Baller Made (Bad Boy Ballers Book 3)

by Rie Warren

  She whimpered as soon as I slid inside. That might’ve been the last thing I heard because my body almost collapsed on hot, wet contact.

  Reggie’s lips stretched wide and her cheeks hollowed and she curled her tongue right around the broad crown in her mouth. She sucked the few inches of raging hard dick, making gurgling sounds that lit my nerves on fire.

  When she started plunging her head—her face, her mouth—up and down, swallowing half my length with moaning glugs, I craned my neck back. Precome and saliva bubbled at the corners of her lips, and I rubbed it in. She massaged what couldn’t fit in her mouth before lowering those nimble fingers to my so-ready balls.

  My body hovered so close to the end zone I was gonna end up looking like a teen during his first hummer, but fuck, I had no control.

  My stomach clenched. My ass tightened. My pelvis pushed in and out. My cock slathered by her wicked tongue, taken to her throat, licked all over up and down and slurped in and out had me on the balls of my feet.

  I never could’ve imagined how she’d love sucking me. And her killer tits bounced, slapped around, dripped with all the spit and preejaculate drooling from her lips working me to fever pitch.

  Caressing the side of her neck, the slope of her shoulder, her cheek instead of face-fucking her as my urges commanded, I bent over. I gripped the back of her chair, straining. Pumping. Holding her face, my fingers at her throat.

  “Reggie. Holy . . . I’m gonna—”

  My fingers tightened. I wondered if I’d break the back right off the chair. The last thing I even thought about because my balls contracted and heat spiraled down my spine. A hot kick hit my groin when Reggie moaned my name then started jerking me wetly, sucking just the tip. And everything swelled. My cock. The head.

  My frigging heart.

  I roared, thunder striking my veins, and a lightning flash of orgasm electrified me.

  Hoarse shouts shredded my voice until it was coarse and raw. Hot volleys of come lashed Reggie’s tongue, and she kept sucking. Kept swallowing. Blasts of seed spattered into her mouth and she took it all.

  My balls emptied and emptied and emptied. I thrust and thrust and thrust and groaned.

  My head rolled back on my neck, and when Reggie slowly curled her fist up my spasming cock, I grunted as she milked every last drop.

  Sweat drizzled down my chest. My dick was never gonna go flaccid again, not when she cleaned up every creamy bit she missed. She sucked me, her fingers, and smeared what she’d missed into her tits.

  Jeeesus.

  She rubbed her cheek against my shaking thighs, readjusting her bra, buttoning her shirt, before she gazed up at me. “Do you want me to get a hotel room now?”

  “Wait? What?” My head was still reeling. My cock had just exploded. I’d jetted into my dream woman’s mouth harder than ever before then I’d watched—delirious—while she’d licked every last missed drop off my shaft and from her fingers. “Wait? What?” I repeated, brain-fried.

  “Moving too fast for you?” She gave a tight little laugh.

  “Little bit.” After locating my pants and yanking them back up, I moved across the kitchen. Thighs still quaking, I leaned against the counter. “How’d we get from you giving me the best head of my life to you staying at a hotel?”

  “I crossed the line?”

  “I think I crossed it first when I went down on you.”

  “I coerced you.”

  “Yeah. Because it was such a hardship eating your pussy.” Sharp sexual tension snapped between us.

  I remembered the taste of her on my lips, and now she’d had me in my mouth. Our eyes locked together.

  Stalking across the kitchen, I dipped down to a knee in front of Reggie. My body ached. Not because of the game. I wanted her. More than ever before. And I couldn’t stand that wary look in her usually soft eyes.

  I kissed her fingertips then lifted her hand to touch my mouth to her palm before raising my eyes. “You sure know how to kill the mood.”

  Letting out a low laugh, Reggie grabbed the short hair at the back of my neck and pulled. Hard. “Jerkoff.”

  “Won’t need to tonight.”

  “Oh my God. Seriously?”

  “You might need to masturbate though, right?”

  She exhaled, rolling her eyes. “I was going to forgive you before you said that.”

