Playing For Forever Read online

  “Sweet girl,” he growled the warning, staring down at me. His body heat seeped through his thin tee, warming the air between us, intoxicating me with his cotton candy, ocean smell.

  Trapped by his predatory gaze, I waited for something that never came. No reprimand, just dark eyes that glittered with the promise of filthy, delicious things.

  The elevator finally arrived. When the doors slid open, David grabbed my hand, pulling me in behind him without a word. As we rode the elevator down to the parking level, the sexual tension between us built to uncomfortable degrees.

  But he did nothing.

  The entire ride to the gym, he did nothing, no sexual advances, no teasing. His lack of aggression was unnerving, making me second-guess my choice. It also made me realize while I was completely down with teasing and taunting him, I wasn't in the mood to be the aggressor.

  Scratch that.

  I wanted to be manhandled, groped, pushed around a little.

  Where was all that anger and aggression from this morning?

  After we arrived at the gym, he stayed true to his word and made me put on a T-shirt.

  A baggy T-shirt.

  Once he was finished looking me over, satisfied I was completely covered, he led me out of the office and across the gym to a bench press.

  While he added weights, I noticed he seemed to be gloating a little, clearly pleased that I hadn't put up a fight about the oversized top. Between his arrogance and lack of response to my flirting, something inside me was shifting, my need for his attention turning to vindictiveness. When he lay down on the bench, I stood at the head, as if I could spot him, and waited.

  Waited until he was halfway through with his set before I leaned in slightly and lifted the too big tee out, making a show of it. I watched his face as he looked up under my shirt at me, our gazes locked. Then I tied a knot just under my breasts. That pleased smirk fell, and his stoic trademark expression replaced it.

  But his eyes... They burned with a fierce desire to dominate me. Control me.

  A triumphant thrill ran through me at the thought.

  It wasn’t the darkness I craved, but it was close.

  As we went through our routine, I felt his gaze on me, following me. Predatory and calculating. The anticipation built to dizzying heights as he continued on silently.

  When we arrived at our final destination—the dumbbell racks—David pulled off his tank, tucking it into the waist of his shorts, pushing them obscenely low.

  Fuck me.

  I watched him. Hypnotized by his muscles, flexing and straining, and the sexy grunting sounds he made. By the time he finished his last set, I was flush with arousal and dripping wet.

  Watching him workout was like foreplay to me.

  I struggled not to squirm as he turned to me, stepping into my space, towering above me. His labored breaths warmed my hair as his lips brushed across my forehead.

  “Let’s go take care of my girl,” he rasped, softly.

  His fingers entwined with mine, and he led me across the gym and into his office. The gesture was gentle and sweet. Innocent.

  Until he shut the door behind us.

  Without a word, he shoved me back against it, his hands landing on either side of me, pinning me in.

  “You enjoy that, little girl?” His words sounded ominous as he loomed over me; his features hardened as he stared me down. “Havin’ all those men eye-fuck you?”

  My heart raced and my breathing turned shallow. His aggression, his dominance, it was what I needed, what I’d been craving. My pussy throbbed in agreement, beating out its demand.

  His eyes narrowed, taking in my response, then he nodded toward my top, giving me an almost cruel grin. “Show me your tits.” His voice was condescending and goading.

  My face heated with a strange mix of feelings: embarrassment, shyness, and arousal. His crude words made me feel like I was being manipulated, tricked, and bullied into sex.

  And I loved it.

  I would’ve been offended if anyone else treated me that way. But with David... letting him control me, control my body... I’d never felt more safe.

  Loved.

  Wanted.

  And horny.

  Unbelievably horny.

  My clit pulsed painfully as I obeyed, pulling the shirt off, then unclasping my bra, letting it slide down my arms.

  His dark gaze raked over me, hungry and possessive. My nipples furled tight. My skin was flushed and damp, my breasts heavy and tender.

  Our workout had me primed. But the way he had me caged in, his strong arms on either side of me, his face only inches from mine...

