Fourth and Goal (23 page)

"Oh man, Rae."

Rachel tossed the bra aside and ran a fingernail down his cock, then back up again. She gazed at him through lowered lashes and touched the tip of her tongue to the head of his dick. His dick jerked, ready to dive in. He pushed his hips forward in an attempt to get her to quit teasing him and go for the goalpost. She laughed, a flirty, sexy sound that lit a fire in his heart.

Oh hell, he wanted to writhe around on the bed like some pathetic guy who never got any. The problem was that with Rachel he never seemed to get enough. The more he got, the more he wanted.

He'd never been one of those sex-crazed guys who had to have it several times a day, or even once a day. In fact, until she'd stumbled back into his life, he'd done quite well with once a week, if that. He went for quality, not quantity.

Casual sex never did much for him either—not that he wanted committed sex, at least not the kind that required a ring. He just didn't share. When he was with someone, he didn't want any other guy playing on the same field or going deep in his end zone.

With Rachel, the rules had changed. He wanted it all—quality and quantity and exclusivity, at least for the foreseeable future. Her ambition gave them both an out and him a safety net for what the hell it was they had going on. He shook his head. Thinking too much got a guy in trouble. What the fuck was he doing thinking anyway when her tongue felt so good on his cock?

Burying his fingers in her auburn hair, he tried to pull her mouth down on him. She evaded, doing a great fake to the left, and cupped his balls in her hand and squeezed them gently. With a wicked grin, she lowered her mouth again and sucked the tip of his cock into her mouth. His stomach muscles tightened; his breath caught. He held still a few torturous seconds. His dick twitched, wanting to get in the game.

"Awwww hell.” Now he was writhing, and he didn't give a shit if he looked pathetic and helpless.

"Is something wrong?” She raised an innocent brow.

"Uh, no, go back to what you were doing.” He arched his hips.

"You sound like you're in pain."

"I am. You're torturing me."

"I don't want to hurt you.” Her teasing wrinkled his insides in weird ways.

"You're not.” He pushed her head gently back down to him.

"I could put you out of your misery."

"Just quit talking and use your mouth for something else."

She laughed, then made him pay, taking him deeper while her hand milked the base. Much more of this and he'd come in her mouth. While what she did was incredible, he needed to drive down the field.

"All right sweetheart, my turn.” He grabbed her around the waist and tossed her on her back. She struggled to get free, laughing, trying to push him away. He held tight and straddled her naked body, which he took a time-out to admire. Soft and pliable, long legs to heaven, nice tits with tight pink nipples that invited a man's mouth, a flat stomach, and the face of a wicked angel. This angel surprised him at every turn as she gained confidence and boldness.

Inside, he quivered with a tenderness he'd banned from the playing field. He backed off dangerous ground and concentrated on the physical, as if he could separate the two. After all, physical he could handle. Emotional—now there was a whole different ball game. One he chose not to play.

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Rachel arched her body to meet Derek's as he straddled her. Grabbing her wrists, he pinned her hands over her head. With his free hand, he tickled her ribs and played them like a concert pianist stroked his ivory. She shrieked and begged for mercy, laughing so hard her stomach hurt. Between gulps of air, she struggled to free herself. Like that was going to happen. The man outweighed her almost two to one.

"Stop it. Oh, please stop it.” He was killing her with tickle torture. If he didn't stop soon, she'd pee her pants.

"Stop? Why?” He grinned from ear to ear. His biceps flexed, the bulging muscles in one arm very near her face. She nipped his arm for payback.

"Damn!” He jerked back but didn't let her go. “You little vixen."

"Vixen?” She gasped and giggled. “What'd I do?"

"You were torturing me.” His expression promised revenge and untold delight.

"I thought you enjoyed it."

"Not as much as I'm going to enjoy this.” The teasing sparkle in his eyes transformed to a smoldering heat. Her body reacted immediately. Warmed-up nerve endings prepared for the snap and the ball to be put into play.

She twisted underneath him as if she could dislodge 200-plus pounds of muscle. The man was unmovable. Derek pushed her legs apart with his knee. She didn't need a gold engraved invitation—she spread ‘em even wider. After all, the man had something she wanted. Presently it pushed against her thigh, long and hard. There were better places for it.

