After a couple of minor mishaps with coordination, I found a position that wouldn’t cause Beck any unnecessary pain and didn’t make me have to turn into a contortionist -- a red-faced, nauseated, pregnant contortionist on the verge of a nervous breakdown, that is.
“There you go, baby,” Beck said, his voice breathless.
I slid my tongue up and down his shaft, taking in the warm juices that made the tip of his penis glisten.
He grabbed my hair, running his fingers through it. “Ah, that feels so damn good,” he moaned as he pushed my head down so I’d take all of him into my mouth. His fullness pulsated in my mouth.
The space between my legs moistened. My legs began to tingle, but I kept on, taking him as far into my throat as I could, wanting to make him forget all the pain he’d endured. Make him forget everything and everyone, except for me and how I made him feel.
I inhaled quickly, lifting my lips off him, listening to his rapid breathing and the strong thrumming of his heart. He was with me -- fully and completely with me in that moment.
“Don’t stop,” he whispered, stroking my cheek with his long finger. “Don’t ever stop.”
I locked my lips tightly around him, bobbing my head up and down in slow, deliberate movements. My spine tingled as I felt him fight to remain in control. I wanted him. I wanted him in me. Everywhere I could have him.
Listening to him moan with pleasure prompted me to do something I’d never done before. I didn’t care where we were. I didn’t care if we’d be caught. In my head, the world was just he and I. I cupped my breast with my hand, manipulating my erect nipple through my lace bra. Teasing it. Pulling and tugging it until the pressure became too much for both of us.
Beck grabbed me and yanked me to him, placing his hand over my cupped hand, using his as a guide. He moved my hand over my full breasts, teasing me with his thumb, sliding it in and out of the top of my bra.
“Put it in my mouth,” he begged me, licking his lips.
I didn’t hesitate. I lifted myself up, straddling him so I could get the right angle for him to suckle my tender breast.
He took it in his mouth, flicking his tongue at my nipple.
I groaned low in my throat. “Oh, Beck.”
A knock on the door ended our blissful moment. I jumped up and off the bed like a teenage gymnast with ample flexibility -- something I was clearly not.
“Hold on!” Beck shouted, still erect. “Don’t come in here!”
As I rushed to fix my clothing, my fingers and hands wouldn’t cooperate with me. I fumbled around while the door opened and members of the football team and Coach Lawson walked in the door. I was mortified.
“I told you,” one of them started, “Beck is going to be fine. Look at him; getting dirty in the hospital with his lady friend. Go, boy!”
Beck laughed, glancing over at me and my unbuttoned blouse. “You missed a button or two,” he said, winking.
I glanced down and discovered I missed a lot more than a couple of buttons. My bra was still pulled down underneath my breasts. I was flashing the whole team. I looked up. All eyes were on my exposed upper half. My hands flew to cover my breasts, while I started swearing at them for being such pigs.
“Slow your roll, Isla,” Beck teased. “You must stop trying to seduce me. I’m a dying man.”
I glared at him. “You will be if you don’t tell your friends to stop gawking at me.”
Coach Lawson raised his voice over the noise in the room. “Let’s step out. Give them a moment to… well… finish.” He took a step back, holding the door open for the team members.
I rushed to the bathroom and slammed the door shut behind me, embarrassed. I thought I knew what the fallout would be. Once again, I’d look like the black bimbo. That wasn’t going to help me get another job. Ever. No matter what I did, it always came down to how I seduced their star player and ruined his life. No one would ever see me as Beck’s wife. I’d always be the black whore.
Chapter Nineteen – Beck
“I’m so glad you’re home,” Isla hugged me.
I wanted to say I was glad I was home too, but it didn’t feel right. Not yet anyway. I may have gotten through the pain of the operation and the initial therapy sessions, but coming home with a damn cast on my leg and a wheelchair wasn’t doing anything to boost my ego. I felt like shit. I looked like hell and I couldn’t play football for a while.
