One Night with a Quarterback (3 page)

Uh. Which one meant what again? He'd had twenty-twenty vision his whole life.

She smiled. “Forget your prescription?”

“I think I've forgotten my own name after five minutes of kissing you.”

She grinned, then stepped back. He swiped at her but she chuckled and tiptoed away. “Let's try a vision test.”

“Let's not, and say we did.” He almost stood, but she held out a hand.

“Now. Let's see. If you're near sighted, that means you can't see things far away.” She took one more giant step back, then tore the tank top up and over her head. “See that?”

“Yeah,” he said hoarsely.
Come back. Come back now.

“Well, I think a blind man could have caught that one.” She turned to face her back to him, then reached behind with a purely female stretch and unhooked her bra. She slithered one arm out, then the other before tossing the small bit of material to the side with her tank.

Turning slowly, with grace she hadn't displayed at all on the platform at the club, she cupped her breasts and smiled slyly. “How about now?”

“Not sure.” He squinted. “Better come closer.”

“So you're near sighted.” She took one giant step forward that had him wanting to ask,
Mother, may I . . .

But he didn't have to ask. She was there, straddling his lap, before he could even finish the mental question. Her jeans dipped low as her legs spread over him, and his hands smoothed over the warm skin of her back down to the low waistband.

“Can you see me now?” she asked, just before her mouth pressed to his.

Trey wasn't about to give her the chance to step out of reach again. She was in his arms, full stop, for the rest of the night. He rotated until her back pressed into the bedspread and he hovered over her. Her brows lifted in surprise.

“Last I remember, I was up there.”

“I changed things around.” He kissed her scrunched-up nose. “What?”

“I liked being on top. I like the control.” She muttered something else under her breath, but he didn't catch what.

And he wasn't gonna ask. Tonight wasn't for heavy shit. It was for enjoying each other.

“Well, maybe you can control round two.”

She opened her mouth to argue. He cut her off with a kiss, sweeping his tongue in to taste her again. She gave in easily enough, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him down on top of her. One leg wrapped around his and nudged his butt down so his crotch pressed into hers.

“You're wearing entirely too many clothes,” she said, using the tip of her tongue to tease the corner of his mouth.

“I could say the same for you.”

“I'm naked from the waist up,” she reminded him.

“Right. Yes, and have I mentioned my appreciation?”

“There's always time to correct the oversight.”

He took the invitation for what it was and kissed a path down her neck, stopping a moment to gently bite down on the sensitive area where her neck met her shoulder. Her heel pressed into his ass with a fast jolt. Yup, she liked that one. Then he was back on track, cruising down her soft skin to reach the peaked tip of one breast. Excitement, and a chilly hotel room, had prepped her rosy pink nipple into a pointy morsel.

He sucked her into his mouth, then pulled back to blow across the tip. The skin tightened even more while she moaned her pleasure and ground up into his leg with her groin.

He teased her other breast for long moments, enjoying their sensitivity while his right hand worked at the button of her jeans. The beauty of being ambidextrous, it made undressing a woman that much easier. No need to switch sides if you weren't using the dominant hand . . . they were both dominant.

As the denim gave way and parted, he finger-walked to the simple lavender cotton panties. Not quite the typical satin or lacey thong numbers he was used to finding. But their simplicity almost made them more special. They told him she probably wasn't out to score for the night, but rather in it for the true enjoyment with a friend. Which made finding her like a needle in a haystack.

Moving gently beneath the cotton, he waited for a signal she was resistant. She moved with him, even attempting to kick off the jeans. But they were too tight to manage without a hand. And he was ready to let her squirm a little. He could barely, just barely, graze her clit with his middle finger. And when he did, she gasped like a drowning woman coming up for air.

“Off. Take them off,” she moaned as he did it again.

“Hmmm. No.”

She glared at him, then reached down to do it herself. But he used one forearm to keep her flat on her back.

“I said you could have round two.”

“Who says there will be a round two?” she shot back. When he arched a brow at her, she rolled her eyes. “Men.”

“God love us, right?” he asked with a grin, then stroked her clit once more.

