Once inside my car, Violet lets out a big breath. “He’s a little, how shall we say, aggressive.”

  “Understatement of the year.” I drag a hand through my hair and heave a sigh.

  “You okay?”

  I shake my head. Then I nod. Yes. No. Maybe. I rub the back of my neck. “Just wish I knew what was coming next.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “I get that this is part of the business, but I don’t know where I’ll be next year,” I say, turning to meet her eyes. A million thoughts swirl in my head. Her business. My business. The landlord. The contract.

  “Maybe it’s best if you focus on football then, Cooper,” she says softly.

  I flinch, giving her a look as if she’s crazy. “Are you breaking up with me?”

  She laughs and shakes her head. “No. I’m in this for as long as you need me. I meant the other stuff.”

  I frown. “You’re cutting me off from giving you orgasms?”

  “Ha. Do I look like a masochist?”

  I pretend to give her a thorough once-over, appraising her. “Nope.”

  “More like the opposite these days,” she says, nudging me with her elbow. Then, her expression turns serious. “I mean, I don’t want anything to get in the way of your focus. So why don’t we wait till after you make the playoffs to talk about dates and all that jazz?”

  Her meaning is crystal clear. Orgasms are good. Dates are bad. But does that mean she’s erecting a wall, or simply keeping me on track? I don’t know if she’s putting me off from looking ahead because she doesn’t want what’s next, or because she only wants sex.

  The trouble is, the more I try to puzzle it out, the less likely I am to do what I need to do. And that’s follow my own advice. Focus on football.

  I give a crisp nod and a salute. “Sounds like a game plan.”

  She looks at her watch. “I should return to the salon.”

  “I thought it was your day off.”

  “It was. But we’ve been so busy, I can’t really take a whole day off, so I need to handle a few appointments this afternoon or we’ll be slammed.”

  I point behind me to the hospital. “You did this for me?”

  “Of course I did it for you,” she says, her sweetness making it harder to concentrate on orgasms only. But those are my new marching orders. I turn on the ignition, reminding myself to zoom in on what matters most. Her business. My business. Not the unknown business of my heart.

  I start to back up, then I tap the brake. “Before we hit the road, I have one question. Does focusing on football mean I can’t tie you up tonight when you get off work?”

  “You want to tie me up?” she asks, her voice suddenly a little breathless.

  “Since you’re not a sadist, I would very much like to give you another orgasm. I find it helps my focus on football immensely.”

  Her lips curve up in a smile. “I’ll take one for the team, then.”

  25

  I work out, shower, make dinner, watch game film, study the playbook, pack for our cross-country trip to Baltimore where we will kick unholy ass on the gridiron on Sunday, and text Violet to ask if she’s hungry. An emoji face holding a fork and a knife is her answer. I pack up some food for her and drive to her home, knocking at eight-thirty sharp.

  “Don’t laugh, but I have to be in bed by ten thirty,” I tell her when she opens the door.

  Her lips twitch in a grin. She chuckles and pats my cheek. “It’s so cute that you have a bedtime.”

  “When you meet Greenhaven, you’ll understand why we all follow his rules. Dude is intense.” I shut the door behind me and hold up a soft cooler packed with food.

  “Are you feeding an army?”

  I eye the gigantic red lunch bag that’s, admittedly, more suitable for a day of fishing than delivering dinner to a woman. “Pretty sure this is just for you, but maybe I’ll keep it for myself.”

  “What did you bring?”

  “Protein, protein, more protein, and broccoli.”

  She mimes gagging. I walk past her to the tiny kitchen, where I unpack the bag and set a Tupperware dish of stir-fried chicken on her counter. “I lied. It’s stir-fry and veggies. Come and get it.”

  She pants like a dog as she trots into the kitchen. “Yum. I love your chicken stir-fry.”

  “I know.” I watch as she opens a drawer and grabs some utensils. She’s wearing black leggings and an emerald-green top that’s sparkly and hangs low and loose. The scoop neck affords a fantastic sneak peek of the tops of her tits.

