Ty made a point of focusing on the wineglass he’d placed on the countertop in front of her. If his gaze strayed a few inches down, he’d get an eyeful of long, lean thigh. If he looked up, he’d start obsessing about how few buttons Millie closed on the shirt she’d commandeered from his closet. She’d picked a bottle of white from the cooler built into the bar setup. Ty wasn’t a big fan of sweet wines, but Millie insisted the Riesling would be the perfect complement to the spicy duck and shrimp pad Thai they’d ordered, and he wasn’t about to argue with her. The woman had one toe on the starting line, and she was waiting for him to slip up so she could beat a path on out the door.
He filled another glass for himself, then toasted her. “To ground rules.”
Millie looked up from the array of cartons she was opening. Her eyes widened with appreciation, then narrowed as she wound her fingers around the stem of her own glass. “You’re awfully gung ho about these rules.” She touched her glass to his, then quirked an eyebrow. “How do you know you’ll like them?”
He fell back against the opposite counter as she dished up their dinner. Squelching the urge to yelp when the cool granite made contact with the bare skin above his waistband, he crossed one leg over the other and drank in the details of her. Smiling into his glass, he took the obligatory sip to seal the toast. “I don’t have to like a rule to play by it.”
He’d already proven his willingness to adapt, so Millie suggested they shower while they waited for supper. Unfortunately, she also insisted they do so separately for the sake of expedience. A waste of time and water, as far as he was concerned, but she obviously wanted a little space, and he wasn’t about to push her.
Looking at her now, he was glad she’d suggested the short hiatus. The breather had allowed him time to gather his wits before facing her again. Good thing, because she looked so damn good he was about to take a bite out of her. Her skin was rosy. He caught a whiff of his soap on her skin each time she moved. Her hair was damp. Dime-sized splotches darkened the fabric where water had dripped on her shoulders, and one intrepid streak pointed the way to the crest of her right breast. Lucky drop.
Of course, all he could do the whole time he was in the guest bath was picture her in his shower, her hands splayed on the tile wall as water spewed from the multiple jets to rush over her slender curves. He could picture her nipples—red, ripe, and hard as cherry pits. Soap suds running down the shallow valley between her breasts and tangling in the tight curls between her legs. Yeah. He spent a fast three minutes under a cool spray getting the cleanup job done as fast as he possibly could without resorting to jacking off.
Now, he was scrubbed up and partially clad in a pair of sweats, but his thoughts were anything but clean. He wanted to get whatever was bothering her out in the open so he could take her back to his room and mess her up again as soon as possible.
“I think the occasional hand check is an important part of any effective defense,” he said. “No one wants to play zone all the time.”
Millie smirked and pushed an empty plate across to him. “I’m not your mama. You know what that means?” She didn’t bother giving him a chance to answer. “Two things. I don’t have to fill your plate, and I don’t have to pretend I know what your sports talk means.”
Ty laughed and pushed away from the counter with his hips. “If you’re not my mama, why do I have to call you ma’am?”
She grinned as she twirled a fork in a bed of noodles. “Because I like when you do. Makes me feel extra naughty, and you like when I feel extra naughty, don’t you?”
Setting his glass aside, he set to the task of filling his plate with singular efficiency. “Yes, ma’am.”
He felt her eyes on him but studiously avoided looking up. She was the one who wanted to talk. If Ty knew one thing, it was strategy. No point in initiating a conversation that wasn’t going to give him the result he wanted, so he hung back. He was okay with waiting her out. He hadn’t expected to get everything he wanted from Millie right away. He’d woo her with plenty of sex and wine over the stretch of a few weeks, months, or even years if time was the deciding factor. He’d always been good at working the game clock.
Millie shoveled the tightly wound forkful into her mouth and chewed, a tiny frown appearing between her brows. “This can’t be a relationship.”
Picking up his plate, he fell back against the counter once more, needing the time and distance to put the lid on the slow simmer starting to bubble inside him. “I thought it already was.”
“Not a relationship relationship,” she said, as if repeating the word clarified everything.
