Sly Bullhorn Brodsky

by Jean C. Joachim

  The sun poked through, waking Sam early. The Kings were playing at four, so there wasn’t much time to relax. Still, she didn’t need to disturb Sly yet. He had moved away from her during the night. She rolled onto her side and gazed at him. In sleep, his face looked younger, more carefree. He had an innocence about him she didn’t believe for one minute.

  His cheekbones, perfect lips, and scruff made him more handsome than ever. He appeared to fit into her room, her apartment. Even though he was big, he added to, rather than dominated, her space. Samantha had grown comfortable with him.

  A lazy Sunday morning with Sly was rare. While she bounced back and forth between getting up and snuggling up, he rolled over. Sam flattened her palm against his back and smoothed it down his spine to his butt. God, his butt. Cute was an understatement. Unable to resist the urge to squeeze, she did.

  “Someone’s frisky this morning,” mumbled a deep baritone.

  He trapped her hand in his paw and pulled, easing her up against his back. She pressed her breasts into him and feathered kisses up his neck. He shivered.

  “Baby, if you’re gonna do that,” he said, turning to greet her. He was fully erect, causing her eyes to widen.

  “You’re, uh, ready for action,” she stuttered.

  “Sometimes I wake up like this. But with you, I’d wake up set to go every morning.”

  Bull wasted no time on their first morning together. He was kissing her neck while his hands explored her body. The cozy warmth of the bed flamed into passionate heat in an instant as she gave herself up to his lovemaking.

  Sliding down, he licked her until a powerful orgasm shook her. After, he pushed up to take her mouth and rub himself against her hot, wet flesh. Then, he covered himself, swung her legs to his shoulders, and penetrated her quickly, with a grunt of pleasure. While the orgasm had satisfied her physical needs, his being inside produced a deeper gratification. She gripped his shoulders as he pounded into her. The heat from his chest made her breasts perspire.

  His hot breath on her ear and neck ratcheted up her desire. He curled his back to get his mouth on her peak. She cried out and came again shortly before he did. Sly collapsed on her for a moment before shifting his weight to his own arms.

  “Oh my God, Sam,” he muttered.

  She shut her eyes, focusing on the sensations still quivering through her. No one had ever made love to her like this before. Sly was intense, his lovemaking hot and urgent. She panted, her breath slowly returning to normal.

  Sly cradled her in his arms. The word “love” kicked around her brain, but she kept her tongue silent. Do I love him, or just sex with him?

  “You’re so intense. So amazing. When I’m with you…damn, shit, it’s like no other experience, babe,” he whispered.

  The fact that his words mirrored her emotions made her heart sing. If he felt the same way, then maybe she wasn’t overreacting. Her stomach growled. Food. “Time to feed the other appetite,” she said, kissing his biceps as she sat up.

  He grabbed her hips. “Wait. Not yet. I’m hungry too, but we don’t get much time together.”

  He pulled her into his bearish embrace. She melted against him. His skin smelled of passion, sweat, and Bull, a heady aroma that pleased her senses. She licked his shoulder. He tasted salty, his skin smooth against her tongue. If I could stop time…

  Bull kissed her hair. “You’re the most amazing woman I’ve ever met. Ever known. Ever made love to. Stay with me for a few more minutes.”

  She nodded, nestling her head into his shoulder, snaking her arms around him. His body heat made her sleepy. Sly stroked her silky hair and hummed a classical tune. The vibration in his chest relaxed her. Samantha fought to keep her eyes open, but the peacefulness surrounding her won, and she was asleep in a moment.

  A gentle squeeze on her rear end woke her up. Sly untangled himself from her. She stretched, yawned, and spied nine on the clock.

  “Are you hungry?” she asked.

  “I could eat.”

  He pushed up and out of bed first, offering her his hand. She raised her gaze to his bare body tentatively.

  “Feeling shy? Now? Isn’t that like closing the barn door after the horse escaped?” He laughed.

  “Maybe. Still. This is new for me.”

