Hitman's Baby (Mob City Book 2) (28 page)

C
oach's whistle blew firmly
, the resonant tone immediately bringing the relentless on-field movement to a halt. "That's it for the day, boys." He smiled. "Hit the showers."

I sank down to my haunches, suddenly exhausted. Four hours of sleep hadn't been anywhere near sufficient to repair the damage caused by the nasty hangover that was still lingering from the night before.

"What the hell was that, Alex?" Rodrigo asked in a stunned tone of voice, clapping his hand on my shoulder. "Where did you pull that bag of tricks from?"

I stood up and did a couple of circles with my hips to stretch out my hamstrings. "Oh that?" I asked offhandedly, hiding my own surprise. "Guess I was just well-rested…" Rodrigo looked directly at me disbelievingly, and I couldn't hide a smile that had crept onto my face.

"Bullshit."

I grabbed my ankle and held it up against my ass, feeling a deep stretch in the quadriceps muscle in my right leg. "Okay, you got me. How was the redhead last night?" I grinned.

He sighed. "My friend, she did things to me that I didn't know existed. Dirty things. But you know what?"

I grabbed the other ankle. "What?"

"I think she was thinking of you…"

"And you still slept with her?" I grunted, feeling the stretch pulling against an old injury. I looked over towards the emptying stands as I stood there on one leg, noticing that a gaggle of young kids were still waiting by the tunnel, forlornly hoping to waylay one of their idols and get an autograph.

"Hey," Rodrigo grinned, reaching down for his toes and sighing, "when a girl like that climbs into my bed, I don't care who she is thinking of. As long as it's my cock she's sucking, I don't care whose name she calls…"

I turned my head with sudden interest. "She said my name?"

"No," he chuckled, "but you could tell who she was thinking of, and it wasn't a second string midfielder who spends most of his time sitting on the bench."

"Cut yourself some slack, buddy. That first ball you played me earlier, remember it?"

"The one you kicked into the sky, you mean?"

I grimaced. "The same. That was a bad shot, I'll admit it. But tell you what, you keep playing me balls like that, you'll get in the team."

He looked at me disbelievingly. "
You'll
get in the team, Alex, because you can put the ball in the back of the net. The squad has half a dozen players who can do what I can."

"Yeah," I agreed, "but it doesn't have half a dozen players who I
like
. Hell, if Garcia tells any more of them to kick me in training, it'll just be you left. What the hell is that guy's problem, anyway?"

Rodrigo sighed. "You know what his problem is – it's you. You're here to take his place, and he doesn't like it. But you don't help yourself, you know that, Alex?"

I snarled. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh, don't play games. You know exactly what I'm talking about. The more you show off like you did today, the more annoyed he'll get."

I felt suddenly chilly and started walking back towards the tunnel, shrugging on a sweatshirt as I did so. "Here, give me a swig of that," I asked, changing the topic and grabbing a bottle of blue Powerade from my companion's hand.

He was like a dog with a bone. "Don't change the topic, Alex. You know exactly what you're doing…"

"I'm not—"

He raised an eyebrow. "Okay, okay," I said, raising my hands apologetically, "maybe I'm showing off a little bit. But that's just my game."

Rodrigo shrugged. "I'm not telling you what to do, Alex. I'm just telling you like it is."

I sighed. "Thanks, buddy. Anyway, like I was saying – you feed the ball into me like you did today, I'll finish it and we'll both be in the team, okay?"

"Okay." He smiled wanly, as if bored of arguing. We were suddenly interrupted by a bout of excited cheering from the stands.

"Alejandro! Alejandro!"

I waved and kept walking towards the locker rooms, but Rodrigo nudged me in the side. "What?"

"Go, go sign some autographs." He beamed. "Go on, you'll make their day."

"Rodrigo," I groaned, "I need a couple of Tylenol and a nap. The last thing I need with a headache like this is to be around screaming kids."

"Just do it." He laughed. "You'll be done in five."

"Fine," I pretended to huff, jogging over to the kids. "Aren't you coming?" I asked, turning my head in surprise when I noticed that he wasn't following.

"Why? They aren't calling my name…" he joked drily.

"People are making a bit of a habit of that, aren't they?" I grinned. He shot me a condescending look and walked back inside.

"Who's got a pen?" I shouted at the crowd, and half a dozen black marker pens immediately appeared from God knows where.

