Fair Catch - A Football Romance (9 page)

R
iver

I stand and pull her up next to me. Her dress shimmies back into place around her knees, and I miss the sight of her smooth brown skin.

“So much for the cameras,” she says and points to a tiny box mounted on the corner of the pool house.

“I’ll have Allen delete this night from his security bank.”

When I tuck her under my arm, I notice how much smaller she is without heels.

“You’re a little thing, aren’t you?”

She straightens her spine and stands up tall, stepping away from me.

“I am five foot seven, a perfectly acceptable height.”

Clearly, I’ve hit a nerve. My sister told me dancers can be sensitive about their bodies. Note to self. Listen to Olivia more.

“You’re right. Five-seven is perfectly acceptable.”

She hesitates before returning to the shelter under my arm. Something’s bothering her, but I don’t want to press it right now.

Goal number one is to give Angel a night of fun and relaxation, and that is what I intend to do. This woman works too hard. She deserves to relax and be taken care of. It sounds like she was raised in a family with money, prestige, intelligence, and endless opportunities, but nowhere in our talks did I hear about support or love.

The air is cool in the house, and Angel shivers under my arm.

“She keeps it like a freezer in here. Want me to turn it up?”

“Oh no, I don’t want to mess with her thermostat. We can find other ways to keep warm.”

“I like the way you think, Ms. Williams.”

We take the curved staircase up to the second floor and pad down the thick-carpeted floors to the master bedroom at the end of the hall. Double doors stand open, and the room is bathed in moonlight streaming in from the floor to ceiling windows. The room takes up an entire corner of the home. One wall of windows faces the backyard and the pool. The other has a view of rolling hills, and far in the distance, lights from a neighbor's house can be seen.

“Lights?” I ask. I want her to be comfortable above all else.

“Sure, is there a small lamp we can turn on instead of the chandelier?” she asks. I follow her gaze to the ceiling, where moonlight bounces off the crystals of Olivia’s antique chandelier.

“I’m sure there’s something. Stay here. I don’t know my way around in here in the dark. I don’t spend much time in my sister’s bedroom.”

“Well, that’s a relief. I was going to ask you if this was a regular thing. Take a girl to dinner at your sister’s restaurant and use her house for a hookup after.”

I stop and face her on my way to turn on the lamp.

I pause before I speak to make sure she realizes the importance of what I’m about to say.

“Angel, I have never brought a woman to Poppy’s for dinner. Ever. I come with guys on the team and their families, my parents, and sometimes even my Grandpa Kelly. I have never been to my sister’s house when she wasn’t home, and I have never had sex in her bed or any other part of this house. You’re the only one, okay?”

I can’t make it any clearer than that. She’s different. I can’t say exactly why I feel that way or what it is, but she is special.

“Okay.”

I feel around the night table for the switch on a lamp and turn it on. She’s still standing on the threshold of the room. I motion for her to come closer, and she glides across the floor until she’s standing in front of me by the bed.

“I have so many plans for you, I can’t decide what I want to do first.” I reach out and sweep her hair behind her shoulders with both hands.

“You’re the boss. Do with me as you please.”

A bolt of internal lightning jolts my cock. The prospect of doing anything I please with this perfectly toned, athletic yet soft body is overwhelming. She has to be incredibly flexible, and if she’s true to her words, she’s open and down for anything.

“It would please me very much to see this gone,” I say and slide the spaghetti straps of her slinky dress off her shoulders. The heavy dress falls into a pool at her feet, and she’s left naked and marvelous in front of me.

Her naked body is majestic. She’s the perfect combination of sexy, athletic and softly curved. I clench my hands at my sides, resisting the urge to pounce on her and take her hard and fast to get what my body is screaming for.

She is comfortable with her body. She doesn’t squirm when I stare at her or avert her eyes from mine. Instead, she rests her back against one of the large posts of Olivia’s bed and reaches around behind her to hold onto it, exposing herself even more.

I toe off my shoes and socks while I unbutton my dress shirt, never breaking eye contact.

“Tell me about your dance moves again. I love to hear you speak in French.” One corner of her mouth lifts in a sly smile.

“
Plie
,” she says and slides her feet into what I have learned is first position. She bends her knees slightly and lifts back up.

“
Relevé
.” She rises onto the balls of her feet and arches her arms over her head.

I shrug out of my shirt and unbuckle my belt while I watch her give me my own private dance lesson.

“
Battement tendu
,” she says with her head cocked to the side, examining me carefully. She lowers her arms to her sides, and her foot slides out to the side and back, once, and then again.

