Reckless: A Bad Boy Sport Romance (55 page)

Kingsley followed orders with raised eyebrows, his bronzed, powerful frame towering over me. I reached up for his cock and stretched my lips as wide as they would go, preparing for entry. As I played with his balls with the other, Kingsley grunted, almost crooning as I guided his throbbing shaft past my puckered lips.

I relaxed my shoulders and took a deep breath, loosening the passage of my throat. My eyes started to water up as the tip brushed against the back of my throat, but I tilted my head back further and kept my breathing controlled and measured. I kept my tongue consciously flattened, holding his head in my throat for 4 seconds a time.

“Holy shit, Carrie,” Kingsley groaned, thrusting his hips slightly forward. He tested out my control over my gag reflexes, his cock gliding over the bed of my tongue. “Where – where'd you learn to do that?”

Kingsley withdrew his cock, ready to inject himself in once more when we heard the bang of the front door.

“Carrie? Where are you?

“Aunt Carrie! We're home!”

Kingsley pulled out of my mouth. The urgent look on his face was laced with disappointment, but he jumped off the bed and into his pants quicker than I'd ever seen anyone get dressed. It was as if he'd had plenty of practice, which most likely was the case. I staggered off my bed, cramming my toys back in the box and putting them away before throwing my clothes back on.

Kingsley and I smoothed our hair before exiting my room. We crept down the stairs quietly, hoping to get Kingsley out of the door before Jamie and Jackson could spot us. But right as I twisted the doorknob, Jackson's pattering feet came charging out the living room, intercepting us.

“Hi, Kingsley! What are you doing here?”

“Hey, sport, how's it going?” Kingsley beamed at the sight of Jackson, cautiously keeping his distance as he mussed up Jackson's hair.

“I'm good. Dr. Wang says I can go back to school tomorrow! Isn't that great?”

“That's awesome news. You excited to see your friends?”

“Yup! Sally and her mommy came to visit me after school yesterday. She was worried about me, but I told her not to be sad. We're going to sit together at lunch tomorrow, but I hope Winona doesn't get angry! She likes sitting with me at lunch, too.”

“My little playa.” Kingsley bent over to slap him a high five.

“Yup! And I named the Stegosaurus you gave me, too! His name's Kingson, kinda like your name and mine. I've been taking really good care of him, too!”

“Kingson?” Kingsley's face softened. Creases formed next to his eyes. “That's –”

I opened the door, cutting between them.

“This little bonding moment is super cute and all, but you gotta go before –”

“Mr. Kelly? What are you doing here?”

Jamie wiped her freshly washed hands on the sides of her sweater. I sighed, shutting the door as I turned to face her. Kingsley nodded at Jamie, acknowledging her with an awkward smile.

“I was just, uh, leaving. Carrie's working on another piece –”

“In her bedroom?” said Jamie bluntly.

“Jamie!” My eyes flashed as I glared at her, indicating Jackson with a furious flick of my chin.

“What? It was just a question,” Jamie muttered, glaring right back at me.

“You should go.” I opened the door, looking up at Kingsley and conveying my apology with my eyes.

“That sounds like a good idea.”

“No!” Jackson cried out sadly. “Don't leave yet, I just got home! Don't you want to see how good I'm taking care of Kingson?”

“Next time, buddy,” said Kingsley sadly, starting out the door. “Promise.”

“Okay!” Jackson waved out the door. “Have a good day, Kingsley!”

“You too, Jackson. I'll see you later, ladies.”

I closed the door behind him, my blood simmering.

“Jackson, there's a peanut butter muffin and some milk for you in the kitchen. Why don't you take it upstairs and watch some cartoons on my TV?”

“Okay, Mommy.”

Jackson hugged my thigh before skipping off to the kitchen, doing as he was told. Jamie and I listened intently for Jackson's footsteps, waiting until he got to the second floor. When we were sure he was out of earshot, we turned on each other vehemently.

