The Perfect Play (10 page)

“There are three bedrooms up here. Nathan’s room, my room, and the third I use for an office. I should probably warn you about Nathan’s room ...”

“You can skip it. That’s his private domain, and I don’t want to violate it.”

She stood outside her bedroom door. “Oh, but you’d be fine with violating my private domain?”

He leaned over her and turned the door handle. “Honey, I’ve already violated your domain.”

There went that flutter again, her sex and her nipples all too aware they were entering her bedroom.

She stood back and let him look, figuring he’d take a cursory glance and they’d be on their way back downstairs.

“It looks like you.”

She stared at her bedroom, at the cream and brown comforter, the pictures on the walls, the photos of Nathan. She turned to Mick “Really? How?”

“Colorful. The art on the walls isn’t just some mishmash of crap. The textures of the two pictures over the bed bring out the colors in the bedspread. I like Mondine’s art, by the way. She’s trendy, but doesn’t paint that weird shit where you can’t figure out what the hell it is. The black-and-white photos of your son seem to capture his personality. He looks like he’s trying damn hard to be serious as hell and all grown-up, but he’s just a big goof and probably feels dorky a lot of the time. Curse of being almost fifteen. Cute kid, by the way.”

“Thank you.” Her voice caught because he’d so perfectly described her son’s early awkward teenage years.

“I can tell you put thought into each piece. Same thing with the knickknacks that you have spread throughout the house. It’s not overkill, just subtle touches. It’s not fussy; it’s simple. I don’t feel like I have to watch where I walk or where I would set a glass down. And I imagine your son is comfortable living here. Your place looks lived-in. It’s inviting.”

She stared at him for the longest time, until he laughed.

“What?” he asked.

“Who
are
you?”

“Huh?”

“No football player knows art and décor. And you know who Mondine is.”

“Oh. Well, blame Liz for that.”

“Liz?”

“My agent. She makes me go to gallery openings and museums and charity events for the arts—the kinds of things no football player should have to endure. You soak enough of it up, some of it sticks. Like this sculpture here,” he said, picking up the entwined lovers. “It says something about who you are as well as the artist.”

“What does it say about me?”

“That you know good art. I saw this at a gallery opening a few months back. It also says you’re a romantic.”

She sat on the end of her bed and looked at him. “There are sides to you that boggle me, Mick Riley.”

He sat next to her. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

She rubbed her temple. “I haven’t decided yet.” She knew he’d wowed her because he was way more complex than she’d given him credit for.

He pulled her onto his lap. “When you decide, let me know. In the meantime, I want to tell you how much I missed you this week.”

Just being close to him set her nerve endings firing, waking up all the female parts of her that had missed him, that craved his touch. The logical part of her, on the other hand, just knew this was a bad idea, especially since they were sitting on her bed. But she couldn’t get her damn body to listen to the signals from her brain that told her to get up. Instead, she wound her arms around his neck and snaked her fingers into the thick softness of his hair. “You missed me?”

“Yeah. If I’d had your number, I’d have called you.”

“I’m glad I gave you my number, then.”

“I missed being able to talk to you.”

“I like talking to you, too.” That was the truth. He made her laugh. He was smart and wicked funny. He was interested in her, in who she was as a person, not just as someone to have sex with. Men like him were so rare.

He rolled her onto the bed. “I thought a lot about kissing you.”

“Is that right?”

“That’s right.” He pressed his lips to hers, his tongue diving inside and taking her breath away, making her forget everything except his taste, his scent, the feel of his hard body next to hers. She slung her leg around his hip and brought him closer, already wet and needy as a hey-I-missed-you kind of kiss became something deeper, more passionate. She pulled his shirt out of his pants and slid her hand inside, pressing her palm against his hot abdomen, needing to touch his skin, to feel his pulse beating against her hand.

Mick rolled her over onto her back, his body on top of hers as he moved his lips from her mouth to her jaw, his tongue sliding to her neck. She shivered as he applied suction there.