He nibbled on her lower lip. She moaned and arched her body upward. Passion ignited into hot flames, mindless desire. Derek's mouth covered hers, consumed, demanded, overpowered with the strength of his emotions. His tongue stole into her mouth, exploring, then mating with her tongue. An aching need licked at her insides.

He freed her hands, then filled his own with her breasts and followed up with that greedy mouth of his. Rachel buried her fingers in his hair.

"Take it down the field, big guy. It'd be a shame if you had to punt.” She rubbed her crotch against his erection, knowing he'd cave and give her what they both wanted.

"Say no more.” With a groan, he guided his big hard cock into her wet opening. She whimpered and lolled her head back on the pillow. He entered her with a quick, powerful thrust, and her breath whooshed out as he filled her. She gripped his waist and pulled him closer. He nuzzled her neck and grabbed her ankles, placing them over his shoulders to change the angle, increase the penetration, maximize the pleasure.

Driving deep, her soul bound to his, and things got a lot more complicated.

Derek stood in line at the supermarket, a small basket of groceries in one hand and a six-pack of good beer in the other. He did a double take at the magazine rack near the checkout counter. He groaned.
Oh crap. It was out.

On the cover of
Sports Pulse
in living color, he and Tyler stood shirtless in football pants, holding their helmets under one arm. Tyler's long fingers were wrapped around a football. They stood turned slightly sideways, the angle showing off the Cougar Rose Bowl tattoos on their upper arms. The caption read:
Northwest Boys Reign in Seattle.

Beefcake sold, and
Sports Pulse
seemed hell-bent on sucking in the women comprising an estimated 45 percent of pro-football fans. Seattle's hometown boys were the bait.

Derek cringed. He'd hated doing that cover, but Tyler and team management prevailed. His cousin soaked up every minute of it; he would've posed nude if they'd requested it. Derek had just wanted it over with.

Glancing around, he pulled his baseball hat farther down his forehead. He considered donning sunglasses, but since it was dark and raining, they'd only attract more attention.

Three teenage girls, looking too old for their ages, wearing way too much makeup, and showing too much midriff, giggled in line behind him. They'd stalked him around the store, cell phones glued to their ears and eyes glued on his butt. All three grabbed copies and giggled some more. Derek stared straight ahead. One of them tapped him on his shoulder.

More giggling.

Resigned to his fate and too nice of a guy to ignore them, he offered a smile. The one in a cheerleader uniform moved forward with a little help from her girlfriends. “Could you sign this for me? My boyfriend will absolutely freak."

"Sure.” He took the pen she handed him. “And you are?"

"Rachel."

"Really? My girlfriend's name is Rachel.” Okay, so she wasn't really his girlfriend, but she was the closest thing he had to one. And damned if he knew why he chose to share personal information.

The three girls looked at each other, giggled some more, batted lashes clumped with mascara, and crowded way too close. Backing away, he signed the other two magazines, paid for his stuff, and attempted an escape without anyone else waylaying him.

At six feet five, being inconspicuous didn't quite work for him. The girls had cell phones, and they knew how to use them. Outside the door, a group of teenage boys lounged against an old pickup. When they spotted him, they swaggered toward him in baggy pants and letterman's jackets, wearing their jock attitudes like teenage armor. Tyler clones.

Heaven help him.

Derek bent to pick up the book that fell out of Tyler's locker. At the same time, Tyler dived for it, and they cracked heads. Each swearing a blue streak, they tussled for the book. Derek won. He held it up and stared in disbelief.

"
Cowboy Fantasy
? By Wendi Darlin? What the hell is this? Are you reading this?"

"It's not like that, dickwad.” Tyler snatched it out of his hands and shoved it in the depths of his messy locker. His blue eyes darted around the locker room to make sure none of the other guys had seen the little altercation.

"Oh yeah? What is it like?” Derek leaned against a closed locker, crossed his arms over his chest, and waited for the truth.

"It's a, uh, a romance novel.” Tyler said the words so low that Derek had to lean forward to catch them.

"A what?” Derek cupped his hand to his ear.