“Beck, stop pouting. This will be good for you. You’ll have some time to relax and let your body heal,” Isla said.
I felt bad for her. She was trying. She had a positive attitude about everything, but she didn’t know how important football was to me. It was more than my job; it was my identity. No one knew who I was until I first picked up a ball. No one cared until I proved I could play better than the rest. No one gave a damn about me unless I was playing football. I’d never been on the injured list. I loathed those guys who joined the teams to keep their asses on the bench. I never wanted to be one of those guys, yet here I was. It pissed me off.
“How long are you going to feel sorry for yourself? You don’t want the world to pity you, do you?” Isla asked.
“No, I don’t want anyone’s pity. I want to play football. I want to be a part of something,” I said. “Besides being your man and the baby’s daddy,” I laughed. “I want to be who I used to be. I want to be Beck Alexander the Great.”
She laughed. “Is that what you call yourself? Alexander the Great? You can give up any hope of me ever calling you that. I mean it; it’s crazy.”
This is why I loved her. She didn’t pull any punches. She said what she thought all the time. Even if what she thought was something I wouldn’t like, she said it.
“Anyway, big football player, what is this nonsense about me not being allowed in a couple of the bedrooms? Frank said he couldn’t tell me anything. He told me to ask you, so I’m asking. Why am I banned from part of the house? I thought you wanted me to move in and live here with you?” Isla asked.
This isn’t how I wanted this conversation to go. I’d hoped I’d be walking by the time I got home. I wanted to walk her into the rooms and show her what was in them myself, but since that wasn’t going to happen any time soon, I had to come up with Plan B. “They’re trophy rooms. No big deal. Besides what do you need to see besides me and my…”
She stopped me.
Frank brought the bags in and set them down in the hallway. “I can show her if you want me to,” he offered.
Isla turned to me with a satisfied grin. “See, Frank will show me now that you’re home.”
“No, I want to do it. I’ll handle it. Right now, why don’t you take Isla out to buy something nice?”
Wrong thing to say. Isla gave me the look of death. I messed up. I was treating her like I used to treat all the women in my life. I was trying to buy her things to keep her quiet and happy.
“Scratch that. Thanks, Frank, but I’ll handle it,” I said, motioning for him to leave us alone.
We spent the next hour making small talk. Isla’s anger was evident. She’d talk but only in clipped responses. Her right eyebrow quirked up, nearly touching her hairline.
“Baby, why are you mad? I never said I didn’t want you here. Of course, I want you here. I need you. I want you in every part of my life. Those rooms aren’t hiding anything bad. I swear to you. Give me some time. You’ll be happy when you see what’s in them. I’m asking you to trust me. You can trust a guy with a bum leg, can’t you?” I could see her tense shoulders relax as I begged her to let go of her suspicions.
She kissed me on the cheek. “I trust you. Don’t make me regret it.” She walked out of the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts. It was fine. I needed to reorient myself to my house. I didn’t often get time to sit at home.
As I looked around the room at all the stuff I’d collected over the years, I felt like my life had been a waste. Why did I buy stuff I had no connection to? What did any of this stuff mean?
A painting
above my mantle was the only item I cared about. It was a cheap painting my mother had painted for our old family home. She made so much of what we had when I was growing up. From my clothes to some of the furniture pieces, most of the items were made from her vision with her two hands. I don’t know why I hadn’t kept anything else. So much time had passed, I could barely remember why I loved that painting. It wasn’t anything special -- just a painting of a place, we saw on the only trip we’d ever taken. We’d gone to visit a sick relative. He’d died before we arrived. I had no memory of him or his home, but I did remember the house across the street from his -- the house in the painting.
I didn’t hear Frank walk into the room. “Where did you come from?” I asked.
“Sir, would you like some help upstairs? You should get some rest.” Frank suggested.
