Game Night . . . and Day

Reggie

 

 

 

“YOU’LL NEVER KNOW.” I pursed my lips together, imagining Calder’s firm mouth against me.

“Wish me luck for the game tomorrow?”

“Good luck.”

“How about a kiss to go with that?”

“I need to get ready for bed first.”

“I like what you’re wearing just fine.”

I glanced at his groin, the blankets lifted higher than before by what had to be a gorgeous, thick and throbbing erection. “I can see that.”

His hand fell to his lap, and he curled his palm around the obvious hard jut of flesh.

Heat flashed through every part of my body, and my voice lowered. “I’ll be right back.”

Calder’s slow smile and rumble of laughter followed me from the room.

I took my time, brushing my hair, cleaning my face. I did my teeth, sighed as soon as my breasts bounced free of my bra. I kept the sexy thong on, and pulled another shirt I’d stolen from Calder’s dresser over my head. The warm white thermal almost swamped me. It fell to midthigh but clung to my hips and tits. My hard nipples rubbed against the cloth.

As soon as I got back to Calder’s bedroom, silver fire lit his irises and his whole expression sharpened.

“That’s another one of my shirts.” He pulled back a corner of the blankets.

“Yes.” I slinked toward him.

“I’m beginning to think you like feeling me against you.”

I slipped under the covers, pushing against his hot, hard body. “I’m beginning to think you’re arrogant.”

My belly brushed his abs, my smooth legs twined with his hair-roughened ones, and that ovary-exploding cock kicked against me.

“Christ. I want you.” His hands delved into my hair.

Mouth descending, he ravished me in a never-ending, soul-stealing kiss. The heat of his lips, the wet thrust of his tongue, the straight-up howling need shivering from his groans to my whimpers. I pressed against him, just as greedy, crying out when he bit at my bottom lip and went back to attacking and tonguing and licking until every single part of me burst into flames.

My neck craned back in his hold, I gasped when Calder parted wetly from my lips. “I’m not stopping you.”

Exhaling with a groan, he bent his forehead to mine. “If I don’t stop I’m gonna come in my shorts or come inside you.”

“I’m not stopping you,” I repeated, sliding my fingers down the carved landscape of his back.

Calder flipped over, his arms folding me close. His lips brushed my cheek. “Are you sleeping in here?”

“If you’ll have me.”

“That was never really the question, Reggie.”

****

Massive sexual tension mounted between Calder and me—sleeping together but not fucking—made every nerve in my body sing every single time I saw, talked to, thought about him.

I was wet—my pussy swollen and ready. He was hard—thick and rugged. And I wanted his cock inside me, goddammit. But I wasn’t about to do anything to put his final game of the regular season in jeopardy, especially when a win meant the Crush would make it to the playoffs.

The next morning I woke to the sound of the shower, so, so tempted to slide in behind him, grab his unreal ass, and lick all the way down his spine.

Instead I turned up the thermostat on my way to the kitchen. I saw he’d already started the coffee and set out two mugs side by side. After pouring a cup topped off by rich cream, I made a huge fluffy omelet, buttered hot toast, and sectioned some pink grapefruit.

By the time he entered, wearing a dark blue suit, smelling like a slice of hot sin, I was already at the table.

He dropped into his chair and started eating like a starved man before he picked up the napkin, wiped his mouth, and said, “I like you being here, Reggie.”

“I like being here.”

His eyes darkened, and a muscle at the corner of his jaw flexed. “I like you in my shirts.”

“I like wearing them.”

He shoveled in a few more massive forkfuls and downed some coffee. “You’re a good cook.”

“You’re shitty cook.” I ate a triangle of toast.

He barked out a laugh, loosening his tie with a finger. “True that. I can do eggs though.”

Ovaries. Combusting. So not helpful. So not touching that comment either.

Finishing a heaping helping then seconds before I’d even eaten half my breakfast, Calder took his plate and mug to the sink to rinse out before returning to me.

He set his hands on my shoulders, strong, long fingers caressing me. “Thank you for breakfast.”

“You’re welcome.” I swiveled to the side.

His eyes locked on my bare legs. He swallowed thickly. “That pass I gave you is for the rest of the season, you know. And don’t you have an appointment with Angela for your leg later?”

“Have you been peeking at my calendar?” I asked.

