Chapter 5

AS SOON AS HARPER came back without Addy, Ford made his move. He had to get her alone. Either he left the room and sought her out or he stayed and punched out the guy Harper had set Addy up with. So the accountant hadn’t done anything except be in the wrong place at the wrong time; Ford was all for giving him a chance to stay out of the way of his fist.

He should have put two and two together when he heard her name, but she and Babineaux had divorced before Ford landed on the Cajun Rage sixteen months ago. Of course before that, everyone had known who she was—who wouldn’t know about Addison Williams, the first woman who wasn’t a negative size four to be featured on the cover of Sports Illustrated’s Swimwear Issue? She was already a big deal, but that spread rocketed her into every heterosexual male’s spank bank. During college, he’d had a picture of her inside his locker. She had helped him pass many a lonely night and last night she’d done it again.

With just her voice.

But there was more to it than that. Sure, she was a knockout with flawless olive skin, bright moss-green eyes, honey-brown waves that fell over her shoulders (he’d guessed wrong about her being a brunette), and more curves than the Daytona Speedway. All that was gravy to her wry humor and obvious passion about her career. He loved hearing how fired up she got about it—after spending years fending off women looking to use him as a meal ticket, Addy’s independence and comfort in her own skin was more attractive to him than her perfect set of measurements.

Pity this was a disaster in the making. Ex or not, she was still one of Babineaux’s Babes, as his harem of women were labeled by the sports media, even if her membership had expired. While playing for Houston a couple years ago, Ford had spotted her in the owner’s box at rink-level. His breath had whooshed from his body at seeing his schoolboy fantasy in the flesh, then trapped in his lungs at seeing Babineaux with a hand on her leg, announcing to all that she belonged to him.

She’d looked uncomfortable. Lonely.

Or perhaps, that was wishful thinking and plenty revisionist because even then, Ford would rather have been the one possessing her.

So she was his boss’s ex. Babe Prime. He didn’t know what happened between them beyond the man’s inability to satisfy his woman in the bedroom. What else he knew? He had to talk to her alone.

He hovered near the staircase for a few moments, expecting that was the best way to catch her, and it wasn’t long before he was rewarded. She emerged from a room farther down the hallway, frowning when she saw him.

He moved to meet her. “Where are you staying?”

“Here.” She grimaced, probably not intending to be so forthcoming, and that made him smile. With a nervous motion, she smoothed her hands over her skirt, a voluminous crimson affair that hit above her knees.

It would look mighty fine up around her hips.

He gentled her back into the room she’d exited, a bathroom, and shut the door behind him.

“We need to talk, Addy.”

Green almond-shaped eyes flashed fire. “No, we don’t. I told you nothing would happen again. It wouldn’t have anyway, and it especially won’t now.”

“Not sure I can be satisfied with that answer.” He leaned in and inhaled her. Something sweet and floral. Very sexy. “Can you?”

“The others . . . we have to get back . . .” She loosed a growl of annoyance, tinged with something like helplessness. “You need to let me go.”

Hell. He wasn’t in the habit of forcing unwanted attentions on a woman. Crowding her like this was inappropriate, so he stepped back, creating a clear path to exit.

“I’m sorry. I just—Addy, I needed to touch you. See if you were real. Imagining your taste has left me with no appetite for anything else. I’m sure the dinner is great, but damned if I know.”

Thoughts chased each other across her face before finally settling on determination. Shit, he’d blown it by coming on so strong.

Her hand strayed to the doorknob, a subtle shake in it, and she paused. With her other hand, she placed gentle fingertips on his chest, then flattened her palm against him. Like she was checking if he was real. Her heat through his shirt burned him with her brand.

“This is all wrong,” she whispered, her eyes wild with emotion. “Do you realize you’re putting your career in jeopardy or,” her brow crimped, “or is this some weird strategy to get one over on my ex?”

Anger flared. He grasped her hips and pulled her close until she was right against his “strategy.”

“Does that feel like I care about my career?”

The words coming out of his mouth made no sense. In this moment, there was no Cup or Rajuns or Michael Babineaux. There was only her.