"A fucking romance novel,” Tyler growled.

"You're reading a romance novel?” Derek snorted.

"Shut the fuck up. I don't want everyone to hear. I saw someone reading it and decided to pick up a copy."

Derek's eyes narrowed. “It's one of Cass's."

"How would you know?"

Because he'd taken one of Cass's romance novels from Rachel's house, but Tyler didn't need to know that. “She left a few at Rachel's. How'd you get it?"

Tyler squirmed, and not much made Tyler squirm. He lowered voice. “Cass left it in her car. I borrowed it."

"You've been stalking Cass. You broke into her car?"

"No, it's not like that. The cheerleaders practiced at the stadium a few days ago. She parked next to me in the lot. It wasn't locked."

Derek shook his head. “You're not really reading it?"

"It's a very good book."

"Ty, you barely read the sports section, let alone anything closely resembling a book."

"I'm educating myself."

"On what?"

"You told me yourself. These are the types of books Cass reads. Obviously she got something out of them."

"Why do you say that?"

"Dumb shit.” Tyler rummaged through his locker for some tape.

"So you think you're going to pick up some pointers by reading it.” Derek pushed closer, purposely getting in Tyler's space just to needle him.

"Well, fuck yeah. You'd be surprised; plus, it's great company on lonely nights.” Tyler pushed on his chest, moving him back a step.

"Now that's just plain sick.” If Tyler only knew how many lonely nights he'd found a similar book good company.

"Hey, I've been celibate for two weeks. I gotta get off somehow.” Finding the tape, he plopped onto a bench and started taping his ankle.

"You—celibate? Isn't that an oxymoron?"

"Are you calling me a moron?"

Derek rolled his eyes. “Are you really that dense?"

"Huh?” Tyler frowned, somewhat confused. “You should read this book."

He'd already read a similar one by Allie Adams, but Tyler didn't need to know that either.

"Women eat up this stuff. These books are their fantasies about how they wish men really behaved.” Tyler faked concentration on wrapping the tape around his ankle.

"So you're going to change your behavior?” Derek was certain that he'd been dropped down a rabbit hole or something. Tyler reading romance novels? Next thing you knew, one of America's hottest bachelors would be signing up for online dating. It boggled his mind.

"I'm always open to new seduction techniques.” Tyler regarded the mess he'd made of the tape job and unwrapped it.

"Since when do you need a seduction technique other than crooking your little finger?"

"A guy can always improve."

Derek snorted. “You miss her, don't you?"

"What the fuck are you talking about? I just don't like to be the one that gets dumped. That doesn't happen to me.” After his fourth bungled attempt at wrapping, Tyler waved a trainer over.

"Bullshit. That's not it."

Tyler turned his back on his cousin and started pulling stuff out of his locker. “Know what, we've got a football game. I don't need this shit.” Tyler sat back down and let the trainer wrap his ankle.

"You're a dumb-ass, you know."

"Fuck off. Don't fucking lecture me when you're just as much of a dumb-ass when it comes to Rachel.” His cousin smirked at him, indulging in a little unsportsmanlike conduct.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"You're a smart guy. You actually earned your college degree, so you figure it out."

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Rachel opened the door to Mitch. He looked like he'd been on an all-night bender. Wordlessly he slumped into a chair. He grunted, his eyes glued to the football game on her TV. Rachel suspected he wouldn't be able to tell her what two teams were playing. She braced herself for another lecture about Derek, yet something told her more was wrong. For one, her brother looked like he'd been mauled by Simon.

She swallowed to rid her mouth of the metallic taste and feared the worst.

"Would you like a beer?"

Another grunt. Not having a clue if he'd grunted yes or no, she took a beer out of the refrigerator and popped the top. Reaching for a glass, she bumped the bottle; it bobbled on the counter. Rachel dived for it, which sent it flying off the counter onto the floor.
Darn it. At least it didn't break.

Rachel grabbed a handful of paper towels and bent to wipe up the mess. She braced herself for the razzing that always followed one of her klutz incidents. Mitch didn't say a word. Charlie hopped down from his perch on the bookcase and lapped at the beer. Just what she needed, a drunk cat. She shooed him away.