“Okay.” He drew the word out, but he figured he was entitled to a little dramatic effect if she was going to be issuing proclamations. “Let me ask this… Why not? I have no morals clause like Danny’s in my contract, and even if I did, we both know ways around those pesky clauses.”
The reference to the morals clause that gave the football coach such a hard time in establishing his relationship with Kate Snyder made Millie stiffen. Kate and Danny had circumvented disaster with a marriage license and a quick trip to the courthouse. The abject horror in her expression told him Millie wasn’t itching to be a loophole bride.
“Not even up for discussion,” she said dismissively, but her posture remained stiff.
“I’m involved too, and I say we open the debate.” Impervious to her glare, Ty plowed ahead. “Why can’t this be a relationship?”
Millie stopped, the tines of her fork buried in the pile of noodles but unmoving. At last, she lifted her head and met his gaze. “Because I don’t want one.”
Her bluntness shouldn’t have shocked him, but it did. Her answer landed like an elbow to the solar plexus, but he’d been a pro for too long to let any sign of weakness show. He nodded as he processed her declaration. “Okay.”
“But we can have sex.”
Boy, she was quick to toss sex out as a consolation prize. Needing to buy some time, he fished a shrimp out of the mountain of food he’d dumped on the plate and popped the morsel into his mouth. Shifting the spicy tidbit around as he chewed, he nodded as if he understood. Which he didn’t. What kind of person wanted to hook up with someone for sex but nothing more?
Then it hit him.
Men.
Righteous indignation and shame weren’t the best chasers for overspiced shellfish, but he swallowed them along with the shrimp. If Millie’s militant friend Avery were privy to his inner thoughts, she’d be doing a feminazi goose step all over him. And he’d deserve every bruise. If not for the initial reaction, then for using the term feminazi.
He hated knee-jerk labels. His whole life, he’d had to fight his own battles with people who wanted to put him in a box. Now, he was doing the same damn thing. If Millie wanted their relationship to be purely physical, she had every right to say so. Just as he had dozens of times through his twenty and thirties. And he had the right to say no. As if he would. “You’re saying you only wanna have sex?” The question was out, his tone a bit too incredulous. “No strings attached?”
Millie’s pointed stare was loaded with challenge. “If having sex is okay with you.”
Her manner was so patronizing he had to set his plate on the counter before he smashed the ceramic to bits on the tile floor he’d so painstakingly chosen. When he didn’t answer, she flashed a patently insincere smile. This was a woman who dealt with the media sharks on a daily basis. She wasn’t going to be bullied into anything, but neither was he.
As expected, she didn’t back down. “I don’t want you to feel used or anything.”
There was nothing he could do. He knew he was at her mercy. She did too. If he objected, he’d not only look like a big, fat jerk, but he’d also be denying them both what they desperately wanted. And maybe if he agreed, he might be able to win her over.
“Oh no. Feel free.” Holding his hands out like some kind of religious martyr, he tried to play the whole thing off with a shrug. “Use as much as you want.”
She smirked at him, but it softened into a smile. “Of course, there are strings. We’re friends. Colleagues. We’ll have to set some boundaries for work and stuff, but we can figure those out.” She glanced down at her own plate. “I don’t want any unrealistic expectations popping up,” she said, attacking her food with renewed vigor. “We’re having fun, enjoying each other’s company—”
“And the sex.”
Ty cringed and wished the words back with all his might. Something about being this close to this particular woman robbed him of any control over his tongue. Ironic, considering she was the one person he trusted implicitly to help him find the right words. Being near her was enough to fill him with an overwhelming urge to claim the title of biggest, neediest moron who ever threw himself at a woman’s feet. Hell, he hadn’t even made this big of an ass of himself with Mari.
Cool as a cucumber, Millie sucked up the ends of her noodles, then wiped the corner of her mouth with her pinkie. “Yes, the sex. We like the sex.”
He saw no reason to argue the statement, so he inclined his head in acknowledgment. “Yes, we do.”
“I like it a lot.” She speared some duck with her fork, then shoved it in her mouth. He couldn’t help but stare as she chewed. She swallowed the bite, and he jerked his attention away from her lips. Millie was watching him, a knowing gleam in her eyes. “Wanna have some more, or are we done for the night?”
