Reckless: A Bad Boy Sport Romance (44 page)

The bristles of his bush rubbed lightly against my thighs as I held his cock, guiding the tip against my sopping wet folds. As my yearning hole gaped open, my tight walls hugging the whole length of his cock, a soft, purring moan toppled out my lips.

“Fuck, Jolene...is this what you wanted? Having your boss balls deep inside of you? God, you're so tight, you're gonna make me –”

“Not yet,” I breathed, managing a wink as I began riding him, my thighs straddled around his sides. “You don't have to tell me twice.”

The sheets wrinkled in my fists as I rocked back and forth on his dick like a determined jockey who's fallen behind second-place. Feeling his fingers kneading against the trembling button of my clit, my back arched forward. His free hand manhandled my ass cheeks, his pinkie wandering between my ass crack.

“Fuck, a little to the left...right...there...”

I moaned, the rhythmic grinding of my hips faltering as a surge of my juices flooded down my thighs, soaking his muscle. My knees giving in, I fell next to him in a shivering pile of fatigued bliss. There was a soft shlicking sound as he unwrapped his cock, discarding the soiled condom in tissue paper, and chucking it into the wastebasket across the room.

“Don't worry, I've got three alarms set for tomorrow morning,” I said, peeking at the clock on the nightstand. I pulled out another condom from the drawer, turning towards him with a glint in my eye. “You ready for another round?”

Chapter Seven: Jolene

“I'm home!” I called out, kicking the door shut behind me.

“Vivienne?” I singsonged, towing the trolleys next to the coffee table. I pulled the strap of my duffel bag over my head and thew it onto the couch alongside my purse. “Hello? You home?”

I stepped into my slippers by the shoe rack next to the door. Walking into the kitchen, I squinted at the scribbled message on the whiteboard clipped to our fridge.

“Early audition for Home Depot commercial. Tell me all about it when I get back. Wish me luck. XOXO, Vivienne.”

I grinned at the image of Vivienne in the classic neon-orange apron, strutting poses and somehow making her dopey uniform work to flatter her figure. I pulled open the fridge and cracked open a lime soda, retiring back to the couch. Embracing Vivienne's absence, I stretched my legs over the coffee table. My slouching shoulders loosening, I exhaled contentedly and switched on the television, flipping the channels for some trashy daytime drama to kill the rest of my afternoon.

Shifting in my seat, the soreness in my thighs brought a giddy smile to my lips. In all seriousness, my arms were pinched pink – I still couldn't believe it myself. The three-day business trip to Shanghai was a hot and hazy blur of raunchy, animal sex. The fact that I managed to muster the strength to roll out of bed on my first alarm each morning to ensure everything went according to schedule still amazed me. I've always somehow succeeded in pulling shit together last minute all my life – I guess a little sense of urgency was all I ever needed when it came to meeting deadlines and fulfilling necessary responsibilities. On the other hand, if you asked me to find you a pair of matching socks from my room, you'd be shit out of luck. How that worked was a modern mystery still yet to be solved.

One thing I despised the most was to be left hanging. Bradley wasn't the most expressive of men I've been with, either, so that didn't exactly help my case. I had no clue what this meant to the nature of our relationship – was there a relationship? Sure, between the insane rounds of dirty, passionate sex, we bonded over a couple of complaints about light family problems and TV shows we mutually enjoyed, but that was probably small talk. He never mentioned anything, but of course, I assumed our trysts beneath the sheets would remain between us. I mean, I wasn't gonna tell Vivienne, but she'd probably weasel it out of me at some point. I sighed, pressing the rim of the soda can onto my lips.

Just as I was fully settled into the couch, dropping a couple of IQ points as I watched two angry strippers beating each other with their own wigs on Springer's stage, my phone began ringing. I glanced down at the screen, frowning at the private number. My forehead creased warily as the call dropped, returning to the home screen. I tapped into the new message from an unidentified number, my eyes narrowing as I reread the vaguely worded text over and over again.