Calder—sweet man—had cleared it with Peyton. Arranging for me to get some physio at the Crush facilities with the head PT, Angela.

“I’ve definitely been peeking at your . . . calendar.” Heat flashed across his eyes, flashed through my body. “So I’ll see you at the game later?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world. You know that.”

Lacing his fingers through my hair, he angled my face up. The kiss he softly teased against my lips made me moan with pleasure, made me curl my fingers around his blazer.

A hot gasp escaped my throat when he pulled back. “And you’ll be here, home, after?”

“Yes, dear.”

“That’s so not funny.”

“Then why are you grinning?”

“Because maybe you’re my good luck charm.”

“Ahhhh. You finally figured it out.”

****

Carolina Crush vs. the New York Dragons. The team who’d smashed through the Crush just weeks ago to take a win from Carolina. And this was the final regular game before the playoffs were decided. Two days before Christmas and just a day before our flight back to Nevada.

The stadium in downtown Charleston was heaving. And I thought the Rouge women were crowd-pleasers? As I made my way down the arena toward what had to be some of the most expensive seats in the house, I smiled.

Frankie was there beside my chair. He wore another swishy suit, so not-game-day attire, and his black hair peaked off his forehead.

I sat down, stowing my purse between us. “Season tickets?”

“Maybe.” Frankie offered me a hot dog and a beer. “You and Malone?” He niggled at the raw truth like he had before.

“Maybe.”

“He’s a good guy, ya know?”

“Oh, I know. I always have.”

“Then why the maybe? What’s stopping you?”

“Family issues.”

Frankie crossed one leg at the knee. “Bet it don’t take a genius to know I had those too. Coming out as gay in the Burelli family meant my dad kicked me out. Except he sent his consigliere to cut me off.” He tipped a flask toward his mouth. “Good thing he didn’t kneecap me, madon.”

Tucking my fingers around his forearm, I bent my lips toward his ear. “I can already tell you’re a good man, Frankie. And you deserve a good man of your own.”

“How’d you get so smart?”

“I have battle bruises of my own.”

“Bet you do.” He passed me his handkerchief before I even realized tears shined in my eyes. “Careful now. You’re creasing my suit.”

“Calder has some weird friends.” I dabbed my eyes.

“You’re about to find out just how fuggin’ freaky they are.” He pointed to the field.

“Oh my God. What the hell is that?” I watched the Crush cheerleaders prance to the forefront in time to The Black Eyed Peas “Let’s Get It Started”.

Calder Malone right in the middle of the formation, the big center unmistakable when he nearly busted his buns through the spangly booty shorts.

“Guess you ain’t heard about the throwing competition. Looks like Malone lost this week.”

“You know about this ritual?”

“Hush, doll. It’s just getting started.”

Holy hot damn, it was.

Calder punched his hands to the air then threw a cheerleader into the air before catching her, going down on one knee before he spun her up and shook everything he had.

“Oh. My. God.”

“Hot, right?” Frankie passed me the popcorn. “Why do you think I really come to these games?”

The song went rap heavy and total badass. Calder whipped his head around, shamelessly shaking his ass.

“Screw the popcorn. I need a stiff drink,” I muttered.

“Or a stiff dick.”

“Damn.”

“Right?”

Calder Malone in that itty-bitty outfit swiveled, swished, and pumped his hips. His muscles gleamed, and he better not touch another cheerleader because I was about ready to jump the barrier to jump him.

I’d never seen him have so much fun.

I was pretty much in love.

I almost fell off my seat when he kissed his fingers and pointed them straight at me.

Oh, he was getting it started all right.

“Dancing’s my gig,” I whispered.

“Not anymore, doll.” Frankie wolf-whistled with two fingers between his teeth.

The song amped even higher, Crush cheerleaders surrounding Calder. He led them across the field in hip-shaking hilarity, glittery eyelashes and all.

Stomping to my feet with the rest of the crowd, I shouted at the top of my lungs.

Frankie jumped up beside me, raising his red foam finger. “I think they oughtta start calling him Baller, not for nuthin’.”

The cheerleaders ended in pyramid formation, Calder pretty much balancing two women on his arms, his chest pumping, thighs braced.

“You don’t know the half of it.” Unf. Girth Brooks or not, Calder had it going on.

“Lucky broad.”

“You don’t know the half of it.”