Playing For Love Read online

  PLAYING

  for love

  J.C. Grant

  PLAYING FOR LOVE

  J.C. GRANT

  Copyright © 2016 J.C. GRANT

  All Rights Reserved

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblances of characters to actual persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. The author, J.C. Grant, holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.

  Editing: Virginia Cantrell, Barbara Hoover, Hot Tree Editing

  Proofreading: Shawna Gavas

  Photo and Cover Design: © Sara Eirew Photographer and Design

  Cover Model: Mike Chabot

  DEDICATION

  To all the crazy girls that love

  OTT possessive, dominant Alpha-males!

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Jean, there is no way I could have done this without you!

  Linda Russel, I can't thank you enough for you're patience and support!

  Kellie Richardson, thank you for being your amazing self!

  KinkyGirlsBookObsessions, I owe you girls so much!

  A very special thank you to Alicia Woods, Amanda Söderlund, and Laurie Breitsprecher.

  And all the amazing people on ig, your support means so much!!

  Mike Chabot and Sara Eirew, thank you for creating an

  amazing cover!

  CHAPTER ONE

  I loved this house. It was the kind of house you dreamed about living in one day—at least I did—the perfect blend of contemporary and traditional. The hardwood floors were warm under my feet as I made my way through the palatial home, decorated in dark woods and shades of gray. It was elegant. But what I loved most about this house was the intensely complex man who owned it. Six foot three and a half inches of sculpted muscle. He was gorgeous. Dominant. Possessive. Painfully sweet. And he could fuck. The man was built to fuck.

  And he wanted me.

  Obsessively.

  Irrationally.

  Wanted me.

  And oh God, the man could eat pussy. My skin was still aflame from his last feeding fest. His head buried between my legs. His stubble scraping against my thighs. My ass. His tongue and fingers fucking me.

  The cool leather hit the back of my neck and arms, cooling my overheated skin as I flopped down on the couch, a large overnight bag on the floor next to me, stuffed full. Staring at the ceiling, I took a mental inventory of everything I'd packed. I'd grabbed several things for David, but all I could find to pack for myself were two maxi-dresses and two pairs of platform sandals.

  Austin: I need my Splendid dress.

  It's short and black. Gold flip-flops,

  and gray converse.

  10:02 PM

  I knew if I wasn't specific, he would come back with all ten pairs of converse and five dresses.

  David: Got it.

  10:04 PM

  He would get what I asked for and then some. I never thought I would be happy to be with a bossy controlling man—I never thought I would be happy with any man—but he could get shit taken care of, and I needed that. I didn't realize how much I needed that until David. It was completely insane, but I loved him. And I wanted him. I never felt anything for anyone before David. And honestly, I wasn't sure if this was love, but it was the closest I had ever felt. It was the most I had ever felt. I still couldn’t bring myself to really think about how any of this was possible or real. I had only met him eight days ago. How could he buy me an engagement ring three and a half days after meeting me? And how was I laying here waiting for him to come back from my house to take me to parts unknown to marry me tomorrow—at his insistence.

  Maybe we're both insane.

  But I didn't care. I didn't want to care. I didn't want to think about anything. I just wanted to get lost in him and all his craziness. This was him. This was us. And I wasn't nervous about a thing.

  Definitely a sign of insanity.

  Or maybe it wasn't. We were both damaged, me more so than him. Our childhood abuse drew us together, allowed us to understand each other, allowed us to connect in a way I wasn't even comfortable thinking about. What other people would find frightening or disturbing, I found reassuring. He'd invaded my space, hunted me down, forced his way into my life, and if he hadn't, we wouldn't have a relationship. Despite my violent reaction to him, he would've ended up like all the other men I'd met. Nameless. Faceless.

  As I shifted, getting comfortable, my attention was pulled back to the massive diamond on my finger. Normally an engagement ring felt like a chain tying me down, but from him, it felt good.

  David

  I hated this house—it was a sign of her independence, of her life without me.

  I wanted to destroy it.

  I'd settle for selling it.

  I know, I'm a selfish asshole. But I finally got something I wanted, and I was keeping it, no matter what it took.

  Last time I got something I wanted, I was thirteen—my father disappearing from my life. No more beatings for me and my mother, meant I didn't have to take care of her when he hurt her so badly she couldn't walk. Or hide my bruises or explain my casts/broken bones when I went to school. For nine months I got to be as close to “normal” as I had ever known. Up until now, that was the best thing that had ever happened to me. Sure, I had a good career and made money, but I didn't enjoy it. None of it. Not the fans and definitely not being a sex symbol. It attracted the type of people I wanted nothing to do with—shallow, materialistic users. Don't get me wrong, decent pussy in the form of arrangements was a perk, but I couldn't hold a serious conversation with them. They couldn't understand me.

  Austin... she understood me. And taking care of her... Her asking me to do something. Anything. I felt more connected to her. I couldn't explain how much it meant to me, especially since I didn't think she had ever really needed or wanted anyone before.

  I couldn't believe I almost gave her an out. Almost told her I'd give her a divorce if she wasn't happy being married to me. It would have been a fucking lie.

