Going Deep: A Second Chance Romance (Bad Ballers Book 2) Page 4

  Her words were conversational, but the look she was giving me was like she wanted to strip my suit off me one piece at a time. Courtney, her ass in the air, staring at me in the mirror as I slid in and out of her.

  “Are you hungry?” I asked. Shit. I was rattled.

  “Famished.” I knew she didn’t mean food. “In fact, let’s get out of here. I’ve got cheesecake at my place.” Her smile grew mischievous after a moment, her mouth quirking up at the edge and her eyes sparkling. “And hot fudge.”

  Fuck. I knew exactly what she meant. Smuckers. We’d used it in high school. It stuck to everything, and you had to suck hard to get it off.

  I took a deep breath. “Courtney…” Maybe we should cool it. Let’s just catch up. I want to hear about your life.

  I heard her high heel clatter to the deck and felt her bare foot sliding up over my calf. Well, fuck.

  “My place,” she said. “For old time’s sake. Don’t worry, baby. If you’re hungry, I’ll take good care of you.”

  This wasn’t high school Courtney – flirty, fun, and magnetic. This was someone more dangerous. A woman who knew her appeal and knew what she wanted. And fuck if I wasn’t going to give it to her.

  “Let’s go,” I growled.

  9

  Courtney

  I wanted to blame the wine. I wanted to blame Adriana. I wanted to convince myself that this was about revenge, but I’d be lying. This was about sex. Ryan was still the best I’d ever had, and Adriana was right. I hadn’t had sex in too long. Way. Too. Long.

  I pulled into my driveway and shut the car off. Ryan’s red Mustang rental car growled to a halt behind mine, and I shivered as I got out of the car.

  Ryan was already out of his. His suit jacket was gone, and his shirt sleeves were rolled up. He crossed his arms and stared at me.

  “You’re too hot for South Florida,” he said, his voice gravelly with lust. “Between you and the weather, I don’t think I’m going to survive.”

  “Come on in, baby,” I cooed. “I’ll kill you sweetly.”

  Ryan strode up to me so fast that I nearly back-peddled. “Promises, promises,” he murmured, towering over me. His hand snaked into my hair, holding me still. Then his mouth came down slowly.

  The kiss was electric.

  I don’t know how long we stood there, kissing. But this was not the Ryan of the past: fierce and passionate. This Ryan was in total control. His hand was firm in my hair, his lips were moving slowly, and his tongue was thrusting deep.

  And he seemed to remember all of my hot spots. His mouth broke from mine, fastening just beneath my ear. My knees buckled.

  “Yes, baby. I remember each and every single spot,” he whispered, his breath hot in my ear. He bent his knees, his hips hitting mine, pressing me against my own door and grinding in a slow, delicious rhythm. My hand fumbled out, searching for the door knob. His hand came down to cover mine, gripping it a moment before twisting. We all but fell inside.

  I pulled away from Ryan. Control. I needed control. I was going to leave him wanting more! But I didn’t even have time to get my bearing before Ryan was on me again, pushing me against the wall and running his hand across my rib cage, his lips finding my neck, and his teeth hitting that sensitive spot where neck and collarbone met. Fuck. I needed to retaliate!

  I reached up and wound my fingers into the silky dark locks of his hair. I tugged, and he growled, drawing back.

  “You looking for rough, baby?” he asked, his eyes unreadable in the dark light of the hall.

  “Is that how you like it?” I asked. “I have cheesecake and hot fudge in the fridge. I’m going to go get it. I recommend you head down the hall. Second door on the right.”

  Ryan pulled away from me, and I could feel his eyes on me as I walked into my kitchen. He didn’t go to the bedroom. He followed me, and I opened the fridge. As I bent over to get the cheesecake, he grabbed my hips and smoothed his hands across my ass. I pressed back against him, and he groaned as I straightened slowly. I slid the cheesecake onto the counter and knelt to grab the hot fudge.

  Make him tremble!

  This time, I didn’t get back up. I turned and got onto my knees, my hands finding his belt buckle.

  “Shit, baby,” he said. Moonlight lit the kitchen, and Ryan’s eyes were obsidian.

