Linebacker's Second Chance (Bad Boy Ballers) (43 page)

“I like the way you think, sexy,” he says, and I cover his mouth with mine. I don't want to talk, I just want to kiss. He feels so different from most of the other guys I've been with—huge and built like a Mack truck—except beautiful.
 

When we get to his place, I'm a bit surprised to find out that it's not seedy and cheap like I pictured at all. It's quite beautiful. Not ostentatious, but clean and modern. There is nothing inexpensive about it at all. Lover boy has money. Serious money. Maybe he's successful, or a trust fund kid. Doesn't matter I decide, it’s none of my business. I’m only here for one thing.

He pushes me down on the couch. “I'm going to give you the best head you've ever had in your life,” he boasts with a saucy grin. I watch him undo my jeans and slide them off, revealing my lacy thong I wore just in case the night went as I had hoped. He groans, feeling the flimsy fabric between strong fingers and trails his tongue around the edges where lace meets skin. It's making me wild, seeing him between my legs, teasing me mercilessly. He pierces me with his impossibly blue eyes, before pulling my panties to the side and licking my whole slit from bottom to top, making me gasp. His rough tongue laps at my lips before he takes my clit ever so gently in his mouth and sucking at it softly. I'm squirming, squealing.
 

As he swirls his tongue around my clit, suddenly I feel him push in with his finger, and before long he coaxes a loud moan from me as the energy coils inside of me, ready to break into a thousand stars. Then it happens, I come, but he won't release me. He keeps the feeling going and I thrash around on the bed until I've come three times in short succession.

“Now you're ready for me,” he growls, and I can only whimper in response. I've never simultaneously felt so worn out, and still so ready for more. He climbs on top of me, his massive cock in one hand.
 

“You want this?” he asks.
 

“God, yes,” I breathe. I wanted it as soon as I laid eyes on him.
 

“You sure?” He teases me with the head of his cock, and our eyes meet again. There's something more in those eyes, a depth that I don't expect from a one-night thing. Not that I'm some kind of expert. It's been a long time since I've even been in a man's bed, but when I imagine having some kind of affair, I don't expect to see a real soul inside.
 

He quickly sheathes himself then thrusts inside me, slowly at first, and then pushes all the way in, and I clutch him. It feels so good, so hard and unrelenting. I wrap my legs around him and our hips meet and collide, until he withdraws to the last inch and thrusts all the way in again. I'd almost forgotten how good sex could be. Every thrust makes me feel more and more whole, more and more myself, and more deserving of pleasure.
 

I cry out, wildly and freely. I don't have to pretend. I can be exactly who I am around him, because I don't want anything more from him than this—his hot cock and strong arms around me. He moans along with me, and with every move of his expert hips we move closer and closer, until we both come together; he sends jets of his hot seed inside me, and my body quivers and convulses around him.
 

When we finish, he lays down beside me, pushes a strand of hair off of my face, and kisses me tenderly. Then his eyes close, and with his arms wrapped around me, he falls asleep, his breathing changing.
 

I remain awake in the throes of afterglow from the most satisfying experience I've ever had, before snuggling closer to him and falling asleep as well.
 

* * *

When the first light hits my eyes, searing straight into my brain, I can't figure out where I am at first. All I know is that my tongue is so fuzzy it feels like squirrels nested inside my mouth and my head is pounding. Then I realize there's a big, tatted, meaty arm around me. I turn my head and see him. The face of the man I banged last night. It's all coming back to me: the dancing, the drinks, the alley. The cab ride. Oh God, the sex. It was amazing.

I turn and look at his face again. The dark hair, the stubble a little longer than yesterday night, the fringe of eyelashes, the strong jaw. He's definitely beautiful, and also definitely trouble. I need to get out of here.
 

Carefully extricating myself from under his arm, so as not to awaken him, I slide out of the bed. Luckily its one of those mattresses that feels like a soft pillow wherever you lay, and I don't bounce him awake. I try a door, and it's a huge walk-in closet. Oh yeah, forgot he's rich. The next door leads into a sumptuous marble bathroom, all black stone and mirrors—in which I can see my shame all too clearly.
 

It's that moment that I realize I’m supposed to be at work for my first day. My phone must be in my pocket or purse, and I have no idea what time it is. Oh Lord, Odell, what have you done? You're always such a good girl! I splash soap and water over my face to rid myself of the raccoon eyes that are the remains of last night's makeup, and dry on the plushest, softest towel I've ever felt. The way my head feels I want to curl up in this towel and try to die, but I can't. Gotta get home stat. I hope it's early enough I can just rush out and grab a taxi. It's time to get out of here.
Slipping out the door as quietly as I can, I see that lover boy is still sleeping. Perfect. I slide my jeans on, grab my purse and tiptoe as soundlessly as I can out of the nicest apartment I've ever been in. So strange when he's so rough and ready. Who is this guy?

Click here to buy or borrow Quarterback’s Surprise Baby…

Love the Corbett Brothers? Check out another preview…

A Preview of
Saint
by Imani King

******

“Come on Trixie.” The little girl—
my
little girl—twirls around in circles, as she always does. Except today, she has one glittery ballerina slipper on, and the other one is who-knows-where. Really, it’s anyone’s guess. Her gold-blond hair bounces as she twirls, her curls wild and natural and utterly free. I didn’t ask for any particular race when I selected a sperm donor—it didn’t sit well with me to choose anything related to what someone looked like. But her daddy—her donor—must be a damn good looking man. Sometimes when I think of him, I imagine him with blond hair and blue eyes, but who knows? He could be anyone, and that’s just the way things are.

Trixie’s deep gold-brown eyes flash in my direction. “Come on, Mommy! Dance with me!”

