Play Date (Play Makers Book 3) (10 page)

Still, he seemed determined, so Bannerman said, “Okay, on three. One, two, three.”

Kyle ended up using two hands to toss it to the halfback, who strode toward Rachel. She stepped out of the way, allowing him to reach the chalkboard on the back wall. “You guys won,” she said, beaming at Kyle.

“That’s cheating,” Bannerman told her cheerfully. “Let’s get a few more players up here. How about you, Flip-flop Girl?”

Alicia sprang to her feet and joined him. “Yay, me.”

“That’s the spirit. Cargo Boy’s gonna toss it to you, you toss it to me, then Ms. Gillette will block me. If she doesn’t try this time, we’ll be very disappointed in her, won’t we?”

The entire class confirmed with a happy shout.

Rachel rolled her eyes, but braced herself. She wouldn’t actually try to stop him, but maybe she could put on a show for the children, because they really
did
need to know the importance of trying.

The ball went from Kyle to Alicia to Bannerman, who flashed a mischievous grin then advanced on Rachel, bulldozing her gently until her back was against the blackboard. “Nice try, teach.”

“What are you doing here?” she demanded softly.

“I wanted to talk to you. And you said not to phone. So it’s your fault.”

She wriggled away and gave the children a reassuring smile. “I think I won that one. Right?”

They shuffled indecisively, then Tommy told her, “Try to take the ball away from him.”

Bannerman nodded in approval. “I like how you think, kid. What’s that on your shirt? A monkey?”

“It’s a tiger,” Tommy insisted.

“Okay, Tiger Boy. You’re up. And we need someone else.” After scanning the students, he pointed to Mary Enniston. “Let’s take a look at you.”

Rachel’s heart sank. Mary had worn an eye patch the last few months, and the thought Bannerman might pin a corresponding label on the poor child made her physically ill.

But instead the halfback said, “Leave the purse behind, purse girl. This is the NFL. Let’s see your muscle.” He flexed his arm, and when Mary did likewise, he nodded approvingly. “I like your stuff. You’re my QB. Tiger boy, you’ll receive it then lateral to me. Then I’ll obliterate Ms. Gillette. Let’s get this done.”

• • •

By the tenth time he backed her up to the board and grinned down at her, she was his for the taking. Not only had he given each student a hilarious nickname, diligently including even the shyest of them. Not only had he been scrupulously careful about their well-being. About
her
well-being.

But he had nuzzled her during each and every play. Discreetly, but still, it was doing its job. Especially when he murmured in her ear, “Are you still mad at me?”

White-hot arousal surged through her, drenching her panties. “You’re just so wild,” she told him breathlessly.

“I’ll be good. I promise.” His smile was warm and reassuring. “We’re on for later, right?”

She nodded, helpless to resist.

Have some pride,
she pleaded with herself, but what would be the point? He’d show up at the house and seduce her, and since she was already prepped for orgasm, she’d be powerless to resist.

Still, she managed to say, “Let’s wrap this up, please? The children need their story time. To calm them down. But they honestly loved having you here today.”

Without giving him a chance for a smart-assed reply, she turned to the class. “Children? Mr. Bannerman is leaving. So let’s say ‘thank you’ for the football lesson, shall we?”

A sad chorus of “thank you” and mangled versions of “Bannerman” filled the room, and despite his swagger, the halfback seemed touched.

Or maybe she just wanted to believe that. To put a civilized veneer on what would happen later when she made a fool of herself again. In any case, it was a relief when he packed his gym bag and ambled out of the room, turning to say over his shoulder, “Thanks for the game, kids. And, teach? Come straight home.”

• • •

She didn’t go straight home. Even after the last child was picked up and the last parent was reassured, she forced herself to straighten up the classroom, then hurried to the parking lot, making a shopping list in her head. She needed to feed him. To treat this like an actual date, not a “re-bang.” But what did one serve a giant halfback?

She would have stopped at her favorite deli but wasn’t sure they carried condoms, and wouldn’t want to buy them there anyway. She had a reputation to protect, didn’t she? So she detoured to a medium-sized supermarket, bought the hugest-sounding condoms she could find, then selected a foot-long submarine sandwich and a six-pack of Lager Storm beer. It was the brand Johnny Spurling had endorsed on TV, so hopefully it was a good one.