She was breathing heavily, the rise of her breasts straining against a top that covered her all too well, but fired his imagination and memories of her as the pin-up of his fantasies. He wanted those tits filling his mouth until he came from her taste.

Bright eyes beating with desire, she strained closer, as if she couldn’t help the movements of her body.

“Fuck, Addy, what are you doing to me?”

“I—I can’t think around you.”

Neither could he, and he suspected clarity would not help this situation any. He grasped her ass and yanked her hard against him, then he made sure his mouth gave her something to think about. Her lips moved softly against his, then opened to accept him, her tongue’s velvet slide whipping up spirals of need throughout his body. The taste of her blew his mind, a million times better than his brain could have imagined.

And he’d spent close to twenty-four hours in a fever of imagining.

She clutched at his button-down. He’d debated getting dressed up and now he was glad he had, because a woman like this would be used to a sharp-dressed man. She wouldn’t stand for a scruffy skater on her arm.

Not sure why that thought had even entered his dumb brain, he aimed for dumbing down his brain even further in the pursuit of mindless pleasure. The kiss dragged him in, pushed him under, ruined him for all others.

They parted, both of them panting hard. Her full, soft breasts smashed against his chest. He liked that she was tall and they aligned in all the right places.

“What are we—? Oh, God.” Those eyes shone like big headlights.

“Call me Ford, Bright Eyes. Say my name.”

“No.” She dug into his shoulders, an additional marking. Every touch was a barb under his skin that couldn’t be detached. “No names. No cutsey monikers. It’s bad enough what happened last night. There wasn’t supposed to be a follow-up. It was supposed to end on a nice note and—”

“A nice note, Addy? You’re calling the best orgasms we’ve ever had nice?”

She canted her head, wryness in the motion. “Speak for yourself, Callaghan.”

His last name, but a victory nonetheless. He loved how she was trying her best to stand up to him, grasping at the straws of her slipping control. She wouldn’t be a pushover, not like the women who hung out at bars close to the arena looking to get laid by a champion.

“Tell me that wasn’t the hottest thing you’ve ever done, Addy.” He backed her against the vanity. As befitting a fixture in a mansion belonging to Harper Chase, it looked plenty roomy for what he’d love to do. Marble, too, so all class. “Tell me touching yourself while I stroked one out in the dark didn’t take you to places you’ve never traveled before.”

She bit down on her lip, let the moment ride. Like she was thinking back to her résumé of orgasms and weighing last night’s against them.

Maybe that one? No, not as intense.

Maybe that time when he . . . ? No, not as explosive.

Maybe the . . . ? Oh, not even close.

Too fucking right. He couldn’t help the smile that conquered his face.

“Quit looking so damn smug.”

He curled a hand around her neck. “Ain’t smug if I’ve got the tools to back it up, now, is it?” A roll of his hips against hers made it clear he had the tools.

She groaned at the connection, at the blatant display of his need. This is how much I want you, baby.

Pulling at his collar, she drew him close to her mouth. “I’m going to regret this—” And then she ended that sentence with a searching kiss filled with heat and not an ounce of regret.

Backed-into-a-corner Addy kissed pretty damn fine, but all-in Addy was another thing entirely. A force of nature, a typhoon in this tiny space.

Another hook into his soul.

Fuck. Me.

“Please. Oh, God, please, I need . . .” He thought she meant for him to touch her, but she grasped at the zipper to his jeans and pulled it down. She was that desperate to get her hands on his dick and hell if that didn’t make him as hard as the marble he wanted to fuck her on.

Her hand shook as she yanked his jeans south, his boxer briefs with them. He didn’t help her, even though every urge in him wanted to hurry this along. The winning urge, however, wanted her to make the decisions. No one would be confused later about the choice made here.

His would be the name on her lips when she came. His touch alone would bring her the satisfaction she craved.

She gripped the erection she’d sprung free and inhaled a wobbly breath.

“This is what I missed last night.”

Christ, she was touching him at last. “It missed you. Needed you. Imagined your hand stroking hard while I tongued between your legs. Reality is a million times better.”

