usually enjoyed coming here. Enjoyed hanging out, enjoyed watching the scenery. But not tonight. No, if he had known who else was going to be here tonight, he would have gone somewhere else.

  The team had lost tonight. His own play had been total shit. So yeah, coming here for a few beers to wash away the misery had sounded like a good idea. Except he hadn’t expected the damn ice crew to show up. He had never seen them in here before. Why the hell were they here tonight?

  Why the hell was Bridget with them?

  He looked toward the back corner, where two tables had been pushed together for the group of twelve. Bridget was the only woman, sitting there with a bunch of guys. What the h
ell was up with that? And she wouldn’t even look over at him, no matter how much he kept watching. She knew he was here, because she had glanced over at their table when she first walked in.

  Glanced over, then looked away and kept on going. No nod, no smile. Not a single flicker of recognition. What the fuck?

  But did he really expect anything different, after the other day? They had finally made it back to his room, finally lay down for that nap. And when he woke up, Bridget was gone. No note, no call. Nothing. It was like she hadn’t even been there, like he had dreamed the whole thing.

  And now she was here, acting like she didn’t know him. Like he didn’t even exist.

  What the fuck?

  “Dude, what the fuck?” A blur flashed in front of his eyes and Derek jerked back, pushing Mat’s hand away from his face.

  “What the hell is your problem?”

  “What’s yours? You’re completely zoned out. Kind of like your game tonight.” Mat watched him for a few seconds then looked toward the back corner. “So what are you looking at anyway? The ice crew? Why?”

  Derek turned away, not knowing what to say. No way in hell was he going to tell Mat anything. Not about Bridget, not about how she had gotten under his skin. And he sure as hell wasn’t going to tell him that he’d actually slept with her. He’d never hear the end of it, not when she was nothing like his type.

  Nothing like the women his teammates expected him to go after.

  Mat was still watching him, his brow creased with a frown, when Justin finally spoke up. “I need a shot. Who wants one?”

  “What?”

  “Dude, you need to slow it down. You’ve already had four of them.”

  Justin waved his hand to the side, brushing them off, then slid off the stool. He grabbed the edge of the table for balance, tilting it. Derek grabbed it the same time Mat did, stopping their drinks and empty glasses from hitting the floor.

  “What the hell? How much have you had to drink?” Derek shot an impatient glare at Justin, noticing for the first time the glaze covering his friend’s unfocused dark eyes. Justin squeezed his eyes in a slow blink, then shrugged and gave them an over bright smile.

  “I’m fine. Really. No problem.” He chuckled then headed to the bar, each step slow and deliberate. He climbed up onto an empty stool and propped both elbows on the bar, his head turned to the side.

  “What the hell was all that about?”

  “No idea. But he needs to get his shit together and lay off the booze for a while. He’s been getting worse the last few months.”

  “Who, Justin?” Derek looked back at the bar, watching his teammate. Yeah, so maybe he was feeling it a little tonight. They all had occasional nights like that, it didn’t mean anything. He told Mat that.

  “It’s more than occasional. And it’s only gotten worse since this past Christmas. I’ve had to drive him home more than once.”

  “Are you sure you’re not reading too much into it?”

  “Yeah, I’m sure. Oh great. Now it looks like Val’s going to lay into him. Maybe she’ll cut him off and send him home.”

  Derek looked back at the bar just as Val, Randy’s sister, stopped next to Justin. He couldn’t hear what was being said but he could see the flash of fire in Val’s eyes, see the impatience and anger flushing her face.

  They watched as she leaned in and placed a hand on Justin’s shoulder, her mouth close to his ear as she said something else. Justin’s back stiffened and he shot her a look then shook his head, pushing away from her. She said something else then walked away, her long black hair swinging behind her as she turned the corner and disappeared into the kitchen.

  “What do you think all that was about?”

  “No idea. But whatever she said must have worked because Darrin just gave him some water.”

  “Or maybe Darrin just decided to cut him off. How’s Justin getting home tonight?”

  “I drove, so I’ll get him home. What about you?”

  “Me?” Derek glanced over at Mat, not surprised to find himself being studied again. “I’ll be fine driving, don’t worry. And since when did you become the Mother Hen, anyway?”

  Mat smiled, the crooked grin making him look so much younger. “I’m not. And I wasn’t worried about you driving. I’m just wondering why you keep ignoring my question.”

  Derek took a sip of his beer, his gaze sliding back to the corner tables. Bridget was still there with the rest of the crew, leaning across the table, half out of her seat as she looked at something one of the guys had in his hand. Derek could hear her laughter from where he was sitting, the sound clear and fresh. He clenched his teeth and looked away. “What question was that?”