Throughout the trip, she reminded herself she didn’t have to sleep with him. She had said “no” on the phone and hadn’t actually said “yes” since then. Although she had blushed and stammered, and he probably recognized some other signs. Her lips, her breathing, her visibly quivering nerve endings.

She wasn’t fooling anyone. She wanted this—
needed
it—one last time. He had surprised her at the wedding, and she had loved the blur of pleasure and hilarity. This time would be different. They’d share the sandwich, chat a bit about the children, then go to bed. There was nothing wrong with that, and really, so much that was right about it. Natural and fun. Healthy even. So why resist?

They just needed to establish some ground rules, the most important one being: this was it. The official, final re-bang.

Tingling with excitement, she drove up the street to her tiny bungalow and spotted his rental car, a sleek black sedan, at the curb. There was no sign of him on the narrow front porch, so she drove down the driveway to her detached, single-car garage and spied him near the concrete stoop that functioned as a back porch.

He looked amazing. Tall and broad, his muscles virtually rippling, his posture ramrod straight. For a moment he just looked at her, his expression intense. No teasing smile, no reassuring chuckle. There was a different vibe, something more primitive, that made her suck in a nervous, aroused breath.

Then his lustful grin appeared, and she felt reassured but even more excited, to the point where she doubted her legs would carry her more than a few steps. Grabbing the grocery bag, she opened her door and got out, then gave him a shy smile.

But she knew he knew the truth. She was so ready it was criminal. Her heart was pounding, her insides jangling, her panties soaked again. If he had crossed to her at that moment, she would have put out on the spot.

But he waited, so she used that short walk to inhale some fresh air, and hopefully exhale the wild anticipation. Still, when she reached him, her body was on fire.

And he seemed to know it, because he pulled her close and murmured hoarsely, “Time to give it up, Ms. Gillette.”

Overcome by the moment, she dropped the bag and grabbed his handsome face between her hands, admiring it breathlessly. The wild blue eyes, the sun-swept cheekbones, the hungry mouth. She wanted to welcome him—to show him how glad she was that he had defied her wishes—so she gulped for air then covered his mouth with hers, kissing him with desire and wonderment.

He kissed her back, hard and firm and demanding, his tongue exploring her mouth. Not frantically as it had at the wedding, but just as hot. One of his huge hands fondled her breast while the other slid down her back to press her against his burgeoning erection. Then he reached under her skirt, fingers probing, until her aroused insides melted right into his hand.

She wanted him right there, right now. Then she remembered where they were and gasped, “We can’t, Vince. My neighbors.”

“Got it.” Picking up the grocery bag with one hand, he swept her onto the porch with the other as though she weighed mere ounces.

“I bought condoms,” she said lamely.

“How many?”

“What? Oh . . .” She giggled, then realized he could probably read the phone book to her and she’d laugh.

After using her key to unlock the door, he half dragged her into the kitchen. “Man, I’ve been dreaming of this,” he told her, kneeling to strip her panties off, then hoisting her up.

“Wait!” She reached toward the grocery bag on the counter, but he produced a condom from his pocket and ripped it open with his teeth. This time she was aware of, yet still amazed by, how deftly he multitasked, rolling the protection over his giant erection while his mouth plundered hers.

They weren’t going to eat first. Nor would they use the bed. It was just like the wedding, only better, because this time her body was miles ahead of him. And her brain? It was loving him as much as the rest of her.

He backed her against the wall, knocking her
World of Impressionist Art
calendar to the floor. Then he kissed her with such hedonistic passion it overwhelmed her. So she clung to him, and kissed him back, loving how his huge penis teased her, wanting it inside her more than she wanted peace on earth.

“That’s right, baby,” he crooned. “Buckle up. I’m taking you for a sweet, sweet ride.”

“I know, I know.”

He chuckled. “Man, I love banging you.”

“Don’t say ‘bang,’” she moaned.

“It’s your fault for getting so wet.”

She giggled helplessly, and then he was rhythmically entering her, and she wasn’t laughing anymore. Instead, she gasped, again and again, climaxing wildly before he even completed his penetration.