  I'd never let her go. I'd do whatever it took to make her happy, even if I had to tie her up and wait for Stockholm Syndrome to kick in. I knew how fucked up that idea was. But what was more fucked up, I'd do it, if she was determined to leave me.

  This love shit was fucking intense.

  I'd never been in love. It was all-consuming. From the moment I saw her, I knew I had to have her. I knew I had to make her mine. The impulse was uncontrollable. She pulled me in just by breathing. Her walls were firmly in place, but her physical response to me was nearly as violent as mine. I could see it in her body, in her flushed face, her heaving chest, and the way her eyes begged me to fuck her. She was saying no, but her body was screaming yes. I knew she was the one. I knew if I could push my way inside and make her love me, she would accept me for what I was. And she needed it, even if she wasn't aware of it.

  Flipping on the light in her room, I breathed deep, her exotic, sweet scent lingering in her room, comforting me. But I couldn't stop the thoughts that raced through my mind when I looked at her bed.

  Has she ever fucked on it? Cuddled on it? With who?

  A cold knot formed in my stomach. I was jealous. Jealous she had a life before me, that she ever existed without me. She was my entire world, and I wanted to be hers.

  Opening her closet, I closed my eyes and focused on the fact she'd agreed to marry me.

  That'll give me time to make her dependent on me.

  That thought helped calm my irrational jealousy. I was lucky she liked it, but it was getting out of hand. I'd never been jealous before. I'd had fuck buddies and a couple girlfriends, but I never cared about them; I just needed a regular fuck. It made me cringe now, all that time I wasted with those other women when I should've been with Austin
.

  I found everything she'd asked for and then some. Finding a duffel bag, I packed it, and went in search of her desk. Finding it in the guest room, her passport was exactly where she'd said—bottom drawer. Noticing a photo tucked away in the back, I pulled it out.

  My chest tightened as heat burned through me. My gut twisted as images flashed through my mind... His hands and mouth on her. Him pounding into her body a dozen different ways. His fingers pressing inside her as he fucked her mouth. Austin moaning for him, because of him.

  A sharp pain in my chest gave me reprieve from the barrage of images.

  I should've fucking known...

  Zach Stone.

  I tried to stay calm as my chest heaved. Deep down, I knew I was going to have to deal with something like this—someone like this. She wasn't the type of girl who dated average guys.

  I knew this guy. Half the fucking planet knew this guy. What did I know about her dating history?

  She's been abstinent for thirteen months. This fucking guy got publicly engaged a little over a year ago. To a pop star.

  A relationship obviously engineered for his career. Because this little fucker went from a B-movie actor to giving Gosling a run for his money overnight.

  Jealousy consumed me. In the next second, my fist was imbedded in the wall, the photo crushed in my hand.

  “Fuck!”

  I took a long, deep breath, peeling my fist away, trying to get control over my racing heart and thoughts, but I couldn't...

  Was he the reason she'd been abstinent, because she was in love with him?

  Something inside me twisted hard. Then dread crawled through me. This guy was the kind of asshole who would start calling as soon as she got any press. And she already had; she just wasn't aware of it yet—I kept her name out of it so far. But that was changing tomorrow—at my request—because of guys like this. Guys who'd had a chance with her. And I knew this guy was going to be a problem, one I was eager to crush.

  I wasn't letting her keep us a secret. Our marriage was going public—immediately—regardless of what Austin wanted.

  My jealousy grew, overshadowing every other emotion warring inside me.

  I don't fucking care if she's in love with him. I don't fucking care if she wants him. She's stuck with me.

  My mind searched for something to cement myself in her life.

  Her mom.

  Getting her to the wedding would get around her 'mom complaint' and help minimize her upset over my other decisions and insert myself in her life. Three for one.

  All Austin's contacts had been downloaded in my phone days ago—I needed full access to her life, to her.

  I called her mom as I searched through her desk. Even with the late hour, she answered quickly.

  “Hello,” she answered sleepily.

  “Is this Ms. James?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hi, I'm David Taylor.” I waited, hoping she knew who I was, that my fame would help me. “I'd planned to do this differently. Was planning on meeting you in the next couple weeks. I'm marrying your daughter,” I said simply.

  “Who is this?” she asked, much more alert.

  “David Taylor,” I answered. Putting the passport and birth certificate in the bag, I continued, “I love her. I'm marrying her, and she wants you there.” I took a few minutes to explain, trying to charm her, trying to be sweet, but I really didn't have time for all her mother's questions. In the end, my impatience won. “We're getting married either way. She agreed. I'm not giving her time to reconsider or back out.”

  To my surprise, she laughed at my sudden outburst.

  “I guess you know her pretty well then. She told you about her previous engagements?” she asked jokingly.

  A new tension flooded me, that information triggering my deep-seated fear of abandonment.

  I swallowed thickly. “No. Is this your cell?” I kept my voice level, but I was chaos inside. “I'll text you the info for your flight and... everything.”

  “Yes—”

  “Great. Seriously, I'm not an asshole, but I have to go. Austin's waiting for me.”

