Without giving too many details to Jeremy, I made it so the post-fight press conference is delayed by a half-hour. It isn’t much time, but this isn’t about long and slow. This is about raw and hard and fast.
I smirk up at my fiancé, very intentionally turning and walking away as he watches. Let him wonder where I’m going. Let him get curious.
Under my clothes I’m wearing strappy black lingerie—the kind that doesn’t cover anything and leaves everything accessible. It is for looks alone.
As soon as I hit the locker room, I start to strip. I’m not going to waste precious time with him getting my clothes off. I want him inside me as fast as possible. I’ve been imagining this for months.
I lean against the lockers, waiting, and I don’t have to wait long. The door opens and shuts, and Jon strides in. It takes a moment for him to see me, and in that moment I get a gorgeous eyeful. No shirt, he’s covered in sweat and flushed with victory, his shorts hang low on his hips. My eyes follow the cut lines of his hipbones down beneath his waistband.
That’s what I want.
“Hey,” I say.
He startles, and then does a double take when he sees me standing there in nothing but black lines and lace. I watch his eyes go dark. “You planned this?”
“I had Jeremy push the press conference thirty minutes.”
“Does he know why?”
I bite my lip and shake my head. “I didn’t tell him.”
Jon strides toward me, hands landing on the lockers on either side of my head. “I don’t have any condoms. Do you?”
Again, I shake my head. “I don’t want any.”
He bends to kiss my neck, nibbling kisses along my skin until he reaches the strap of my bra. “Really?”
“I just want you.”
Jon pushes his shorts down his hips and steps out of them, already hard, just like I’d hoped. He leans in to kiss me but I dodge his mouth by sinking to my knees in front of him. Before he can say a word, I take him in my mouth, and he rewards me with a groan so raw that it makes me wet.
He’s so thick that I’ll never be able to take all of him, even if I try—and over the last few months, I have tried. On the rare occasion that I wake up before him, I like to wake him up slowly. Rubbing my cheek against his cock, licking softly around the head, watching him grow harder and harder in his sleep until he can’t take it anymore, and pins me to the bed and takes me. This is no exception.
Jon loves my mouth, but he loves being inside me even more. I can count on one hand the number of times he’s finished between my lips. Looking up, our gazes lock and I can see that his eyes are filled with lust. His hand wraps in my hair, suddenly taking control, and I let him. This fantasy is both for him and for me.
I close my eyes, surrendering to the movement of his hips and his hold on me. Tonight I am his victory prize, and he can take me however he likes. He curses low under his breath, thrusting deep one more time before tearing himself out of my mouth.
He has me on my feet and off them again in a second, lifting me and pinning me against the lockers behind me. Cool metal sends shivers across my skin, and Jon curses again when he reaches between my legs and finds that he doesn’t have to push anything out of the way. I’m already open for him and soaking wet, and he takes advantage sinking deep into me with one thrust.
My cry echoes off the tiles of the locker room. I’m not ready and I’m so ready all at once. This is exactly how I wanted him when I imagined this. He’s practically glowing with his triumph, and that same unleashed power is what he uses on me.
We’ve fucked hard before, but it’s never felt like this. Jon slams into me deep and hard, rattling the lockers behind me and driving us both to moan. It’s a frenzy. Chasing pleasure like it’s the thing that’s going to keep us both alive. And at this point, I honestly think that it might be.
Fingers fall between us and he touches me, using my clit to drive me higher and faster. He knows exactly how to do it, having used every spare second that we have to memorize my body and the way that it responds to him. And it still does exactly like it did on the night that we first met. Somehow, he knows how to make my body sing.
Jon drives his cock home, and I fall into a shattering climax, not bothering to keep myself quiet. I scream for him, beg him to give me more, and he does, fucking me frantically until he finds his own release and joins me in pleasure.
Liquid heat spreads as he buries himself deep and holds himself there, cock jerking as he shudders with pleasure.
“Holy shit, Sadie,” he says, letting his head fall against my shoulder. “Why haven’t we done that before?”
I manage to smile as he lets me slide back to my own feet, even though I’m still trying to catch my breath. “I told you that it would be good,” I say.
“Maybe I should tell Jeremy to push the conference thirty minutes every time.”
“If it’s a fight that I can be at,” I say, “I’m more than happy to be your trophy.”
He chuckles. “I think I might like that better than the belt. This kind of prize is a hell of a lot more fun. But I’ll make sure to be prepared next time.”
“Don’t,” I tell him. “I like it when it’s just you.”
He searches my face. “Even if…”
“Even if I get pregnant,” I say. “I want that. With you.”
The smile on Jon’s face is brighter than every light in the tv studio combined. He kisses me hard, pinning me against the lockers again, cock already hardening against my hip. “Let’s do it again.”
“You need to shower,” I say, laughing. “Or Jeremy is going to walk in on this.”
“It might be worth it.”
I brush my fingers across his lips. “As soon as we get home you can have your wicked way with me. And I took the next couple of days off. So you’ll have plenty of time.”
“That sounds perfect,” he says. “Though I still think we could fit one more in before the press conference.”