"Take mine! Take mine!" they cried. I took one from a star struck looking kid who didn't appear a day over six years old, ruffling his hair as I did so. I kneeled down to speak to him on his level. "It's your lucky day. What do you want me to sign, kid?"

Mutely, he shoved a soccer ball from the gift shop in my face, and I signed it. I'd spent hours practicing the signature before making it in the big leagues – perfecting it so that it not only had
the look
, so it was easy to pick out, but it was also easy to scribble. The last thing you wanted at the start of a line of hundreds of adoring fans was to have two inscribe a long, complicated signature on dozens of shirts and hundreds of balls

That was what I assumed, anyway. In truth, this was the first autograph signing session I'd ever conducted – other than those sessions practicing late at night with a pad of paper, and I was kind of excited.

"Who's next?" I called. The clamor that greeted me assured me that I'd be there for quite a while…

Finally, it was over. I'd signed shirts, headbands, soccer balls – you name it, I'd signed it. I ruffled one last kid's hair then slumped down onto a step in front of the stand as he raced off to his smiling mother who waved a thanks before turning to leave. I closed my eyes, exhausted, and rested my head against the concrete stand.

I was suddenly disturbed by a peal of gentle, tinkling laughter. "Hand sore?"

My eyes snapped open, searching for the source of the sound. "Who said that?"

They found it almost instantly. Diana was sitting on a step to the other side of the tunnel leading toward the locker room, wearing a light red summer dress that danced off her curves and gently accented her glorious breasts. I felt my body respond immediately, and briefly worried that the light gym shorts would do nothing to hide my enormous package, but shrugged – after all, there was nothing I could do about it.

I leapt up and closed the distance between us, which seemed to surprise her. "What are you doing here?" I gasped.

"Same as every day," she laughed, "reporting on you…"

"Only good things, I hope." I smiled teasingly. I wanted to rip that dress from her body, throw it aside and make love to her right here on the concrete, and my body responded accordingly. I tried remembering what had happened the last time she'd tried to make a story out of me – how betrayed I'd felt, in the hope that that would dampen down my growing excitement, but my body didn't care.

Hell, right now, neither did I.

Diana had the good grace to flush at the memory. "Sorry about that," she muttered, looking at the ground in embarrassment.

I put my hand on her chin without thinking, lifting it up, forcing her to look at me. I wanted to see those sparkling green eyes, not have them pointed at the ground, and I stared into them, drinking them in. "Don't worry about it," I murmured, uncomfortably aware of the heat of her body against my fingers. She didn't say a word, just stared at me curiously. I felt like we were both performing a dance – a gentle waltz, when I wanted something more, something exciting. I wanted to tango.

I decided to take control.

My cock was now engorged, and clearly visible under my white training shorts. I saw Diana's eyes flicker towards it, and she stood up suddenly – clearly to get the massive package out of her eyesight. She flushed yet again with embarrassment. "Something startle you?" I asked, hiding a grin.

She said, red with embarrassment, "No, nothing like that…"

I watched Diana's every movement, studying her until I was attuned to the way her body worked. Her breath was ragged, uneven, and I saw her eyes flicker from mine, downwards, down to my bulging cock, and back, again and again. You could have cut the sexual tension with a knife, but it would have had to have been sharp.

"How's your assignment going?" I asked, my mind fixing upon a plan. I was going to have this girl – this girl who had me massaging my cock in the sad solitude of my lonely bedroom instead of out chasing tail, and nothing was going to stand in my way.

"My…my assignment?"

"The reporting thing?" I asked, smiling.

"Oh, it's going good, I guess." She smiled. "My boss is a bit of an asshole, though…"

"I know that feeling." I smiled. "Hey," I said, pretending to suddenly have an idea. "You're here to report on me, right?"

"Mmhmm." She nodded, her eyes once more flickering downwards before she exerted her will to return them back to mine. It was like she felt unable to trust her mouth to form coherent sentences.

"You were good today," she finally said, her cheeks reddening even more as she blurted out the compliment. "We got that volleyed goal on camera – it'll be on TV back home tonight."

"Only after you turned up," I said. "Thanks for that, by the way. Tell you what, maybe I can do you a favor?"

Diana's eyes brightened and she looked up at me curiously. I wanted to tell her that I was going to rip her underwear off with my teeth and go to town with my mouth, but I restrained myself. I was playing the long game – there'd be time enough for that later on.

"A favor?"

I smiled, springing the trap. "Yeah, with your boss. How would he like it if you interviewed me – one-on-one?"

