“Let me,” she begs.

  Another drop of my arousal spills from my dick onto her lips, and her tongue hunts it out instantly, lapping it up. I rub the head against her bottom lip. She flicks her tongue out once more, and I’d really like to feel her all over me. That’s my cue to pull away from her far-too-tempting mouth.

  “Don’t go,” she says in a sexy, needy whimper as I move down her body.

  “I’m right here.” I settle above her pussy, my hand working my cock, stroking, tugging, driving her wild. Driving myself wild.

  My muscles tighten everywhere. Tension expands inside me, overtaking me with a wicked intensity as I jerk harder, faster.

  I’m all for masturbating. I’m all for pleasure. Orgasms of every variety rock, including solo flights. And while I’m dying for her to get me off, this will do just fine for now.

  This will do more than fine.

  Because pleasure consumes me. It camps out in my body, fills me completely as I shuttle my fist tighter, rasping out, “Where do you want me to come, baby?”

  “My tits, my belly, my face, anywhere.”

  “Oh fuck,” I groan, closing my eyes as my world burns white-hot and everything blurs into the pleasure that shoots down my spine, climbs up my thighs, obliterates all my senses as my body jerks and I come on her stomach. All the fuck over her beautiful, sexy, soft belly.

  I groan her name, getting out only the first, seductive syllable. “Vi,” I grunt as I squeeze the last drops onto her skin.

  My shoulders shake, and when I finally get a grip on reality, I find she’s breathing hard, panting, lifting her hips, and staring at the evidence of my pleasure on her body. She murmurs my name as if it’s all she’s ever wanted to say.

  Her voice goes to my head. Sinks into my heart. Reminds me that I’m in so deep.

  I try to clear my head. I tell myself to focus on the here and now. On my job this second. “Let me clean you up,” I say, then I climb off her and head to her bathroom. I grab a washcloth, wet a corner with warm water, and return to erase my orgasm from her skin. I find the laundry basket in the corner, filled with her clothes, and I drop the washcloth on top and shoot her a naughty grin. “Thanks for letting me come on you.”

  “You dirty man,” she says. “You dirty, clever man, finding a loophole to keep your pact.”

  I lift my chin then drink in her body with my eyes. “I am pretty clever. And now I have another idea.”

  “What are you thinking?”

  “How I’m going to make you come.”

  “Any way is fine with me.”

  I arch a brow. “Any way?”

  “Any way at all.”

  “Do you have a vibrator?”

  “Do I like chocolate? Do I like music and sunsets and puppies?” She nods to the nightstand. “Top drawer.”

  I slide open the drawer and grab a pink one with a dolphin attachment. I hit the on button, and the shaft takes off, vibrating at Mach speed. “Down, Flipper,” I say, then adjust the speed. I settle myself between her legs, sitting cross-legged so I can play with her. “Wider, baby.”

  She parts her thighs, letting them fall open for me. A groan rumbles up my chest as I admire the sight in front of me. She’s so wet, so aroused, and I’m going to fuck her.

  Well, this dolphin is. “He’s my back up.”

  She strains against the scarves. “Please.”

  I rub the head of the shaft against her hot, wet center. She shudders when I touch her, breathing hard. Then, her eyes travel down my chest. “I looked up shirtless pictures of you last night.”

  I startle, surprised by this admission as I press the head against her wet folds. “You did?”

  She arches into my touch. “I wanted to remember what you looked like.”

  As I play with the vibrator, stroking it against her wet heat, I ask, “What did you find?”

  Her words come out in a rush. “Training camp shots. Sponsor shots. None of them do you justice.”

  I push inside, and she cries out, thrusting up against the pleasure device. It’s only a few inches inside her, and she’s already trying to fuck it. As she rocks into it, she keeps talking, as if she’s confessing. “I used to love watching you take your shirt off in high school.”

  “You did?” I slide the vibrator deeper into her, and she gasps, taking it all. I flick on the dolphin, rubbing her clit with it. With my free hand, I widen her legs even more.

  “Yes,” she cries out, and it’s both a reply to my question, and the answer to whether she likes how I’m touching her.

