Tackled by the King: A Bad Boy Sports Romance (43 page)

I flicked off the dying ember on the end of my cigarette and tossed the roach into the ashtray. Popping a mint between my lips, I pulled open the door and headed back into the restaurant. As I closed into our table, my brows knitted at the tormented look on Jolene's face.

“– Ma'am, if you could just please calm down. Who? No, my name's Jolene Knight, I'm his new assistant – excuse me? I don't think I heard you right. You're gonna what now?”

“Jolene. Give me my phone – now.”

“Hold on a second, Ma'am. I have Mr. Hastings right here for you,” Jolene sputtered, handing the phone over to me.

I ended the call without another word and pulled back my seat, tearing my eyes off the screen of my phone to look her square in the eye.

“Sir? I think that was Ms. Fairchild –”

“I know who that was,” I snapped, slamming my phone face-down on the table. “I've been avoiding her calls for a reason.”

“Sorry, I don't know what I was thinking,” said Jolene quietly, shifting uneasily in her chair. “It's just – your phone's been ringing off the hook. I heard it buzzing in your pocket and I thought it was an emergency – it won't happen again.”

Her eyes fell to her plate, twirling the Schezuan chicken noodles around her chopsticks and stuffing it into her mouth. I cleared my throat. Reaching for my knife and fork, I began cutting into the grilled, juicy lobster tail smothered in butter. For the rest of the meal, not another word was spoken.

Chapter Six: Jolene

My lips stretched out to a wide yawn as I reached behind my back to unhook my bra. Feeling the sweet release of my breasts, I yanked out my straps from the tank top and flung it over the stuffed armchair next to my queen-sized bed. I fluffed my pillows behind me and sunk into the cool, supple cushion stuffed with down feathers. It felt like dozens of baby angel hands caressing my back. But seriously, knowing me, if I had these bad boys at home, I would most likely never get anything done ever again.

As I rolled my head around in circles, I started up my sleeping laptop. The flickering screen stabilized, displaying the half-finished last chapter of The Bookkeeper. Cracking my knuckles, I positioned my fingers over my keyboard. I stared at the blinking cursor on my fresh paragraph, sighing as my mind drew a complete blank.

Frowning, I looked up from my screen at the abrupt, sharp knocking on my door.

“Hello?” I called out. Swinging my legs off the bed, I picked up the checkered boyshorts on top of my open luggage and stumbled into them. Kicking the top of my luggage close to conceal the frightening mound of overflowing clothes, I jogged over to the door.

“Can I help – oh, hey, Mr. Hastings.”

My fingers tightened around the doorknob as I held the door open, gazing back at Bradley in surprise. I don't think even the media's ever caught him in anything other than his sleek collection of suits, let alone little old me. Wearing only a plain black shirt, his toned arms bulked out of his sleeves, and his muscled chest was visible through the fitted fabric. I took the thick binder from his hands, quickly turning away from the unfairly alluring eye-candy.

“Sorry, I know it's a little late, but I wanted to give you the files for my meeting next week at Syracuse before I forget.”

“Of course,” I nodded, forcing a smile onto my face. “It's okay, I wasn't asleep yet or anything. Is there anything else I can do for you, sir?”

“I – uh, yes, I mean, no,” said Bradley slowly, scratching the side of the dark, manicured beard on his angular jawline. “Listen, I needed to apologize about earlier. As you probably know by now, I'm in the middle of a divorce, and let's just say it's getting real ugly. My lawyer's advised me not to speak to her without him present. You had no way of knowing that, and I could've tackled that with a little more professionalism.”

“Not at a problem at all,” I brushed it off nervously, the tittering pitch of my laughter much higher than I'd intended. “There was this boutique I used to work in, and every time an unsuspecting customer bearing even the slightest bit of resemblance to the woman my employer's husband left her for, my boss would throw this huge, screaming tantrum in the middle of the shop. Now that's unprofessional.”

“Right...” said Bradley slowly, his lips faintly smirking. “Oh, and do you have the meeting minutes for tomorrow ready?”

“Yup, would you like to come in? I've got it printed and it's in here somewhere...” I said, pulling the door open.