  My eyes darted from his well defined lips down to his pecs, swollen and strained, covered in a sheen of sweat. I wanted to lick along every contour of those thickly sculpted muscles. No. I wanted him to make me lick him, taste his sweat.

  Dear God, I want to be forced.

  Just the thought of it...

  Without warning, he yanked my pants down and off, taking my shoes and socks with them, making me lose my balance.

  I gasped as my bare back hit the door, the wood cold against my overheated skin. He was being rougher than he ever had before and it was exactly what I needed.

  Standing back, he tossed my clothes to the side and took in my nude form. An appreciative sound rattled through his chest. His expression darkened and heated as his gaze finally settled between my legs. I could guess what he was staring at, I could feel it. I was dripping wet.

  God, why wouldn’t he just touch me and put me out of my misery?

  His eyes darted to my breasts then. “Hold ‘em out for me—offer ‘em to me.” His voice was cold.

  Hesitantly, I obeyed, cupping my breasts.

  “Thumb your nipples. Use your nails.”

  I complied. It felt degrading, humiliating. He looked at me as if I was nothing more than a toy, as if my only purpose was to please him. I had never seen this side of him before.

  It was sexy as sin.

  My thighs clenched as a vicious hunger pounded through me, my arousal turning violent. My core coiled painfully tight as my clit pulsed out a frantic beat.

  Whoa... I was near orgasm with a few demeaning commands.

  “Now.” He stepped in front of me, his forearms coming down on either side of me. His voice was low and rough, his eyes narrowed and sinister as he drew his words out slowly. “Tell me. Whose attention were you tryin’ to get?”

  My breath caught.

  Prey. This must be what being prey feels like.

  Something dark and needy bloomed inside me. I felt weak and vulnerable, like I was about to be used. Violated. And I wanted it. “Yours.”

  He leaned in, his nose slowly trailing along my jaw, up the side of my face. “Like you were with that choreographed bullshit this morning?” His tone was almost mean. Mocking.

  I realized then, this wasn’t some new dimension to his possessive jealousy, he was truly pissed off. All that anger I'd been wondering about, it hadn’t gone anywhere, he’d been hiding it.

  He wasn’t hiding it anymore.

  His nose brushed back and forth along my cheek bone, as his hand wrapped around the back of my neck, thumb pushing under my jaw, not painful, just holding me in place.

  “Hmm?” he prompted, softly, pulling back, finally meeting my gaze. His eyes were both challenging and coaxing.

  When I didn’t respond, his jaw tightened, and a frustrated noise rattled out of his chest. He ducked down, pressing his forehead into the crook of my neck, as if he couldn’t bare to look at me. Then a hand was pushing between my thighs, shoving my legs wide. I could feel the anger in his touch as he manhandled me. Suddenly, three thick fingers were plunging into me, rough and mean, spearing deep.

  It was a punishment.

  But it didn’t feel like one. It felt like sweet relief. My hands moved then, one hooking around his neck, holding him to me, as the other gripped the muscled forearm in front of me.

  “What got you so fucking wet
?” His voice was a threat.

  “You,” I gasped when his stiff digits thrust in hard. “Your body... your muscles.” My fingers fisted in his hair, holding him, or holding on, I couldn’t tell.

  He did it again. My hips bucked and my pussy throbbed as a primitive need raged through me.

  “What were you trying to do this morning? Distract me?” His slick digits fucked me fast and rough.

  “I just—uh.” My hips shifted, trying to ride his fingers, work them deeper. He still held my throat, thumb under my jaw, keeping my head up, preventing me from looking at him. “Just thought if we had—enough sex—that you wouldn’t be mad—oh—about me staying,” I panted.

  Once I’d said it out loud, it sounded ridiculous.

  “How?” His fingers stilled inside me as he stood to his full height. “Were you gonna fuck me to death?” he deadpanned, looking down at me.

  “I just thought—” I tried, still straining to get friction on my clit.

  “Any man that let you get away with that shit,” he cut me off, his voice matter-of-fact. “Didn’t care about you at all. They only cared about getting their dick wet.”

