Winning It All (Hometown Players Book 4) (7 page)

“Right on Frey,” she murmurs as I drive, taking a break from our little guessing game. So far she’s guessed internet mogul, trust fund baby, international spy, French winery owner and porn star. That one I took as a compliment.

I nod and turn the car as directed. It’s risky letting her guess, in case she says professional athlete, but I also like the way she’s getting flustered and slightly annoyed. There is something about keeping her off balance that I find ridiculously addictive. I’m totally shocked that she agreed to let me drive her home, because she’s been nothing short of an ice queen all night. Except for about a second in the lake, but that came and went so quickly I’m not even sure it was real.

“So how come you didn’t ask Trucker Hat for a lift home?” I can’t help but ask.

“Not interested,” she replies lightly with a shrug. “And before you say something snarky, remember, I didn’t ask you to drive me home either.”

“But you didn’t object,” I remind her. She frowns, points left and I turn.

She sighs like she’s disappointed and points to my right. “The tall one on the left at the end.”

“This is…an interesting area,” I tell her and gently do a U-turn so I can park against the sidewalk next to her building.

“It’s not as sketchy as it looks,” she murmurs as we watch a guy with a shopping cart full of cans go by across the street and turn into an alley.

I raise an eyebrow at her. She shrugs. “It’s affordable and clean. And I’m hardly ever out at night anyway. Sorry we can’t all live in Capital Hill.”

“I don’t live in Capital Hill,” I correct her with a smile. “I almost bought over there, but they wouldn’t let me merge three units into one. Had to move into a place closer to the water.”

She laughs softly next to me. “The tragedies of being a billionaire are endless, aren’t they?”

“I’m not a billionaire,” I argue and feel a little weird, like I always do, when my paycheck comes up. It’s mind-blowing that I make the money I do, but I work my ass off for it. Inside, though, I’m still that goofy kid who grew up in a three-bedroom, hundred-year-old house with a leaky roof in rural Quebec. The kid who had to mow neighbors’ lawns in the summer and shovel their driveways in the winter to afford new hockey equipment. “My place here, though, is pretty sweet. Just finished renovations a couple months ago. You should come see it. But you have to take off your shoes at the door. And, you know, the rest of your clothes.”

I see her eyes flare, and she covers her face with her hands. I laugh. “Again with the shy thing!” I reach over and gently pull her hands from her face.

“How come you didn’t drive Blondie home?” she asks me out of nowhere.

“Same reason you didn’t ask Trucker Hat for a lift. Not interested,” I tell her and then drop my eyes and look at her hand in my lap. I squeeze it lightly, willing her to get the connection—that I chose to drive her because I
am
interested.

“I should go,” she says quietly, with the slightest tremble in her voice that tells me she really doesn’t want to go. “I have to work in the morning.”

“And I have to work out in the morning,” I reply and turn my head to meet her eyes. In the weak light from the street they look pale gray. Her hand pushes the door open but she doesn’t move to leave. I stare at her and lick my lips before taking the final shot.

“So do you want me to drive you to work tomorrow?” I ask, trying to keep my voice flat and nonchalant. “Since your car is still out of commission.”

“That would be…convenient.” She swallows and her eyelashes flutter ever so slightly. “But you would have to get up extra early to get here. I need to be there by eight thirty.”

“Yeah…” Here goes nothing…or something…“Well, if I stayed here, instead of going home, that would save me some time.”

She smirks, but I don’t smirk back because I’m not just trying to flirt here. I am full-on propositioning her. Her smirk slips into something softer and sexier. “That’s probably the sensible option.”

If my dick had arms, it would be high-fiving me right now.

I feel like I’m in a dream as I open the door of my building and usher him inside. Sebastian, my mysterious French one-night stand, is here. With me. In my apartment. I’ve wanted this to happen again for the last twelve days. I’ve dreamt about it—not figuratively like daydreaming but actual hot, unconscious sex dreams about us having another incredible night.