Playfully, I push him away. “Do I need to drag you into the shower?”
“Maybe.” He’s grinning.
“I’ll make you a deal. We’ll save that for next time.”
One more bush of his lips on mine. “I’ll hold you to that.”
“I know you will,” I say, laughing. “Now get your ass in that shower.”
He goes, but not before turning back and looking at me for a long moment. “I love you—”
“So fucking much,” I finish his favorite phrase for him. We’re lost in each other’s smiles for a moment before he goes, and I can’t help but think that I got so fucking lucky.
Copyright © 2020 by Penny Wylder
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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1
Gillian
“How’s that?” I ask, as I massage the outer bicep muscle of Frank Rogers, my patient and the famed pitcher for the Vulcan’s.
It’s taken me years to get here, to the perfect place where I’m able to help people exactly the way I want to. Working with athletes was never in my original plan when I decided to become a physical therapist, but I quickly realized I had a knack for sports medicine after seeing my first few clients at the rehab facility I joined straight out of college.
Now, I can’t imagine doing anything else. This is where I belong.
“It feels great, Gil, so much better than it was.” He smiles up at me, so I smile back, happy to know I’m helping. “Although, I am a little tight up here,” he says, reaching for the lower part of his neck.
“Here?” I ask, digging the pads of my fingers firmly into his neck muscle.
“Yes,” he groans, letting his head relax forward. “That’s it, right there.”
Working his muscle, I massage out the knot
. I spend a few more minutes targeting the areas I know get the most abuse. He’s a pitcher. His upper arms and shoulders take a beating. When you throw ninety mile an hour fast balls regularly, the strain on your body is intense.
Washing my hands, I wipe them off with a towel, and start to clean up my therapy room. It’s been a year now that I’ve been part of Vulcan’s clinicians’ team, and I like to think that I’ve become an important part of their success. At least that’s what the players tell me. I can see myself working here for years more, and maybe eventually becoming the head clinician.
“I can’t thank you enough, Gil,” Frank says, pilling his shirt down over his head and smoothing down his hair. “Honestly, if it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t be able to pitch tomorrow.”
“Happy to help,” I tell him as I walk around to my desk. “Now just follow my instructions for warming up tomorrow and you’ll be good to go. I’ll see you soon.”
I have just a few minutes before the next player comes in, so I quickly take out Frank’s file to update his treatment plan. It’s really important we keep detailed notes. All of the clinicians work as a team, and even though Frank refuses to see the other clinicians in the office, I still like to make sure everything is well documented.
“Knock, knock,” a voice says behind me as I finish up Frank’s notes and slip his file back into my cabinet. Lifting my head, I see Dr. Benson in the doorway with a smile. “Busy?” he asks as he takes a step in.
Sitting back in my chair, I hold the pen in my hand and roll it between my fingers. “No, I’ve got a few minutes before my next client. What’s going on?”
“I just saw Frank leave. He’s doing really great since he started therapy with you.”
“Yeah, he’s been following all my advice, and doing the exercises I gave him. He’s come along quicker than I would have thought he would with a bicep tear of that degree.”
“He has,” Dr. Benson agrees, strolling through the room casually. He looks at a few pictures on the wall, then lifts up a lavender and chamomile candle on the small shelf by the exam table and smells it before setting it back down. This habit of his, of walking into my exam room as if he owns it, really irks me. The man is my superior, but still, he has a way of reminding me of his status that feels aggressive and just creepy sometimes. “I’ve heard you know exactly how to touch him.” His eyes flirt up to mine, and he smirks.
Why is he looking at me like that?
Here we go again. I can feel it instantly and I’m uncomfortable. The look in his eyes and the sound in his voice isn’t coming off as professional at all. It’s borderline flirtatious, like he’s hitting on me. He’s the kind of man who likes to skate that line, but he is my boss, so I have to stay professional as long as he doesn’t go too far. I’ve really learned to grin and bear it. Actually, grit my teeth and try to ignore that awful feeling of my skin crawling, is more like it.
“I did graduate at the top of my class, so I’m very proud to know exactly how to treat him. And he’s appreciative for that. In fact, the whole team is.” Sitting up straight, I drop the pen into the cup holder and look up at him cautiously. “Is there something I can help you with, Dr. Benson?”
Deflect, deflect, deflect, and usually he just loses interest in this game and walks away. I don’t want to confront him because Dr. Benson is the man who hired me. Despite this occasional unprofessionalism, he’s always been fair, given me great opportunities, but he hasn’t crossed the line. Yet.
“I’m a little tight myself, honestly. Maybe we can set up some time for you to help me out? You know, like you helped, Frank,” he says as he sits on the edge of my desk beside me. His eyes drift up and down over my breasts, and it makes my chest tighten uncomfortably.
Oh no, no, no.
“Look, Dr. Benson—”
“Henry, call me Henry. I’ve told you that before,” he says, cutting me off. “Dr. Benson is my father.” Chuckling, he lets his eyes settle on mine.
“Henry,” I correct myself, pushing my chair out from the desk, and further away from him. “I don’t think that would be appropriate. You’re my boss, I just think it’d be better if you went outside the practice for any therapy. In fact, I could recommend you to someone I’ve visited. He’s really quite good.”