  “Oh, you know. The one about why you keep looking over at the ice crew, that’s all. So what’s up with that?”

  Derek took another swallow of beer and shrugged, hoping for an indifference he didn’t feel. “No reason. Just curious. I’ve just never seen them here before.”

  “Because you’ve never paid attention before. You’re usually too busy with Melanie and the rest of the dance team.” Mat shoved him in the side with his elbow and winked. Derek didn’t bother saying anything, only because it was true. And he was afraid if he said too much, Mat would ask even more questions.

  Mat leaned across the table and grabbed a handful of nuts then tossed them in his mouth. He wiped his hand against his leg then took a swallow from his mug. “They’re a nice bunch of guys, though. Pretty cool to talk to.”

  “Guys? Are you blind, Herron? There’s a girl over there, too.”

  “Yeah, of course you’d notice her. Stay away from her, Derek, she’s not your type.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means she’s a nice girl. She’s responsible. She’s got her head on straight and doesn’t play games. And honestly, I don’t think Bridget has a high tolerance for bullshit.”

  “Bridget?”

  “Yeah. Bridget. That’s her name.”

  Derek’s hand tightened around the mug as a spurt of misplaced jealousy ripped through him. He took a deep breath and forced his jaw to unclench before he faced Mat. “I know what her name is. The question is, how do you know?”

  “What do you mean, you know? How do you know—” Mat stopped mid-sentence, his mouth snapping shut. His brows lowered over his eyes and he glanced over his shoulder at the corner table. Then he looked back at Derek, disappointment clear on his face. “Fuck. Really Derek? You went after her, too? What, the dance team wasn’t good enough for you?”

  Oh shit. Derek shifted on the stool, suddenly not sure what to say or do. Had Mat been interested in her, too? Or shit, maybe Mat had actually asked her out. Or already gone out with her. Fuck. He hadn’t considered that, hadn’t even thought to ask. “Shit Mat, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were interested—”

  “Fuck you, Caulton. Christ, is that what you think? I’m not interested in her, not like that. I just thought she was a nice girl. She doesn’t deserve to be one of your many conquests.”

  “Conquests? Shit, you’re making it sound like I have a different woman each night. I don’t. I just like to flirt.”

  “Yeah, okay.”

  “No, really.” And okay, that sounded lame even to Derek, even if it was the truth. Mostly. He glanced back at the corner table then down into his nearly-empty mug and sighed. “If it makes you feel better, she wants nothing to do with me. She acted like she didn’t even know who I was when she walked in tonight.”

  Laughter, rich and hearty, exploded next to him. Derek looked over, surprised to see Mat nearly doubled over with it. Minutes went by before Mat’s laughter faded. He fisted his hand and pressed it against his gut, taking gulping breaths. He slowly straightened then wiped his eyes with the heel of one hand.

  “You’re such a dick. I’m so glad that amuses you. Asshole.”

  “Sorry.” Mat took another deep breath then chuckled. “Actually, no, I’m not. How’s it feel to be on the other side?�
��

  “The other side? Really? That’s what you really think? Screw you.” Mat’s words pissed him off more than they should have and Derek wasn’t sure why. Is that what Mat—what his teammates—really thought of him? He wasn’t like that, not really.

  Yeah, he liked to have a good time. And okay, maybe those good times involved women. But it was nothing but harmless fun. No strings, no expectations. Just fun. Mutual fun. And hell, most of the time the women approached him. What the hell was wrong with that?

  Mat’s smile finally faded as he watched Derek. “You’re not really upset, are you?”

  “Go to hell.”

  “Wow. No way. You really are upset.” Mat shifted on the stool, his gaze sliding once more to the back corner, his expression suddenly serious. He lifted the glass to his lips and took an absent sip, then looked back at Derek. “So what’s going on?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Yeah, okay. So how do you know Bridget?”

  Christ, was he really going to have this conversation? With Mat, of all people? He took a deep breath and blew it out, then ran one hand through his hair. Shit.

  “Uh, she was stuck in the garage a few weeks ago. Her car wouldn’t start and she needed a jump. A charge.” He saw Mat open his mouth, no doubt to make a sarcastic comment. Derek kicked out with his left foot, connecting solidly with Mat’s shin. “Yeah, don’t say anything. She ended up spraining her ankle so I drove her home.”

  “She sprained her ankle? And then you took her home? How in the hell did she sprain her ankle—”

  “So I took her home.” Derek continued, ignoring Mat’s question. There was no way he was going to tell Mat exactly how Bridget had sprained her ankle. No way. “Then we had lunch the other day. And now she won’t talk to me.”

  Mat studied him for a minute. “Why do I think you’re leaving something out?”