  She hops up on the counter, takes the Tupperware, and digs in. She smiles as she chews, then rolls her eyes in delight. Her bare feet swing back and forth, and she looks so utterly, delightfully happy that it makes my chest ache in a whole new way. A good ache. A warm ache. One that makes me want to get closer to her. All because she’s . . . eating adorably?

  What the fuck is wrong with me? I’m sporting a goofy grin. I better wipe that shit off my mug right about now.

  I lift my chin. “Thanks again for coming today. You were great with all the kids, especially Smashalie.”

  “I loved it. That girl is cool. I want to go to her roller derby games.” She takes a bite of the chicken and then gives me a mischievous little look. “Want me to braid your hair sometime?”

  I drag a hand through my locks. “Somehow, I doubt even you could braid my hair.”

  “I did learn on Trent,” she says as she spears another forkful.

  I arch a brow. “Seriously?”

  “Remember in fourth grade when he refused to cut his hair?”

  I snap my fingers. “That’s right. He wanted to be a rock star.”

  She taps her shoulder with the end of her fork to indicate the length of Trent’s rocker locks back then. “Mom let him go one year without cutting it. He was my crash-test dummy.”

  I shake my head in amusement. “That is basically the best dirt ever.”

  “You’re not going to tell him, are you?”

  “No, I just like knowing it. Why? Did he swear you to secrecy?”

  She brings her fingers to her lips in an oops gesture. “I think so.” Her expression turns serious. “He doesn’t know about this?”

  I step closer, and plant a kiss on her neck. “You mean that?”

  She shivers. “Yes. That.”

  “Of course not. Besides, there’s nothing to tell, right?” I wink. She laughs, but the sound fades quickly. “Did you mention anything to him?”

  “God, no.”

  “What about Holly, though?”

  “Holly honors the girl code,” Violet says.

  “Are you sure?”

  She gives me a look as if I’m nuts. “She hasn’t said a word.”

  “And you do know he’s her husband?”

  She stares at me. “Yes, I am aware. And she didn’t take a vow before God and family to tell her husband all his sister’s secrets. Like I said, she honors the code.”

  “But she knows that I’m here?”

  Violet sets down her fork. “Are you asking me if I specifically texted her and told her hey, guess what, Cooper’s coming over tonight? The answer is no. If she knows generally that you gave me several stupendously magnificent orgasms, the answer is yes,” she says with a proud lift of her chin.

  I smile. “Stupendously magnificent?”

  “I might have mentioned your talents.”

  “Excellent.”

  Violet laughs. “If my brother knew about your skills, that would be an issue, but as long as I’m praising your oral and manual talents to my sister-in-law, it’s all good?”

  “I’m simple like that.” I take a beat. “Besides, it’s different with Trent.”

  “I know,” she says, her tone slipping to a more serious note.

  It’s different because I have no clue how he’d feel about me being here. I don’t know how he’d react if he knew my relationship with his sister has sailed into uncharted waters. And I have no idea what he’d say about the way my heart seems to take on a different shape when I’m near her. A new and wholly unfamiliar shape.

  But I know this much—I don’t want to think about Trent tonight. “I don’t want to talk about him anymore.”

  “Funny, I don’t either.”

  She leans over and drops the Tupperware in the sink and glances at the clock on her microwave. “Ticktock. Bedtime approaches.”

  I put my hands on her thighs, nudge her legs open, and wedge myself between them. “Yes, and I need to do bad things to you before I leave for the coldest place on Earth.”

  She quirks an eyebrow. “Is Baltimore that cold?”

  “Hell if I know. It’s not California, that’s for damn sure. All I can say is thank the good Lord for domed stadiums or I would be screwed in the NFL. I’m too warm-blooded.”

  She runs a hand down my arm. I’m wearing a black T-shirt. “You are. Also, do you know it kind of turns me on to know that I’m touching the arm that everyone is going to be talking about on Sunday?”

  I laugh. “You can lick it and kiss it too.”

  She purses her lips. “I’m so lucky.”