“Jamie, what the hell was –”

“Should've known there was a reason Kingsley Kelly was helping us out.”

“What's that got to do with anything?”

“How does it feel to be slutting around when your poor nephew's out for a checkup? He's fighting for his life out there!”

“For Christ's sake, Jamie,” I interjected angrily, ready to school her, but as usual, she wasn't letting anyone else get a word in.

“I can't believe how selfish you are, Carrie. And how blind can you be, too? Open your frickin' eyes, Carrie. I know guys like Kingsley, and he's just manipulating you so you'll sing his praises in your stupid articles. Why would he be wasting his time with you when he's got a whole world of gorgeous model-types out there throwing themselves at his feet? No offense. It's just common sense. You're always playing yourself off like you're the responsible one, too –”

“Wow, that's real rich, coming from the girl who's screwing her married manager.” I took great satisfaction in the horrified look spreading across Jamie's face. “Yeah, I know about that, and so does everyone you work with. Yeah, you remember when Jackson and I surprised you at work last month? We saw you 2 in the kitchen, and you were all over each other. You're not exactly keeping it low-key –”

“I do what I have to so I can keep my job,” said Jamie, brandishing her victim card once more. “That's what a good mother does.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.” I shrugged, every fiber of my being just wanting to end this conversation. “Get over yourself, Jamie. This is the only 'social life' I've had in months, and you know it. This may or may not be the wisest decision I've ever made, but don't you try to take this away from me. I'm allowed to live my own life, make my own goddamn happiness. And if you're not willing to accept that, well, that's no longer my concern.”

After I'd said my piece, I headed to the kitchen to start dinner.

Chapter Fourteen:
Kingsley

“That'll do for the day. Wrap it up, boys!” Coach blew into his whistle 3 times, signaling the end of practice.

I puffed out my mouth and did my final stretches, relaxing my sore muscles as the adrenaline decelerated in my system.

The team scattered to clear the training equipment off the field. Some hauled off power blasters while others rolled portable football throwing machines, tackle sleds, shields, and dummies across the greenery. I joined in to help Odell with the lineman chutes, unfastening my chin strap and lifting the face mask of my helmet.

“What's up?” I noted the sunken look on his cheeks and the dark circles rimming his eyes. “You look like shit.”

“Tell me about it, brother.” The dreads sticking out under his helmet whipped with Odell's shaking head. “Nellie's been giving me the cold shoulder all day.”

“Whoa, I never thought I'd see the day that Odell Kahale gets put in the dog house.” I withdrew my smile at the serious look on Odell's face.

We set the chute down under the tarp roof.

“I don't know how Angela ended up with my number, but she sent me a picture of her tits in the middle of the night. I tried to delete that shit, but Nellie saw, and she's pissed.”

“Angela who? The cheerleader?”

“Yup.” Odell took off his helmet and rubbed off the sweat on his forehead. “She came up to me last week after practice and she was coming on real strong, but I let her down easy.”

“Y'all are the dream team, man. Nellie should know you're not ever gonna step out on her. I can vouch for you, if it helps. Just say the word, man, and I'll try talking to her for you.”

“Nah, thanks. I think she'll come around sooner or later. She ain't ever been mad at me for more than 48 hours. But I'm gonna bring home some flowers, just to sweeten up the pot a little bit, know what I mean?”

“I hear ya. I saw that Angela chick getting into Val's car the other day, so there's that. Something ain't sitting right. My guess is, the prick's got something to do with it. He's trying to throw off your game.”

“For real? Yeah, you might be right. Val's always had a thing for Nellie – the sleazy prick's always trying to chat her up at Coach's barbecues.” Odell's gaze floated over my shoulder, curling his lip. “Speaking of the prick. There he is now, chatting up another one of his sweet, unsuspecting preys.”