I drop my pants and briefs, setting my throbbing cock free. Thick with lust, it bobs and points at Angel, claiming her as mine. Her eyes travel slowly over my defined chest and abs until she reaches my arousal. Her gaze shoots to my face, and her mouth sets in a shocked O.

I tip my chin down and raise my brows. “Everything all right?”

“Yes,” she whispers and clears her throat.

“
Pirouette
,” she says and turns once, closing the small space between us. She falls against my chest, sliding her arms around my neck as she molds her body around mine.

I cover her mouth with mine and press my cock into her belly. She easily lifts her legs around my waist, aligning my shaft with her soaking wet heat.

I turn toward the bed, and with Angel clinging to my body, I pull back the thick, bright orange duvet, and we fall onto the mattress.

We lie on our sides, facing each other kissing. I pull the duvet over us to trap the heat in around us. Olivia seriously needs to learn how to live in a warmer environment.

I dip my head and suck one of her hard nipples into my mouth. I flick my tongue over it and around, warming her up before I gently bite down on the sensitive flesh.

She gasps and flinches but immediately arches her back toward me, asking for more. I give her other breast the same attention and listen to the most erotic soft cries and moans I’ve ever heard.

With my mouth on hers again, I shift my weight until I’m hovering over her.

“Raise your arms over your head,” I whisper in her ear, and she obeys. Her silky brown skin is a gorgeous contrast against the crisp white pillowcase under her head.

I feel around the front of the night table next to the bed and open the drawer, crossing my fingers she has what I want in there.

And Olivia doesn’t disappoint. Right inside the drawer is a box of condoms and a long satin ribbon she probably took from her daughter, Allie's, hair.

I slide the ribbon around Angel’s wrists while watching her expression for signs of distress, but the only things there are excitement and anticipation. I tie her hands to a slot in the headboard, securely, but not so tightly that she couldn’t easily pull it off if she wanted to.

I don’t believe in safe words and total domination. I want her to understand that I’m in control and she is safe with me, so safe that I would never do anything that would require her to demand I stop. If she isn’t ready for something, she can get herself free or tell me no at any time.

I dip down and press a soft kiss on her swollen lips before rising to roll the condom over my cock. I should get up and get my own from my wallet. Allen’s are a little more than snug, but I can’t pull away from the heat of Angel’s body.

“I’m going to fuck you hard, Angel. I’ve been hard for you for two days. Is that okay with you?”

She nods, and I slide my cock along her wet crease until she is arched so high, she’s hardly touching the bed.

I press my thick tip between her folds and slide inside an inch or two at first, being careful not to hurt her. I want to fill her balls deep on a hard thrust, but she hasn’t been with a man for years, and I want this to be as good for her as it’s going to be for me.

“Good?” I ask.

She thrusts her hips up, forcing me to enter her deeper. I’ll take that as a yes. Her legs slink up over my shoulders, and I sink into her all the way, balls deep, exactly like I wanted to.

“Ah, God, River, stay right there. Please don’t move for a minute,” she pants while she stretches to accommodate my size. Her body is quivering under mine as I wait for her to give me the green light.

She lifts her eyelids and relaxes around me while I glide out and back in, a few inches at a time, until I’m able to enter with no resistance.

“You’re so fucking tight, Angel. You feel so good, so wet, so sweet.” I thrust deep on good, wet and sweet and pick up the pace. The sound of our bodies slapping together fills the room. Her head thrashes back and forth, and she whimpers when I change the pace from punishing to slow and deliberate.

“River?” she says between breaths.

“Yeah, Baby?” I smooth the hair sticking to her damp forehead away from her face and kiss her softly.

“I know you’re leading, but . . .”

“What do you want, Baby? I’m flexible, just ask.”

“Turn me over.”

A supersonic smile spreads across my face, and I lean back and flip this gorgeous woman onto her stomach. Damn, what a request. Maybe I’ll have to consider letting her lead next time, and I’ll follow.

I tuck her knees under her, one at a time, propping her perfectly round ass in the air, and slide back into her hot pussy. Gripping her hips with my thumbs fitting perfectly into two small dimples at the base of her ass, I set about pounding in and out of her until I’m nearing nuclear bomb detonation.

The headboard rattles with every thrust, and I’m about to lose it when I decide to slip my finger into the pucker of her ass.

When Angel yells, “Oh God, yes!” I plunge deep into her one last time and come so hard I see fucking stars.

“Fuck, yes, yes, Angel, yes!” I yell and collapse around her quivering body.

Frozen in place, we come down from the highest high together and fall into a spooning position on our sides. The ribbon loosens, and she slips her arms around mine, pulling my hands between her breasts and against her chest.