  “Forgive me for what? Giving you my cock when you were practically begging for it in your mouth?”

  “Calder!” She pushed me away and stood up.

  I rose with her.

  Touching her chin, I brought her lips to mine.

  The kiss was light, just a brush and a sweet exhalation from her as she relaxed in my arms. “No. I don’t want you to get a hotel room. I love having you here. I love—” I kissed the top of her head. “I’m just glad you’re here, sweetheart.”

  She squirmed a little. “You might not be so happy when you hear what I have to say next.”

  “What’d you do now?”

  “Ye of little faith.” Reggie’s hands fell to my ass, drawing me closer. “I have another ulterior motive for my visit.”

  “Besides sucking my dick? Another one?” A deep chuckle rumbled from my chest.

  “I want to wrangle you home for Christmas. To your parents’,” she whispered.

  “Jesus. Reggie.” I pulled back enough to see her expression.

  Part hopeful. Part wary. Again.

  “You drive a fucking hard bargain.”

  “I didn’t give you head to convince you.”

  “Good thing. You weren’t that great at it.”

  Her eyes blazed wide, and she sucker-punched me in the stomach. “Bullshit!”

  “You’re right.” Taking her hand in mine, I threaded our fingers together. “It’s late. We need to go to bed.”

  “Together?”

  “Well, I don’t wanna be woken up in the middle of the night again. And since we . . . share the same nightmares.” My voice broke at the end. About Chris’s death.

  Reggie squeezed my fingers.

  Minutes later, she snuggled beside me. In my shirt. I reached over to turn off the light and curl my arms around her.

  But my breaths came hard and deep . . . unsettled.

  “What about Christmas?” she asked drowsily.

  “I’ll go.”

  “With me.” Her entire body tensed with the quiet question.

  “Yeah.” I nudged her ear with my nose before placing a kiss on her pulse point. “But we need to put the brakes on with this . . . with us . . . if we’re going to my folks.”

  Reggie’s fingers caressed the forearm cuddled between her breasts, and I heard the soft smile, the latent sadness in her sigh. “Wouldn’t want to move too fast.”

  “Knew those words were gonna bite me in the ass,” I whispered against her neck, hoping to take away that final bit of sorrow.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Girl’s Night

  Reggie

  A COUPLE NIGHTS AFTER I’d licked and sucked Calder’s magnificent cock, I got an unexpected invitation from the owner of Carolina Crush herself, Peyton Fox. Talk about an honor. The youngest and only female NFL team owner contacting me personally to join her for a girl’s night with Philomena. Tapas plus drinks—for Phil and me—virgin cocktails for Peyton, of course, since she was expecting her second child.

  Chris and I had never had kids. The conversation came up, but because of him being deployed so much of the time the possibility just got shelved. Then it was . . . too late.

  I shook away the thought. Living in the past, reliving the old regrets had already stopped me from moving forward once. Now I had the chance to go after something I wanted, and that man watched me from across the room, a smirk kicking up his lips.

  “Did you set this up?” I asked Calder as soon as I clicked off my phone.

  “Well, I thought you could use some girl-time, being so far away from Helena and your other friends.” Sitting on the leather couch, one arm stretched
along the back, he winked.

  The man was so damn sexy instant heat pooled between my legs.

  “But it was mostly her idea, because if you think I can strong-arm Miss Fox into doing anything you’re dead wrong. Unlike you and the Christmas deal you decided to cut right after you blew my—”

  “Mind,” I interjected.

  Blew his cock. I knew what he was smirking about, one black eyebrow cocked. But since the delicious cock-sucking episode, we’d mostly kept our hands—and our mouths—to ourselves. Except for a few mind-blowing, toe-curling, heavy-breathing make out sessions. Calder Malone: absolute sexual beast on one hand and a complete sweetheart on the other.

  The brakes in our relationship were definitely on now, but at least I had gotten Calder to agree to Christmas in Reno with his folks, a trip that was now just a few days away.

  “I think you just want to get me out of your hair.” I sauntered over to him.

  “Woman, you haven’t just been in my hair. You’ve had your face planted in my lap.”