  “Okay—”

  “Look forward to meeting you.” I cut her off and hung up.

  My breath left me in a rush.

  I'd been confident that her agreeing to marry me was significant. Now, I wanted to lock her up and tie her down, so no one else could challenge my claim on her.

  Grabbing her bag, I quickly locked up the house and got in my car. The knowledge of Zach and her previous engagements threw me. I didn't have the hold I thought I did, and if she found out what I was keeping from her... she wouldn't have agreed to marry me.

  And I needed her.

  I hadn't loved or felt connected to anyone since my mother. It was terrifying how much Austin meant to me. Losing her was not an option. I acted like I controlled this, but the truth was she did. She let me have control, and she could take it away. Sure, I would stalk the shit out of her, but I couldn't make her be with me.

  The tension grew as I imagined her sneaking out, not being there when I got home. The thought was excruciating. Then something shifted in me, sheer determination taking over.

  Fuck that. Yes, I can. She's waiting at home. And if she isn't, I can have her tracked down in less than thirty minutes.

  Whether she wanted me or not, she was mine.

  I'd make sure of it.

  This was one engagement she wasn't getting out of.

  When I pulled away from her house, I realized I didn't even know her mother’s name. I let out a heavy sigh, annoyed with myself.

  Great first impression.

  I dialed Austin as I pulled up to a stop sign. After three rings, it went to voicemail. I pulled up the tracker for her phone. It was still at my house, but...

  I'm gonna have to get something to track her car.

  I quickly texted my assistant, sending him Austin’s mother’s number telling him to contact her to make arrangements for her flight.

  Twenty minutes later, I pulled into the garage, parking between her car and the truck, and quickly went inside.

  “Austin?” I called out. My voice gave away my residual stress as I made my way through the dining room. Then I noticed her bare toes peeking over the arm of the couch.

  All the tension in my body melted away as I took in the sight before me. She was stretched out on the couch. Her long, dark hair fanned out around her. Her face was bare of makeup, making her look much younger than she was. My eyes trailed over her features—the curve of her brows, the smooth skin of those high cheek bones, those full, soft lips. She was wearing black leggings and a gray, deep V-neck tee, which was way too low to be worn in public.

  She'd fallen asleep.

  With a bag packed on the floor next to her.

  I grabbed her phone off the ottoman, shoving it in my pocket. My chest warmed when I saw my stuff peeking out of the top of the bag next to her.

  She'd packed for me. Coming from her, that was incredibly sweet. That simple gesture said, I love you. And it had the same effect as if she said it out loud.

  I blew out a long relieved breath.

  “Sweetheart, we gotta go. We're gonna be late.”

  She shifted, but didn't respond.

  God, she's gorgeous. And those fucking tits...

  Her tee showed the large swells, the deep valley between running down to her bra. She had a body built for sin. A real-life Jessica Rabbit. I was amazed all those curves were natural with the way her hips flared out from that little waist. And I couldn't believe I hadn't fucked those tits yet; it was a goddamn crime. If all that wasn't enough, my girl had a golden pussy. She'd fucking ruined me. There was no way she was ever getting rid of me.

  My finger trailed over her skin, along the satin edge of her bra, nudging the fabric out of the way.

  My hand pulled back and I stopped my eye-fuck—before it turned into an actual fuck.

  I grabbed her purse and bag, taking them out to her car. When I came back, she s
till hadn't moved.

  “Austin, you have to wake up.” I kept my voice soft in my half-ass attempt to wake her. “I can't carry you onto a last-minute chartered jet. Unconscious.”

  She didn't even twitch.

  “Fine,” I sighed quietly. “But I'm waking you up when we get there... I can see it now: Former baseball player drugs and abducts underage girl and marries her,” I muttered under my breath as I scooped her up like the bride she was soon to be. “You look like a teenager without makeup, sweet girl. You're gonna get me in trouble.”

  And I'll love every fucking minute of it.

  I carried her out to her car. She felt so right in my arms; she felt like home. With her head against my chest, the heat of her soft breaths seeped through my shirt. I felt better instantly; my world righted. Her being completely dependent on me... This is how I wanted her all the time—just conscious. She barely stirred as I buckled her in and shut the door. I loved her so much, it actually hurt at times.

  I'm fucking pathetic, I thought while getting into the driver’s seat.

  Everything seemed to be in slow motion, our gate, getting through the neighborhood. It was all taking too long. Every minute we weren't in the air on our way to getting married was another minute she could change her mind. I wasn't in denial that was the main reason I let her sleep—my need to get her locked down legally. Logically, I knew she could still leave me if we were married, but what I felt was irrational. A compulsion.

  I needed to own her.

  Possess her.

  My eyes swept over her sleeping form, still touched that she'd packed for me. It meant so much to me. It was small, but it represented what I wanted with her, the familiarity. I wanted her to be that comfortable all the time, taking any initiative in my life. It was enough to make me consider giving her phone back to her before we were married.

  Maybe not.

  She still didn't seem to have a clue that she had complete power over me. She certainly wasn't using it.