When she clamped her teeth in retaliation, cutting short that moan he wanted to hear, he knew she was past the teasing threshold. He worked the denim and cotton down her legs and tossed it in the pile with the bra and top. Then sat back on his heels and just looked.

Short, curvy, and not modest. No coy covering with her hands, or rolling to duck under the covers. Cassie submitted to his perusal with no fake gestures of shyness.

“Now I'm completely naked—”

“Yes, you are,” he breathed.

“And you're still fully clothed. I'm really going to insist you show some skin.” She grinned when his eyes tracked back to her face. “A girl likes to know what she's getting.”

So with that, he stepped back from the bed, reached behind his neck for a good grip, and ripped the shirt off and over his head.

When the ancient Greeks and Romans wrote about gods, this was what they were picturing.

Cassie's mouth watered as the living, breathing male model folded his shirt in half and settled it on the small table by the window.

She had been a very good girl in another life. It was the only explanation why her last act of anonymous rebellion would be this hot.

While his back was turned, she double-checked for drool.

All good.

When he reached for the belt of his jeans, he caught her expression. “What?”

She sat up on her elbows. “I'm guessing you spend some time at the gym.”

His gaze followed hers down to his flat stomach. “Yeah, you know . . . whatever.”

Whatever. Sure. If the bottom half matched the top, she might not make it through the next hour conscious. Oh, God. If she passed out like one of those Justin Beiber
Belieber
fans, she might as well call Anya to come over and shoot her.

“Thinking pretty hard over there.” His hands dropped away from the belt buckle. “You okay?”

He was minutes away from guaranteed sex, and he could still ask that?
Hottie plus good guy consideration equaled happy Cassie.

“I'm good.” She patted the side of the bed, then held up a hand when he started walking toward her. “Pants.”

The corner of his mouth ticked up in an almost-smile. “Right, how could I forget?”

She watched the denim and boxers slide down and over his hips. He dropped the waistband and his heavy belt carried them down to his ankles. He used the table for balance while he toed off his shoes. While he was distracted, she ogled with pure curiosity.

Yup.
The bottom matched the top. His erection hung thick between two rock-hard thighs. And as he turned a little in his struggle to get his shoes off, she could mentally add a fantastic ass to the growing list of physical attributes. He had to be in construction, or landscaping, or some mode of physical work that explained that amazing body. That was no desk-sitting body.

Where, oh where was this man when she'd been looking for a relationship in Atlanta?

Right. In New Mexico. Figured.

Fuck geography.

He walked back toward her, jeans in hand, and let them drop by the bedside table. Then he sat next to her, one hand absently cupping her breast. His thumb rubbed over her nipple.

“I'm about to be really honest here,” he said, his voice a little rough.

“Yeah?” She settled one hand on his thigh.

“I want you more than I want to breathe.”

She grinned. “Good. We're on the same page then.”

“Damn good page.” And he kissed her then, demonstrating with his teeth and tongue just how close he was to the edge of his control. One hand slid down her body, dipping between her thighs, and his fingers traced through her slit and circled her clit. Just fast enough to excite, but far too slow to take her close to the brink.

She slid her hand up his leg until her fingers brushed against his erection. She wrapped her fist around it, though it barely reached around, and stroked him with the same pace as his fingers worked her. When he sped up, she did as well. As he slowed, she matched his speed.

Soon they were panting and breathing too hard to even kiss, and then he stood and stepped out of reach.

“I can't . . .” He ran a hand through his hair and reached down for his jeans. He held them up in one fist. “Condom,” he said, in answer to her confused look. “I've either got to have you now, or I have to leave.”

Cassie pretended to think, but when he growled she knew her time was up. “Only one?”

He stared for a second, then answered, “Yeah.”

She shrugged. “It's a good thing I travel with a pair in my makeup bag then, isn't it?”

Before she could laugh, he pounced over her, kissing her more in mock punishment than in pleasure. But it morphed easily into the same playful teasing she'd already come to expect. And she felt him reach into his pocket and pull out his wallet.

She reached down and stroked him while he unwrapped the condom and rolled it on. Then he paused, poised right at her entrance, eyes watching her intently.