“That makes my nipples hard.”

He pulled her tank top up. “Does it? Let’s see.”

He jerked her bra up over her breasts, smiled up at her, and covered one nipple with his mouth. She arched against the wet heat and the way he gently sucked her nipples.

Yeah, she’d missed him a lot. And now that he was here, she had a sudden quaking need to feel him inside her.

“Mick, please. Fuck me.”

Instead, he popped the button of her jeans and unzipped them, then kissed his way down her belly.

Tara gripped the comforter with both hands, her entire body taut with tension and need as he dragged her jeans and panties down her legs. He spread her legs and crawled between them, draping them over his shoulders and planting his mouth over her sex.

“Did you touch yourself this week?” he asked, looking up at her.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Too busy.”

“You should never be too busy to come, Tara.”

“I need to come now.” She reached down and slid her fingers into the softness of his hair.

“I like that you haven’t come since you were with me.” He kissed her thigh, then put his mouth on her.

“Ohhhh” was all she could manage as he licked the length of her sex, his tongue and lips finding her clit. She was so ready for an orgasm she arched against him, leaning forward to touch him, to watch as he licked her, sucked her, slid his tongue inside her, and did every possible thing he could to take her right over the edge. He swirled his tongue over the most sensitive spot, relentless in taking her right there only to ease off until she was panting and begging to come.

And when she tugged at his hair, he fit his mouth around her and rolled his tongue flat and gave her just what she needed.

“Yes. I’m coming.” She pushed her pussy against his face and he held her hips while she came in hot, sweet waves that rolled over and over, stopping her breath. And when she fell to the mattress he was right there, climbing up her body to kiss her, to let her taste the sweetness of her own pleasure. She wrapped her arms around him and licked his lips and chin, taking one hand down his body to palm his cock.

“Now fuck me. Hurry.”

He pulled a condom out and flipped her over the edge of the bed onto her stomach. He entered her hard and fast, and she gasped, chills breaking out on her skin.

She rose up, and Mick smoothed his hands down her back as he eased out and thrust inside her again. He leaned over and swept her hair to the side, pressing his lips to the nape of her neck.

“You’re wet. Do you know how wet and tight and hot you are?”

She didn’t think his question required a response. She was too busy gasping as he moved inside her, so she couldn’t have answered him. Her only reply was moving back, giving him more access to her.

Mick grabbed her hips to draw her against him. He leaned over to cup her breasts, pounding inside her with hard thrusts now. Tara fisted the comforter and braced herself against the edge of the bed as he pushed deep, then retreated, each time faster than before, each time taking her higher, his shaft seeming to swell inside her, brushing all her sensitive tissues.

She wanted to come with him inside her. She moved her hand between her legs and rubbed her clit, so filled with him that just touching herself made her climax draw closer.

Mick slowed down and took it easy then, wrapping one arm around her waist and rocking against her in an easy rhythm, seeming to know what she needed. She felt the pulses, felt her pussy grip him in a tight vise as she rolled over the edge with him.

He groaned and tightened as he thrust over and over again. Tara cried out with her orgasm until they were both spent, her facedown on the bed and Mick lying on top of her back.

She breathed in and out, enjoying the feel of him against her. She felt dizzy, elated, took her time to get her bearings as she opened her eyes just as her phone rang.

“You going to answer that?”

“I should. It might be Nathan.”

She grabbed her jeans and fished her cell phone out. It was Nathan. She blushed as she answered, even though Nathan couldn’t know Mick was here.

“Hey.”

“Hey, Mom. I forgot my key, so I just wanted to make sure you were home.”

She shot off the bed. “Your key? Why?”

“I need to get a game I left there. Be home in about ten minutes.”

“Uh, okay.”

“Shit!” she said, grabbing her panties and jeans as she clicked off the phone.

“What?”

“It’s Nathan. He’s coming home.”

Mick’s lips lifted. “Oh. Sooner than you thought?”