But does this mean something? Is this just another random hookup and he’ll disappear for another two weeks? Does he want this to be more, or is he looking for a bed buddy? Am I ready to be a bed buddy? Do I have what it takes to fuck without emotion? Because I did feel something more than an orgasm last time. He’s all I’ve thought about since. If he does simply want a bed buddy, will I do it? Are the orgasms worth it? Should I turn around right now and tell him to just go home? Or throw some blankets on the couch and lock my bedroom door?

“Something is wrong,” he says softly as we climb the stairs to the top of the four-story building. “You’re too quiet.”

“I’m just trying to figure out why I’ve invited a stranger to spend the night in my house,” I confess, because why the hell not. “And what we’re doing.”

I steal a glance at him. He’s smiling playfully as he says cheekily, “Stranger, huh? Don’t worry, I’m not a serial killer and I’ll only tie you up if you ask me to.”

Okay, so he didn’t exactly answer me, but damn, now I’m thinking about being tied up by him. That might be hot…

We hit the fourth-floor landing and walk down the hall to my front door. I open it and hold it for him to enter. He walks in and waits in the hall, kicking off his shoes, as I lock the door behind us and walk into the living room. I flip on a tall floor lamp in the corner. The room illuminates, and Sebastian blinks and shoves his hands in his pockets, glancing around.

“Nice place,” he admits sheepishly.

“Thanks.” I give him a quick smile and as we stand there staring at each other, I decide to turn on the snark before it gets awkward. “So do you want to sleep on the couch? It’s a pull-out and it’s got a new mattress.”

He tilts his head just a little and cocks an eyebrow as if to say
are you kidding me?
“No. I don’t want to sleep on the couch.”

“The floor? I have a camping mattress I can dig out of storage.” I bite my lip to keep from smiling.

“No.”

“Do you hang by your toes from the ceiling like a bat?”

He lets out a whoosh of air, a smile playing on those lips I am lusting after. “I sleep in beds. Only beds. Do you have a spare bedroom?”

I shake my head. He steps forward and grabs my hand and shrugs. “Then it looks like we’re sharing.”

He’s pulling me toward my bedroom. Roy, my cat, stares at us with judgment as we pass him where he’s sprawled on the back of the couch. I give him a glare right back. Maybe if I hadn’t gotten him fixed, he wouldn’t be so judgey.

Once in the bedroom, Sebastian flips on the lamp on my night table and promptly pulls his shirt over his head. I openly gape at him. His chest is beautiful. That soft, sexy smattering of chest hair and smooth skin spread tight over his rippled stomach and wide, muscled shoulders and back. Flawless except for a scar on his right shoulder. He must have had surgery for an injury. Even though he was shirtless in the river earlier, I couldn’t see him clearly. And in the laundry room when we were half clothed everything happened so quickly it was a blur. Tonight I intend to blatantly drink in every ounce of him so I can remember it in case it doesn’t happen again.

“What?” he asks innocently as I try to avoid drooling. “I don’t sleep in a shirt.”

He playfully tosses it at me. It hits me in the chest and I catch it. An idea comes to life in my evil little head. I yank down my dress and let it pool at my feet. I’ve still got my bathing suit on but it doesn’t stop him from raking his eyes very slowly and heavily over my body. I pretend not to notice, but I feel a tingle that sweeps my body with the path of his cobalt blue eyes. I pull his shirt over my head and slip my arms through the sleeves.

“I
do
sleep in a shirt,” I say and smile triumphantly.

He’s amused. I can tell by his smirk, but he cocks an eyebrow. “And a bathing suit?”

I reach under the shirt, twist my hands behind my back and undo my bandeau top. It falls to the floor. Then, carefully, making sure the shirt covers all the parts facing him, I wiggle out of the bottoms. He’s watching me intently and undoing his shorts at the same time. I gaze at him a moment longer than I should, drinking in how fantastically sculpted his upper body is and that sexy inverted triangle of muscles that leads below his navel and around his hips. My mouth actually waters.

