Dirty Filthy Boy (A Bad Boy Sports Romance) (Chicago Outlaws Book 1)

by Magda Alexander

  "Wait" She trips, and I tighten my grip to keep her from falling. "That was rude. I was talking to Ryan."

  I keep up the pace, not slowing down one bit. "You don't talk to him. You hear me."

  "Why not?"

  We're close to where the media lies in wait, cameras clicking away. "Who's the lady, Ty? Your girlfriend?"

  Damn it! I should have thought this through before I went ape shit. If there's one thing, the Outlaws' organization is adamant about is good press. Whatever a player has to do, he must present a positive image. And right now, there's only one way to do that. My grip slides down and grabs her hand. "Smile for the reporters, MacKenna."

  Thankfully, she obeys me. She clutches her notebook to her chest and smiles. Until we get inside my SUV and I snap her into her seatbelt.

  Then she lets me have it. "What was that all about? Why can't I talk to Ryan Taylor?"

  All screeching tires, I peel out of the parking lot before somebody snaps a photo of her screaming at me. "He's a sleazeball. All he wants to do is nail you."

  "Oh? And you don't?"

  "Give me some credit, MacKenna. I've been the perfect gentleman so far." Well, perfect for me.

  Other than breathing hard, she's silent until we take the highway out of the city. "Where are we going? This is not the way to my apartment."

  "My house. We need to talk." She needs to understand professional football, and I'm not just thinking about the game.

  "Don't I get a say in this?"

  "Nope."

  She mumbles something under her breath. Neanderthal, among a few other choice words. Yeah. I get it. I'm dragging her to my cave. Perfect gentleman flew out the window the second I hauled her away.

  I shouldn't have acted the way I did. I know it. She knows it. My overprotective streak's flying a mile high. Something I haven't felt in a long time. Since college, I've stuck with women who know the score, not dewy-eyed virgins who have no clue. Angry with myself, I smack the wheel. "Damn it."

  "What's wrong?" Her voice quivers with emotion. God, don't let it be fear. Couldn't handle that from her.

  "Nothing." 'Ignore her,' Warrior Ty whispers. You can't afford to care about her. You can't allow your emotions to get involved. Not when you need to focus on football and your bum arm before coach notices and takes you out of the game. But I'm not listening. Somehow she brings out the savior in me. I may have only known her a few days, but I ache to protect her against any and all harm. To give her the life she should have. But let's face, the part of me that's most in command is my cock. And the damn thing's rapidly growing out of control.

  Chapter 7

  MacKenna

  HIS HOUSE RESIDES IN A GATED COMMUNITY. Of course, it does. He might be a playa, but I doubt he wants a horde of women and fans crashing his home. Before we're allowed entrance into the property, a dour guard at the front gate requests my ID. Unwilling to reveal my identity to a stranger, I argue about it, but Ty cuts me off. "Every visitor has to do it, MacKenna."

  Still fuming at Ty, I pull out my driver's license and hand it to the beefy man. He glances back and forth between the ID and me before stepping inside the guardhouse. I suspect he's running my driver's license through a scanner, something that doesn't sit right with me. Still unsmiling, he returns, hands me back my ID and waves us through.

  "That was a violation of my rights."

  "They have to be careful. Many prominent families live here. Some employ their own security as well. Last thing the property management company wants is some criminal breaking and entering somebody's home, and worse."

  He has a point. Security has to be tight to prevent a home invasion. But I don't like to provide my personal information unless absolutely necessary. At the Outlaws' camp, I'd handed over my license for identification, not realizing I needed to check the form that would keep my information from being entered into their database. Lesson learned. From now on, I'll be more diligent about reading documents when my driver's license is required.

  Although I resent having had to provide ID at the gate, especially when I've been shanghaied, what's done is done. Nothing I can do about it. Might as well enjoy the view. And what a view it is. The community's Colonial houses sit on what appear to be three-acre lots, some with huge swimming pools in the back, the yards landscaped to an inch of their lives.