  “Calder!” I kicked out at him but he swung his leg aside then grabbed me around the waist.

  “’S’all true.” He flung me onto the couch and crouched over me.

  “I hate you.” And yet I threaded my fingers through his hair to draw him to my lips.

  He didn’t resist one little bit.

  ****

  “Peyton’s our new designated driver if we tie on one too many,” Philomena said with a hug after I approached their table in the restaurant.

  A table that was already piled with an assortment of tasty-looking nibbles when I arrived.

  Peyton blushed prettily. “I took the liberty of ordering.” She patted her still trim belly. “This little one makes me eat constantly.”

  “And I figured you for a cocktail kind of gal,” Phil added, nodding to the empty chair and the drink in front of it. “Alabama slammer?”

  Alabama. Because of Calder’s alma mater? I eyed the tall colorful cocktail before smiling. “Thank you.”

  “Think nothin’ of it, sugar.” Phil winked, her long eyelashes brushing supermodel high cheekbones.

  “How is the morning sickness?” I turned to properly greet Peyton, who looked somehow delicate and fierce at the same time.

  “All-day sickness.” The gorgeous black woman cackled with unconcealed glee before her friend could answer.

  “You’re so mean, Phil.” Peyton waved me into the seat beside her.

  “That’s Dr. Phil to you. And I told you I could prescribe something—”

  “I’m not taking anything that might harm the baby. The sickness is tapering off. And Rafe is amazing at taking care of me, by the way. Back massages, foot massages—”

  “Wait until he sees you with cankles. Girl, that was so not pretty when you were pregnant with Callum.”

  “Evil.”

  “You know it.”

  I watched the two women banter good-naturedly back and forth, hardly daring to interrupt when Phil switched topics in the blink of an eye.

  “Did you know I propositioned Rafe and Pey here for a threesome?”

  I choked on my drink.

  Phil solicitously patted my back, a bit more firmly than was therapeutic.

  “I said no.” Peyton rolled her eyes.

  “That’s because she knew Rafe would’ve said yes.”

  “In your dreams.”

  “Every night, sister.” Turning to me, Phil perused me. “What about you and Calder . . . and me?”

  I didn’t choke that time, but I did bite back a harsh laugh. “Technically he and I already are. In a threesome. With a . . . with a ghost.”

  Peyton reached across the table, clasping my hand. “Because your husband, his brother, passed away? We didn’t mean to pry. And I’m so sorry for your loss, Reggie.”

  “Thank you. And you’re not prying. It’s just hard to understand. Or talk about. And Calder’s still so wrung out on guilt . . .”

  “I sure as hell meant to pry. Peyton here might have a professional interest in Calder, but I’ve listened to my dad enough to know your being here has upped Calder’s game and made him a heck of a lot happier.” Phil’s head snaked back and forth.

  I chuckled a bit. “The thing is I knew Calder before I ever met Chris. We were friends first, and I never really figured out how he felt about me until . . . I thought I was just Calder’s tomboy friend. But that’s not true, not anymore. I guess you could say Calder’s and my relationship status is complicated. We’ve kissed and . . .” I trailed off, face flushing, quickly taking a bite of fried salt-and-pepper squid.

  “Oh, double damn.” Phil leaned closer. “You sucked him off, didn’t you? How big is he? Girth Brooks big?”

  “Girth Brooks?” I asked.

  “Brooklyn Holt,” Peyton supplied, eyes purely glowing.

  “I wouldn’t know anything about that,” I said. “And I reckon, if I did want to know, Delaney Jones could put the hurt on me.”

  “Got that right.” Peyton took a sip of her sparkling water.

  “I’m not touching that with a ten-foot pole.” I grinned, remembering Calder’s remark when I’d said the same to him.

  I’m not that well-endowed, my ass.

  “Apparently that’s what good old Girth Brooks is packing.” Phil gave me an approving look.

  After the laughter died down from that comment, I swirled my glass between my hands. “I admire Delaney so much.”

  “Why? Because she’s a footballer too?” Peyton asked.

  “Hell yeah. She kicks ass out there.”