  I’d forgotten just how perfect his cock was: hard and engorged, jutting up and demanding attention. Opening the jar of hot fudge, I used a finger to scoop some out. With one hand, I massaged his balls; with the other, I rubbed the chocolate all up and down his shaft. Then I fit my lips to it.

  Cock and chocolate. He was almost too big to fit in my mouth. My jaw ached. I hummed as I sucked and watched as Ryan gripped the counter behind him, his knuckles going white. Up and down, my tongue swirling, I polished all the chocolate off and then stood up. Ryan seemed to sag against the marble countertop, his eyes still closed. Using my fingers, I scooped up a bite of cheesecake. I held the bite to Ryan’s lips, and he took it, licking my fingers clean and sending bolts of desire from my fingers straight to my core. I kissed him, and it tasted sweet. Ryan groaned, his hands coming down to grab my waist and pull me close.

  “My turn,” I whispered.

  Ryan sucked in a deep breath, and I shrieked as, the next thing I knew, I was over his shoulder, and he was striding down the hall. While one hand trapped me to his shoulder, the other slid up my shorts, his fingers spreading to play with the contours of my ass.

  “No panties,” he growled. “Nice.” His fingers dipped down to trace the outline of my lips. “You’re wet, baby.” He coated his finger in my juices and then slid it deep. I groaned against his back, and his finger retracted as he swung us into my bedroom. I landed on the bed on my back, and Ryan followed two seconds later. He made quick work of my clothes, stripping me of my top, bra, shorts, and shoes. I was all but panting with anticipation as he kicked off his shoes and socks (he’d shaken off his pants in the kitchen), ripped at his tie, and all but tore his shirt from his body. I gasped at the array of tattoos spread across his shoulders and chest like a set of football pads. But that was all I had time to see before he moved.

  His hands tossed me higher up onto the bed, and he covered me with his body, kissing me fiercely. I gasped against his mouth as his finger returned, thrusting deep inside me. The sensation was incredible, heat and pleasure streaking through my body. A second finger came to join the first, stretching me. Then Ryan’s mouth left mine. He moved down, trailing kisses down my sternum and across the top of my breast before fastening on a nipple. Lightning shot through me, and I groaned, tilting my hips into his hand. As he sucked, sensation began to build. His fingers slid in and out, working me into a frenzy. Then he withdrew, and I was so close to coming, I cried out. So much for control. Shit!

  “Shhh, baby,” he said, coming up to take my lips in a searing, brutal kiss. Then he was gone. I opened my eyes just as his head disappeared between my legs. His tongue swept from the bottom to the top, so hot I nearly leapt out of the bed. His hands stilled my hips, and he feasted on me as I’d feasted on him. I was close to sobbing. It was like he was in my head, like he knew exactly what I needed when I needed it.

  I realized it was because I was begging. “Fuck me, baby; please, baby! I want you inside me!” I was chanting. Ryan was ignoring me, so I reached down, tangling my fingers in his hair and tugging. He looked up then and ran his tongue over his lips, licking me off his face. He came up, kissing me so deeply that I tasted myself.

  His hands reached down, his fingers stretching me again, and then his cock pressed against me, rubbing up and down, coating himself. His hands directed my hips, tilting them upward. I had the momentary thought that it was supposed to be me riding him. But then all thoughts fled as he sank deep, filling me almost to the point of pain. I cried out as he nudged forward, hitting my clit and sending pulses of lightening through my veins. His withdrawal set my nerve endings aflame, and when he flexed his hips, he filled me again, pushing even deep
er than before.

  I opened to him, a slave to my body, tilting my hips and devouring inch after inch of him greedily. Ryan groaned, burying his head in my pillow. In and out, slow and fierce. I cried out each time he surged forward, each stroke sending me into a tailspin. As if he sensed how close I was, he stopped and pulled out so sharply that I nearly came then and there, but he was moving, flipping me on my stomach, one hand tilting my hips, the other hand coming around and pressing against my clit as he entered me from behind. Fuck! Fuck! He was hitting that sensitive spot inside, that spot almost too intense to bear! The friction this way was electric. He picked up speed, his voice in my ear begging me to come. “Come on, Court; come for me, baby.”

