Getting Rough (7 page)

And now I was sending my little woman off to make me dinner.
My
little woman? “They’re going to send the padded wagon after you, Matthews,” I said to myself as I attempted to shake the crazy from my noggin. But my brain was like a dog with a bone on that one. Maybe I should consider shock therapy.

Nah, I knew what the problem was. I just needed to get off. Everything would right itself after that. Looking down at my crotch, it occurred to me that the only way that was likely to happen was if I took the matter into my own hands. I raised the one that would do the deed and gave it a wink. “Take the crazy away, baby. Daddy needs some perspective.”

Jacking off was a no go. And not because I hadn’t put forth my best effort. It was because even though I wanted and needed to come more than any fucking thing, somehow Denver Rockford’s face kept popping up in place of Cassidy’s. The flaccid mess that followed had nothing to do with the fact that he was gay, and everything to do with the fact that my warped imagination was picturing him pacing and not so patiently urging me to hurry up and get my rocks off so I could handle his business.

Damn. I threw in the towel, literally slinging the one I’d recruited to play wide receiver back into the cabinet with the other benchwarmers. My balls were at center, keyed up and ready to rocket one off for the game-winning touchdown, but my cocky quarterback’s arm had gone limp.

The hard-on might have been gone, but the blue-ball syndrome wasn’t. I closed my eyes, trying to cope with the annoyance and succeeding only in making it worse. Maybe if I got my mind off things, if I concentrated on keeping the contract that had started all this nonsense in the first place, it would go away.

Tucking my pathetic dick back into my pants, I zipped up, splashed some cold water onto my face, and pulled out my laptop. Thanks to the time difference, Ben would still be in the office, but even if he wasn’t, I knew he’d check his emails. So I shot one off, telling him I’d be extending my stay in Stonington for a while longer, and that he needed to be sure he had Skype downloaded to his computer at the office and on his cell. I also told him to get in touch with Denver to ask him to do the same, so I could contact him.

Within moments of hitting the send button, I got a call. Ben might have been a smart-ass, but he was a professional smart-ass and he always went above and beyond when it came to handling business.

My greeting was met with a “Hey, boss man! You’re looking… constipated.” Like I said, smart-ass. “You need me to send a poo care package?”

“Fuck off, Ben.” The line separating our professional and personal relationship might have been blurred, but it worked for us. “Catch me up on everything.”

Ben did exactly that, going through messages I might have missed thanks to the zero-cell-service thing, and taking notes on issues I needed him to handle. He confirmed he’d gotten a message through to my star client, Denver, and he’d be ready for my call.

It wasn’t really that we had a lot to do at the moment since the attorneys were still drawing up contracts, but superstar athletes like Denver were used to getting a lot of attention from their agent. I wasn’t going to fail him on that. Ben also told me that Denver had already relocated back home with his parents in Colorado and was ready to start training as soon as the ink was dry on the final draft of his multimillion-dollar deal. All great news. His enthusiasm for the game was the very thing that had propelled his success and kept it going. That and his superhuman arm. They didn’t call him the “Rocket Man” for nothing.

Cassidy had already done most of the negotiating with Colorado on Denver’s behalf before he’d even made a decision on which of us he’d pick for his agent. The cut of that was going to be hefty and would be deposited into my bank account, but for the first time in my life, I knew I’d break her off a sizable chunk of it. Like I’d told her: fair was fair. I’d been handed Denver’s contract and I’d been in talks with Colorado regarding finalizing it, but I hadn’t really earned the big score. Despite what I knew that Cassidy thought of me, I wasn’t about taking something that didn’t rightfully belong to me.

The partnership with Striker, however, was another story. It was mine, fair and square. Monty Prather had groomed me for it before he’d retired, and Wade Price knew I was the man for the job even though he’d been rooting for his protégé, Cassidy, to take the win. Wade and I had a great deal of respect for each other, so the new partnership would be a seamless transition. The big announcement to the rest of the company would wait for my return from my “well-deserved vacation,” according to Wade.

My Skype call with Ben had just been coming to a close when he asked about Cassidy.

“How is the ice queen?”

I was surprised by my reaction. Not so much the way my cock sprang back to attention at the mention of her name, but because I wanted to jump to her defense in a way I never had before. “
Cassidy
is okay.” She might have been the ice queen in sunny California, but in frigid Maine all of that seemed to melt away.