I saw how much that idea appealed to her. "You're serious?"

"Deadly."

"Oh, that would be amazing! I'll speak to Roberto and get it all sorted out."

I threw my head back and laughed. "Roberto? Don't bother telling him. Just come to mine tonight…"

She looked at me suspiciously, as though trying to glean whether my intentions were pure. Of course, they weren't – I had every expectation that by the time the night was up, she'd be lying underneath me, soaked with sweat and aching from half a dozen toe-clenching, earth-shattering orgasms, but what Diana didn't know couldn't hurt her. And anyway, the prize of a one-on-one interview was way too much for any reporter to resist.

"I'll—" She paused, as though questioning her decision. I didn't jump in; I was supremely confident that she wouldn't be able to resist me – or the story, however she justified it to herself. "I'll be there."

I smiled warmly. "Here, give me your phone."

She handed it over without asking why, but shot me a questioning look. I texted myself from it.

"Perfect. Now I've got your number. I'll text you the address. See you at eight?"

She looked equal parts terrified and ecstatic.

I took that as a yes.

A
cloud
of steam billowed out of the bathroom door as I stepped back into my bedroom, a towel wrapped around my body and another around my hair.

"You better watch yourself, girl," I moaned. I was no fool – I knew exactly what I was stepping into with this interview, and I knew exactly what Alex's intentions were. His bulging cock had been more than enough of a warning sign…

I'd have to be on top of my game tonight, because if I wasn't then, without a doubt, I was going to end naked, sweaty and between Alex’s sheets... With that thought
very much
at the front of my mind, I sat down on the bed and loosened the towel around my head, vigorously working the fibers into my hair to dry it off as much as possible.

In my heart of hearts, I knew Tim was right – I was crushing on Alex in a major way, and I had been ever since we met each other in the parking lot. I couldn't keep the image of his bulging white training shorts out of my mind, no matter how hard I tried. In truth, I couldn't really blame him for that – if I'd kept my mouth shut, he'd never have known I was watching him. I'd wanted him to know, and I’d wanted him to talk to me.

I'd set this in motion, not him. He was just taking advantage of a golden opportunity. Alex Rodriguez had a wandering eye – not in a bad way, it was how he was made. Now that eye had latched onto me, and I'd done nothing to dissuade it.

"You're going to sleep with him, aren't you…" I groaned to myself. I could see that outcome creeping inexorably closer with every step I took. It was as though it was my destiny, and there was nothing I could do to prevent it from happening. My nipples tingled even thinking about him – so how the hell was I going to handle sitting across from him? In his house no less!

I wasn't.

Unless…

I lay down, resting my back against my soft, firm mattress. It was the kind of mattress, I thought, that would be great to fuck on – not that anyone had fucked me since I left college. The bed was solid, it wouldn’t make a sound, but the mattress had just enough give that it would push back against every thrust, doubling the force.

I closed my eyes and allowed my left hand to wander down my body, opening up the towel folded around me so that the cool bedroom air danced across my skin. My nipples, already tender, were now vibrating with anticipation, and the moment my fingers brushed across them, I felt an electric shock of pleasure spreading throughout my body. I gasped.

I took myself back to the training ground, imagined that it was just Alex and I left behind, and that I was still sitting on the concrete step, looking up at the bulging crotch of his white shorts. I imagined threading my hands into his waistband, undoing the knot and gently sliding the shorts down his thick, muscular thighs.

I imagined a gentle intake of breath from above as my fingers grazed his cock, and I felt his fingers grab my head in turn, getting entangled in my hair. I imagined pulling down his jockstrap and seeing his massive cock fall out…

My eyes shot open, and I struggled out of the towel and reached for my bedside table. My thighs were slick with anticipation, and my clitoris was engorged with blood, ready to be touched. I pulled open the drawer, and my fingers scrabbled inside.

"Diana…" I whispered. "This is a bad idea…"

It was, but then I rationalized that it wasn't. In my head, this was burning off any built-up sexual tension. In my head, this was going to
stop
me from ending up in Alex's bed, rather than put me there.

It was a mad delusion.

My fingers closed around the cool plastic of a small, silver bullet vibrator. I shivered as I pressed the button, my body responding to the sound of the vibrations that it knew heralded pleasure.

Alex's hands found the zip on the back of the light, frilly summer dress. I'd picked it out specially, hoping that he'd notice, even if that hadn't been my conscious intention. He unzipped it roughly and pulled it over my head. He unclipped my bra and tossed it aside, pushing me back onto the cold concrete. My nipples stiffened.