  I was sobbing, desperate for relief as he hit that spot over and over...

  My climax came on me in a surge so violent I saw stars.

  I clutched the quilt on the side of my head, sobbing as Ryan thrust with a vengeance, in and out in brutal rhythm, seeking his own release. He bellowed, his hips slamming into me, his cock swelling and then throbbing inside me as he exploded. His arms trembled, and just before he collapsed on top of me, he fell onto his side, taking me with him.

  We both lay there for a while, wordless and panting. The fire that had exploded in me was kindling again. More. I wanted more.

  Ryan was still half hard inside me, and I moved my hips suggestively.

  He groaned. “Round two?” he said. “How about some cheesecake? You want to go again, Imma need to refuel. Damn, Courtney. I think you almost killed me.”

  10

  Ryan

  I should have been worn out. Courtney certainly was. After round two, she’d passed out on her stomach, her sleep the soundless sleep of the well-fucked. I felt pretty damn proud of myself.

  And yet, I couldn’t fall asleep. Usually, I had no trouble falling asleep. Despite the fact that most people think I’m an asshole, it doesn’t trouble my conscience any. But I was thrown off. Anxious. Part of me wanted to wake Courtney up – but I didn’t know why, or what I’d say to her. I wasn’t ready to face her. My heart was doing that awful catching thing it used to do in high school whenever I looked at her. So I got up and decided to wander.

  The house was dead silent. Living in Boston, there’s always traffic, always noise. But here, in Old Serenity, away from A1A and the ocean, the only sound was the throbbing chirp of the cicadas. I thought about dinner. My plan to not sleep with Courtney, to get to know her better, hadn’t gone all that well. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t get to know her now. I wanted to know what her life was like.

  High school Courtney had been a wild thing, always active: running, biking, and swimming. She’d oozed confidence and energy. She knew she was pretty, knew she was strong, and knew she was smart. She had a restless spirit that was never content sitting still. The only place she ever seemed to zen out was near the ocean, so she’d spent a lot of time down there. High School Courtney had lived in a cluttered room.

  Adult Courtney kept an unusually tidy house. Without turning lights on, it was difficult to get a real sense of each room. But I had the feeling that if I’d walked into this house without knowing whose it was, I might have been able to guess. Even the rooms had energy: the furniture didn’t match, but it was pulled together by soft bursts of color. There was an office where the tile and the desk were a muted brown, but all the prints on the wall were of vibrant Florida flowers like hibiscus and birds of paradise.

  I stopped in the kitchen to get another slice of cheesecake and took it with me into her living room. If you want to get to know someone, go to their living room. There was a big bookshelf half full of books and half full of mementos – picture frames, glass fish, seashells… each thing reminding more and more of the girl I’d left ten years ago. My gut ached. What was wrong with me?

  I grabbed up a family photo and shone my iPhone light on it to see it better. I recognized the older couple as Courtney’s parents and the dark haired woman as Courtney’s sister Karen.Standing between Courtney and her mother was a small girl about five years old. The daughter. She was a cute kid: Dark-haired like Karen, not like Courtney, with a small dimple in her chin. But there were no men in the picture. Nothing to hint at who the girl’s father might be.

  In fact, it didn’t look like Courtney lived with a man. This was definitely a woman’s place. Was the kid in the photo even hers?

  I scanned the bookshelves, spotting a few picture books. Yah. Must be. Although… there were chapter books, too: Roald Dahl and Louis Sachar. Would a five year old read chapter books? Maybe they were from Courtney’s childhood. They looked pretty worn. I scanned a few more pictures, frowning when I noted that there was one guy in particular who’d shown up in at least three of the photos. He had pale brown hair and wide shoulders – he might be a family member.

  I realized, after about the sixth photo, that Courtney had arranged them in ascending age. On the left were her daughter’s younger pictures, and on the right, she was older. How old was the kid? I moved all the way down to the rightmost shelf and picked up a picture. My stomach plummeted.