  “I fucking love that you were watching me,” I say as I push the shaft in her, hitting deep, then stroking it out.

  She parts her lips, but she can’t even seem to form words. She’s moaning and groaning and grinding into the vibrator, and she’s so clearly close to shattering. She slips into some kind of exquisite torment, the look on her face both anguish and bliss. Her eyes squeeze shut and her lips fall open, as she seems to chase her pleasure.

  My dick is steel again, and I’m already turned on beyond reason. Her hips rise over and over as she fucks the toy, and I fuck her, and I wish it was me inside her. My mouth on her mouth, her body beneath me, feeling her grip me, feeling her come on me, coming inside her.

  Her mouth turns into an O. Then she twists her hips, crying out in pleasure. “Oh God, oh God,” she pants, moaning, tossing her head back and forth, the picture of erotic bliss, and I can barely take it. I can barely withstand my own lust as she comes undone before my eyes, her hands tied, her hips lifting, her lips parted. Coming for me. Beneath me. Because of me. I want more of this. I want all of this.

  I am on fire for her.

  I slide the vibrator out of her, turn it off, and toss it on the covers. Then I do the riskiest thing in the world. I untie her. First one arm, then the other, and in seconds we are wrapped around each other, two hot, sweaty bodies, sliding together. I’m kissing her wrists, making sure they don’t sting, and she’s naked and rubbing against me.

  “They don’t hurt,” she says and pulls her hands free from my grip to bring them to my face. “It only feels good.”

  “I wanted to kiss you at prom,” I blurt out, picking up where we left off in our mutual confession.

  “You did?”

  “So much. You were so pretty. We were slow dancing to one song, and I wanted to thread my hands in your hair and kiss you.” She presses her soft breasts against my chest. My skin burns with desire. She’s so close to me. She’s all over me. She’s everywhere, and I want to feel all of her.

  I groan as I yank her impossibly closer, my cock pressed to her thigh, her pussy rubbing against my other leg.

  “I would have let you,” she whispers, her words sending a sharp, hot thrill through me.

  “Yeah?”

  She nods, kissing me, claiming my lips. “You could have kissed me then. You could have kissed me anytime. I wanted you to kiss me at my brother’s wedding when you danced with me.”

  I close my eyes as my palms slide up her back and into her hair. “I wanted that too,” I murmur, then curl my hands around her head and bring her closer, slamming my lips to hers and kissing her till we are both senseless, mindless, boneless.

  We’re side to side, and rubbing against each other. Flesh to flesh. Skin to skin. All heat, and desire, and something more. Something that’s so damn dangerous. My heart feels as if it’s going to fucking explode in my chest. It hammers wildly for this woman, and I can’t stop touching her. My hands are everywhere. My lips are all over her mouth, her jaw, her neck. Her fingers roam my body, touching, exploring, searching.

  We hunt for ways to get even closer. Our kisses are hungry and greedy. We are two desperate people who can’t get enough of each other. When we kiss now, it feels like making love, and I’m losing control. I’m losing my mind for her. All this nakedness, all this heat—it’s combustible. I tug her closer, pushing my hard length against her mound. As we move, my cock slips between her legs.

  I groan so loudly it’s deafening to my own ears. Because the sensation is dizzying. I’m not inside her, not even close, but like this, it’s absolutely electrifying to feel her slickness against my hardness. I thrust once, my shaft gliding across her.

  She moans, a long, sexy ohh.

  It nearly breaks me. I’m so ready to flip her to her back, hike her legs over my shoulders, and sink into her.

  One more thrust. One more deliriously good slide against my girl.

  Then reality smacks me hard.

  I can’t fake fuck her. I certainly can’t fake fuck her without a condom. I won’t play with fire, and this is a burning-down-the-forest level of danger.

  I freeze, willing my hands to stop moving along her flesh, forcing my body to disengage from hers. I curse up a storm, then I do what I’ve been taught to do to avoid a hit I can’t handle—get out of bounds. I jump out of bed, moving away from her.