“Ms. Knight?”

Nervously pulling the openings of my cardigan close, I turned around. A smartly dressed driver stood next to the door of a polished, pewter-gray limousine, beckoning me forward with his gloved hands. My eyes darting side to side skittishly, I approached him with slow, calculated steps.

“Yes?”

“Ms. Fairchild will see you now.”

I nodded, thanking him as I slipped inside the door he held open for me and into the spacious passenger's area. Tanya Fairchild sat alone in the wide, L-shaped sofa seating, which was customized a soft, bubblegum-pink. She wore a tacky cowboy hat studded with crystals along the red, white, and blue stripes over her hair, which looked even more flawless than it appeared on TV. Pouring herself a glass of red wine, Tanya dipped her oversized shades down the bridge of her nose. Her soft, cackling laughter reminded me of a spoiled 12-year-old's, sending the hairs on my arms stirring.

“You're Jolene?”

“Yes,” I replied, my shoulders squaring defensively. The car started up, slowly rolling out of the parking spot. “I'm the new assistant. Where are we going?”

“We're just going around the block,” said Tanya, swirling her wine around in her glass for effect. “Why, are you scared?”

“So what was it you wanted to talk to me about?” I asked her instead, ignoring her.

“Look,” Tanya spat, the plastic smile on her face vanishing. “I don't know what sad little feline dragged you in here and why on God's green Earth Bradley hired you. Guess he's into the borderline cute plain-Janes these days –”

“I don't know what you're trying to imply here,” I interjected firmly. My knuckles were quickly going white as I squeezed the edge of my seat to prevent my bodily instincts from acts I know I'd only regret later. “But there's nothing going on. Not that it's any of your business. From what I've heard, it'll just be a couple of weeks now before that divorce is finalized.”

“You little –” Tanya growled, her eyes flashing as she lunged towards me. Her nose just mere inches from my face, the sour odor of alcohol on her tongue wafting against my cheeks. “You're not special, honey. You ain't the first sidepiece he's defiled, and you sure as hell ain't gonna be the last. You just wait – when he's done with you, he's gonna dispose of you like the worthless little skank garbage you are...”

“Lady, you better back the fuck up before I – hey!”

“Oops. My mistake,” said Tanya, giggling darkly.

I cried out in shock, my eyes bulging in disbelief as Tanya flipped over her glass and dumped her wine all over my lap.

“Maury!” Tanya yelled, pummeling the partition with her fist. “MAURY! Stop the car!”

The limo screeched to a halt. Tanya yanked open the door and shoved me out to the sidewalk. Holding open the door, she stared up at me with an unblinking, demented look to her eyes.

“You better watch your fucking back, Jo-lene...We don't ever wanna ruin that sweet little face of yours, do we?”

Before I could even think of an answer, the limo door slammed shut, speeding away. I blinked, looking down at the blood-red stain seeping into the cold thighs of my leggings. Oh my god.

What have I gotten myself into?

The End of Book 1

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Bonus Book 3

Chapter One:
Kingsley

They call me the King.

Mom always told me not to let it get to my head, but when everyone you meet worships you like you're royalty, that's damn near impossible. My head's so big I'm surprised I'm still walking around upright, and I'm not even sorry. I'm at the absolute prime of my life, and I've got everything a man could ever want, and then some. I hadn't even hit 30 yet, and I had more than 20 mil just sitting in the bank – the 17 mil contract and roughly 20 mil in endorsements I just signed not included. Anyone who isn't living under a rock knows my name; I get free shit I could afford in my sleep; and if you lived on my forecast, it rains pussy all day, everyday.

On top of all that, I can honestly say that I love what I do. Football isn't just my life – it's all I know. I'm Kingsley Kelly, the all-star quarterback of the Detroit Daggers, the same bad motherfucker that led our boys to the Super Bowl and nabbed us that Vince Lombardi 3 years in a row, and I'm just 5 seasons in. I live by Caesar's words: I come, I see, and I conquer whatever comes my way – be it the field, ambition, or an exquisite piece of forbidden ass. I take what I want when I want it, and no one can stop me.