The door to my room clicked shut behind him. He trailed in after me, stopping by the table sitting next to the 50-inch flatscreen. I unzipped the separate work trolley I kept free of my messy crap, rifling through a marked folder for the sheet of paper.

“What are these?”

“Huh?”

Craning my neck in Bradley's direction, my face fell at the erotic sketches strewn across the table in front of him. I leaped to my feet, stuffing the folder back into the trolley as I raced towards him. My arms bunglingly swept across the table to gather my sketches like a thrashing child in over their head at the deep-end of the pool. I paid no mind to the papers sticking out at strange bits and ends. Grabbing them by the bunch, I yanked open the drawer and jammed them inside.

“Those are really good. What are they for?”

I softened at the gentle, but husky sincerity marked in his voice. Combing a loose strand of hair behind my ears, I approached the topic cautiously. “I write erotic fiction – I've got a small following online. The sketches are a recent addition to my blogs, and I've been testing out some book covers to a story I'm hoping to publish for sale sometime in the near future.”

“Interesting,” Bradley mused as he leaned against my nightstand, his arms locking over his chest. “I never would've guessed.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” I probed, slightly vexed as I sat myself down on the edge of the bed.

“Nothing. I guess it's those nice, girl-next-door types you gotta watch out for, huh?”

Seeing his indisputable gaze lagging on my chest, my cheeks reddened. I could feel the tangible weight of his eyes on the light browns of my nipples through the see-through fabric of my top. The tips poked out my flimsy fabric, hardened from the chill of my air-conditioned room.

“Nice?” I repeated, my voice spiking in my agitation. “I'll have you know, I've written over 20 steamy short stories and I've got a whole lot more coming. I can be downright naughty if I wanna...Crap, I mean –”

“I didn't mean it that way. Not that it's a bad thing,” said Bradley, chortling as he lowered his lashes. “And what do you do for...inspiration to these 'naughty' stories of yours?”

I gulped, my dancing pulse on overdrive as a trickle of sweat dribbled down the small of my back. There was an undeniable fire in his sensually narrowed eyes as he glowered at me. That simple way he dragged those roving eyes deliberately down my body was enough to moisten the crotch of my panties. Gulping down the scratchy uncertainty wedged in my throat, I rose from the bed. The delicate fuzz of the carpet tickled under my feet as I crept towards him, consciously willing my shaking knees from buckling.

“I guess I could always show you,” I said, pulling away from his ear. The cartilage flushed pink from the breath of my whispers. “I'm feeling a little inspired right now...”

The tip of my nose brushed softly against his. I let my parted lips hover over his for one drawn-out moment. And as my fingers traced the delicious, masculine outlines of his firm chest, I latched onto his bottom lip and began nibbling. His hushed groan was stifled, our kiss intensifying. His tongue swirled around the roof of my mouth, tasting me hungrily before colliding with mine.

We tumbled backwards and collapsed on my bed. Fueled by nearly nonexistent inhibitions from my 6-month dry spell, I wriggled out from underneath him and mounted him. I pulled off his shirt and threw it over my shoulder, my nails leaving faint, pinkish imprints down his chest as I pawed at his tanned, rippling flesh.

“Whoa, slow down there –”

Whipping my hair over my shoulder and out of my face, a mischievous smile unfurled on my lips. I wrenched his belt buckle open and swiftly unbuttoned his jeans, spitting into my palm. My wiggling fingers slipped beneath the waistband of his boxers, my toes curling at the muscly thickness of his cock. I stroked up and down his swelling length steadily, my lubricated hands gliding easily against his growing pole.

“I'm sorry...did you still want me to slow down?”

He panted, breathing heavily through his mouth as he bit down on the side of his lip. Grabbing hold of my hand stroking up and down his warm, throbbing cock, he shook his head slowly.

“Didn't think so.”

I removed his pants and boxers and lay them across the ground as he kicked off his shoes and socks. Stripping off my tank top and boyshorts, I clambered onto the bed and crawled on top of him. His lips puckered over my nipple, sucking violently as he tweaked the other with his twisting fingers. Writhing under the fervent, almost painful massaging of my breasts, I pulled him close to me, seating him upright. I extended my left arm, pulling open the drawer of the nightstand and groped around for the complimentary condom. I ripped the wrapper off with my teeth, rolling the slimy skin over the length of his quivering, rock-hard dick, just waiting to feel inside me.