  “You’re just as much an athlete.” Peyton’s glance skimmed over me.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Come on,” she continued. “Don’t tell me dancing the way you do doesn’t take discipline and talent and years of training.”

  “I guess. But Delaney’s so tough.”

  “Seems to me you’re pretty damn tough too, considering what you’ve been through.” Peyton squeezed my hand, the woman easily showing her strong maternal side. “What you’ve survived.”

  Blinking back sudden tears, I sniffed a little. I took a drink, buying time to compose myself.

  “Calder’s just so gun-shy. Understandably.” I folded a napkin into triangles. “I think there’s too much history between us.”

  “Girl, please.” Philomena signaled the waiter for another round. “You’re looking at the queen of too much history right over there.” She pointed at Peyton.

  “Exactly. I bet you don’t know everything about Rafe and me, because few people do, but let me tell you how many ways we aren’t meant to be together. I had anonymous sex with him the night he signed with Crush.” She started ticking off her fingers. “Never let him know I was the owner’s daughter. Pretended I didn’t know who he was the next day. Got knocked up by him that night six years ago, fled the team, the state, stayed under the radar until I had to come back. And kept his son from him all that time.”

  “Holy shit.”

  “Yeah, holy shit.” Pretty Peyton Macintyre, née Fox, got a fierce look in her eyes. “Then I came back to take over the team and started seeing him again—”

  “Sleeping with him.” Phil interrupted.

  “And I still didn’t tell Rafe about our son Callum.” Peyton shook her head. “I was going to, but he found out by mistake. And then he forgave me. Loved me. Fell in love with our Cal. And that man is gonna win the Super Bowl. So don’t talk to me about a screwed-up past. Been there. Done that.”

  “Amen.” Phil lifted her glass.

  “Maybe it’s harder to forgive yourself,” I said.

  “What does Calder have to forgive himself for?” Peyton selected an empanadilla, dragging it through the accompanying guac.

  “As far as I’m concerned nothing. But wanting his brother’s widow is definitely at the top of his list.”

  Phil blew out a low whistle. “That’s deep stuff right there. Dr. Phil might have to tap out.” She joked but squeezed my shoulder.
/>
  “Tell me about it. How do I make Calder realize this thing between us isn’t being disloyal to Chris, that it’s not dirty or wrong?”

  “Who the hell said anything was wrong with dirty?” Phil chortled with a full laugh.

  “You are so not helping,” the redhead murmured.

  “Who the hell said I’d help? I personally like it down and dirty.”

  Smiling a little, I let the tension ease from my shoulders. “Anyway, I’m sorry.” I fiddled with the napkin I’d been folding and unfolding. “I didn’t mean to bring you down.”

  “Bullshit. That’s what friends are for. Especially if you plan on sticking around.” Phil gently pulled the destroyed napkin from my fingers.

  “We definitely haven’t gotten that far. Besides, my job is in Vegas. Know many showgirls making a living in Charleston?”

  “You could always try The Southern Belle.” A purely sensual smile curved Phil’s lips as she offered the advice.

  “She’s a dancer, Phil, not a stripper.”

  “Le sigh.”

  And we were laughing again, just like that. I did want to stick around. Be with Calder. Do so much more than play house with him.

  Jesus, I wanted to have full-on, hot, sweaty, dirty sex with the man . . . but now there were these brakes.

  When Peyton started yawning at nine thirty, Phil fake whispered to me, “You have to forgive her. She’s pregnant, you know.”

  By the time I got home, Calder was already in bed. Propped up, bare chest, huge shoulders, carved muscles. The blankets dipped around his hips, the big triangular shape of his torso and the line of black hair leading to his cock mouthwatering.

  I leaned against the doorframe.

  He placed his iPad on the nightstand.

  “You have a good time?” He scanned me from top to bottom then back up again to pause at my breasts in the slinky red dress complemented by expensive high heels that highlighted the curves of my legs.

  “Yes.”

  “Talk about me?” he asked with a smug grin, sliding his muscular arms behind his neck.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Game Night . . . and Day

  Reggie