  He plucked a white, terry robe from the back of the bedroom door and tossed it to her. “Go ahead. Cover up that amazing body. You really know how to hurt a guy,” he teased.

  Samantha swiped at him playfully as she knotted the sash. Sly pulled his boxers on, but that’s all. They padded into the kitchen. Sam stole a few glances at his chest, enjoying the view.

  “How about leftover steak and eggs?”

  “That’s your steak.”

  “Not anymore. I’ll share.”

  “Sounds great.”

  She took the ingredients out. Bull finished making the coffee she had begun Saturday night, before they had gotten sidetracked into the bedroom. Another stretch and a sigh steered Samantha into fully awake mode. Her body seemed light, her step lively, and she couldn’t stop smiling. Is it because of Sly? Foolish question. She knew the answer.

  “After we win the Super Bowl, I’m going to St. Thomas for two weeks. Maybe you’d like to come,” he said, pouring the hot beverage into two mugs.

  Her heart skipped a beat. “Isn’t it a little premature to be making plans like that?” She scooped a dollop of butter into the hot pan.

  “Never too early. February is a busy month. How about it?”

  “You think we’ll still be seeing each other by then?” She bit her lip at the bold question.

  Sly stepped closer and slid his hands around her waist. “I predict we’ll be a lot closer by February.”

  “You’re pretty confident. Damn cocky, I’d say.” She raised her gaze to his.

  “Are you kiddin’? I’ll never let you get away.”

  “Now you sound like a stalker.”

  “If a man truly in love is a stalker, then I guess that’ll be me.”

  Sam caught her breath in a gasp. “Who said anything about love?”

  “I’m not fooling around, Samantha. I’m thirty-one. My career could be over with one serious injury. I want a life, someone to come home to, a family. I want something more than football. If you’re not in it for the long haul, then maybe we’d better part company right now.”

  * * * *

  Across town—Devon Drake’s home

  “What do you mean you don’t want a wedding?” Devon put his coffee cup down.

  “I don’t need all that stuff. I’m not telling my parents. They wouldn’t come anyway. I don’t have much money. Why don’t we elope or…hey! Go to City Hall?” She turned to face her fiancé.

  The sudden movement made her velour covering flap open, revealing the creamy skin of a plump breast. Her gaze followed Devon’s as he zeroed in on her exposed flesh. Stormy put the plate with scrambled eggs and a side of fruit down in front of the cornerback then closed her robe.

  “You’re spoiling the view.” He picked up his fork.

  “Bring your eyes up here, buddy,” she said, pointing to her face.

  “My pleasure.” His gaze connected with hers. “Why aren’t you telling your parents?” He speared a red grape.

  “We don’t get along. They’d want to run everything, but they’d do it on the cheap. The whole thing gives me…” Tears clouded her eyes, and she couldn’t blink them back. She remembered how badly her parents had behaved at her sister’s wedding. And they liked Briana a lot more than they liked her. Stormy pictured the arguments between her and her mom, between her mother and father. It would be a nightmare.

  Devon put down his fork. He drew her into a hug, and she cried into his bare chest.

  “I don’t want it. Please don’t make me.”

  “Okay, okay, baby. It’s all right, Stormy. No one’s gonna make you do anything.”

  He rocked her against him until she settled down. Reaching for a tissue, she eased out of his arms. “
Your eggs are getting cold.”

  “What do you want to do?”

  “A nice ceremony in City Hall with Samantha, maybe the Coach, or whoever you want, a couple of friends. Then dinner, maybe even at The Sweet Magnolia?”

  “I don’t get to wear the monkey suit?” Devon frowned.

  “You want to wear a tux? Most guys hate that.”

  “Yeah. I know. I do too. But somehow, it’s not official without that. Okay. We’ll do it whatever way you want. But I told my parents already, and they’re coming.”

  “You told your parents? We’ve been engaged for five minutes.”

  “We’ve been engaged a month and a half. Yes, I told them. They want to be here.”

  “We can still do it my way. Maybe your dad could give me away? He was more like my father than my real one anyway.”