After all, they call me The King for a reason.

XXX

I cocked my head to the right, combing the knots out of Ivanka's hair as I gazed down at her. To say she was beautiful wouldn't cut it. She had one of those delicate faces that belonged in a French painting and the never ending legs of a Bond girl. And to see her delicate face distorted, begging me to relieve her, made her all the more intoxicating.

“You know I can't stand it when you tease me...” Her usually strong, commanding voice was reduced to a throaty whimper.

“I know.”

My fingers were numb from the melting ice cube in my hand. I pressed the dribbling cube against her white nightgown. Ivanka's light nipple was visible through the soaked cotton. I charmed the bud of her tasty nipple with the ice cube, watching it rise as I rubbed it in slow circles.

I took my sweet time, taking turns with her other nipple. She gasped, grabbing hold of my wrist and squeezing. But I didn't stop. If anything, I go even faster. I pushed my other hand between her thighs, diddling her fuzzy snatch and coating my fingers with her sticky cunt juice.

“Looks like you're just about ready for me,” I mumbled, my mouth slacking in a grin.

“Just take me already, King. I can't take anymore of this...” Ivanka groaned. She dragged her pointed black nails down my chest, leaving pink claw marks.

My grin stretched wider as I closed my fist over the dwindling ice cube, now just half the size. I sat her up straight and pulled her nightgown over her head before shoving her back down on the bed. Her tits were small but perky, fitting the palm of my hand. I pinched her nipples with the gaps of my fingers, kissing and licking down her flat stomach.

With her legs hooked over my shoulders, I lowered my head between Ivanka's thighs. I pulled her legs further apart, keeping my eyes glued to the glistening pink of her stretching cunt. The pungent scent of her womanhood breathed at me. I inhaled deeply, grunting as I smeared what was left of the ice cube against her cunt. Within seconds of coming into contact with her hot, sticky folds, the ice melted, fusing with the growing stain on the bed sheets. Ivanka was struggling to keep her eyes open, her long blonde lashes fluttering.

“Oh – oh God, that's – that's cold...”

“Shh. Hold still.”

I spit into my hand and lubed up, eagerly ramming myself into her. Ivanka's freshly iced cunt greeted the upper-half of my cock with a brief, refreshing blast. I pumped in and out of her, the back of her calves slapping against my chest. Gripping her waist with one hand, I dipped the other under her to caress her supple ass cheeks. She twisted her head against her pillow, mussing up her golden hair as she held onto her wobbling tits.

Finding my pace, I reached towards the nightstand and scooped out another block of ice from the bucket. Ivanka's drooping eyes widened approvingly. She took a deep, shuddering breath and arched her back off the bed. I flicked my tongue across the ice cube a couple of times, warming up the edge before gliding it across her clit. I drove myself in and out of her cunt faster, taking a break from groping her cheeks to toy with her asshole.

“King, don't you dare stop – I'm – I'm getting close –”

Ivanka snatched the ice cube from my fingers, taking over. I kept fucking her, clenching to keep myself from nutting before she got her fix. With her eyes squeezed shut, Ivanka moved the ice between her ass cheeks and tended to her clit at the same time.

The sting of my sweat was starting to weigh my own eyelids down, but when Ivanka's phone started screeching, they popped right back open.

“What –” I glanced at Ivanka's charging phone on the nightstand.

“Don't mind that,” Ivanka snapped. “Focus –”

I slowed down, my face darkening as I squinted at Ivanka's ringing phone. A picture of a half-naked tool flexing his weak ass pecs for the camera flashed on the screen. I pulled out of her, running my tongue across my teeth angrily.

“Wait, what do you think you're doing?” Ivanka sat up and reached over to reject the call. She slumped against the headboard, crossing her arms.

“Cramp,” I grumbled, turning away from her.