The bristles of his bush rubbed lightly against my thighs as I held his cock, guiding the tip against my sopping wet folds. As my yearning hole gaped open, my tight walls hugging the whole length of his cock, a soft, purring moan toppled out my lips.

“Fuck, Jolene...is this what you wanted? Having your boss balls deep inside of you? God, you're so tight, you're gonna make me –”

“Not yet,” I breathed, managing a wink as I began riding him, my thighs straddled around his sides. “You don't have to tell me twice.”

The sheets wrinkled in my fists as I rocked back and forth on his dick like a determined jockey who's fallen behind second-place. Feeling his fingers kneading against the trembling button of my clit, my back arched forward. His free hand manhandled my ass cheeks, his pinkie wandering between my ass crack.

“Fuck, a little to the left...right...there...”

I moaned, the rhythmic grinding of my hips faltering as a surge of my juices flooded down my thighs, soaking his muscle. My knees giving in, I fell next to him in a shivering pile of fatigued bliss. There was a soft shlicking sound as he unwrapped his cock, discarding the soiled condom in tissue paper, and chucking it into the wastebasket across the room.

“Don't worry, I've got three alarms set for tomorrow morning,” I said, peeking at the clock on the nightstand. I pulled out another condom from the drawer, turning towards him with a glint in my eye. “You ready for another round?”

Chapter Seven: Jolene

“I'm home!” I called out, kicking the door shut behind me.

“Vivienne?” I singsonged, towing the trolleys next to the coffee table. I pulled the strap of my duffel bag over my head and thew it onto the couch alongside my purse. “Hello? You home?”

I stepped into my slippers by the shoe rack next to the door. Walking into the kitchen, I squinted at the scribbled message on the whiteboard clipped to our fridge.

“Early audition for Home Depot commercial. Tell me all about it when I get back. Wish me luck. XOXO, Vivienne.”

I grinned at the image of Vivienne in the classic neon-orange apron, strutting poses and somehow making her dopey uniform work to flatter her figure. I pulled open the fridge and cracked open a lime soda, retiring back to the couch. Embracing Vivienne's absence, I stretched my legs over the coffee table. My slouching shoulders loosening, I exhaled contentedly and switched on the television, flipping the channels for some trashy daytime drama to kill the rest of my afternoon.

Shifting in my seat, the soreness in my thighs brought a giddy smile to my lips. In all seriousness, my arms were pinched pink – I still couldn't believe it myself. The three-day business trip to Shanghai was a hot and hazy blur of raunchy, animal sex. The fact that I managed to muster the strength to roll out of bed on my first alarm each morning to ensure everything went according to schedule still amazed me. I've always somehow succeeded in pulling shit together last minute all my life – I guess a little sense of urgency was all I ever needed when it came to meeting deadlines and fulfilling necessary responsibilities. On the other hand, if you asked me to find you a pair of matching socks from my room, you'd be shit out of luck. How that worked was a modern mystery still yet to be solved.

One thing I despised the most was to be left hanging. Bradley wasn't the most expressive of men I've been with, either, so that didn't exactly help my case. I had no clue what this meant to the nature of our relationship – was there a relationship? Sure, between the insane rounds of dirty, passionate sex, we bonded over a couple of complaints about light family problems and TV shows we mutually enjoyed, but that was probably small talk. He never mentioned anything, but of course, I assumed our trysts beneath the sheets would remain between us. I mean, I wasn't gonna tell Vivienne, but she'd probably weasel it out of me at some point. I sighed, pressing the rim of the soda can onto my lips.

Just as I was fully settled into the couch, dropping a couple of IQ points as I watched two angry strippers beating each other with their own wigs on Springer's stage, my phone began ringing. I glanced down at the screen, frowning at the private number. My forehead creased warily as the call dropped, returning to the home screen. I tapped into the new message from an unidentified number, my eyes narrowing as I reread the vaguely worded text over and over again.