  “I’m sure he’d do it.” Devon sucked down his food then washed it down with more coffee. “If you’re so set on no wedding, how come I found this under the mattress?” He pulled out an issue of Today’s Bride.

  “You’re looking under my side of the mattress?” Her eyes widened as she scooped up eggs on her fork.

  “The bed seemed a little lopsided. I investigated. And I found this. So, don’t tell me you’re not interested in having a real wedding. We could do it. I can afford it. You don’t have to go all wedding-wild or anything. But we could have something nice. I want you to wear a long, white dress, Stormy.”

  She cast her gaze to her plate and toyed with her food. “A long, white dress?”

  “Yep. Just like the one on page sixty-eight. You have that corner folded down.”

  Stormy snatched the magazine out of his hands. “You’re not supposed to see that! It’s bad luck. Now, I can’t wear that dress.”

  “Really? Damn. I’m sorry.”

  “I wouldn’t buy it anyway. It’s five grand. But there is a little dress in the back I could afford.”

  “I’ll pay for the dress. Get whatever you want. You’ve been through a lot. You deserve to have a nice wedding, honey.” He took her hand.

  She beamed at him. “That’s so sweet. Okay. Maybe something in between City Hall and a grand wedding of two hundred people.”

  “And you’ll wear a white dress and me a tuxedo?”

  “Okay, okay. We’ll do it up right. But maybe only twenty-five people.”

  “Maybe fifty?”

  “Not one body more than that,” Stormy said, raising her finger high.

  “You’ll be the most beautiful bride ever,” Devon said, taking the empty dishes from the table. He rinsed them and put them in the dishwasher.

  “Can we get new dishes? Can I pick them out?”

  “We can get whatever you want. You’ll be queen of the house.”

  She clapped her hands together. “I’ve always wanted to pick a china and silver pattern.”

  “I thought little girls always dreamed about their weddings?”

  “We did. We do. I have something in mind.”

  “Nothing too feminine, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  He sidled up to her, his hands on her waist. “How about a rehearsal for the wedding night?”

  “Oh, I think you’ve got that nailed.” She chuckled.

  “Practice makes perfect.” He took her hand and led her out of the kitchen.

  “Do you know where I got the magazine?” she asked, climbing the stairs.

  “At the newsstand?”

  “Nope. From Samantha’s room.”

  Devon stopped cold. “Samantha? What’s she doing with a wedding magazine?”

  * * * *

  Across town—Verna Carruthers’ house

  The spritely sixty-year-old opened the door. Hank Montgomery, father of Griff and trainer for the Kings, stood outside, holding a toolbox. “Mr. Fix-it is here.” He stepped inside.

  Verna chewed her lip. “Buddy usually does that.”

  “Does what?”

  “Fixes stuff for me.”

  “Got any coffee?”

  “Of course. Come on in. Just baked some molasses cookies too.”

  “I love those.”

  He put the metal box down by the door and followed her into the kitchen. Hank set up the coffee while Verna put out a plate of cookies. Sitting around the table, she cast her gaze down.

  “Buddy’s already upset we’re seeing each other. If he knows you’re fixing things in my house, well, it might be worse.”

  “Buddy’s gonna have his own child soon enough. Then, he won’t have time to stop by and do things here.”

  “You’ve got another grandchild on the way too. Won’t that eat up your time?”

  “I always have time for you, Verna.” His smile married lust with love.

  “He’s my son. My only child, Hank. I don’t want to shut him out or hurt his feelings.”

  “I understand. If you don’t want me to put those blinds up, then I won’t.”

  She let out a breath. “Thanks for understanding. But maybe, just this once. Buddy doesn’t know they need replacing. Haven’t told him yet. Besides, it’s football season. He’s busy.”

  “Let me finish this cup, and we’ll get started.”

  Verna showed Hank to the bedroom then cleaned up the kitchen while he worked. Her old blinds had finally broken. The new ones would refresh the windows. I’ll probably need new curtains too.