It occurred to me that Ben had never asked for the reason I was here with her in the first place, so I asked him why that was.

He looked guilty as hell. “Promise you won’t fire me?”

“What good would it do me? Every time I do, you just keep showing back up on my doorstep like a flea-infested cat,” I told him. “Out with it.”

“The truth is, when you first came to the San Diego office, Ally and I bet on when you and Cassidy would finally hook up. I won.” Ben got a big cheesy grin on his face.

Having come from Detroit, not much shocked me. This? This did. I didn’t even know where to start with my questions.

“What makes you think we hooked up?”

“Dude, you chased her across the country,” he said as if that was all the explanation needed. When it was clear that it wasn’t, he continued. “The only reason a man does that is if he’s pussy-whipped.”

I should’ve hung up on him right then and there, or at least told him to pack up his desk and mean it this time. But I didn’t. “And the two of you thought we’d hook up because?”

“Because you can’t stand each other,” he said matter-of-factly. “Like Ally says, there’s a very thin line between love and hate.”

I nearly choked on my own saliva. Love was definitely not the issue. Lust, yes, per my newly engorged cock, but
not
love.

“Ben” – my voice was even, all business – “if there’s even a hint of a rumor that Cassidy and I are hooking up, she’ll get fired. For real. Technically, I’m her boss now. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

My assistant was straight as an arrow then, the big picture crystal clear. Whether his suspicion was right or not, didn’t matter. Cassidy hadn’t done anything wrong, and I’d be damned before I’d let her go down in flames over something we’d both consented to. Even if I was the one who’d seduced her. Well, it was iffy on who’d seduced whom in the beginning. I’d say it was a dead-even draw, either way.

“No worries,” Ben reassured me. “Ally and I won’t breathe a word about it.”

I believed him. Ally and Ben were so loyal, they’d put their own jobs on the line to save Cassidy’s and mine.

I supposed I should stop fucking Cassidy now that our positions on the totem pole had changed, but feeling the heavy bastard of a cock on my thigh again, I knew I wouldn’t. Good God, the ache in my balls was a persistent annoyance. Dinner would be ready soon, and no way was I willing to suffer through it with this thing hijacking my every thought. So I hung up with Ben to try to take care of the issue yet again.

Before I could even get the zipper undone, my hand was down my jeans and gripping my cock. A moan I hadn’t meant to set free was the precursor to the jack fest that ensued after that. There was no lotion or acceptable lube nearby, so I had to rely on the bit of precum that seeped from the fat head to prep my chafed cock for the punishing strokes that followed.

I didn’t have to search my mind for a subject to focus on while getting myself off because the memory of Cassidy’s lips wrapped around my cock was already queued up, and that was more than enough. For safety measures, I cupped my balls, gently working them while I watched my cock in my fisted hand sliding up and down its rigid thickness.

I was hypersensitive, the chafe from earlier making my manipulations uncomfortable, but I could deal with that much better than I could with that persistent ache creeping its way up my sac. It was as fierce as an imprisoned monstrosity hungry for raw meat, but with any luck, ejaculation would curb its appetite.

The veins of my cock were thick with blood, the head tinged red by the maddening sweep of my thumb over its angry ridge. Thin, soft skin was stretched taut over a shaft that had never been harder, and the heart in my chest played a fast-paced cadence to match the tempo of my strokes. I could feel it building, my release. The breath in my lungs was shallow, as if with each quick inhale and exhale it would push my orgasm closer to the brink. Maybe it could.

With rapt fascination, I watched, pulling my shirt up and tucking it under my chin to prepare for the sticky mess to come. And it would at any moment, thank God.

Squeezing my cock, I pumped harder, coaxing the cure to what was shaping up to be a whole lot of frustration. It was right there. Right…

I jumped at the sound of a loud bang on the door.

“You’ve gotta be
fucking
kidding me,” I growled when my release receded back from wherever the hell it came from.

“Ay, yo! Dinner’s ready!” came Cock-block Casey’s voice through the door.

I was going to murder him. In cold blood. With my bare hands.

“You hear me, man?” He was a persistent fucker.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be down in a minute,” I called back, mentally calculating the length of rope I’d need to tie him off to the bumper of my tiny rental car and drag him down the street.

“Better hurry. Mom doesn’t like it when you’re late to dinner.”

“She’s not my mother,” I reminded him.

