Fast and Loaded: A Bad Boy Sports Romance (22 page)

“I wish that I could say the same.”

“What’s wrong?” It is my job to worry about him, to comfort him.

“I need you. This—” His mouth is against mine before I can speak.

If my mind would have allowed me to protest, I would have, but not telling myself the truth is futile. I want him.

His skillful tongue breaches the cavern of my mouth, mapping the precise route to elicit moans. Heat courses through me. Devlin had skyrocketed me to a new place of pleasure with just the tangle of his tongue against mine.

In a swift motion, he hoists me against the wall and releases my breast from the strapless gown. His hot tongue trails kisses down my neck onto my chest until capturing my hardened nipple. Each suckle lulls me further into a dream world. His world, and I am ready to sign up for citizenship, allow him to plant his flag in my fertile soil and claim me.

Locking my legs around him, I feel the full rise of his hardness between my thighs, and I water at the thought of how good he could make me feel with other parts of his body if he works his tongue this well.

I give in to the indulgence, a scorching shot of desire for this model-built man damaging my self-control.

He tastes as good as he looks, and feels even better. Our tongues collide, and I am at a loss for words. I can only moan.

Devlin moves his zipper loose and sanity begins to seep in.

I tear my face from his.

“I can’t,” I pant. “I can’t do this.”

His ragged breaths fall against my neck as he nuzzles the crevice.

“No worries, babe,” he whispers between kisses. “I’ll take care of you.”

I wiggle and motion for him to let me down.

“This isn’t right,” I say.

Devlin helps me to my feet and I fall against him, resting against his heaving chest and thumping pulse.

He encapsulates me with his arms.

“I’m not out to just hit it and quit it,” he explains, placing a kiss on my head. “I have never met a woman as caring and wise and as beautiful as you.”

I look into his eyes.

“Then there is no rush,” I remind him. “Good things come to those who wait. You agreed to my thirty-day trial period.”

He punctuates his compliance by drawing in a long breath.

I step out of his embrace and fix my clothing. He tucks and straightens his clothing as well.

“If that’s what it takes, then I’ll wait,” he exhales with a shake of his head.

I gather my emotions and willpower before exiting.

* * *

A
s Devlin
and I move out of the building, enjoying the warmth of our hands held together, I notice a man and woman interlocked in a passionate kiss near the bushes.

“I guess there’s something in the air tonight,” I say, nodding toward the pair.

The instant Devlin spots the couple, he releases my hand.

He steps to the side, but I place a hand on his arm

“That’s Trevor and a woman who’s not my sister,” he says.

His eyes narrow as his body turns in the direction of the unsuspecting Trevor.

I feel his muscles tensing underneath my hand.

The tightening of his jaw is a sure sign that a problem may occur.

“Going over there won’t change anything,” I add, hoping to keep him calm enough to keep his position in his family company.

“Standing here won’t make it better, either,” he replies, stepping out of my grasp and marching forward through the plush grass as if he were leading an army.

“He’s not worth it,” I reason.

He turns quickly toward me, his expression hardened.

“That asshole is cheating on my sister, the woman that he is about to marry. I can’t stand back and allow that,” he says while removing his tuxedo jacket.

I don’t like a cheat, and don’t care about the other half of the money I would get from David Masters, but I can’t see Devlin go far from me. That won’t happen if Devlin is in jail.

“Let your sister make the decision on how to handle that,” I warn. “Would she even believe that you hit him because of another woman? Think this through.”

This causes him pause. Devlin’s eyes narrow as his jaw goes slack, and his once-flared nostrils relax.

Thinking quickly, I push up to confine his lips with mine, dosing out the percolating passion with a twofold mission—keep him out of jail, and feel his warm, slippery tongue again.

“I will take you back in that bathroom if you keep kissing me like that,” he threatens after pushing away for some air.

“You ain’t ready for this,” I tease before noticing that Trevor and the woman are gone.

“Good trick,” he winks. “I still didn’t un-see Trevor’s snake ass. He’s got his coming.”

“If you wrestle with pigs, you end up just as dirty,” I say to him.

“What?”

“Something that my granny used to tell me,” I explain. “Even if you are clean, if you wrestle with pigs, if you stoop to their level, you get just as dirty.”

He shakes his head.

“When it’s about my family, I don’t care about a little dirt.”

“But is that leader-like?” I propose. “Be smart about it. Strategic and not street. Presidents of anything don’t go around punching people. Let’s figure this out.”

He pulls me close to him.

“Kiss me again like before and I’ll consider your approach,” he growls.

And I do. His touch feels right, like our romance is real.

* * *

R
iding
next to Devlin has become the most natural thing. His opening and closing my door, the super-charged rumble that flows under the seat, and the bass that booms from the speaker are all commonplace now.