Her eyes flipped up from watching her hand do exactly what he’d imagined. Blood surged through his body at what he saw in her gaze. The power she harnessed, now that she’d accepted his desire for her, was an unstoppable force.

With her eyes locked on his, she continued to work him, using the pre-come beading from his crown to ease the glide of her soft hands.

Yeah, reality was beating fantasy into submission.

“Addy,” he grunted, then yanked at the folds of her skirt, pushing it up over her hips while at the same time seating her on the vanity. The pretty cream fabric shielding her core wasn’t wispy or transparent, yet he knew it wouldn’t hold up under his assault. He could rip it but it felt like some sort of sacrilege.

She was watching him carefully, and he hazarded a guess why. “Your design?”

“Yes. Seamless hipster with lace trim.” She urged him forward, her hand still gripping him, his cock on her leash, and painted a line of his pre-cum along the fabric, right where the crease of her pussy would be if she were bare. There was something unbelievably sensual about the fact this was happening against a beautiful thing she had created. Those sexy panties she’d designed, the ones covering her curves, now wore his mark.

It felt like they were making something together.

“Jesus.” The sensation of the soft, silky material against his cockhead was exquisite. Or maybe it was the fact she was dragging it back and forth, using him to get herself stoked.

He was going to blow if he didn’t get inside her soon. “Now.”

Maneuvering her body to get better access, he dragged the panties down and it was just as she’d described, a little landing strip, but better, so much better, because she was here consuming his every sense.

“Tell me you have a condom.”

“I have a condom.” He un-pocketed his wallet and extracted the foil. While he smoothed it on, she watched approvingly.

“Take off your shirt,” she whispered, and because he would have done a jig if she asked him to, he peeled it off.

Her hands flew to his pecs, coasted across his shoulders. “So big,” she murmured. She trailed soft fingertips down his arms until she reached his hands. Against his left, she measured her own palm. It barely made up half the surface area of his hand.

“I hoped they’d be big. I hoped you’d be big everywhere.” Her sleepy-lidded gaze dropped to his jutting cock, huge and ready for her. It felt bigger than it ever had, engorged by the sight before him and the need pumping through his body like rocket fuel.

With the big hands she liked, he pulled her to the edge of the vanity, nudging against her slick entrance before he drove in deep and true. Just the sheer greedy-hot grip of her dragged a roar from him.

“Oh God, oh God, oh God,” she panted.

He withdrew and plunged again, balls deep, mesmerized as her eyes exploded into mini-suns of passion. Alternating between watching her and watching his cock disappear inside her was incomparable. Need had a catch on him, keeping him in a state of “fuck her to oblivion or die in the process.” Either result would be fine as long as he could feel her walls milk him to an explosive end.

This was where he wanted to be. This was what he’d been holding out for, the connection he’d longed for. This. And still, it didn’t feel deep enough. He cupped one perfect ass cheek, strayed his hand to the back of her thigh, and lifted to increase the angle of penetration. Only an extra inch, but it sent her eyes rolling to the back of her head.

“Jesus, that’s . . .” Her admiration was cut off by another punishing thrust. So deep. So tight. The slick sound of juicy suction filled his ears, as did the heightening octaves of her groans.

Watching that plunge home again and again, each withdrawal showing his dick coated with her desire for him, made him wilder than he’d ever been for a woman. Was it the taboo they were breaking? Who they were to each other? Where they had chosen to fuck hard, wet, and deep?

As if there’d been a choice.

Because there wasn’t for him. That voice and dry wit of hers had drawn him in and nothing could have stopped him from joining his body to hers in reality. Not her identity. Not a dinner table spat about gender politics that turned him on more than off. Not this inescapable breach of guest etiquette.

He wanted her, he was having her, and he would have her again.

“Please. Ford. Too much,” she moaned. “Too much.”

Placing the heel of his hand over her clit, he pressed with an upward stroke that sent her crashing over with a scream that must have shattered the chandelier in Harper’s salon. The resulting clamp around his cock almost killed him—he held on a moment to delay because it kept him buried in heaven, and then he let go. Pounding the orgasm out of her to prolong her high, and taking his own as a reward for bringing them both so much pleasure.