He drops his shorts and doesn’t even begin to hide the bulge I can clearly see in his black boxer briefs. I act like I don’t see it—I should win a fucking Academy Award—and then I turn to my dresser and pull out a pair of my undies to slip on. I pick a pretty pale pink lace pair that are for going out, not sleeping. But in this case, I will make an exception.

I turn back to him, placing my butt against the dresser so when I bend to slip the panties on he doesn’t get an eyeful. But when I glance up, it’s me who gets an eyeful. Sebastian is now completely naked. My mouth hangs open and I stand up, panties hanging, forgotten, from my hand.

“I sleep naked.” He shrugs, smiling, completely immodest.

“Frenchie…” I whisper his nickname so softly I don’t know if he hears it. I swallow and say in a louder, steadier voice, “You’re not going to be sleeping tonight.”

And there it is. I chose instant gratification—and the consequences be damned. I drop my panties on the ground and start toward him, climbing on top of my platform bed on my knees. He does the same and meets me in the middle of the mattress. His hands reach for the bottom of his shirt I’m wearing and slowly, gently, he pulls it up over my head.

“Then you won’t be needing this,” he whispers before dipping his head, cupping my jaw and connecting our lips.

Suddenly it’s like we’re in a race and someone shot the starting gun. We attack each other. My hands fly up into that glorious hair—it’s as soft and thick as I remember. Sebastian’s arms wrap around my back, and he grabs two big fistfuls of my bare ass. Our tongues are battling too, our lips fused together.

Our bodies are pressed flat against each other from the knees up and Sebastian’s hard cock is pressing firmly into my abdomen; I fight the urge to whimper. I take one hand from his hair, move it between us, and wrap my fingers around his cock. His body tightens and relaxes in a nanosecond, as he pushes his hips into me, moving his erection in my grip.

“Shay…I want you so fucking bad.” There’s no snark or attitude, just lust deepening his voice. “Last time blew my fucking mind. I get hard every time I think about it. And I think about it a lot. You do too. Admit it.”

I make a noise. It’s supposed to be a
yes,
but it’s more of a moan because his hands have left my ass and are cupping my breasts. His strong fingers are tugging and rolling my nipples and it’s creating ripples of pleasure that are rolling down my spine and pooling between my legs. I work my hand around his cock. It’s just as long and thick as I remember. And I can’t wait to feel overwhelmed and almost split in half like I did in the laundry room. My pressure is firm but gentle, and I rub my thumb over his leaking tip on every pass, which causes him to push into me harder each time. One of his hands moves up to the base of my neck and the other one moves south, over my pubic bone and down. His index finger travels right down the middle of the cleft between my legs.

He smiles into the kiss. “You missed me too.”

“Maybe.” I nip his collarbone.

He moves his hand from the wetness he discovered and wraps it around my back, pressing me right up against him and forcing my hand to abandon its work. With a quickness I don’t anticipate and his strength, which I always underestimate, he flips me down onto the mattress. I’m midsqueal when his tongue takes up residence in my mouth again.

He’s got one thigh between my legs, his hands pressed into the bed on either side of my head. I wrap my hands back into that gorgeous fucking hair of his as he uses his arms to drag his body upward, his muscular thigh grinding against my sex on its way up.

I will not groan. Not first. No way.

My hands slip down his back, nails grazing lightly over his flesh, until they reach his ass and then I grab on—hard. His mouth covers mine again and I pull him upward, causing his thigh to rub my aching pussy once again. He smiles into the kiss so I bite his bottom lip.

“Admit it…you want a repeat of that night as badly as I do,” he says and dips his head, using his tongue to make a trail up my neck and toward my ear.

“Please say you have one of those Magnums you bragged about.”

He lifts his head and then his body again. That rock-hard, beautiful thigh makes glorious contact against my clit again and this time I buck my hips to keep the friction going as long and hard as I can. I move my hand back down to his cock and wrap my fingers around it again. This time I use my other hand to cup his balls, and when I pump his dick I squeeze “the boys.” His sky blue eyes actually roll back in his head. I grin triumphantly and do it again. And again.

