Win Me Over (29 page)

“You are definitely not okay.”

She was shocked and hurt when he reached up and removed her hands from his face.

She stood up. “Will you at least come inside?”

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, gripping it hard in his fist before releasing it. “I don't know yet.” His words were harsh, nearly a groan.

Her first instinct was to say “the hell with him.” He was being a jerk, pushing her away when she'd done nothing but want to help. But deep inside, something told her that this was not about her at all. He was here, and that was something. It was clear to her that Bennett was fighting an inner demon that she couldn't save him from. All she could give him was herself.

Callie reached out her hand and nudged him. He looked up and she widened her open palm. Reluctantly he grabbed it, and she helped him up. A small concession from him. Unlocking the door, she let them both in. She dropped her purse and bag by the sofa and then nodded at Bennett. “Sit down.”

He did and she sighed in relief. The couch gave as she sat near him. “I've been worried about you. Will you tell me what you've been doing all these days?”

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Mainly I've been at the hospital. I don't know why; nothing's changed. I just keep … waiting.”

“Of course you do; everyone is.”

His left leg started to bounce up and down. “My leg's fucked up.”

“What? Did you get another cramp?”

“No, not today. But I didn't tell you, my leg is damaged. In my accident it was shattered. I have metal rods in my thigh and an artificial hip.”

She was quiet for a moment, unsure of how best to respond to what he'd just said. She'd known about the accident. Known he'd been injured badly enough to rob him of a career in sports. But it had been eight years. She had no idea he still suffered.

“Why didn't you tell me?” Callie leaned down, trying to see his face. Why was he telling her this now? “We've been … dancing. A lot. You've been lifting me. What the hell, Bennett?”

His head dropped forward, a low groan emanating from his chest, and all she wanted to do was kiss the back of his neck where the hair was short and soft. And yet she needed to consider what he had just said. For all intents and purposes he had what some might consider a minor handicap and yet he'd attempted to win a fucking dance competition … for his players.

His players who meant everything to him.

Callie stood up and once again held her hand out to Bennett. She whispered, “Come on.”

He looked up, so beaten, so vulnerable. So beautiful.

 

Seventeen

Bennett reluctantly allowed Callie to lead him to her bedroom. A bedside lamp was lit, casting a warm glow over the unmade bed. This was what he'd come for. To escape into her. How did she know what he wanted?
Needed
? The scent of her home, apples, vanilla, and Callie, had instantly relaxed his strung-out nerves.

His mind hadn't rested since Tate collapsed on the field Friday night. He played the events over and over in his mind. Jason had shown signs of weakness, costing them two pass plays. Bennett hadn't been able to tell if it was from a lack of playing for a few weeks or something more, but he'd ended up pulling Jason after the first quarter. The guy had flipped. Begged Bennett at halftime to put him back in.

Bennett had asked Tate how he felt about it, because he knew Tate was not only sick of getting sacked but also worried about his friend. But Tate had agreed to give Jason another chance, probably out of guilt for starting this fucking mess to begin with.

The long and short of it was that Jason shouldn't have been out there. Tate should not have been relying on him. Jason's inability had made Tate doubt himself, and Bennett knew for a fact that Tate had been afraid that Jason might get hurt again. They all had been, and it had taken them all off their game. Literally. Bennett had made the call, let his own guilt take over and allow him to make a decision that he knew wasn't right.

And now Tate was in a coma, his brain swelling, while all they could do was pray that the swelling started to go down. Even then there was a very good chance he would end up in a vegetative state. Maybe forever.

Every night Bennett had woken up in a sweat, repeatedly reliving the sight of Tate's tackle. Sometimes it morphed into something else in Bennett's dreams, turning them into true night terrors. Tate falling on the field, Tate's head falling off, Bennett's own accident, the pain of losing himself, the depression, Tate dying. The nightmares were random and some horrific. Bennett couldn't do it anymore and his truck had driven itself to Callie's house. Now here he was, in her bedroom.