“Feel that?” she asks, pressing my hand against her heart.

“Yeah, I’ve got the same thing going on back here.”

“I think that might have been more strenuous than one of Miss Valentina’s workouts.”

“So you don’t have to practice today?”

“I’m thinking maybe not.”

“Please tell me that was more enjoyable than one of her workouts.”

“Oh hell yes. I may replace her with you. Can you come and do this two or three times a day?”

“Absolutely. You might have to come to me when the off-season’s over, though.”

“I think it’s worth the travel time.”

“Why hasn’t anyone thought of this before? I can just read the headlines. Professional athlete sex workouts replace treadmills and weights in gyms across the country.”

“I know a lot of people who would be happy to swap traditional workouts for this,” she says and squeezes me tight.

“Well, they can find their own partner. I’m sticking with you, Pretty Dancer.”

“And I’m sticking with you, Football Boy.”

“Oh brother, now Emilio’s got you saying that too.”

“It’s cute. I like it. Football Boy,” she says, trying it out again.

“At least change it to Football Man.”

“Okay, Football Man. Yeah, sounds better. You’re right.”

“So you ready for more?”

“Already?”

I answer with a push of my semi-hard cock against her ass.

“Well, I guess so.” She laughs.

“We’re gonna have rock hard abs and buns of steel by morning.”

She squirms, turning in my arms, and places her hands on either side of my face with a serious expression.

“River, we already have rock hard abs and buns of steel.”

“Well, we can sweat to the oldies then,” I say and proceed with a healthy dose of tickle torture.

A
ngel

I roll over in bed and come face to face with a brick wall of muscle. When I open my eyes, I squint in the bright California sun streaming through the window of an unfamiliar bedroom. I blink several times, and when the fog has lifted and the headache pain has settled in, I lie staring at the famous River Kelly, star quarterback for the San Francisco Sparks. He’s lying on his back with his dark hair ruffled and one tanned, muscular arm slung over his eyes, softly snoring.

The comforter that protected us from the cold as we did naughty things underneath it last night lays haphazardly on the floor where it was thrown, and the sheets are tangled around our feet.

Without moving a muscle, I begin a perusal of his peaceful, relaxed face. His five o’clock shadow covered jaw and his lips are fuller than usual from a long night of kissing and nibbling and, oh hell, what was I thinking?

I continue my walk down River Kelly Lane, marveling at the dips and grooves of his pectorals and washboard abs. And then I am rewarded with what I consider the best part of this visual breakfast, the sight of an impressive morning hard on straining against the billion thread count sheets.

I knew having fun could be dangerous, but never in a million years did I expect this.

But Cat did. She was right. She knew I wouldn’t be able to send her a selfie from my bed last night. Do I come off as desperate? Am I so pathetic that she knew I was a sure thing? Did River think I was a sure thing?

I got drunk and had sex with a famous NFA star in a stranger’s house in another town. If someone had told me this was going to happen a week ago, I would have laughed until I peed my pants.

I haven’t had time for an affair in years. I’m probably the only person at the San Francisco School of Dance who hasn’t been involved in an orgy, and I’m pretty sure I’m one of a handful who hasn’t gotten drunk and gone home with a stranger.

River isn’t a stranger, though, not really. I’ve known him for two days now. Two days with this man, and I feel like my whole life is derailed.

My life. Shit, I’m supposed to be at MBS this morning at nine for one last physical therapy session with Marcus. My ankle is fine. He has made sure of that, but I’m not about to take any chances with my audition looming in the near future.

Everything has to be perfect next Tuesday, and Marcus’s hands are magic. I can limp into MBS miserable and in pain and walk out with a spring in my step. He’s that good. I didn’t think I’d ever meet someone with hands as powerful and talented as Marcus’s until last night.

This amazing man knows his way around a woman’s body, and not just with his hands. His mouth is pretty damn masterly as well. River made me feel things I never knew existed until last night, and he did it over and over until I was weak and ready to drop, and then he did it again.

It’s not easy to wear me out. I’m used to hours of grueling workouts, but a night in bed with River is like the Ironman triathlon and a Tough Mudder event combined.

I am sore.

Every muscle from my head to my feet is aching, and I haven’t even moved yet.

I need to find out what time it is. I have my day planned down to the minute, as usual, and if I get a late start, the delicate balance of my crazed schedule will be tipped.

Miss Valentina does not stand for tardiness, and she is second on my list of things to do today after MBS. We have two hours of time scheduled together, followed by two on my own to perfect all of the mistakes and imperfections she will find in my performance.