I pushed the vibrator down between my legs with my right hand and pinched my left nipple with the left. My body arched with the sudden, double pleasure, and I bit my lip to stifle a cry. I cradled my breast with my hand, imagining it was his thumb roughly stroking the sensitive stub, not mine.

The little vibrator travelled in short, hungry circles around my clitoris. In this fantasy, Alex wasn't messing around. I felt him grab my hips, my pussy with his fingers, and enter me. My body reacted as though he had.

My back arched and a little cry escaped my lips. "Alex…"

I pushed the vibrator down hard, pinching my clitoris between the vibrating bullet and my thumb, not giving it a moment's mercy. My breath was ragged. I felt like all the blood in my body was pulsating around the slit between my legs and my hands smelled like sex.

I pinched my nipple and yelped as the floodgates opened and my orgasm crashed around me. "Oh my god," I groaned as electric shocks danced from between my legs and met the simmering hot sparks where my nipples used to be.

I lay on the bed panting for at least two minutes after I came, just to gather my breath. I was spent, exhausted, and completely satisfied. Still, though, I couldn't help but suspect that this wouldn't be enough…

"Fuck," I muttered, looking at the time on the clock that sat on my bedside table, "I'm going to be late."

I had no idea how, but almost twenty minutes had sped by – it felt like only a couple had passed!

I leapt out of bed, drying the wetness between my legs with a towel which I immediately cast aside. There wasn't time to jump in the shower again, not if I was still planning to dry my hair, at any rate.

I ran to the closet and agonized over what to wear. I wanted something that was smart and alluring, but also appropriate. I figured that if I was going to Alex's house at eight in the evening, then this visit was going to straddle the boundaries between a social call and strictly business whatever happened, but I didn't want to turn up in a slutty party dress.

I peered through the closet, waiting for something to jump out at me. I discarded a floor-length, silky midnight blue ball gown that I'd only ever worn once, at a WBC charity gala. I pined to wear it again, but junior reporters on obscure beats like mine – covering European soccer, didn't get invited to many fancy events.

I looked at two or three floral summer dresses and a blue counterpart to the red dress I'd worn earlier, but none of them fit the bill. I felt like a teenager agonizing over her prom dress – discarding dress after perfectly suitable dress in the hope of finding THE ONE.

My eyes flicked back to the clock and I swore. "Fuck it," I cursed, grabbing a little black cocktail dress from the closet. It was a little more revealing than I'd have liked – even though it showed no cleavage and the material closed around my neck, it was still backless, tightly contoured my body and stopped halfway down my thigh.

Still, it'd have to do. I didn't bother stopping to think about whether, perhaps, my brain hadn't just chosen it at random. After all, there were plenty of nice, professional, conservative dresses left in the closet – I had to wear them in front of the camera every day…

I tossed the cocktail dress onto my bed and quickly dried off my hair. Luckily, between the time spent lying down masturbating and the minutes I'd spent deliberating over a dress, it had air-dried pretty considerably. I quickly brushed and straightened it and let the long blonde hair fall naturally to my shoulders.

I stood naked in front of the mirror and examined my body critically. I quickly moisturized, noticing with pride how my skin was beginning to glow with the hours spent tanning down on the beach at Barceloneta.

I stepped into a brand-new pair of blue and green panties and turned towards the mirror. I looked good – damn good.

"But you're not going to let Alex see any of this, are you?" I chided myself. It felt like an empty gesture, even in the quiet of my own bedroom.

I pulled the dress down over my head and checked myself in the mirror one last time, picking a couple of stray blonde hairs off the black cloth.

"Ready?" I asked the apparition staring back. She looked good – smart, pretty and professional. Sexy, too.

Satisfied, I ran outside onto the cobbled street outside my yellow sandstone apartment block and flagged down a black and yellow cab. "Can you take me to Sitges?"

"Sitges?" he repeated as I climbed into the back. "Sure thing. It'll take about twenty minutes,
esta bien
?"

"
Sí
." I smiled.

The driver looked at me in the mirror before pulling out into traffic. "You look beautiful, are you going on a date?" He grinned, as though he took pretty girls to soccer player's houses down Sitges all the time. Actually, he probably did…

I flushed. "It's not a date," I said forcefully, trying to convince myself as much as him. "It's for work…"