  He drives up the driveway of a gorgeous mansion nestled between towering trees and pulls into a three-car garage in the back of the house. A huge truck occupies one of the bays. The third one contains a vehicle with a tarp thrown over it.

  Once we emerge from his SUV, he leads the way into a gleaming-bright kitchen whose vaulted ceiling must be ten, eleven feet high.

  "Would you like something to drink?"

  "Water, please."

  He opens a subzero refrigerator, pulls out a bottle, uncaps it and hands it to me. "Make yourself at home. I'm going to change." And then he starts to walk away, like nothing's wrong.

  Is he kidding me? "Wait.You're not going anywhere until you explain what happened back there."

  He swivels toward me. His jaw flexing, he eats the distance between him and me. "You mean when you threw yourself at Ryan Jackson?"

  He's way into my personal space, so much I have to tilt back my head so I can glare at him. "I didn't throw myself." I sound like a harpy my voice's so high. "I was talking to him. You know, like a reporter."

  His eyes narrow. "He doesn't want an interview. He wants to fuck you." He's so wound up he's practically vibrating with coiled tension.

  Unwittingly, my gaze drops to his crotch. He's hard. Very hard. Apparently, Ryan Jackson is not the only one who wants to screw me.

  He manacles my arms, pulls me toward him. "And you practically invited him to do it."

  My nipples grow rock hard from being thrust into his chest. How could I be this turned on by his caveman behavior? "I did not."

  He goes on like I haven't said a thing. "Yeah, you did. You pranced up and down that field with your hair down to your ass, your breasts bouncing all the way. Whatever bra you're wearing, it doesn't do shit, except draw attention to your tits."

  I wiggle in his hold. The way my body's reacting, I can't be this close to him. "Let me go, Ty." When he does, I fling a hand across my chest. My nipples turn into hard little nubs whenever I get excited. And god knows I'm excited now. His behavior might be Neanderthal, but he's turning me on. "That was not nice."

  He throws his hands in the air. "Jeesus H. Fucking Christ! I'm not trying to be nice. I'm trying to clue you in. Some of those players you were flirting with? Half of them are aching to nail you. They think you're easy." He steps toward me again, and I stumble backwards. "They think all they have to do is crook a finger and you'll fall into their laps. They've seen hundreds of girls like that, groupies who are only interested in one thing—bagging a Chicago Outlaw. And I guarantee you a lot of them have put you into that category."

  Moisture seeps into my vision. I shake my head to stop the tears. I'll be damned if I cry in front of him. "I'm not like that. I'm not." Taking a step back, I run dab smack into the kitchen counter.

  "Then stop acting like you are."

  "What did I do that was so wrong?"

  "You flirted with them."

  My lower lip juts forward. "I did not."

  "Yes, you did. I was watching you the whole time. You flipped your hair, smiled, touched some of them. Since you don't know shit about football, I can imagine what they were thinking."

  "That's so unfair. I never asked for the interview with Ron. It was thrust into my lap."

  "And it was supposed to begin and end with him?"

  "Yes."

  "At the Boys & Girls Club, you were talking to players as if you wanted to interview them. What happened to change your mind?"

  "Well, I met you, and someone at the club who used to play football."

  "Who?" He snarls out.

  "One of the owners. My friend, Marigold, knows him from their college days."


  "Todd Gryzinsky."

  "Yes. You know him?"

  "Yeah, I know him." His eyes flash at me. "Did he hit on you?"

  "No! He was at the door. After Marigold talked to him, he was nice enough to let us in."

  "He wasn't being nice, MacKenna. If your friend looks anything like you, he admitted two smoking hot females, bait for the hordes of playahs who frequent the club."

  "Like you?" I snap.

  "No. Not like me." Two muscled arms clutch the edge of the counter, caging me in. "In case you didn't know, I don't chase women. They chase me."

  I blow out a disgusted snort. "Yeah. I know." Having heard enough, I'm more than ready to leave. "Well, this has been a really nice conversation, but I'd like to go home now."

  He pushes off to wander around the kitchen, his hands jammed into his jeans pockets, his hard body in full display. My stupid heart beats a mad, wild rhythm at the sight of his broad shoulders, slim hips, and mighty fine ass.