  I mimic throwing a football, and she grabs hold of my upper arm. “Seriously,” she says with a sigh. “You’re a gunslinger.”

  I puff up my chest. “Why, yes, please inflate my ego more.”

  She runs her hand from my bicep down to my forearm. “I’m not trying to inflate your ego here. I’m honestly just amazed at what you can do with this simple body part.”

  “Wait till you can see what I do with other ones.”

  Instead of tossing a zinger back my way, she presses a kiss to my bicep and lets her soft hair fall against my skin. Goosebumps rise on my arm. This woman. I run a hand through her hair. “What are you doing to me?”

  She meets my eyes. “I don’t know. What am I doing to you?”

  She waits for me to answer.

  I brush the backs of my fingers along her cheek, answering in my head.

  Everything. She’s doing everything to me—hitting me everywhere—mind, body, and straight in the heart with an arrow I’m not even sure she knows she’s aiming in that direction. But only a few hours ago, she made it clear we needed boundaries. Our playbook should be simple, not complicated. This isn’t a quarterback option; this is an easy down-and-out pass.

  That’s why I turn her question around on her. “What I’m doing to you,” I say as I scoop her up, wrapping her legs around my waist, “is taking you to your bedroom.”

  She squeals and ropes her arms around my neck, holding on. With her hooked around me like a koala, I carry her out of the kitchen and turn down the hall.

  “Bedroom is that way.”

  I roll my eyes. “Yeah, I figured, since the hall only goes one direction.”

  “You’ve never seen my bedroom.”

  “Do you need to go hide teddy bears and Justin Bieber posters before I go in?”

  “Don’t be silly. I did that before you came over.”

  When I reach the door, I push it open with my hip. I stop and stare, as if I’ve entered a wonderland. A den of femininity. Her bed claims most of the room, and above it shines a string of lights shaped like lotus flowers. On one wall, she’s hung the word Dream in chunky letters, and on another, the letters spelling out Love are illuminated in a bright red sign. One more wall is emblazoned with Create, and the final one says Listen.

  All these words are intrinsically her.

  “Wow,” I say softly, as I stare. “I feel like I’ve been given the keys.”

  She loops her hands tighter around my neck, saying nothing, almost as if she’s holding in words, and maybe emotion too. My eyes roam the walls, then the bed, and then I do a double take.

  Gently, I lower her to the bed, let her go, and walk to the head of the bed. She watches me as I reach for the silky purple fabric. I give it a tug. A scarf is tied to each bedpost at the top.

  “So that’s what you did before I came over.”

  She nods as she nibbles on her lips. “You did say you wanted to tie me up.”

  26

  They say a photograph is worth a thousand words.

  I’ve never been more tempted to take a photo in my life. But I want to experience all one thousand words that this moment is worth. And then some.

  Violet lies naked on her bed, her arms stretched above her head, her right wrist bound by a purple scarf, her left by a red one. The lights from the lotus strands cast a pretty glow across her skin.

  I run my hand down her neck, between her breasts, along her stomach. She arches into my touch. My fingers make their way south, teasing at the soft curls of hair, then dipping lower. Her mouth falls open, but before I spend more time in the V of her legs, I stand beside the bed.

  “Want to know why I wanted you tied up?”

  “Because you like me tied up?”

  I laugh as I lift my hands to the hem of my shirt. “That, and to reduce temptation.”

  She narrows her eyes. “Seeing me naked and trussed up makes you less interested. Gee, thanks, Coop.”

  “No,” I say roughly as I tug off my shirt.

  Her breath hitches. “Oh shit.” She stares at me with wide eyes. “You’re . . .”

  Yeah, this is why I work out. This is why I run. This is why I lift weights. For this moment. For the look in her eyes. For the heat in her gaze as she stares at my chest, and as she ogles my arms.

  “You’re torturing me,” she whimpers.

  “How am I torturing you?”

  “Because I can’t touch you, and your body is unreal.”

  I raise a hand to my pec, drag it down my chest, over the grooves of my abs. I drop my hands to my jeans and undo the first button with a pop.