Cassie smoothed her hands up his biceps and realized he was shaking just a little. From the cold? Excitement? Or restraint?

She didn't have time to ask—not that she really should have anyway—because whatever was holding him back broke and he pushed into her with one slow, smooth thrust.

“Oh, good sweet Jesus, that's the stuff,” she moaned, then blinked when he chuckled. “I said that out loud, didn't I?”

He kissed the tip of her nose, while pulling out and pushing back in. “Yes. And it was adorable.”

“
Kittens
are adorable,” she grumbled.

He hooked one wrist under her right knee and pulled her leg up, as if she were doing a side bend. The angle changed a fraction, and suddenly he was even deeper than before.

She added another mental
good sweet Jesus
before her brain cells went mushy and she couldn't think anything at all but clawing at his back in an effort to make him go faster.

He responded to the primal urge, pulsing with a rhythm that made her eyes nearly cross. But he took the hint when she reached down between their sweat-slicked bodies and used the tip of her middle finger to push her over the edge.

“Trey,” she whispered, her finger easing back a fraction. “I'm close and I'm about to be really selfish.”

“Do it,” he ordered, and she wasn't going to disobey.

The instant the orgasm hit her system, she arched into him and closed her eyes, riding the electric wave until the pulsing of her nerves slowed and the thundering heartbeat in her ears subsided to a dull roar. Enough to come back to her own body and realize Trey was draped over her heavily, his chest pressing into hers, his face buried in the pillow beside her.

“Good sweet Jesus,” she whispered, because she couldn't think of anything else to say.

“Double that, add some extra, and that's about where I stand,” he muttered into the pillow.

She rubbed a palm over his back, then grimaced as she realized just how sweaty he was. In fact, she was pretty damn hot from the exercise herself. And the man was like a walking sauna. His body heat nearly burned.

Almost as if reading her mind, he did a push up—
yum
—and took his weight completely off her. She couldn't resist rubbing her palms down his flexed biceps. “Sorry, I just couldn't keep upright any longer.” He pulled out, careful to keep the condom in place, then headed to the bathroom.

The second the door was closed, she bit down on her bottom lip, kicked her feet, and did a silent scream-dance. Night of blowing off steam, total success.

God, if she couldn't get out to have fun in the next few weeks, this was the perfect memory to take into seclusion with her.

She heard the water running, then stop before the bathroom door opened. He walked out, still naked, completely unselfconscious about it. He paused at the foot of the bed, watching her.

Might as well go for the gold.
“Got somewhere to be?”

He shook his head.

Cassie patted the bed beside her. “If you're game for round two, I'm not going to say no. Just, you know, give me an hour or something.”

He helped her roll the comforter down so they could slide in. Just as he wrapped his arm around her waist, her phone buzzed on the TV console.

“I should get that.”

“Stay,” he muttered. “Ignore the world and stay.”

“It's going to be Anya. If I don't answer in five minutes or less, she'll have management opening the door to do a dead body check.”

“In that case . . .” He held up the covers for her to crawl out from. “If it grants me another hour in here with you, by all means.”

* * *

Trey finished buckling his belt and sat at the edge of the bed to slip his shoes on and tie the laces.

Cassie stood and walked—blessedly naked—to her suitcase on the luggage rack by the TV stand. She rummaged around a bit, then came out with an old T-shirt that hung down to her knees. He wanted to protest as the material slithered down to cover her ass. The gray fabric looked well worn, like one of those shirts you kept until they literally fell apart at the seams from a thousand washings. He grimaced as she turned and he saw the Atlanta Falcons logo on the front.

“What?” She glanced down, moving tangled hair out of her way.

He grunted, then muttered, “Damn Falcons.”

“How did you see that from over there without your glasses?”

He froze mid-loop and stared at the toe of his shoe.
Shit.

She laughed. “You must be a massive sports nut if you can make out the fuzzy outline of their logo from across the room.”

His heart kicked back up to speed. “Yeah, well, any self-respecting football fan wouldn't be caught dead in that shirt.”