“Stop thinking,” Callie whispered. She positioned him at the edge of her bed and he sat down, parting his legs and pulling her between them.

“Not yet,” Callie said, guiding him back into a standing position.

He let her do as she please, watching intently as she unbuttoned his jeans and then pulled them down his legs. She removed his shoes one at a time and then guided his pants off before asking him to lie back on the bed. She could have asked him to do anything, he barely heard her commands, didn't process them. His body was on auto.

Her cool hands slid up his thigh, finding the scars there. He looked down, seeking her eyes, but she was focused on his body, her fingers massaging into his sore muscles. Oh god, he couldn't take her caring for him this way. It was too tender and sweet.

He reached out and stilled her hand with his own. “That's enough.” He sat up slowly, a sharp pain shooting through his hip.

Suddenly he didn't want things to go slow; he needed to take control, strip her naked, and pound into her body until he could feel nothing else but his own release.

He pulled at her T-shirt and began to yank it over her head; she helped, dropping it on the floor. “Take off your bra.” He was shocked at the anger in his own voice, but he couldn't bring himself to care or apologize. He wasn't sorry.

He was dying inside and right now this was the only thing that might save him.

His fingers went to her pants and he yanked them down, her panties with them, and immediately leaned forward to place his mouth to her navel. He wanted to taste her, smell her, and get lost in the softness of her skin.

“Bennett,” she whispered, her hands tangling in his hair. He wished she'd pull, make it hurt. He palmed her backside and yanked her against him, his mouth rising up to suck her nipples into his mouth, one and then the other. The sound of her soft whimpers drove him insane and he bit down lightly, wanting to hear her cry out. Instead her hands tightened in his hair, pulling lightly at his scalp.

Yes.

He squeezed her breasts, he knew it was almost too hard, she should tell him to stop, but she didn't; she only pushed herself into his hands, silently pleading for more. He could feel her kicking her pants off of her body, and as soon as she went still he gripped her waist with both hands; turning her, he pushed her down to the bed. And still she didn't protest.

He stood up and slid his underwear down, never taking his eyes from her face. Her gaze wandered down to his erection and he took it in hand.

“How do you want me?” she asked, scooting back on the bed.

“Just like that.” He put his right knee down, knowing full well that being on his knees while he fucked her would hurt like hell. He was going to do it anyway, because he wanted her underneath him. The other knee came next, a twinge of pain shooting through his thigh. He'd spent too much time sitting the past few days. In the hospital, in the truck outside her house, at the football field. Funny how it hurt if he stood and hurt if he sat too much. He couldn't win. He would never win. His games were over.

But he could have Callie tonight, and that would be the closest he would ever come to winning. Feeling whole.

He settled himself between her thighs and she reached for his face, her hands soft. He closed his eyes and leaned into her touch as he pushed into her. Nothing would ever feel this good again.

*   *   *

Callie let her eyes flutter shut; the sensation was so raw, so good she'd nearly lost her breath. The feel of Bennett's bare skin against hers, inside her, it was too much. A new experience, something she'd never done, and it was stupid. So damn stupid.

She didn't care. She'd do it again in a second, because right now it was the only thing that mattered. She could feel his pain—it was soul deep—and she felt desperate to reach him. It seemed the only thing that he wanted right now was release, and he set about it with a ferocious intensity, his eyes wide, low, rough grunts huffing from his lips with every thrust.

It was animalistic and indecent, the way he pushed her knees toward her chest as he pounded into her. She would love it if the circumstances were different, but although it felt like heaven, it was also breaking her heart.

He let out a strangled groan, almost as if he was in pain, dropping her legs and leaning his weight against her body. He stilled for a moment, deep breaths puffing from his lips and cooling her forehead.