I will not be the first to moan. No fucking way. She is the type of girl who will never let me live it down.

I push up on my arms and away from her. She lets go of my cock and balls because she has to, but as soon as her fingers are gone I really want to moan—my discontent. I gaze down at her. She’s grinning and her face is flushed, and her eyes are like charcoal pools. Her dark hair is fanned out above her head in waves. She’s beautiful. I want to take it slow suddenly. I want to savor her and whisper confessions in her ear, like how much I thought about her on my road trip. But I know this isn’t the time. Tonight, her impatience and her grin and her attitude are telling me she wants to cut to the chase.

I lean over the side of the bed and dig in my wallet for the condom I had the good sense to bring. I tear the package open with my teeth and quickly roll the condom on. I can’t remember the last time I was this turned on. Oh, right, in the laundry room at Elevate Fitness.

Before I can lie back down on top of her, she’s up on her knees in front of me again. Her delicate hand snakes its way around the back of my head and into my hair, and as she kisses me I grab her waist and yank her up into my lap. She’s up high on her knees, her face tilted down toward me as I sit back on my heels. She moves her knees so she’s straddling me. Holding tight to her narrow hips, I start to push her down on my cock.

My mouth falls open and my head tilts back a bit and a moan—loud, clear and wanting—rumbles out of me. I think she’s moaning too, but I don’t even fucking care anymore if I’m breaking first. She’s so fucking tight and warm and wet, and I want her to know how much I adore it.

When her butt reaches my lap and I’m fully sheathed in her perfect, sweet pussy I find my words. She’s breathing heavily, her pretty tits heaving in front of me. She opens her eyes and we stare at each other. Her expression changes. It’s not guarded or wary or wry like it usually is. She looks soft and vulnerable and even more gorgeous than ever before.

“You feel even better than I remember,” I confess, and I splay my hands across her naked back, pulling her to me in almost a hug. Her face curls toward my neck, and I feel her tongue trace a path up to my ear. She lifts her hips; I slide out of her just a little bit.

Before she can slide back down onto me I jerk my hips up—hard—and push up into her. She gasps. With my arms crossed around her back, I reach up and hold her shoulders as I move, pushing up and down, up and down. She may be on top, but I’m riding her instead of her riding me. And then there it is—a moan. Soft and low and filled with desire and need. Hearing her break feels as good as an overtime goal.

“Sebastian…” she gasps and holds tighter to me, wrapping her arms around my neck. It’s so soft and needy and
oh my God, I’m going to come.

I pinch my eyes closed and stop. Freeze completely still and force images of my grandmother into my mind. Shayne either doesn’t know what I’m doing or knows exactly what I’m doing and wants me to fail because she keeps moving her hips.

Grandma! Grandma! Grandma!

I bite her shoulder. “No, you don’t.”

I flip her so she’s flat on her back, managing to keep my dick inside her. She’s smiling at me.

“Didn’t like that position, Frenchie?” she asks in mock innocence.

“Liked it too much,” I admit and reach for her leg. My hand cups the back of her toned calf and I haul her right leg up over my shoulder before dipping down to hover over her. “Mmm,” I say, appreciating her flexibility before giving her a little thrust. “Yoga is good for something.”

She giggles at that and wraps her free leg around the backs of my thighs. I thrust into her again. And again. I find a rhythm quickly. She likes it and I feel her back arch just the slightest. I drop down onto my elbows so my body is even closer to her. When I thrust this time, I roll my hips up, arching my own back a little to make sure my pubic bone rolls right over her clit.

Shay whimpers and her back curls this time, bringing her clit in closer contact on the next pass. She loved this position last time and nothing has changed. As my balls start to tingle and my stomach clenches, I realize I fucking love it too.

“Come, baby,” I beg softly.

“Ah!” She grabs my head and kisses me as she orgasms. With her pussy clenching hard around me and her soft velvety tongue in my mouth I come. Hard.