Then I have a rare lunch date with my mother to discuss my future. She is still hell-bent on changing my mind about dancing as a career. My mother is a dream come true for an old-fashioned man, and my dad is old school all the way. She stands by her man, and her man wants his daughter to go to medical school, nursing school at the least, so she won’t rest until he has what he wants.

After that bit of torture, I have three hour-long classes of teaching two hundred and fifty-pound men the art of being graceful and another two hours of being critiqued by Miss Valentina.

The anxiety of a full day with a headache and screaming muscles is building in my chest. Sleeping Beauty here doesn’t look like he’s getting out of bed anytime soon, and I can’t risk another distracting, mind-blowing sex-athon happening with River and his morning wood, as tempting as it sounds. Time to get cleaned up and find a way home.

I carefully roll away from him letting the sheet slide off my body as I go. I grab my wrinkled, discarded dress from the floor and pad down the hall naked, searching for a bathroom.

The beautiful dress is still in one piece. At least Cat wasn’t right about that one. I can return it tomorrow in its original condition with my head held high.

She may know with one look that my born-again virginity was taken by River, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to owe her for this dress.

Three doors down, I find a bathroom with a glorious shower. I cringe as I turn on the water, praying the noise doesn’t wake River. I moan out loud when the hot water hits my skin, and I stand there with my hands pressed against the wall, letting it beat on my sore muscles.

This is a different kind of sore. It’s not like the burning ache after hours of practice. This is the
I need a full day lounging in bed to recover mentally and physically
kind of sore. Too bad I don’t have the luxury of doing that today or any day.

This thing with River is addictive. I'm worn out right now, but there is no way I could resist him if he came down the hall and dragged me back to bed for another round. I need to make a stealthy exit and leave a note. It’s not the most romantic way to end a date, but I’m still not sold on whether this is even supposed to be romantic.

The steam rolls out of the shower, filling the bathroom until I can’t see my hand in front of my face. I pour some coconut summer body wash in my hands and wash up quickly.

I do my best to fix my beyond tangled hair, running my fingers through it. There isn’t a bottle of conditioner in sight, and I have a feeling I’m running late.

I reach out for a towel on the bar next to the shower and get a big hand around my wrist instead. I jump and nearly slip in the shower when River’s body appears out of nowhere in front of me through the steam.

“Thought you were going to sneak out or what, Pretty Dancer?”

“No, well yes. I mean, I have a full day, and I should get going.” I can feel my resolve disintegrating as his hands roam my body, and I melt against him.

He turns me so that I’m facing away from him, my back to his front. His hands are on my breasts, and that impressive hard on from earlier—yep, it’s still there. He presses it against my ass and props his chin on my shoulder to speak directly into my ear.

“Me too. You finished in here?”

That was not what I was expecting. I thought he would at least try and sway me from my plans with some hot morning shower sex. I need to get going, but I can’t deny I’m a little disappointed that he’s so agreeable about keeping me on schedule.

“Yeah, I’m done.”

“I left you clean towels on the sink, and I think you and my sister are close to the same size. You can grab something to wear home if you don’t want to do the walk of shame into your building wearing your dress.”

“Thanks. Yeah, that would be nice. Are you sure Olivia won’t mind me borrowing her clothes?”

“She would be thrilled, believe me. She’s probably floating around her father-in-law’s farm this morning singing the wedding march. That woman has been on me forever to find someone special.”

I don’t know how to respond to that, so I don’t. Is he insinuating that I’m special, or is he complaining about his sister’s nagging? I can’t think about it right now. I have to get moving.

“Okay, I’ll see you in the kitchen in ten?” I ask. He spins me in his arms when I reach to open the shower door.

“I’d eat you alive if we weren’t both late, you know,” he whispers in my ear, and I feel the heat rise into my cheeks.

“I didn’t know, but thank you for setting me straight.”

“Go get dressed before I make us both late.” He holds my head in his hands and places a gentle kiss on my forehead before slapping my ass.

“Hey, that stings.”

“Good, I don’t want you forgetting about me during your busy day.”

I shake my head. “Not a chance.”

I move away from him and open the shower door, still holding his hand. With our arms stretched as far as they can, he gives my hand a quick squeeze before releasing me.

I step out without looking back. The sight of him standing there with water running in rivulets over his taut muscles and his impressive cock standing full-mast would be too tempting to resist.

Fifteen minutes later, he strolls into the kitchen dressed in the same clothes he had on last night, looking fresh and pressed.

“How’d you manage that?”

“Manage what?”

“Your clothes look like they’ve been to the dry cleaner.”