  His blunt words stung. I knew my exes didn’t really love me—they didn’t even know me—and I’d never cared, but hearing my past relationships so crudely simplified hurt a bit.

  When his thumb finally made contact with my clit, my body shuddered, muscles tensing as pleasure wracked my frame. Before I could recover, David pulled me away from the door, maneuvering me around by the hand at my neck. He walked me backward, until I bumped into the couch. His fingers pumped in and out of me at a savage pace for a minute, before slipping free.

  I nearly cried out in protest.

  With a cruel smirk, he pushed me down on the couch, climbing on top of me, his body was strung tight as his full weight settled over me, holding me down. His face was hard as he grabbed my wrists, pinning them above my head in one large fist. Some women liked being spanked or getting their hair pulled. Whatever the fuck it said about me, I liked it when David held me down.

  “I fucking love you,” he swore fiercely, giving my wrists a squeeze. “Don’t try that shit on me again.”

  I realized then, I was an idiot.

  I had treated David like I would any other guy, but he wasn’t like any other guy. All I’d successfully done was piss him off, making an already bad situation worse.

  Unwilling to admit my fuck up, I defended, “You use sex to manipulate me all the time.”

  He shook his head slowly, a wry grin forming on his face. “No, I use sex to get your guard down.” One slick finger gently tapped between my breasts once, twice, before resting his palm over my heart. “To get inside where your fairy tales and happy endings live. Everything you agree to... you want—you just don’t want to admit you want it.”

  Fuck. He was right. And how the hell did he know that I believed in true love and happily ever afters? That shit was buried so far down, sometimes I couldn't even find it.

  “So why didn’t you tell me about the cover when you found out?” he asked, genuinely curious.

  “I was afraid.”

  “Afraid of what?” He looked concerned.

  “That you’d be mad.” It came out sounding like a question.

  He sighed heavily as he shifted, settling between my thighs, knocking mine wide. “I only got mad because you lied. If you would've told me when you found out, I could have moved stuff around. Moved the Italy trip back a couple days, moved the shoot for the cologne line to next week.”

  “Really? You wouldn’t have been pissed?” I checked, skeptically, as my knees lifted, tucking up against his ribs, as if our bodies were having a different conversation.

  “I’m pissed that we’re gonna be separated.” The bite in his voice told me he was still mad at me. “That you could’ve prevented it from happening, by just being honest with me.”

  I didn’t know what to say. That possibility had never even occurred to me. To say I felt stupid would be an understatement.

  He must have sensed my regret, because he let go of my wrist and moved down my body.

  “I think this sweet little cunt needs more attention,” he rasped as those three fingers pushed back into me. Four slow strokes before they picked back up their brutal pace.

  His heated gaze held mine, as his lips closed around my clit, tonguing and sucking in a slow sensual rhythm. His other hand shoved under my ass, hooking around my hip, holding me in place.

  My fingers threaded through his hair as my legs fell open, unabashedly giving him full access.

  “Feel good?” he purred condescending.

  “Yes,” I panted, the pleasure building was intoxicating, making me not care about our fight or the consequences. I only cared about the tension coiling tight inside me.

  I watched him watch me. Then I saw the flash of tongue lap at my clit and pleasure streaked through me, more from the visual then the act itself. He looked sexy as fuck between my legs, licking my tender flesh. He did it again. Then a dozen more. My hips jerked helplessly against his face as a devastating orgasm pounded through me.

  “David, fuck me,” I begged, desperate for more.

  His guttural groan had goose bumps racing over my skin as he pulled away.

  “Anything my girl wants,” he growled, part promise, part threat.

  His eyes narrowed as he sat up, kneeling between my legs, his skin was covered in a fine sheen of sweat, his thick muscles shifting with the sharp rise and fall of his chest. His big hands moved to his waist band, crudely shoving his gym shorts under his balls. His cock was angry and swollen, jumping with his pulse. He gripped his length, giving it one slow stroke, as he growled, “Pull your knees up to your shoulders, I want to see it all.”

