Page 52 of Playing for Keeps

We drive to his chichi waterfront high-rise condo in East Boston and I park in the garage close to the elevator in someone’s space. No way am I dropping him off and leaving. Whether he invites me up or not, I’m going with him.

When I get in the elevator with him, he doesn’t seem to mind, so I breathe easier and stand close. What the hell am I doing? I’ve done my duty and checked on him, forfeited a big scoop for the station and a feather in my cap. Now there’s no need for me to compound my stupidity by playing nursemaid. It’s not as if he’s in any shape for fun and games—in spite of his earlier insinuation otherwise.

“Do you really think you’re going to play on Sunday?” I say as the elevator doors open at the top floor, the direct entry to his penthouse.

“I’m surprised at you, Smitty. You’ve been around long enough to know players play hurt. Didn’t your father have war stories about that kind of thing? Hell, didn’t you see it for yourself?”

“Sure,” I shrug. He’s right. But how do I tell him it’s different when it’s someone you care about without giving away the last piece of myself, the one I need to hang onto for dear life before I’m completely unrecognizable?

“But?”

“But this is different.” I can’t help myself, hell if I’m giving myself away. When his eyes go soft and warm as we walk from his entry into his kitchen, the swirl of pleasure that transforms my insides to jelly and my heart to a palpitating machine makes it worth the risk to expose myself.

He backs me up against the kitchen island, his scent teasing my senses. With his heat and the sight of twinkling lights along the Boston skyline framed by tall windows visible over his shoulder, it’s no wonder my knees tremble with romantic weakness.

“How different?” he says, nuzzling my neck, his stubbled chin scraping my fragile skin, making me shiver. Holding him, running my hands along the bulging muscles of his arms and his back, need starts to blaze, impelling my hips against his.

There’s no answer to his question, at least not in words, so I kiss him. Forgetting about his back, his shoulder or whatever the fuck his injury is, I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling his face to mine hard. He opens his mouth, groans into mine and I wonder in a flash of conscience if it’s pain or pleasure. But when he lowers his hands to cup my ass and press me against the unmistakably excited length of his raging cock, it doesn’t matter. I want him.

His lips move to my ear and he whispers. “Are you staying?”

Instead of answering, I push him back and head for his bedroom. He follows. But he’s slow and awkward and it’s not because of the hard cock in his pants, so I take his arm and help him to his bed. He sits on the edge with a wince and I kneel in front of him. No way can he fuck me tonight. Not until his pain meds have had a chance to work and he’s had a good night’s sleep.

I take off his shoes and then I unzip his pants. Staring at him, I give him one of those smiles telling of naughty promises. Wrapping my hand around his cock, I free the throbbing length from his shorts and the twitch makes my heart flip.

“I’m going down on you, big boy, so brace yourself.”

“I don’t think I can return the favor.” He sucks in a breath as I finger his tip and squeeze. “I don’t want a sympathy BJ.”

I laugh. “I promise you, I don’t have a sympathetic bone in my body.” I move in close, whispering. “In fact my bones are all melted by now, I’m so hot for you.” I push a curl off my forehead and he strokes the skin at my temple, pulls me in for a hard kiss.

When I pull away and slide my hand up and down, I feel his excitement spike in the jump of his cock, feel the spike in his heat. He doesn’t stop me when I lower my mouth to his cock as he holds onto my head and lies back on the bed, groaning. I know the groan is at least partly from his pain and I want to erase it from his mind, banish it completely from his consciousness.

Licking his tip, I say, “God almighty, you are gorgeous and so slick and inviting.” Holding him with both hands, I lower my mouth long and slow as I suck and relish the full steely measure of him.

“I bet I could say the same thing about you.” His voice is gruff and I can hear the tension. Looking at him as I come up, gripping him with my hands, I love watching his face, seeing him come undone, the pent-up passion seeping through until he lets go. I want to make him lose his cool until he can hold nothing back and he calls out my name.

Licking the moisture from his tip, my tongue darts in taunting swipes of pleasure. The raw taste and feel of him, the sound of his groan electrifies me and I’ve hardly started. He slips his hands behind my head as I clamp my mouth over him, the silky feel of him in my mouth, hard and pulsing, makes my pussy cry with pleasure, swelling up and throbbing. Sucking deep and hard until I gag, I move my mouth back up his shaft slow, tasting and savoring, and then I come down again hard, up and down again and again, slow then hard.

Then frantic, out of my mind with the power of him in my mouth growing and sizzling hot until he groans loud and tense, grinding out my name, and his cum streams into my mouth, hot and salty, shooting down my throat until I pull my mouth off him, letting him spurt onto my face. I watch his face contorted in excruciating pleasure as he stares back at me, holding my head, my shoulder with shaky hands.

“Oh God, Chloe . . .”