  “Cooper.” Her voice is a plea.

  “Yes, Violet?”

  “Why can’t I touch you? You’re stunning.”

  Every early morning workout was worthwhile. Every bench press has proven its value.

  I’m not a narcissist. I don’t need praise. But I’m so goddamn satisfied that she likes what she sees.

  Wait.

  Make that lust.

  She lusts for what she sees.

  “You’re pretty stunning yourself,” I say as I unzip my jeans.

  She squirms on the bed, her hips lifting. My dick hardens more as I watch her try to somehow pull me closer with the way she offers herself. I push my jeans down my hips to my thighs, then all the way off. Nothing but black boxer briefs. She struggles against the scarves as she stares at the outline of my erection, straining against the fabric. “I want to touch you.”

  “I know,” I say, my voice dry. “I want you to touch me. But you tempt me too much.”

  “That’s why I’m tied up?”

  I step closer, the outline of my cock inches from her face. She turns toward my hard-on, which is pointing at her.

  “Yes, because if you touch me, Vi, I swear I’ll lose my mind with pleasure. If you touch me, I’ll have you on your hands and knees so fast so I can fuck you.”

  She throws her head back and nearly howls. “Oh God.”

  “So this is how it’s going to be. You can look, but I’m the only one who can touch.”

  She narrows her eyes at me. “That’s not fair.”

  “Baby, it has to be this way,” I say, imploring.

  “I know.”

  I hook my thumb into the waistband of my briefs and then wiggle a brow. “Did you want me to take these off? I’m not sure.”

  “Please.”

  I push them off, and my cock springs free, jutting out.

  Her jaw falls open. “Are you for real?”

  A smile tugs on my lips. “Pretty sure I am.”

  “Oh my God,” she groans as she stares at me. “You have the most perfect dick.”

  I bend to her, and run my finger across her top lip. “You have the most perfect filthy mouth for such a good, sweet girl.”

  I grip my dick, running my fist up and down my length. I close my eyes, shuddering, because it feels really fucking good to get some action, even with my hand, the only body part that’s touched my dick in months. But for the first time in all that time, I have an audience. I’m not alone. I stand by the head of her bed, and I stroke my cock mere inches from her face. She writhes, twisting onto her side as she moans my name.

  It sounds like pure porn on her tongue.

  I run my left hand along my chest, over a nipple, pinching it as she stares. Then down between my legs, gripping my balls, which are heavy and aching.

  She moans as I stroke and tug. I moan too. Then I let go, so I can get on the bed. I straddle her, clamping my hands on her hips.

  “Are you going to . . .”

  I shake my head. “No. I’m not going to fuck you tonight. I’m going to come on you. Like you wanted.”

  “Oh, Jesus.”

  I move up her, kneeling over her stomach, so I can fuck my fist as she stares.

  “Feels so much better when you watch me do this,” I groan as I stroke from base to tip and back.

  Lust surges inside me, barreling down my spine as I devour her with my eyes. My God, she’s so stunning, all curvy, sexy, and soft.

  Her gaze never strays. She watches with a wild abandon, her amber eyes glossy with desire that matches mine. She nibbles on the corner of her lips, so hungry, so greedy. And I can’t wait. I need to know how her lips taste on my dick.

  “Kiss the tip,” I whisper hoarsely.

  She nods savagely, and I shift forward, planting a palm on the mattress by her outstretched arm as I rub the head of my dick across her lips.

  She darts her tongue out instantly, flicking it over the head, and I growl in pleasure. A drop of liquid beads at the tip, and she licks it up greedily. Her eyes are hooded as if she’s savoring my taste. She opens her lips more, trying to entice me to fuck her mouth. Desire nearly strangles me. It practically lassos all my restraint to the ground. But I stay in control, fucking her with my words, instead. “You want to suck me off, baby?”

  “You know I do.”

  I rub the head over her top lip, loving—fucking loving—her tongue on me. “I want your mouth on me so bad, Vi,” I tell her as I keep up my pace, gripping my fist tighter as I stroke my shaft.