“No. He wasn’t supposed to be here at all. He was spending the night at his friend’s house.”

“So. You got me over here with false pretenses, huh?”

“Oh, shut up and get your clothes on.”

She dashed into the bathroom and turned on the faucet, threw a washcloth at Mick, who grinned as he walked by her. How dare he look so relaxed and at ease?

She cleaned up in record time, put her wild, sex-crazed hair back in a ponytail, and splashed cold water on her flushed face, then practically dragged Mick out of her bedroom and down the stairs.

“Okay, kitchen,” she said, out of breath as she dashed into the kitchen and started making tea.

“Would you relax? He’s not here yet, is he?”

“No. But my God, he could have walked in. What were we thinking?” She shook her head as she filled the pot with water.

He came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her. “I don’t know about you, but I was thinking how good it felt to be inside you.”

She shoved him with her hip. “Stop that.”

“Mom! I’m home!”

She jerked around and plastered on a smile. “In here.”

If only her heart would stop frantically slamming against her chest, she might not drop into a dead faint.

Nathan came into the kitchen, took one look at her and then at Mick, and his eyes widened.

“Holy shit.”

“Nathan, watch your language.”

“You’re Mick Riley.”

Mick smiled and went to shake Nathan’s hand. “I am. And you’re Nathan. Nice to meet you.”

Nathan swallowed, and Tara was sure she’d never seen her son so incredibly starstruck before.

“I take it you know who Mick is?”

He didn’t even glance at her, just kept his stunned gaze focused on Mick. “Duh, Mom. I’m not a moron.”

Mick pulled out a chair and sat. Nathan sat in the chair next to his. “Your mom says you play football.”

“Yeah. Junior varsity since I’m just a freshman. Well, I’ll be a sophomore in the fall.”

“I played JV as a freshman, too. Didn’t make the varsity team until I was a junior.”

They started gabbing away about football, which gave Tara a minute to get her heart rate under control. Okay, disaster averted. Her son hadn’t found her and Mick in the middle of wild monkey sex. Good Lord, where had her common sense gone? She never brought a man over to the house, let alone had sex with him there.

Mick was a very bad influence on her.

“So where did you two meet?”

“Your mom planned an event for our team a couple weeks ago.”

Nathan shifted his wide-eyed gaze to her. “You did?”

Tara brought tea to the table. “I did.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“I believe I mentioned it. More than once, as a matter of fact. You might try listening when I talk about my job.”

Nathan shrugged. “Your job is mostly boring.”

“Evidently not,” Mick said, “or you wouldn’t have missed the part about her catering an event for my team. She might have even finagled you an invitation if you’d been paying attention.” Mick elbowed Nathan. Nathan had the decency to bow his head and blush.

“Yeah, okay, so maybe I should have been listening. Anything else good coming up, Mom?”

“Sadly, no. Unless you want to accompany me to a luncheon for the city council. Or maybe a garden party for the Daughters of the American Revolution?”

Nathan shook his head. “No, thanks. I’d rather have my legs waxed.”

Mick laughed. “Can’t say as I blame you, buddy.”

Tara ordered pizza, and Nathan somehow managed to finagle invitations for a “couple” of his best friends to come over. Tara balked at that, but Mick said he didn’t mind. Before she knew it, five teenagers were hanging on Mick’s every word and devouring the ten pizzas she’d ordered, which Mick had insisted on paying for. Once the ravenous horde of teens and one very hungry adult male had been satiated, Mick sat in the living room with Nathan and his friends crowded around him, and they talked nonstop football.

Tara leaned against the wall and listened. Mick seemed so at ease with the kids, didn’t mind answering the barrage of questions, and she hadn’t heard her son talk this much since he was six years old. Of course, it wasn’t like she routinely talked football with him, either. After all, she was his mother. And a girl. So many points against her, whereas Mick was made of hero. He was a football star, and he never had to do the dirty work like tell her son to do his homework or ground him for not making his curfew.

So unfair.