Backfield in Motion (19 page)

Bruiser grabbed her hands and zip-tied her
wrists to the headboard, not tightly enough to cut off the
circulation but just enough she couldn’t free herself.

She glared at him but not very convincingly.
“I still have my legs free. I could do some real damage to you with
my knees.”

He chuckled and sat back. “Thanks for the
warning.” Sliding off her, he pulled the tie off her robe. Opening
the closet door, he snagged a belt off a raincoat. He turned and
stood by the bed, holding the items up for her to see.

“Don’t you dare.” She licked her lips and
writhed on the bed. Yeah, the lady was liking this game despite her
protests.

“I don’t think you’re in a position to make
demands.” Damn, his dick ached. It was so hard he swore it’d turned
to concrete just by his looking at her.

“You’re gonna pay for this, buster.”

“Promise?” He loved it when a woman
threatened him.

She kicked out, grazing his chest with her
big toe. He snatched her ankle, keeping free of her other foot and
pulled her leg toward the post on the footboard. A couple quick
wraps and it was tied. Skirting the bottom of the bed, he managed
to grab the other foot despite her wild flailing and kicking, even
as she laughed and giggled. He tied the other ankle fast to the
opposite post then stood back to survey his handiwork as he stroked
his dick.

Spread-eagled and ready for his pleasure,
Mac’s eyes shot fake daggers through him, even as they danced with
pure devilish enjoyment and raging desire. The fight was all for
show because they both knew Mac was nobody’s slave, and Bruiser
wouldn’t want her to be.

A fine sheen of sweat glistened on her
silky, tanned skin. His gaze slipped down her body, starting with
her nipples jutting proudly above those creamy mounds of flesh
still bearing his teeth marks from their last encounter, over her
flat stomach to the pleasure spot between her spread legs. He liked
a woman spread-eagled and open to him. Liked to see her glistening
juices, signaling how ready she was for him. In fact he liked every
fucking thing about her situation. And his.

Bruiser crawled onto the bottom of the bed.
Holding her thighs apart even farther, he dipped his head downward,
slid his hands higher, and parted her with his fingers. A lazy
smile split across his face.

“Mine. All mine.” Oddly enough, he meant it.
He wanted to tattoo everything he was all over her body so that
when she was with another man she’d smell Bruiser, taste him, see
him, feel him. Yeah, that was what he wanted. To ruin her for any
other man, so she’d never want anyone but him.

He slipped his tongue inside her, tasting
the salty sweetness of her body. She whimpered, arching her back
and pressing her hips upward to meet his mouth. He licked her back
to front. Sucking on her clit, he pushed a finger inside her, high
and deep while he tortured that little nub of pleasure.

Mac wriggled on the bed, making little
sounds that made his dick ache. She arched her back and pressed her
crotch against his face, while he lapped at her juices, sucked on
her clit, and thrust two fingers into her tight snatch. He felt her
coming before he heard and saw it.

Satisfied with the results, he waited for
her to return reality before he took his own pleasure.

* * * * *

Mac didn’t know what death felt like, but she
did know what heaven felt like. She might as well have been taking
straight shots for the past few hours, as drunk on sex as she
was.

“Fuck me,” she begged when she was finally
able to put two coherent words together.

Rolling a condom over his impressive
erection, Bruiser slid up her body until their faces were even. His
chest rubbed against hers, his cock rested between her legs—not
that rested would be an accurate verb. He kissed her, hard and
deep, nothing gentle about it, and she loved it, loved the taste of
her on his tongue and lips. Loved how he took charge of her body
and her soul.

Bruiser pulled back and looked at her. The
strain on his face was as clear as a Seattle summer day. “I really
want to fuck you. Hard. Deep. And long. Till you beg for mercy and
I give you none. I want you, Mac.” He swallowed, and she watched as
he visibly wrapped a tight leash around his control. “But I don’t
want to hurt you. I’m afraid I will because I’m about to lose every
ounce of restraint I have.”

“Then lose it like a man. I can handle it. I
want to handle it.”

“A man, huh?” His blue eyes raged with lust
and gratitude. “You sure you can handle this man?” He spoke through
gritted teeth.

“Positive. Ride me like you’ve never ridden
a woman before.”