When I looked over my shoulder to match his gaze, my gut fell. Val had Carrie cornered by the bleachers. I couldn't hear a word they were saying, but I knew I sure as hell didn't like what was going on.

“Let's just hope Carrie knows she can do better than that,” Odell remarked, tutting loudly. “She's a nice girl.”

I hadn't told Odell about Carrie yet. I was far from being ashamed about what transpired between us, but a part of me feared I would somehow jinx it. But as I watched Carrie clutching her chest, giggling as she punched Val on the arm, it looked like I'd jinxed it either way.

“Evidently not.”

“What?”

Val took Carrie's phone, punching in his digits. Carrie smiled, slipping her phone back into her purse before waving at him. As she headed back into the clubhouse, she turned her head for a quick second, catching my eye before the door swung close.

“Ah, well. What you gonna do, right?” Odell turned to leave. “I'm gonna head for the showers, you – oh, snap. 10:00 – you got company.”

Farrah had climbed up the fence and was teetering over the edge, waving animatedly in my direction. Half her ass was hanging out of her short black skirt, and I could see the tiara sitting on her head sparkling in the sunlight from over 50 feet away. Odell sucked in his teeth behind me.

“I'm gonna go take care of that. I'll catch up with you later.”

“Alright. Remember – make smart choices.”

“Fuck you. I'll see you later. Send my love to Nellie and Hope.”

I didn't get why I was so worked up about seeing Carrie and Val together. I had women left and right crawling all over me, begging me to use them. I woke up to perfect 10 honeys from around the globe sucking my dick. Not to mention Ivanka, who'd been hitting me up even more than usual lately. So why, on God's green earth, was I dwelling on this one woman?

I hung my head and made my way towards Farrah, but instead of telling her to kindly piss off, I signaled for her to meet me around back.

Chapter Fifteen:
Carrie

Wattana's face was indecipherable. The brilliant turquoise painted over her heavy-lidded eyes seemed much too peppy for her permanently sour disposition. She scratched the impossibly narrow tip of her altered nose, skimming through the contents of the open manila folder on her desk. I waited quietly in my seat, drumming my fingers along my armrests.

“I trust you've seen the traffic data for your piece on Odell Kahale?”

“I did,” I admitted, shrinking in my seat. “I know it wasn't as big of a hit as the last –”

Wattana snorted unpleasantly, rapping her midnight-black acrylics on her desk.

“Not as big a hit? Frankly, I don't know how this utter garbage you've come up with even managed 283 shares.” Wattana reached for her steaming cup of green tea, blowing softly onto its surface. “People are done with these rags-to-riches types of stories about boring, hardworking family men. The public wants scandal.”

I swear, if Wattana said “scandal” one more time...

“I'm sorry you're disappointed with the piece,” I tried to explain myself. “But I've done multiple background checks on Kahale, and he's clean. He's very relatable, just a man trying to balance everything on his plate while he pushes his career forward. I thought his story was powerful and deserved to be heard –”

“Well, it looks like you thought wrong, didn't you?”

I winced, accidentally biting the inside of my cheek in my frustration.

“That would seem so, yes.”

“There will be no more surprises for your next piece. You'll be forwarding me the article before sending it to any of the editors. So, what do you have in store for me next?”

“I, um, was thinking about writing about Val Presley. He's the second most popular member of the team, after all. He tells me he's recently started working at an orphanage in Battle Creek –”

“Yawn,” Wattana interrupted me grumpily. Her swiveling chair squeaked as she shifted in her seat. “Unless you can dig up some dirt on Presley, you'll find someone else to do a story on. Preferably Kingsley Kelly, as planned.”

“Again, I've checked, and there doesn't seem to be any dirt on Presley, either, other than one DUI in September 2007.”

“A DUI, you say?” Wattana's bold tattooed eyebrows peaked, intrigued. “We can work with that. Did he hit anyone, injure a couple of pedestrians, maybe?”

I stirred in my seat at the disturbing new zest to Wattana's tone.