  It was a school picture, and it must have been taken recently because I recognized the girl. She’d been sitting on the patio of The Mangroves, drawing that football field…

  I felt my knees give, and I sagged into the nearest chair, staring at the picture. The little girl must have been at least ten years old. But Courtney was only twenty nine, which meant she’d had her daughter at 19. And that meant… My brain wouldn’t go there. It refused to go there.

  Instead, I scanned the girl’s face. Lea, she’d said her name was. She really didn’t look that much like Courtney. She had dark hair, dark eyes, and a small dimple in her chin.

  Without realizing it, my fingers had gone to my own dimple. I felt like throwing something. I felt like running out of the house and never looking back. Courtney. How could you not tell me?

  11

  Courtney

  I woke up earlier than I’d thought I would. The sky was only just beginning to lighten. I stretched, hissing as the muscles of my inner thighs twinged. Right. I’d had quite a ride last night. The thought made me smile, and I rolled over, half expecting Ryan to still be there. Next to me, though, the bed was empty and cool. He’d left, and apparently, he’d left a while ago.

  A moment of unwelcome sadness rolled through me. I’d known what I was getting myself into, but last night, after the second time, he’d held me, and I’d closed my eyes and remembered what it had felt like to love him. Shake it off.

  Last night had been fun. It had reminded me of the girl I’d used to be. Ryan might be gone from my life again, but that didn’t mean I had to lose that bit of my old self that I’d regained last night.

  I sat up, my stomach growling angrily at me. Food. Definitely food. I tugged on a pair of old boxer shorts that had belonged to my college ex, Doug. My breakup with Doug had been a mutual, amicable thing. I still had a few things from our time together, including my favorite pair of drawstring flannel shorts. I pulled a tank-top out of my drawer too (in case Adriana or Brandon showed up to return Lea without calling), and then I padded to the kitchen.

  I got a bowl of yogurt and some blueberries and set the coffee machine running. The best place to watch the sunrise was from the sitting room, which had a sliding glass door that led into the backyard.

  As I strolled into my living room, I stopped. Sitting in the leather wing chair, hunched over one of my photo albums, was Ryan. My stomach dropped. My heart actually stuttered before slamming back again with alarm. I must have made a sound, for he looked up.

  Ryan wore nothing but his boxer briefs, his tattoos even more startling in the dim morning light than they’d been last night. As his eyes met mine, he looked bleak. I knew which photo album he had. It had baby pictures in it.

  “I met your daughter,” he said. His voice was rough.

  “Did you?” Keep cool, Courtney, keep cool.

  “Cute kid.” He was fingering the dimple i
n his chin, and I knew what he was thinking even before he asked, “How old is she?”

  “She just turned nine.”

  That surprised him. He hadn’t been expecting it. Go ahead. Do the math. He took a moment to figure out what he wanted to say next. “She’s big for nine.”

  “Runs in the family,” I said breezily. I forced myself to stroll over and plop myself onto the couch, to spoon yogurt into my mouth and to swallow it. “I was 90th percentile until I was fifteen. Then everyone else caught up. Do you remember?”

  “I remember you at fifteen, yes.” He sounded winded. Like someone had punched him, but the color was returning to his face.

  I took another spoonful of my yogurt. “I supposed you’ll want to be on your way soon. If you’d like some food, I’ve got yogurt and kid cereal.”

  Ryan was still staring at the baby photos. He looked up at me and frowned, clearly trying to regain his equilibrium after that near-miss. “I thought I might take you to get some breakfast. Figured we’d might go to Sprinkles on Ocean Drive…”

  I rolled my eyes and stood, waving my yogurt at him. “I ate.” Shit, but my heart was hurting.

  “Still…”

  “Listen,” I said. “You don’t have to go above and beyond for me. I wanted some fun. We had it. But you’ve got a life to get back to, and so do I. So I think it’s best that we…”

  The phone in the kitchen rang, interrupting my eloquent send off. “I have to get that,” I said. “You can show yourself out, or if you want some cereal…”

  I trailed off as I strode into the kitchen to pick up the phone. “Hello?”

  “Court?” It was Karen. My sister. “Sorry to call so early, Court, but I got some bad news…”

  “Mom and Dad...” I gripped the edge of the kitchen counter.