  “Shit, Vi.” I drag my hands roughly through my hair as I grab for my clothes. “You’re too tempting. I want you too much.”

  She looks chastened. “What does that even mean?”

  I yank on my boxer briefs. “If I stay for another minute, I will be fucking you. I will be fucking you all night long. I won’t want to stop.” I drag a hand through my hair roughly. “I need to get it together.” Squeezing my eyes shut, I try to will away this raging desire. When I open my eyes, I breathe out hard like a bull.

  She reaches for a sheet and pulls it to her chest, covering her beautiful body. “That better?”

  I grab my jeans. “It’s worse and it’s better. I’m sorry. I’m sorry if I seem like an ass.”

  She sighs. “Let me walk you to the door.”

  Two minutes later, she’s in a short, satiny robe, her hair a wild mess, her cheeks glowing. I’m dressed and both satisfied and blue-balled. But I have a job to do, and I can’t let things with her go any further. There’s too much at stake.

  I cup her cheek. “I leave tomorrow. I’ll be thinking of you.”

  She shakes her head. “Don’t think of me. Think of destroying Baltimore.”

  My God, she’s a perfect football girlfriend.

  I mean, fake girlfriend.

  Fake girlfriend who I nearly real fucked.

  27

  Violet: I have great news. I signed the new lease. All is well in Hairlandia.

  Holly: Yay! So, what does that mean for the little game of k-i-s-s-i-n-g in a tree?

  Violet: I honestly don’t know. I have this feeling, Holly, that once the contract is done . . .

  Holly: He’s going to drop you like a hot potato?

  Violet: Yes.

  Holly: Don’t think that. He’s crazy for you.

  Violet: He’s a twenty-six-year-old professional quarterback with a winning record, scads of women throwing themselves at him, and an excellent shot at the playoffs. His contract is in flux. He’s not looking for a commitment from a woman. He’s looking for a commitment from a team.

  Holly: Sweetie . . .

  Violet: It’s the truth. I’m taking what I can get. I’m savoring what this is. I know it won’t last. It just can’t.

  Holly: Why?

  Violet: He’s already in love with the game, and I’m not sure he has the room for anything else.

  Holly: You’re not a thing.

  Violet: I know that. But I also understand and respect his priorities.

  Holly: You don’t have to be so levelheaded and tough about this, sweetie.

  Violet: But I do have to be strong. If I’m not, my heart will break.

  28

  After a dinner out with the guys in Baltimore on Friday, we stroll through the lobby of the team hotel, heading straight for the elevator banks. I avoid the hotel bar at all costs, and I don’t make eye contact with any of the football groupies.

  As we turn down the hallway, Jasper and his wife are walking toward us. “Gentlemen.” Jasper flashes us a smile that shows off gleaming white teeth. “Good to see my stars”—his eyes drift to the elevators—“heading upstairs.”

  His meaning is clear. He has no patience for the guys picking up the groupies, even though it’s often a part of the game.

  “We like to get our beauty sleep,” Jones offers, speaking for the four of us.

  “How wise,” Jasper says in his smooth voice. He raises a hand to scratch his jaw, and his three Super Bowl rings nearly blind me.

  “I hope you all have a great game Sunday,” Vera chimes in, then she motions to me, signaling she wants a word. I step aside.

  “I keep meaning to tell you,” she whispers, “how devastated I am that you have a girlfriend.” Then she smiles. “I’d been hoping to finally convince you to join my client list.”

  I smile too, thinking of Violet. “She’s great.”

  “And I’m so glad that you-know-who settled down. But, fair warning. I ran into her in the restaurant.”

  Tension spreads through my whole body. I haven’t seen Maxine since the auction. I kinda hoped she’d be out of my life forever. Not that she was ever in it. But still.

  “Thanks, Ms. Scott. I appreciate the tip,” I say.

  She rolls her eyes. “Vera, darling.”

  “Thanks, Vera,” I say.

  Then she waves goodbye and rejoins her husband while I jog to catch up with my guys.

  And I nearly smack into Maxine as she rounds the corner. She’s dressed to the nines in a red sequined top and black jeans with towering heels.