“Ah, fucking hell.” He rose up, holding
himself above her with his arms on either side of her shoulders. He
entered her with one hard, long thrust and slammed inside her
balls-deep. He went in even deeper when it came to her heart.

She wanted more. “Harder. Harder,” she
yelled, and he obliged, both of them consumed by an animal lust as
old as the earth itself, an uncivilized mating ritual of two
civilized souls. Over and over he powered into her, taking her
sanity and her breath away until the only thing she knew was his
name. And she cried out that name as she rocketed out of this
reality into another, leaving everything behind and entering
uncharted territory. Bruiser was right there with her. She could
feel him, not just physically but as an emotional presence deep
inside her.

And then she knew the truth of what she’d
been denying all along.

This wasn’t just about sex.

Chapter 13

Bruiser pedaled the stationary bike faster
and faster with the resistance set on high, hoping fatigue would
wipe visions of a naked Mac tied to her bed, spread-eagled and
vulnerable. Sweat ran down his face, and he swiped it out of his
eyes, pushing his damp hair off his forehead. His chest and back
were drenched through his T-shirt. His leg muscles cramped, begging
for relief, but he pushed harder, relishing the cleansing pain,
embracing it, waiting for exhaustion to replace thoughts of one
sexy little groundskeeper.

Instead images of Mac played through his
mind like the lines of favorite song he couldn’t shake. It’d been a
week since he’d first slept with Mac—not that he’d slept exactly.
Once they’d finished the second round, he’d stolen out of the house
while Mac snoozed in a pile of rumpled sheets. At least he’d cut
the zip ties first. The last thing he wanted was for her father to
find her that way. He almost laughed at the thought. As obsessed as
the old man was, he wouldn’t bat an eye, if he even noticed. Tragic
in a way, but true.

Only that second night, the one that should
have been his limit, hadn’t been enough, and for the last week
Bruiser found himself standing on her doorstep late at night. They
fucked each other’s brains out until the early morning light, then
he dragged himself home for a few hours of sleep, as if not waking
up with her in the morning would keep his emotions out of it. To
make things worse, he hadn’t dealt with Brett either. The entire
situation made him feel like a selfish shit, yet he couldn’t stay
away.

So here he was on a Friday night catching up
on the workouts he’d neglected, even though he suspected wild sex
with Mac qualified as an adequate replacement.

Bruiser got off the bike, steadied himself
on numb legs, and headed for the showers. A desolate weekend
stretched out in front of him. Mac promised her father she’d go on
an excursion to Oregon to chase down yet another lead, which left
him at loose ends.

He could hunt down Trudy, do some sleuthing,
or party with some of the guys.

Toweling off, he dressed in front of his
locker and pulled on his shoes. He looked up as a shadow crossed in
front of him. “Hey, Brett, my man, what’s up?”

“How about a drink?” Brett studied him
oddly, and a twinge of guilt shot through Bruiser. Had Brett
figured out his best buddy had been banging Brett’s love interest
all week?

“Sure, meet you at O’Malley’s.” He’d been
dreading this moment, but now was the time to come clean.

A few minutes later, they were in a booth at
O’Malley’s.

“No hot date?” Brett asked him.

“I’m flying solo tonight.” Bruiser tilted
the beer to his mouth and drained half the bottle, generating a
little liquid courage.

Brett squinted at him as if trying to see
him in a different light. “I haven’t heard about you with any woman
for a quite a while now. Going for a round of celibacy? Or did you
run out of twenty-something heiresses and movie starlets?”

“Just taking a break. Reenergizing the sex
drive.”

“Yeah, bullshit. Have you seen Mac lately?”
Brett narrowed his eyes, his gaze taking Bruiser’s thin story
apart.

Bruiser stiffened and measured his words
carefully. “I see her mowing the practice field almost every
day.”

“Yeah, me too.” Brett stared at his drink as
if it were a crystal ball. “I wish I knew what I did to blow my
chance with her.”

“Why do you think you did anything?” Guilt
tied Bruiser’s stomach in knots. What a shit he was.

“Oh, she let me down nice and easy. She told
me she didn’t want to date me and ruin a good friendship.”

“Oh.” Bruiser’s face felt hot. Thank God it
was dark in the bar.

“I think she’s seeing someone else. Like
Dante, that obnoxious ass. He’s been sniffing around her ever since
she got her makeover. Didn’t give her a second look prior to
that.”