I turned the wheelchair around and looked at the staircase. When I bought this house, the staircase was part of the reason I wanted it. Something about having a grand staircase made me feel like I’d made it. Now, looking at it, all I could think was how much I wished I’d bought a ranch style house instead. Did I need three full floors and a finished basement? Why did I have to have that much space?
“No, I think I’ll stay down here tonight,” I answered.
“Okay, but what about Isla?” Frank asked.
Isla was walking down the stairs, carrying two pillows and a blanket in her arms. “What are you two up to?”
Frank and I looked at each other and smiled.
“I was just leaving,” Frank said, excusing himself.
“You’re not mad at me?” I asked her.
She set the pillows and blanket down on the sofa, adjusting them so they laid flat. “Oh, we’re not done, but for now, you need to rest. I can’t keep my eyes open. Let’s lay down.” Without having to be asked, she guided my wheelchair over to the side of the sofa and put the brakes on. “Let’s get you up. Stand up slowly and lean on me so you don’t fall down and hurt yourself.”
“What? You’re going to help me?” I asked.
“Of course! Why wouldn’t I? You do realize that when I have the baby you’re going to have to help me - a lot? Now, do as I say or I’m going to have to lift you,” Isla said.
I did as she said, careful not to put all my weight on her. Soon, I was lying comfortably with her in my arms.
“Are you okay?” Isla asked, nuzzling my cheek.
“I’m great. Thank you. Thank you for everything,” I answered. “I don’t know what I’d do without you. I know, I’d be a mess without you. That’s for sure.”
“No, you’d be chasing cheap women and drinking expensive wine,” Isla teased.
She was right. I’d be doing things that wouldn’t matter. I’d be pretending to have the time of my life with people I didn’t care about. If it wasn’t for her, I’d have wasted more time with people who would never do half of what she’d already done for me. Without her, I’d be surrounded by dozens of people, but would still feel all alone. Before her, I was broken. Without her, I’d be nobody and nothing. I was going to make damn sure I never did anything that would make her walk out of my life or make her take my child away from me. I hoped somewhere along the way, I’d figure out a way to pay her back, to thank her for how much she had done for me and for helping me see I was worthy of love. Worthy of so much more than i gave myself credit for. I loved this woman. I absolutely loved her. I hoped that when she saw the nursery Frank had helped me create for the baby, she’d know it came from a place of profound love for her and our child.
I pulled her closer to me, wanting our bodies to be one. I wanted to feel every ounce of her soft, silky skin. She was my honey brown baby. She was my world. I don’t know how or when that happened. I wasn’t even sure I ever wanted it to happen. I was a hit ‘em and quit ‘em kind of guy. There might have been a few fine women I kept around longer, but that was because they had exceptional skills and had the stamina to keep up with my sexual appetite. They were willing to do anything and everything. I mean, everything I asked them to do and plenty I never asked them to do, but Isla was different. I saw her differently. I treated her differently right out the gate, I couldn’t understand why. I couldn’t imagine my life without her. I had to have her. Desire ran deep in my veins. In my soul. This woman had to be with me, touching me, tasting me, loving me or I’d die. It was that damn serious and stupid at the same time.
Realizing I’d taken too long to reply, I had to say something, but being the type of guy I was, it was hard for me to say what I was feeling. There were almost no words for it. I let my hands do the talking for me instead. I caressed her shoulder, moving my way down her curvy figure, tracing the contours of her body as far as my hand could reach.
“You’re not saying anything. What does that mean? You’re not done chasing dumb women?” Isla pushed herself up onto her elbow, looking down at me with that look she always gave me when she was about to tell me what’s what.
Uh-oh! Here it comes!
“Look, if you’re not done chasing little tramps around, then, maybe I don’t need to be here,” Isla challenged me.
I didn’t mean to laugh at her. I’d spent all this time with her, loving her and she still didn’t trust me?
“This is funny to you?” She sat up, her eyes like daggers on mine. “I don’t know what kind of women you’ve been with, but I’m a black woman and I’m about to be an angry black woman, if you don’t explain yourself. I’m like a rabid pit bull when it comes to my man messing around with other women.”