“God, you’re easy,” he teased, pumping slowly, keeping her going, making her beg for more. She never wanted him to stop and she told him so. Then
his
climax overtook them, and she realized she needed that too, driving her over the edge into an abyss of deep, throbbing pleasure.

“Oh, God,” she whispered, dazed again. Then as her breathing returned to normal, she said with gentle emphasis, “I think that’s enough. Put me down.”

“You don’t get out much, do you?”

Her laugh was weaker now, more like a happy moan. “You’re impossible.”

“In a good way?”

“Yes.” She rumpled his thick hair. “Put me down, Vince. Please?”

He lowered her to the floor, then steadied her gallantly. “Do you have a bed?”

“Yes, and I’m going to need it. Because wow.” Her tone softened. “You shouldn’t have come here, but I’m glad you did. Are you hungry? I bought you a sandwich.”

“I’m here to bang, not eat sandwiches.”

“You mean, again? Already?” She tried not to smile, but the prospect intrigued her, if only to find out what he was like horizontally. “Shouldn’t we take a break? I bought beer too.”

“Yeah, that sounds good. For later.” He scooped her up and brought her to the bedroom, where he deposited her gently on the frilly blue pillows and blue-and-white comforter of the queen-sized bed that took up ninety percent of the room. Then he reached down and pulled her lacy top over her head, insisting, “Time to see the goods.”

She hesitated, then unhooked her bra, tossing it aside. He had complimented her breasts already, hadn’t he? So why not reward him?

He nodded in approval. “Nice.”

“Do I get to see
your
goods?”

“You want to see my junk?” he said with a grin. “Man, you’re dirty.”

He pulled off his pants and boxers in two quick movements, then discarded the used condom in a nearby waste bin and moved close enough to exhibit his half-erect penis proudly. “Here you go.”

“Vince!” Avoiding the display, she knelt up and began unbuttoning his shirt, her heart pounding as she revealed his massive chest, sun-drenched to a deep tan and lightly covered with wiry bronze hair. Her hand caressed him instinctively, feeling the power just below the skin. The steady heartbeat. The ripped muscles. The heat.

He looked down at her, his blue eyes blazing. “Kiss me, teach.”

She exhaled and grabbed his face, then devoured his mouth with her own. She
loved
kissing this guy. Loved his face. And God help her, loved how he wanted to bang her over and over again.

He kissed her for a long, decadent moment, then became her rowdy hero again, tossing her onto the bed, then stripping away her skirt. “Have you ever been naked with a guy before?” he asked teasingly.

“Be quiet.”

“Pencil dicks, right?”

She howled with laughter. It wasn’t true, not at all. But they might as well have been, or at least, in contrast to this guy.

He finished removing his shirt, exposing a zillion-pack of hard muscle and arms like true cannons. Then he stretched out beside her and ran his hand slowly, admiringly over her breasts and down to her thighs. “You rock, teach,” he assured her, nibbling hopefully at her earlobe. “Let’s do this.”

She followed his lead, sliding her hand down his rock-hard torso until she was stroking his erection with firm, unmitigated adoration. She wanted to do this first. Bring him to climax right in her hand. And he seemed to know it, because he relaxed and gave a lustful groan as she worked him. She knew he had stamina—from practice if nothing else—and even as she pleasured him, she envied that pleasure.

“Mmm,” she murmured in his ear as she continued to work him. “I wish it was inside me.”

“You’re lazy, teach,” he complained. Then he rolled her onto her back and fingered her expertly between her legs. “Yeah, I guess you really want it.”

She couldn’t argue with that, so she just breathed another, softer “Mmmm,” as she closed her eyes and concentrated on the pulsating sensations. She would have come in a moment or two—of that she was sure—but he wanted what he wanted, so he put on a fresh condom, gently spread her legs apart and entered her, penetrating with stronger, more lustful thrusts than before.

“Give it up,” he commanded her hoarsely, and she honestly had no choice, wrapping herself around him and pulsing wildly for a few decadent moments before moving with him, making love with him, being perfectly, endlessly banged by him until they came together with a burst of pleasure that made her gasp his first name reverently.

“Call me Bam,” he insisted as they slowed to a warm embrace.

“I won’t,” she assured him. “But I’m thinking it.”