The hard slap of jealousy fisted his hands.
“Dante’s been harassing her?”

Brett pursed his lips and frowned at him.
“Nothing she can’t handle. She ripped him a new one yesterday.”

“Good. That ass needs to keep his hands
off.”

Brett regarded him with even more suspicion.
“You wouldn’t be— Nah, you and Mac? Never.”

Bruiser opened his mouth to lie and deny
everything, but he closed it.

“There’s something you’re not telling me.”
Brett stared so hard at him that Bruiser wiped his mouth, certain
some remnant of the chicken wings he’d been consuming at an
alarming rate were on his chin or something.

Bruiser stared at his beer, knowing
GUILTY
might was well be tattooed on his forehead.

“You and Mac?” Brett’s face fell, as if he’d
just been betrayed by his last friend in the world. Maybe he
had.

“I—Uh, it just happened. Nothing we planned
on.”

“You knew I had a thing for her, and you
still went after her?” Brett leaned forward, his hands fisted.

“It didn’t happen like that.”
Liar.
No, he’d just pursued her, invited himself into her bed, and fucked
her brains out. And not just once or twice.

“She’s always had a crush on you, and now
you’re using it to get in her pants. Man, you really are a shallow,
selfish asshole.” Brett’s disgust and disappointment was as loud
and clear as the ferry’s fog horn on a zero-visibility day.

Bruiser shook his head. “It’s not like
that.”
Yeah, right, idiot, and what is it like?

“Bullshit. She doesn’t understand guys like
you. You’re just toying with her. She’s a novelty to you, but you
don’t give a shit about her.”

Bruiser tried one last time to salvage the
best friendship he had. “Brett, I—I didn’t mean for it to happen.
We’re just enjoying each other’s company. She knows the score.
She’s fine with it. Please keep this private. It could jeopardize
her chance at that scholarship if Veronica finds out. She wouldn’t
approve of the two of us.”

“I doubt Mac does know the score. And don’t
worry, I won’t tell a soul. Your dirty little secret is safe with
me.”

“Look, man, I never planned for this to
happen, especially for it to end our friendship.”

“I trusted you. Saw more in you than most
people did. This is what I get for being an idiot. You couldn’t
even tell me the truth. I bet the whole team knows you’ve been
screwing Mac except me.”

“Seriously. No one knows. She hasn’t
breathed a word to her girlfriends.”

“You’re a sorry ass. You don’t appreciate
what you have. If I had a woman like Mac, I’d treat her with the
respect she deserves and shout it to the heavens. You hide her and
make sure no one knows because it makes it easier for you to move
on down the road. And your roads are damn short.”

“Brett, I was wrong. I should’ve told
you.”

“Yeah, you should have.” Brett rose to his
feet, his face red and his jaw rigid. “I’d like to beat the crap
out of you, but assaulting you isn’t worth going to jail.”

With that, his only true friend in the world
threw a twenty on the table and stomped out of the bar, back stiff,
head held high.

Bruiser stared at the door long after it
closed behind Brett. He’d screwed up. Again. Every time he got
close to someone, he hurt them. He couldn’t do a damn thing right
except smile and play football. He was a fucking failure as a
person, and Mac would be next on his Bruiser-fucked-up list,
because that’s the way he rolled.

* * * * *

An hour later, Bruiser sat on a barstool in a
different bar, doing his penance.

Trudy put up the CLOSED sign and locked the
door of the bar. She’d been drinking behind the bar for the past
hour and could barely walk, while he’d sipped on the same single
bottle of now-warm beer.

She came straight to him and didn’t waste a
moment. Her fingernails dug painfully into his scalp, her mouth
ground against his, while her body did its own grinding. Usually a
hot woman in this position got Bruiser in the mood, only tonight it
didn’t work for him. His dick stayed completely uninvolved, like a
disinterested bystander. He kissed the woman back, swallowing his
revulsion.

She slid her hands down the back of his
jeans and cupped his ass, smashing her hips into his crotch. It
wasn’t erotic; in fact, it hurt like hell as his balls got squashed
by her crazy-assed attempt to have sex fully clothed. A flash of
light jerked him backward. She was holding her cell phone out and
the camera light was on.