“It's just a shirt.” She shrugged when he stared at her. “What? It is. It's not like I got a tattoo of a honey badger or some random sports icon on my butt or anything. I wear it to bed, not even out of the house.”

“Why'd you buy it, then?” He stood. Really, he should have left by now. So why was he tripping down this completely ill-fated path?

“Parting gift from an old college boyfriend. He abandoned it at my place, much like he abandoned me for some hot-tits slut. Keeping the shirt—along with some CDs and a nearly worthless pair of sunglasses—seemed appropriate.”

He grinned at that before reaching back to grab his fake glasses.

“I liked how soft it was, and I don't really care much about sports. They've never held my interest.” Her mouth quirked a little. “I have a feeling that might change soon.”

Settling the frames back on his face awkwardly, he stuffed his hands in his back pockets. “Why's that?”

“My . . .” She paused, then spent a good ten seconds rearranging the contents of her purse that had spilled out of her bag. In a rush to grab another condom before they'd had sex the second time, most everything had rolled onto the TV console before she'd found the pair of foil packets. “My father is sort of into football.”

“Falcons, too?”

“He doesn't live in Georgia.” She rolled her eyes and waved a hand through the air. “Who cares, right? Non-issue tonight.”

Her words were casual, dismissive. But they broke just a little. He stepped up to her and wrapped her in a close hug. Just because he wasn't going to be there tomorrow to offer comfort didn't mean tonight was a wash for it. “Sorry.”

“For what?”

“Whatever hurts.”

She snuggled into him, almost a foot shorter than his six-foot-four frame, and he liked the feeling. Liked that he gave her even a moment's sense of security, and not because of his name or his job. Just because she enjoyed his company and him.

If things hadn't started out so oddly, if she hadn't been just a visitor, and if he'd had time to invest in a relationship, it might have been the beginning of something amazing.

But now he was the weirdo who wore a disguise—no matter how pathetic—and carried out the farce of being blind. She lived in Georgia. And pre-season training was starting up again, meaning he was going to be busier than ever.

Piss poor timing all around.

She sighed and stepped back. “Okay. No heavy good-bye ending.” With a bright smile, she took his hand and walked him to the door. “Do you want me to come down to the lobby?”

“In that outfit?” He took in her tan bare legs poking out from the hem of the shirt, which was not at all concealing the fact she wasn't wearing a bra. “I can take it from here.” Trey reached for the door handle and opened it an inch.

She rose up on her tiptoes, grabbed the collar of his shirt, and pulled him down for one last kiss. He lost his grip on the door and it slammed shut again as he pressed her back against the wall to take full advantage.

God, he didn't want to leave. But he had work in the morning, and she was clearly ready to be alone. Not to mention the nervous friend two doors down who would probably call the cops if they delayed another hour to use up her last condom.

Finally, he pulled back enough to rest his forehead against hers. But when he opened his eyes, he realized his glasses were fogged up. He grinned.

“Clearly, we're hot enough to steam things up.”

She snorted. “Bad.”

“Yes, yes it was.” He kissed her once more, on the tip of her nose, because he couldn't end things with a bad pun. Then he let the door close quietly behind him.

That . . . was amazing.

And he wanted to kick himself for not having the ability to get back in there, confess the deception, and start over from scratch. Try again, see how things would go, and really fight for a chance.

Not in the cards, Trey. Move on.

He took one step, then another down the bright hallway carpet runner. He hit the down button without a problem. Stepped into the elevator car, no worries. But the second he stepped out of the elevator in the lobby and it shut behind him, he pivoted on his heel and punched the up button again.

The red arrow indicated the elevator had already left to head back up for new passengers. He swore under his breath and paced. So it gave him a few extra minutes to come up with a decent explanation as to why he was wearing the disguise a third grader could come up with.

His phone vibrated and beeped, and he nearly turned it off. But resisting the impulse, he swiped his thumb over the screen and brought up the incoming text.

Help.

He sighed, looked longingly at the elevator, then headed for the front door. He couldn't risk assuming Stephen was being dramatic and could wait another ten minutes while he ran up there. He'd head to the club, see what mess Stephen had gotten himself into, pray to God he could pry his friend back out without being discovered, and try again in an hour.