“Gillian, sweetheart, I know what you do, and how you do it.” His mouth thins into a creepy smile, and he leans over to get a little closer as his voice drops to a whisper. “I’ve heard about all the things you do for the players. It’s no secret why you’re so popular in this office and with the players.”
“Excuse me?” I ask, my voice high pitched and standing up from my desk. I’m appalled at where he’s going with this conversation. Despite my past interactions with him, this is coming out of left field. I’ve never done anything out of the ordinary with any client at this clinic, or any patient I’ve ever treated, for that matter. Not once have I ever done something to jeopardize my license. And I never would. This is my dream job, and the thought of getting fired scares me to death. Is he making this up, or do my colleagues here really talk about me like this and question my professionalism?
“Come on, Gil, don’t play stupid. You really think I’m going to believe that all these players that come to you are just here for your physical therapy expertise?”
“Yes, that’s exactly why they come. They come because they get hurt and need rehabilitation. They come because I work here, for you, and for them. That’s it.” Slicing the air with my hand, I veer my stare. “I don’t appreciate these accusations, Dr. Benson, and I’m not sure where this is coming from. Maybe we should take this to HR.”
“And I don’t appreciate a cock tease.”
Taking two heavy steps toward the door, I swing it open, and I throw my arm out into the hallway. “Get out!” I yell, my teeth baring down as I do everything to resist punching him in the face. “Get the hell out before I call Mr. Union.”
Gabriel Union is owner of the Vulcan’s. He has more power than anyone on this team, including the man who hired me.
Dr. Benson strokes his jaw as he looks at me. He doesn’t look phased, he doesn’t look concerned at all by my threat. Smiling, he lets his eyes drift to my desk. Picking up a business card out of the stack, he flicks the corner.
We stare at each other in silence for what seems like forever. He doesn’t speak. I don’t speak, but inside I’m screaming for someone else to walk in and interrupt this insane stand-off. To distract his attention from me. To end this little game he’s trying to play.
Shifting his gaze back to mine, he flicks the card across the top of my desk, and it drops to the floor.
“Are you trying to get fired?”
“Wait. . .” Pausing, I hold my hand up, not sure if I heard him right. “What are you saying here?”
“Do you really need me to say it again?” Huffing under his breath, he stands. “Do you want to get fired?” The words come out slow, they land like a like a smack in the face. “Better? Did you hear me that time?”
Fuck you.
“You can’t fire me,” I say quickly. “I didn’t do anything wrong. I’ve only ever done my job, and well!”
He laughs, an evil and degrading laugh like I shouldn’t be so stupid. “Do you know why I hired you to begin with? I hired you because you were hot. Nice ass is an asset in this business where the majority of our clients are fit and young athletes. Plus, I heard you were game. Easy. Word gets around, Gillian.”
“This is sexual harassment. You realize what you’re doing, don’t you? You can’t just fire me because I won’t sleep with you.” Crossing my arms over my chest, I stand tall and confident. “You’ll never win. Now leave my office. Now!” I’m shaking. I can’t believe what I’m hearing. And yet, it gets worse.
“You might be right, but think about this: who is Mr. Union and HR going to believe? A man like me, who’s worked on this team for over twenty years, who doesn’t have a single black mark on his record, and an entire team who will back me up. . .�
� His lips curl, his eyes darken, and his voice turns thick. “Or you? A girl who’s only been here a year, and has no other credentials to play than the ones I gave you? I also know a few of the guys who are more than willing to side with me, and make it sound like you’re running an illegal massage parlor in here. Your expertise, they’ll say, are happy endings.”
“You’re a liar. You’re pulling this all out of thin air and you know it. Why would you do this to me?”
What the hell is going on? What did I do to deserve this?
“It doesn’t have to be this way,” Henry says, in a sickeningly sweet voice and a wink. I’m ready to gag.
No fucking way.
“You’re an asshole.” Flaring my nostrils, I tip my chin higher. “I’ll save you the trouble of reporting me. How does that sound? I fucking quit.”
Grabbing my bag, I walk out of my office and down the long hallway, never even giving him a second look.
And just like that my career is over. Everything I worked for, all the late nights of studying and learning, all the long hours building relationships with my patients, all for nothing.
Regret and dignity are currently at war in my head. I want both, but not at the cost of either. I won’t give up my dignity for a lie. But I don’t want to regret losing my dream.
* * *
“Don’t worry about it, Gil. I promise you, it’s not the end of your career.” My brother pops open a beer bottle and slides it across the kitchen table to me. “Look at dad, he spent thirty years as a janitor, only to change his profession at sixty and become a truck driver.”
“I don’t want to change my profession, Brad. That’s the whole point. I love what I do. I loved that job. I could imagine myself working there for the rest of my life. I thought I was an important part of the team.”
“I can go back and kick his ass for you if you want me to. I don’t mind that option at all. It’s actually pretty tempting.” Taking a swig from his beer, he waggles his brows.
Big Man’s Happily Ever After Page 24