  “Hey, you! I was just getting a nightcap,” Maxine says. “But then, I don’t have to be on the field bright and early for practice.”

  The hair on the back of my neck stands on end. Is she coming onto me again? “Bright and early,” I say with a forced smile, since tomorrow is Saturday, and it’s a light workout day before the Sunday game.

  I hear footsteps behind me and thank God we’re not alone, as it seems Maxine has no idea of the term personal space. Still, I don’t look behind me—I keep my eyes on the prize of the elevator. Maxine waggles her fingers at me. “Are you sure you have to go to bed right away?”

  “Positive,” I say, worry sliding down my spine.

  “Just one drink?” she continues, stepping closer, getting into my space.

  With a gulp, I shake my head. “No, thank you.”

  “But I’ve given you such great coverage on my show,” she says in a purr that feels like a lie.

  I don’t even know how to respond to her tit-for-tat implication except with a muttered thanks.

  “I’d hate to stop covering you so enthusiastically . . . so if anything changes, you know where to find me, Mister Randall.”

  I freeze.

  The sound of footsteps recede.

  Then Maxine turns and walks off, leaving her intentions floating loud and clear. Mister Randall? I guess she’s not dropping the I’m her husband bit.

  I take off, finding the guys stepping into the elevator. Once inside, I breathe a sigh of relief and rest my forehead against the panel. “Is it me or is she . . .?”

  But I trail off. I’m not sure what’s going on with her. Or what lines she’s crossing. If any. All I know is I feel uncomfortable as fuck around her.

  Harlan pats my back. “Saw what just went down. Sucks, man.”

  “Yeah, it kind of does,” I say, and that’s when the wrongness of her hits me in full force—it’s one thing for random women to come on to me. But she’s a media personality who’s borderline threatening me.

  But I don’t know exactly what could or should be done about that. Maybe it’s best to put it behind me.

  When we reach our floor, I give a quick wave goodnight and head to my room. The door clicks shut behind me, and I wash my hands, brush my teeth, and undress. When I’m down to nothing, I grab my phone and contemplate texting Violet.

  We’ve only texted a few times since I left, and most have been from her of the go team variety. But I want her to know I’m thinking of her, so I send one.

  Cooper: Sleep well in your lucky jersey.

  Violet: I will :)

  I turn off the light, and don’t wake up until my phone rattles on my nightstand in the morning like the world is ending. I rub my eyes, stare at the screen, then sit bolt upright when I see who’s calling.

  Jasper Scott.

  I answer immediately. “Yes, sir?”

  “Cooper, can you meet me in my suite before practice?”

  “Yes, I can, Mr. Scott.”

  Fifteen minutes later, I’m showered, dressed, and heading into the great unknown. It’s a little terrifying.

  No, a lot.

  29

  In my nearly four seasons with the team, I’ve spoken to Jasper on only a few occasions, and I’ve never been called to his office. Not once. Now, as I wait for the shining silver elevator doors to whisk open, I have no clue what to expect.

  When the elevator arrives with a soft whoosh, I step inside, my feet leaden, my chest hollowed. The doors close, and I swipe my keycard across the security pad and press the button for the top floor.

  As it rises, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m screwed. That I did something wrong.

  When I reach his floor, I try to psych myself up with reminders that I can handle this. I stare down linemen, I scramble in the pocket, and I throw pinpoint passes under fire from the toughest defensive coverage. Chin up, chest high.

  I find suite 1200 and raise my fist to knock. Before I can even rap, the door opens. Maxine leaves, head down.

  Ice-cold dread fills me from stem to fucking stern. Shit. Does Jasper know I lied? Did he figure out I faked a romance to escape Maxine? Did Maxine just put two and two together and blab it all? Maybe.

  She doesn’t even look at me, though, as she goes. What the hell?

  Jasper smiles, showing no teeth. He wears navy slacks and a crisp button-down, and holds the door open. “Thank you for coming, Cooper. Especially on such short notice.”

  “Of course, sir,” I say, heading inside as Maxine retreats down the hall.