It’s not that I didn’t understand she was angry. I got it. I truly did, but did she threaten me? Is that what happened?
She folded her arms in front of her. “Do you plan on answering me or are you going to leave it like this?”
I loved it when she was ticked. She looked so cute that way -- with her thin eyebrows pulled together and her nose wrinkling up and twitching. “You know a good way to release some of that anger is to work it out of your system. How about you sit on my face and let me help you with that?”
She bit her lip. I’m pretty sure she was considering getting up on my face, so I could make her forget all her troubles. After a moment of fidgeting, she said, “The doctor said oral sex is not a good idea right now.”
That’s not what I expected to come out of her mouth. Mood killer.
“I’m serious. He said if I’m not comfortable doing it any more, I should stop,” Isla explained.
How was I supposed to respond to that?
“The first thing tomorrow morning, we’re going to find a new doctor,” I said, pulling her toward me.
Since there was no chance of us getting any sleep, we turned the wall of televisions on. I kept them programmed to all the sports channels so I could keep up-to-date with what was going on in my world. From what I could tell, there wasn’t much going on. The broadcasters were talking about a horrible loss another team had suffered. There were contract talks for other players and some shop talk. Nothing too exciting.
“Can’t we find a movie to watch or something?” Isla asked after about twenty minutes of the sports talk.
This is what my life had come to. I was about to be roped into watching some crazy chick flick. Someone revoke my man card, please.
I handed my beloved remote to Isla so she could scroll through the thousands of channels and find something she deemed appropriate to watch. I closed my eyes in preparation for whichever love story she found and thought I had to see.
“Uh-oh, they’re talking about you,” Isla said, nudging me.
“Who?” I asked, opening my eyes to see. I grabbed the remote and raised the volume.
The reporter was speaking about a quarterback from an opposing team of mine. They were comparing stats. With me gone, he was starting to shine and people took notice. The reporter was saying he was set to beat my record and the records of several other quarterbacks.
“That’s bullshit!”
“Let’s shut the television off,” Isla sugge
sted, reaching for the remote.
“No, I want to hear this!” I raised my voice at her. This was my life they were talking about. “I’m not dead; I got hurt. I’m still here.”
Isla grabbed the hand, holding the remote. “Don’t let that get to you. It’s spin. It’s their job to make news out of nothing. So what if he’s playing well right now? It doesn’t mean he’s better than you. You’ve been around a lot longer.”
Football was my thing. Football is what gave me everything I had. If some nobody from a team nobody cared about was getting props for doing the same thing I’d done every day for the last several years, then what did I have left? They were talking like I was gone for good.
“Shut it off. It doesn’t mean anything. I think there are plenty of other things to worry about. Whether or not some guy can throw a damn ball, shouldn’t be important,” Isla spoke as if what I did for a living didn’t mean a damn thing.
My anger mounted. I didn’t want to take it out on her, but she was here and she didn’t understand what kind of damage that story could do to my career. “Don’t tell me what I should focus on. You aren’t me. You don’t even have a job; so how would you know what I should do or say when someone tries to ruin my career?”
Tears welled in her eyes. I felt like an asshole, but she needed to know where I was coming from. This was who I was. I had football before her and I intended to have football after her. She had to get with the game plan or this was never going to work.
Chapter Twenty – Isla
Frank held the car door open for me.
“Thanks for doing this,” I said. “I know this is putting you in a compromising position, but you understand why it had to be this way, don’t you?
He nodded. I couldn’t tell if he was being polite or if he agreed with me. I’d only lived in Beck’s house for three weeks, so there hadn’t been enough time for me to get to know Frank and gauge where he stood on matters. I knew he was protective of Beck. That was sweet, but I wasn’t sure how deep his allegiance ran.
Bedding the Bad Boy (Bad Boys of Football Book 1) Page 15