I slide a hand across his thigh as though he were mine, as though I am not party to a charade to force this passionate and beautiful man into services he may not really need.

“Is there anything that you want to talk about?” I question sincerely.

“You’ve already done so much for me,” he responds sliding his eyes across me. “I truly mean it. I can count the number of people who have looked out for me the way that you have, and none of them are living.”

His eyes divert then and a comfortable silence falls between us.

“I lost my father when I was five years old. My mother passed away when I was eleven. I went to live with my grandmother after that and now she is gone as well,” I confess.

The least that I can do is give him a piece of my truth. In my practice, I parcel information intermittently about myself when I feel that it will help, but I don’t feel like I am talking to a patient. I want him to know about me.

He lays a supportive hand across mine, and I feel comforted.

“I couldn’t imagine losing so many loved ones at such a young age,” he says before returning his hand to the steering wheel.

“It’s a lonely feeling,” I tell him, swallowing the tickle in my throat.

“My father wasn’t around much, and he shipped me away every chance that he could,” Devlin explains quietly, watching the road intently. “When I was home, my siblings didn’t like me. My cousins teased me. I was often surrounded by people and still felt alone.”

“You are worthy of their love Devlin, of love in general. No matter how many degrees you achieve, how hard you work, or how many people you hit, it won’t change the people who are supposed to love you unconditionally,” I explain to him. “When you are making these decisions that can alter your life, you have to think about whether you are doing it for you or because you want their approval. If it’s their approval that you’re searching for, it may not happen.”

His slow nod informs me that he heard what I had to say.

“You kind of sound like a tennis coach I once had,” he says, smiling over at me. “I’ll think about what you said.”

“Really?” I say, remembering my mentor, Dr. Tirash. David Masters had convinced me of this crazy scheme based on the relationship that my mentor had with Devlin as an adolescent.

“Yeah. I’m still not that great at tennis, but I learned a lot about life,” he says. “Things that a man should teach a man, that a father should teach a man.”

“Maybe your father couldn’t teach you those things, but gave you what he could,” I suggest. “He’s a hard worker, a successful businessman, and so are you.”

“I didn’t think about it that way,” he admits.

“That’s why you have me,” I blurt without even thinking. Under usual circumstances, he would have me as a therapist as long as he needed. In this situation, there is a time clock and it is ticking loudly.

C
hapter 12-Devlin

Images of the alluring Ayron scroll through my mind as I slide my hand up and down over my aching dick. Fuck. I can’t believe I had her right there, legs open, pussy primed and juicy. I could smell how wet she was when I had her nipples between my lips. Focusing on a thought of her bouncing that plump peach-like ass on my dick pulls me closer to the edge.

Thirty damn days. Who agrees to that stupid shit? I certainly don’t have to wait more than thirty minutes to fall in between the legs of a woman. I hadn’t even waited that long in junior high when I used to sneak and meet Heather Hanks in the woods between the boys’ and girls’ dormitories.

I shake my head.

Oh those eyes, and those words. I had never met a woman who, with one look, made me want to open up my entire soul and give it all to her. Her touch is patience defined. Calming. If she were here right now, I know she would have some saying to focus my mind, or have me rethinking my entire life, some guru shit so that I could fall asleep. She’s that kind of lady. Woman. One worth waiting for.

* * *

T
he sunlight beams
entirely too bright into my bedroom. I use the remote to draw the shades before I roll across my California king-size bed. The bed I had designed special after watching an episode of “MTV Cribs” that featured Shaquille O’Neal and one of his mansions. Shaq had a custom bed fit for his seven-foot frame. I’m not quite that tall, but at six-foot-three, a regular-king size bed doesn’t seem like enough.

I slip into my house shoes and slink into my walk-in closet. The vaulted ceiling allows for three levels of clothes, mostly suits, to hang. I flip through the color-coordinated button-down shirts and shrug. I move to a row of neatly hung slacks arranged by hue from black to blue to tan. None of them seem like the right thing to put on for a day not spent at work. I even work holidays. My father always had. I can’t remember a day when work wasn’t involved and now someone is threatening to take that all away.

I push a line of pants onto the floor.

Is there really a need for a suit or button-down shirt and slacks today? Where am I really going? To the office? No, my family had basically shunned me. To a friend’s house? No. Never made time for those, beyond Kevin. So what does one wear if a suit is not involved? Yoga pants? No. I had bought a pair of loose fitting, thin knit pants to wear to the class with Ayron.

She would have an answer. It seems like she always does.

I grab my cell phone attached to a charging cord and try to tone down my excitement as I scroll through my contacts to find Ayron. I can see Ayron again. I can kiss Ayron again. The thought of pulling her taut body against mine shoots a pang of want through me.