  I obeyed without hesitation, bringing my knees up, letting them fall open. Being limber had its advantages. A lot of advantages.

  His predatory gaze fixated on my exposed sex. His expression was an erotic mix of possessiveness, hunger, and awe. “Such a good girl,” he purred.

  Good girl.

  Those two words coming from him had an alarmingly profound effect on me, making me feel submissive and needy, eager to do anything, take anything he offered.

  He fell forward, catching himself on one hand, the other pushed his cock down, teasing along my cleft, before slowly sinking into me.

  His sweet musk invaded my senses as he leaned down, lips brushing my ear, as he rasped, “Be my good girl and watch me fuck you.”

  David

  What the fuck is this shit?

  I stared at Austin’s back as if she would answer.

  Last night she’d fallen asleep on my chest with that sweet little fuck-drunk grin, but when I woke she was far over on her side of the bed, curled up, facing the window, sleeping soundly. I don’t know why that bothered me so much. Just one more thing to add to the long list.

  I’d made damn sure she was happy yesterday. And I pretended like I was too, not wanting her to know the truth, not wanting her to be uncomfortable, or worried. Or worse—not care at all.

  A cold nose nudged my back, breaking me from my thoughts.

  “Hey, bud,” I murmured, as I rolled over. Climbing out of bed, I padded across the room and into the closet, quickly pulling on a pair of sweats and a hoodie before following Chance out of the bedroom and down the hall.

  I opened the patio door and watched as he made his way down the stairs. It was dark and cold and utterly still; LA’s winter had finally arrived. Taking a deep breath of the frigid predawn air, I tried to clear my head.

  I hated everything about the current situation.

  Me leaving.

  Austin staying.

  With Fergus.

  For two fucking nights.

  Despite Austin’s reassurances, I couldn’t let it go. I kept coming back to one question. Why hadn’t she told me about the cover? Did she really not know I had enough pull to get a couple of photo shoots moved around? Or was that exactly why she hadn’t t
old me, because she wanted me away? That last question was slowly driving me insane, because Austin seemed totally fucking fine with being apart for three days.

  Once Chance came back in, I made his breakfast, then started on ours. Soon as I poured our omelets in the pan, Chance darted out of the kitchen and into the foyer. Several silent minutes passed before I heard the front door quietly open and shut, as if a teenager was trying to sneak in.

  Only one person, besides Austin and me, had a key to the house, and I didn’t have a clue why he’d be here at six a.m.

  When he rounded the corner with Chance, I nodded. “What’s up?”

  “Hey.” Aaron’s voice was quiet as he approached, seeming concerned he’d wake my wife. “Elaine had this sent over late last night—for Austin.” He lifted a pink bag, setting it on the kitchen island. “It’s not a big name, but it’s an up and coming local designer—the stuff’s really nice,” he rambled on as if I'd care.

  I didn’t.

  For one, I could buy Austin anything she wanted. And two, all she had done was marry me and go to a Halloween party; she shouldn’t have been receiving swag yet. Suddenly, the events of the past few days painted a perfect picture. The cover. Our Halloween pictures being in every tabloid in town. Now, swag. Elaine had been working overtime; giving Austin a hard publicity push behind my back. To say I was mad would be a gross understatement.

  “All the A-Lister's are wearing them.”

  Aaron was still defending the designer, which meant my anger was showing. I realized then, I’d crossed my arms and was staring him down.

  “It’s cool,” I assured him, turning around and focusing on our breakfast.

  “Oh, well... you need anything?” he checked.

  “Nah, man, I’m just tired.” I glanced at him over my shoulder.

  “Well... I’m going to go.” Aaron pointed over his shoulder, backing out.

  He knew me well enough to know when to leave me alone. And no, I didn’t bother thanking him for bringing the shit over, because he didn’t bring it for me. He brought it over for Elaine, who didn’t bother to tell me. She probably assumed he’d wait until after I was gone.