Callie let her fingers slide over his behind and squeezed. She loved the way the muscles tensed and flexed in response. He was so solid and heavy, but she didn't want him to get up. He angled his torso and looked down at her.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you,” he said. And though she knew he meant physically, she pretended he meant so much more.

He threaded his fingers between hers and lifted their linked hands above her head, pushing them down into the mattress as he began to move again inside her. This time his strokes were long and slow and Callie wasn't sure how long she could last, the sensations were so intense.

“You feel so good like this,” he whispered. “So wet. Warm.”

She wrapped her legs around him and locked her feet, never wanting him to stop. Or leave.

Bennett stretched their arms out, lengthening their torsos, using them for leverage as he continued his torturous assault on her body, over … and over … and over. He began to speed up, his forehead leaned onto her own, his lips hovering just out of kissing range. So close she could feel his breath and smell his skin.

Wanting to taste him, she lifted her head up and swiped her tongue against his bottom lip. That simple motion seemed to ignite a flame in him and his mouth crashed onto hers. Her body reacted, the tremors starting in her thighs, and then she was falling over the edge as their tongues tangled, teeth nipped, and his moans got lost in her mouth as he came along with her.

After that they lay quietly.

“I shouldn't have done that without protection. I'm sorry,” Bennett said, breaking the silence they'd been lying in for the past five minutes.

Callie scooted up and rested on her elbow. “It's okay. I'm on the pill.”

He seemed satisfied with her answer and went back to staring at the ceiling.

“Why didn't you just tell me about your leg?”

He shrugged. “Does it matter?”

“Well, yeah. I could have adjusted the routine.”

“Yeah, that's just what I would have wanted. The gimp version of your dance routine.”

“Bennett, that's not what I mean and you know it.”

“I'm not an invalid; I'm just in pain.” He stood up and her breath caught at the sight of him naked and walking away from her. He was beautiful. He carefully leaned over, bending only his right leg, and picked up his underwear and pants. When he turned to face her she could see the faint scars running down his left thigh. She hadn't noticed them before, but she'd also not been looking for them.

So this was what brought a professional athlete to his knees. A debilitating injury. Did Bennett try physical therapy? Massage? Had he given up too soon, unsatisfied with his imperfection? She knew this wasn't the time to ask those questions.

“Are you leaving?” she asked, praying the answer wasn't what she knew it would be.

“Yes.”

Callie closed her eyes. “Then why did you come?”

She opened her eyes to find him staring at her as he zipped his jeans. His jaw clenched tight and then he turned to find his shirt.

The pain in his face almost broke her. Why was he doing this? She couldn't understand it, as hard as she tried.

“Bennett, you're not responsible for protecting everyone.”

“I don't want to talk about it. Okay?” He pulled his shirt over his head.

“Then tell me why you came here? Please tell me I mean more than a quick fuck.”

“Stop it,” he ground out. “I didn't come to fight; I'll tell you that.”

“I don't want to fight either.” Callie slid off the bed and grabbed her own T-shirt, shoving her arms through the holes. She was afraid he could disappear at any second. “I want to help you. Go to the hospital with you. Be there. I know this sucks.”

“It does suck, but I don't need help.” His voice rose, his arms shooting out to his sides. “I came tonight, we were together, but now I need to go.”

Callie shook her head and ran a hand through her hair. “Bennett, don't you get it? I want to be together because you're running toward me, not away from something else. I want the ugly. I want the hard, the painful, the fear. Give it to me; let me share it with you. I'm a strong girl.”

“I know that; don't you think I know that?”

“No, I don't think you do. I think you carry the weight of the world on your shoulders and you need help.” He turned away, but she stepped beside him and took ahold of his chin and forced his face down to hers. “Shit happens, Bennett. Accidents occur, people get hurt. Sometimes badly. Sometimes they're never the same. It's not always someone's fault. You don't have to hurt alone.”

“I don't want you hurting, too,” he said. His voice was low and quiet, and she knew he was admitting to something real. He wanted to protect her. Protect himself.