I cross my arms. “And what are you going to tell my boss when I get into work? That I’m late because I had to have a dance with my daughter?”

“Hmmm... yes. I think that’s what you should tell her.” She nods her head dramatically, opening and closing her mouth as she nods. She raises her arms up high and takes a bow.

And that man—he must be something of a show-off. Lord knows Trixie doesn’t get it from me.
 

“And what are we going to say to Teacher Maddie? Are we going to say, ‘Trixie was late to kindergarten because she needed to dance?’”

“Yep!” Trixie says. She runs over to me and pulls me into the middle of our living room and starts wiggling, dancing around and laughing. I might be crazy, but I can’t help but join in, letting my hips sway in my pencil skirt that’s probably a little too tight these days.
 

“Well okay, then. I guess we have a little bit of time before we’re really, really late. By the way, where is your shoe?”
 

She shrugs and keeps dancing.

After a minute, Trixie comes up to me and hugs me hard, looking up at me with her huge eyes, framed with those beautiful long lashes. “Mommy?”
 

My heart beats fast. Not that question again. Not the one about daddy, or the one about Kellan, who left six months ago. “Yes, sweetheart?”

“What does ‘late’ mean?”
 

Relieved, I laugh along with her and pick her up, crouching to look under the red sofa in the corner of our apartment. It’s where all of our shoes go to die. Absently, Trixie takes a lock of my hair and plays with it, her little fingers pulling pieces loose from my carefully fixed style. “Find the shoe, Mom,” she whispers dramatically in my ear. There’s a silver flash, and I reach under and among the dust bunnies to grab a silver glitter ballerina slipper.
 

“Got it,” I say. And then we’re out the door, just barely late for where we need to be going.
 

As we speed down from Goleta to the Montessori kindergarten in downtown Santa Barbara, I breathe deeply and sigh again. Trixie is in the back, happily rocking out to the old playlist on my iPod Shuffle from 2007. Crazy that thing still works, and it’s even crazier that I make a damn good salary but I have so little money after rent and school that we can’t afford a used iPad for Trixie. I search myself for a minute, remembering what it was like to live in the middle of nowhere in Nevada. Cheaper, yes. But there were no walks to the beach at night time, no trips to the waterfalls, no parade of trick-or-treaters on Halloween. No kindergarten that would take a four-year-old, even though she could read chapter books.
 

“It wasn’t much of a life. But here? This is paradise.” I repeat it to myself like a mantra as we roll into the Sunrise Montessori parking lot, as I park my beater Honda Civic between a Lexus and a BMW. If only a student adviser at UCSB made enough for us to actually fit in in this town... that would be something. An acceptable price to pay for paradise, I tell myself.
 

Trixie pulls off her headphones. “What does ‘ironic’ mean?”
 

My little genius. Always collecting words.
 

“Listening to Alanis this morning?”
 

She nods.

“I guess it means... you expect one thing, like really expect it. And then something else happens.”
Kind of. Right?

“I’ll think about that one.”

“You do, that Trixie. All right, we’ve got to get out of the car really fast, like lightning fast, and we’ll run into the school.”

“Why?” I turn around to watch Trixie. She’s pressing the button over and over again on the Shuffle, and she hasn’t even reached down to unbuckle herself yet. I reach back and unbuckle her and then hurl my own body out of the car and rush over to open her door. There are so many, many advantages to having a brilliant, dreamy, artistic little girl. But being on time or ever getting anything done--I’ve had to let those things go. I gently lift Trixie up from her seat. If it were a day we weren’t going to be late, well, I’d encourage her to think through the getting to school process herself.
 

“Beatrix Adelind Landon, I do so love you,” I say, brushing through her curls with my fingers and helping her get her ladybug backpack on.
 

“And I love you, Mama,” she says, and gives me a big squeeze around my legs, refusing to let go even when I start walking. As we walk into the door, she lets go and squeezes my hand instead. “You know, Mama,” she says, pulling me down the hall. “I asked you about if I have a daddy—”

My heart sinks. “Everyone has a daddy, sweetheart. Mom just did things a little differently.”
 

“I know, Mama. Don’t interrupt me.” She pauses, and looks up at me. “Please.”

I suppress a laugh. At least she’s learned one thing from me. “Okay. Go on.”

“I know he doesn’t live with us, but I might like to meet him someday. I think he must have hair like me.” She pats her blond curls, that stand out in beautiful, stark contrast to her deep tan skin. I have people stop me on the street stop to just admire her--and thank God, I’m not back home in South Carolina, where people ask intrusive bullshit questions and blatantly ask about her race. Another reason I’m grateful California hasn’t yet burnt up and fallen into the sea.
 

“He must. To tell the truth, Trixie, like I said before, I don’t know. He must be someone special, is all I know. Because you are. Why don’t we leave off meeting him for a while?”

“Why’s that?”

Because I don’t want to be belittled. Or disappointed. Or worse yet, angry and hateful toward the man who gave me this gift. And besides, I think he marked that he didn’t want to be contacted on his file, so we couldn’t find him. I hope she’ll drop it before then. “Because I want to--talk to him first—and make sure he’s a nice sort of man.”

“Not like Kellan.”

“No, not like Kellan was in the end. He was nice to you—but he didn’t have a lot of nice words for Mama, did he?”
 

So much for being a single mother by choice, I think. Kellan fell into our lives, and I thought we could be a family. But here I am, back where I started. And everything is still okay.

“No Mama,” Trixie says, shuffling from side to side.
 

Teacher Maddie pokes her head out of the door of Trixie’s classroom. “Helena?” She looks nicely in my direction and smiles. “It’s time for our morning meeting. Does Trixie have her snack ready?”