“I hung them on the back of the door in the bathroom. You had enough steam going on in there to get the wrinkles out of a Shar Pei.”

“You don’t like the water hot?”

“I’m not complaining. I like everything hot, especially you in the shower first thing in the morning. Next time, we will have to do this on a weekend so we can take a proper shower and hang out in bed all day.”

“A proper shower, huh? What’s that?”

He approaches me and bends to slide his arms around my waist and look me directly in the eyes.

“It’s when I press you up against the tile on my bathroom wall and bury my cock inside your wet pussy so deep, your feet leave the ground, and you’ll beg for mercy. It’s a shower where I get you clean and dirty over and over until your legs turn to mush and I have to carry you to bed.”

My mouth dropped open when he said my feet would leave the ground, and the silk panties I borrowed from his sister officially need to be wrung out. God, how does he do that? I’ve never been with a man who was so descriptive in his intentions.

“Ready for breakfast?” he says, popping up and releasing my face like he didn’t just nearly make me come with mere words.

“Uh, what time is it?” I say, stammering in the wake of his sexual energy.

“Almost eight. Your bag is over there.” He points at the kitchen table, where my tiny clutch is lying. I don’t even remember bringing that into the house with me. There are a lot of things about last night I don’t remember.

I remember him picking me up and eating dinner, but things get foggy until we were in his sister’s bed later on. Everything in between is like a sketchy dream.

“Thanks. I have an appointment at nine, though. I should get going.”

“We can stop and grab something on the way. I have to be at MBS by nine thirty. I should get moving too.”

“That’s where I’m going. My appointment is at nine, though.”

“Why are you seeing them? Everything seemed to be working more than perfectly last night.” He shoots me a sexy side-glance from across the kitchen, and the butterflies make an encore appearance in my belly.

“I sprained my ankle a month ago, and it’s my last appointment. I audition next week, and I want to be sure it’s as strong as possible. Why are you going? I thought you only had someone come and stretch you out at home before games.” I wiggle my eyebrows up and down, teasing him.

He rolls his eyes. “I have an old shoulder injury I see them for regularly, as well as my pregame stretch outs. It’s not as kinky as it sounds, I assure you., The guys on the team think I’m a pussy, but it’s a proven fact that I play better when I’m totally relaxed.”

Thoughts of how I could help him relax before his games zoom through my mind and I shut them down. Now that I’ve had a taste, I can’t even have an innocent conversation with this man without thoughts of us naked and sprawled out on a bed, defying gravity with some of the moves he taught me.

“They’re not as open-minded as you are,” I say.

“Yeah, you could say that,. We have a lot of older guys on the team that who aren’t into new age healing. If they get an injury, they wrap it up and keep going, which is fine until later, when they’re whining about a lack of range of motion and arthritis.”

“Gotta find a way to teach those old dogs some new tricks.”

“If you have any ideas, let me know. Let’s go;. I don’t want to make you late. Are you feeling okay? Need some ibuprofen or a bottle of water for the road?”

“My head does hurt a little, and I’m sure I could use some water.”

He opens the fridge and hands me a glass bottle of water.

“I’ve got ibuprofen in the car.”

“We had a driver bring us here last night, remember? You don’t have your car.” I accept the water, pop the cute little cork on top, and chug half of it.

“I had someone bring it from the restaurant this morning.”

“I’m impressed,” I say and nod my head up and down.

“Of all the things I’ve done in the past twelve hours, that’s what impresses you?”

“I’m a sucker for an organized man. What can I say?” I tease.

“I’ll remember that,” he says, and I feel guilty for not complimenting him on his bedroom skills. Surely, someone has told him he’s exceptional. He doesn’t need my inexperienced opinion to boost his ego, does he?

He’s quiet when he takes my hand and leads me out the front door into his car. I reach out and stop him when he tries to close my door.

“Thank you for last night. You impressed me in a million ways, and I had more fun than I’ve had in forever.”

I know how it feels to be denied a well-earned compliment. I’ve always given credit where credit is due, and River should be no exception.

One side of his mouth lifts in a smirk, followed by a slow wink, and I know I’ve done the right thing.

On the way home, we run through a drive-through for coffee and a bagel. The hour-long drive is spent eating, drinking and listening to a top forty pop song countdown, where I learn River has a pretty magnificent voice and a playful sense of humor.

He sang every suggestive song on the countdown to me with an invisible microphone and a multitude of crazy expressions on his face, and I laughed more than I have in years. A few times, I even join in and sing the female half of a duet. I’m not a great singer, but I can carry a tune enough to play around.