  Stopping his pausing, he glances back, his green eyes drilling into mine. "Are you serious about interviewing players?"

  "Yes."

  "You never explained why."

  "I just thought of football players as—" I can't say that I thought of big, beefy men fighting over a pigskin as Neanderthals— "athletes."

  "And now?"

  "Well, after talking to you and Ron and watching mad dog Buchinsky work with kids as gently as he did, I'm beginning to see there's more to them than football."

  "And that's important, why?"

  "Any reporter can cover the statistics, how far somebody threw a ball, how many balls a player caught. But I'd like to explore the human side of the players and write about them. What makes them tick? What makes them human? The newspaper's subscribers, especially the women, would eat up those stories."

  He lets out a hard breath. "You'll need to earn their respect before they open themselves up to you."

  "I know. How do I do that?"

  All fluid grace and masculine power, he strolls back to me. "Well, for starters. You need to learn the game."

  I nod in agreement. "I'm reading up on football and doing research."

  "You need to do more than that. I can teach you." His voice softens, as his hand reaches out to fiddle with my hair. "I can teach you lots of things."

  His body's tight against me. His hard on's pressed against my belly.

  "Ty?" I glance up at him through my eyelashes. He's so much bigger than me, so much of a man. He smells like one too. Not of expensive cologne, but like a guy who's been pitching balls to kids. Nice, clean sweat and, underneath it all, him.

  "You drive me crazy, you know, with your soft hair, pouty lips, and milky skin." He puts his lips to my neck, and I shiver. "You smell so good."

  I'm trembling beyond control. My body flares up into a fiery need. I want him. I want this man more than my next breath. But there's something he must be made to understand.

  "I'm not a groupie."

  "Oh, sweetheart, of course you're not. You're sunshine and rainbows and everything that's right in this world."

  "Ty?"

  "Say, yes, sweetheart. Say yes, and I'll give you anything you want."

  I don't breathe a word, but let my body do the talking for me. Interpreting my silence as consent, he slowly strips me of my sweater, my jeans, leaving me in nothing but a pink bra and panties.

  "Look at you. You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

  "I bet you say that to all the girls you bring here."

  His lips flatten. "I've never brought a woman here."

  "You haven't?"

  "No. You're the first."

  He hasn't kissed me, but that's gotta be worth something. "Take off your shirt."

  One handed, he rips it off in the way guys do oh so very well, and my breath cuts short. Ty clothed is one thing. But bare chested, he's magnificent. Hard pecs, huge arms. And his abs? I could do a week's worth of laundry on those ridges.

  "MacKenna, baby, say yes. I can't do it unless you agree."

  I let out a shaky sigh and, even though I know better, breathe out one, single word. "Yes."

  One handed, he picks me up, walks to the sofa, and lays me down, gently, like I'm a porcelain doll. His hand flicks off my bra. Next instant his mouth's on my breast, suckling, teasing. I'm writhing beneath him, wanting more. I'm not a virgin, but don't have much experience. And I never felt this way before. The boy back home who took my virginity was in too much of a hurry. Doubt he even knew how to pleasure a woman, But Ty? He's good at this. He knows football and apparently he knows women too. They don't go to bed with him just to notch up a score. They do it because they know how good he is.

  He kisses down my belly, he's headed down to—

  I gasp. "Wait."

  "What?" He looks up, his gaze so heated.

  "I need to shower before you do . . . That." I can't even say the word.

  "Oh, honey, you're going to taste like heaven. I just know it."

  He comes to his feet, strips off his jeans. He's wearing nothing but skin underneath. "Tell me you're not a virgin."

  His hard on is huge, beyond huge. I didn't know they came that big. "I'm not." I choke out.

  "Thank you, God." He fishes out a condom from his jeans pocket—does he travel with those things?—and rolls it over his massive hard on.

  "Ty?" I gulp. "I don't think. I'm not sure about this." I can't keep my eyes off his cock. Has it gotten bigger than a second ago?