  When she returned, Hank was up on the stepladder. As she watched, Verna noticed how tired and worn the whole room looked. The walls needed fresh paint, her bedspread was faded, and the dust ruffle had already been washed too many times. The furniture was dull and old fashioned. Kind of like me. I need a new coat of paint too.

  She chuckled to herself, causing Hank to peer over his shoulder. “What’s funny?”

  “Now that you’re taking down those old blinds, I’m seeing this room with new eyes. It’s worn out. Needs new stuff. Like a fresh coat of paint. Thinking maybe I’m a bit worn around the edges too.”

  “You don’t need a fresh coat of paint, Verna. You just got a makeover,” he said. “And may I say, the results are fantastic.” He shot her a lusty glance.

  She sensed heat in her face and turned away.

  Hank went back to work. “I can paint. I’ve painted many rooms in my day.”

  “Are you volunteering?” She rested one hand on her hip.

  “I suppose that’s one way to get into your bedroom.” He laughed.

  “Hank Montgomery! You dirty, old man!” she joked.

  He got down and approached. “There’s nothing old about me, and nothing dirty about sex. I’m still interested, and I hope you are too.” He drew her to him for a gentle kiss.

  “I might be,” she replied.

  Hank, with his trim waist and broad shoulders, made her nervous. Her heart beat quickened when he walked into a room. They had had a few make-out sessions, but that was all. Verna hadn’t been with anyone except her husband for over thirty years. He’d been gone now for quite a while, and she was lonely. Questions about sex bugged her. Shyness she hadn’t had with her spouse reared up.

  The idea of being naked with Hank made her blush. The thought of his hands on her body made her breath come faster. Was that lust? Desire? Did she know what she wanted? Absolutely not. Did she trust Hank Montgomery to lead the way and not hurt her? Absolutely not, though she had no reason to distrust him.

  He had taken things slow, at her request, and always been respectful. After they’d spent some time on the couch, kissing, she’d noticed a flush on his neck and the part of his chest that showed where his shirt was unbuttoned. She figured it couldn’t be easy for him to walk away from her, unfulfilled. But he had. No questions asked. And she was grateful for his patience.

  Now, he was invading her dreams at night. Lusty thoughts about Hank kept cropping up during the day. The time to find out where this was going was drawing near. As scared as she was, anticipation ratcheted her nerves up to high alert. Every press of her hand, or touch on her back or shoulder
, made her tingle. Keeping Hank out of the bedroom wasn’t going to last.

  As her physical need for him grew, her concern about her son did too. Buddy Carruthers, star wide receiver for the Connecticut Kings, didn’t like his mother dating Hank Montgomery, or anyone, for that matter. He was possessive and protective of her. His love and concern touched her heart, but now that she wanted her life back, perhaps she’d have to talk to him, explain.

  Hank appeared to be a good man. They’d been seeing each other for two months. Buddy needed to back off and let his mom make her own choices. But how was Verna going to tell him that? What if Hank decided she wasn’t worth the hassle from her son or waiting around until she was comfortable enough with him to have sex?

  She picked at a nail as she pondered the issues and Hank took down the blinds.

  “All done. Where are the new ones?” He mopped sweat off his face. “It’s hot in here. Do you mind if I take off my shirt?”

  “Of course. Go ahead. They’re in the closet.” She fished around in the back until her hand came in contact with the box.

  Hank looked it over. “Seems simple enough.” He stood next to her, oozing sex appeal. His chest was hairy, like her late husband’s. She had liked that. Her fingers began to tingle as the desire to touch him grew. What am I waiting for? The next millennium? I’m no baby. I won’t get pregnant. What’s the big deal? That’s what Al would have said. She chuckled to herself.

  “Again you’re laughing?” Hank cocked an eyebrow at her.

  “It’s nothing.”

  “Come on. Give. I could use a good laugh.”

  “Thinking what Al would say about my sleeping with you,” she confessed.

  This time, he raised both eyebrows. “Really? And what would he have said?”

  “‘It’s just sex. What’s the big deal’?”

  Chapter Seven