“Doesn’t matter. She’s mine.”

It was an indirect threat, and I couldn’t help but wonder if he was talking about Abby or Cassidy.

Dinnertime was obviously a big deal in the Whalen House. The dining room table was large enough to accommodate twelve, but was set for six. A crisp, white table linen was spread over the length and not a single crease marred its perfect plane.

Fried chicken, white gravy, mashed potatoes, fried corn, green beans, and biscuits looked to be on the menu. My stomach growled at the sight of it, battling with the achy throb farther below for attention. I damn sure couldn’t jack off at the table, so I settled for getting my fat-boy grub on to satiate at least one need.

Platters and bowls of food started to make their way around the table as we served ourselves. Well, most of us did, anyway. Abby was attending to the old man at the head, so I guessed him to be her husband. He looked to be at least a decade older than her – maybe midsixties – a spitting image of Casey with some years etched into his wrinkles, a whole lot of wisdom behind those eyes, and the result from a little more time at the dinner table wrapped around his midsection.

“Everything looks delicious, Abby,” I told her as I chose the empty seat my hostess had pointed out between Cassidy and the man I hadn’t yet met. Casey was next to his mother, directly across from Cassidy, and there was another setting next to him that hadn’t yet been occupied.

Abby stabbed a piece of fried chicken breast with a fork and put it on the plate of the man beside her. “Thank you, I hope you like it.”

“If it’s anything like the sandwich you made for me earlier, I’m sure I will.”

“Let me guess,” the man interrupted. “You had the Abby melt?”

I had no idea what an Abby melt was, but if it was anything like the manna I’d eaten for lunch, a more appropriate name would be something like the monkey spank or toasted orgasm.

“Grilled turkey, bacon, and cheese sandwich?” I asked.

“Yep! That’s the Abby.” He laughed as the sandwich’s namesake plopped down a dollop of mashed potatoes in front of him. “Best sandwich in town.”

“He’s a little biased,” Abby said, passing the potatoes to Casey and picking up the gravy. “Of course he has to be if he wants to keep eating,” she said, laughing. “This is my Thomas. Thomas, meet Shaw Matthews.”

“Shaw Matthews?” Casey asked. I was a little surprised no one had given him that information yet. When I nodded, he continued. “Cassidy’s told me a lot about you.”

“Has she?” Putting the napkin in my lap, I shot him a disingenuous smile. “Huh. Well, I wish I could say the same.”

Cassidy kicked me under the table, but I’d grown so used to it after all the board meetings we’d attended together that I didn’t even need shin guards.

“And this,” Abby said, looking up at the straggler that had just entered the room, “is Mia Morgan.”

Casey put the bowl of potatoes down and jumped up to pull out the seat next to his. Mia was short, with dark eyes and long brown hair, cute in an understated girl-next-door sort of way. Though the way she was gawking at Cassidy had girl-on-girl action written all over it.

Cassidy gave her a welcoming smile, something warm and friendly. Something I’d never really seen from her before. At least not toward me. “Hi, I’m —”

“I know who you are. You’re Cassidy,” Mia finished for her. Then she dipped her head and nervously took the offered chair as if she’d just realized how stalker-ish she’d sounded.

When Cassidy looked taken aback, Casey jumped in. “Yep. That” – he paused – “is my Cassidy.” He regarded Cassidy in a way that felt almost intrusive to witness, like he was swept up in some moment the rest of us hadn’t been meant to see.

A squirming Cassidy felt the weight of that moment and looked down at her lap, clearing her throat. It was enough to jar Casey from whatever fantasy he’d been playing out in his mind and bring him back to the present.

“I’m sorry I’m late, Abby. I sort of got swept up in a scene I had to get out or risk losing altogether.” Mia waved her hand in the air as if it was a silly excuse.

“It’s okay, dear. We’ve just started, anyway.” Abby turned toward Cassidy and me. “Mia’s a romance author. She came to Stonington to do some research on a book she’s writing.”

Cassidy nodded. “Casey told me there was a celebrity in town. He just didn’t tell me you were staying with us.” She gave him a disapproving scowl then returned her attention to the newcomer. “I can think of a thousand more romantic settings. What’s so special about Stonington?”

Cassidy was a well-known agent who was surrounded by world-famous athletes on a near daily basis, so she wasn’t about to be awestruck in the presence of this woman.