  "Don't worry, sweetheart. I'll go slow, even if it fucking kills me."

  Tearing off my panties, his mouth dives into my pussy—licking me, sucking me, tasting me. And it feels good. So good I wrap my hands around his hair and tug, every time lightning shoots through me. "Ty, ohmygod, Ty."

  He widens my legs, positions his erection notches it in. "Slowly, slowly." He says to himself.

  I whimper, not with hurt because right now just the rim of his penis inside me feels so good. I think I'll die with pleasure. Hope I don't because I want to know what happens next.

  "Tells me it's good. Tell me me it's okay." He's perspiring now and a drop of sweat falls from him on my belly.

  I pick it up, and bring it to my mouth. "It's good."

  He pushes inside a little bit more. "You're so fucking tight, so blazing hot."

  My hands go around as much of him as I can reach. Not enough. Not nearly enough. One of his hands goes to my ass, lifts me as he pushes inside a little bit more. And just like that, I come. "MacKenna?"

  "So-sorry." I've climaxed before, but nothing like this never ending wave of heat and pleasure, so much pleasure. I buck against him, driving him even deeper into me.

  "Oh, God, sweetheart, don't be sorry." While I'm falling apart beneath him, he surges deep and pounds into me, grunting, groaning. All I can do is hang on as best I can but we fall off the couch on the floor where his hips swing back and forth in a pounding grinding rhythm. Nothing elegant about this. He's a primal, virile male taking me to heights I never dreamed about. He lets out a final groan, and collapses on me. Just for a second, and then he rolls and brings me up so I'm lying on his scorching hot skin.

  "That was fucking amazing."

  Yeah, it was.

  Once we catch our breath, he moves us to the bedroom, where he makes love to me again. And then he drops into a deep sleep, the likes of which I've never seen before. Hours later, I wake up, sore and needing to go to the bathroom. Trying not to wake him, I slide out of bed to urinate. Done with the call of nature, reality kicks in. He never sleeps with the same woman twice. I need to go home. Before he wakes. Because I don't want to see the look in his eyes that tells me he's through with me.

  I grab my clothes from the living room and dress as silently as I can. I fish my phone from my purse and call a cab. And in the cold, in the dark, I walk out of his house, past the guardhouse where the same guard stares at me. "Going somewhere, Miss?"

  "I called a taxi. Told them to meet me in front."

  "
Why don't you wait here where it's warm?"

  "No, thank you." I keep on walking, rubbing my hands up and down my arms, feeling his eyes drilling into my back. The cab shows up ten minutes later, and I give him my address. And I don't cry.

  Chapter 8

  Ty

  I WAKE from the soundest sleep I've had in a long time. My body's aches and pains nonexistent, warm and pleasured by MacKenna's body. Should have known a wildcat lived inside her body. How could it not with that red hair and those intoxicating curves? I pat the bed beside me, but it's empty and cold. Is she in the bathroom? I don't hear any sounds coming from it. Maybe she went to the kitchen to get something to eat. We never had dinner last night. Not that I minded. I was too busy feasting on her. My stomach growls now though.

  After I take care of business and brush my teeth, I throw on a jersey and jeans and go looking for her. When I don't find her in the living room or kitchen, I race through the house. Ten minutes later, it's clear. She's gone. She left without telling me. Hell, she didn't even leave a note.

  I grab my phone, find her cell number in the information Trevor shared with me and dial it.

  "Hello?"

  "MacKenna?"

  "Yes."

  "Where are you?"

  "Home."

  "Why?"

  "I have to get ready for work." She sounds perfectly normal, like she fucks and walks out on a guy every day of the week.

  I count to ten to keep from yelling at her, but make it only to three."How did you get home?"

  "I called a cab."

  "Why didn't you wake me? I would have driven you home."

  "I thought a clean break would be best."

  I choke back a curse. "Clean break?"

  "Everyone knows you don't sleep with the same woman twice. Why drag out the goodbye? Besides, I have my career to think about. You yourself said it, anyone who sees me with you will think I'm a groupie. That doesn't do me any good. You understand, don't you?"