“Oh, I wanna have more.”
She nodded. “Good. I thought so, but I wanted to be sure we were on the same page.”
“Yeah, we’re on the same page.”
Her smile blossomed into the real deal, and suddenly the thought of dropping to his knees in front of her didn’t seem like such a bad idea. Still, if they were going to play this game, he wanted to know all the rules.
“Where do we fall on sleeping together?”
She snickered but avoided his gaze. “I thought we covered that. Weren’t you paying attention?”
Her evasion told him she was torn on the topic. The realization pleased him. He had some leverage after all. He could fall back a little and let her come at him. “I wasn’t speaking euphemistically.”
“Ooh, using the vocabulary words, are we?”
All thought of dinner abandoned, he crossed his arms over his chest, hoping he struck a pose of casual nonchalance. “I can drive you home after, if you want, but I’d like to know up front so I don’t get too comfortable.”
“And here I was thinking about what remarkable powers of recovery you seem to have.”
“Stamina too,” he said without missing a beat. “If you decide to stay the night, I’ll prove how remarkable my powers are.”
“Oh, I don’t doubt them or you.”
He watched carefully as she pushed the food around on her plate. The conversation seemed to have robbed her of her appetite. But then, Millie looked up, and the heated hunger he saw in her eyes forced him to amend the thought. She’d lost any appetite for food, but she was still interested in him. Thank God.
“Why don’t we plan on you taking me home tonight? I don’t have a change of clothes with me, and I prefer to avoid doing the walk of shame.” She wrinkled her nose, then flashed a weak smile as she set her plate aside. “The dean of the English department lives next door, and that old fart gossips more than my great-aunt Maude.”
Skirting the edge of the island, he kept his gaze locked on her. “Do you really have a great-aunt Maude?”
She bobbed her head. “Yep. She’s ninety-four, has three boyfriends, and cheats at canasta.”
He stepped within reach, hooked a hand around her waist, and pulled her up against him. “So you’re a chip off the old block.”
She swatted his chest. “Don’t let her hear you call her old.”
She smiled down at the hand resting on his arm. The inexplicable urge to make her swat him again swept over him with such ferocity he almost laughed out loud. It was a feeble move unworthy of the hellcat in his arms, and he loved it. His smile was irrepressible.
“I’m calling you trouble.”
Millie beamed up at him. “Well, I think we both know you’re probably right.”
“I’m feeling the need to try to teach you a lesson.”
Finely arched brows rose. “You can try.”
The words were scarcely out of her mouth before he bent down and hoisted her up over his shoulder. Formidable as she was, the woman hardly weighed more than his father’s overburdened golf bag. Delighting in her squeal and squirms, he stalked toward the master bedroom. By the time they crossed the threshold, Millie had stopped writhing and started cooing.
“Oh, you’re so big and strong, Coach Handsome. Promise you won’t hurt me. I’m only a girl,” she added with a phony giggle.
She’d pitched her voice high and tried for breathy. The effect was something between a defective foghorn and his ex-wife in a wheedling mood. The combination set his teeth on edge. “Stop.”
The order made her laugh, but it was her real laugh. Throaty and full. Pure pleasure rolled over him like summer thunder, low and rumbly. The sound reverberated through him, making the hairs on his arms stand on end and his dick harden. He stepped up the pace, hoping to get to the bed before his desire for this obstinate woman hobbled him. He made it in the nick of time.
Ty dropped her onto the bed, and she spread her arms wide across the mattress as she scuttled to find a more dignified position, laughing the whole time. The sound of her happiness bounced off his bedroom walls and cut his legs out from under him. He fell on her with a grin and a growl, hoping to sustain the carefree, playful air between them. His fingers skimmed over her rib cage, and she wriggled beneath him. He planted a loud, sucking kiss to the side of her neck. She yelped another laugh, this one accompanied by a protest so absurdly lacking in vehemence, it might as well have been an invitation. He teased the tender flesh with the tip of his tongue, and her giggle segued into a gasp.
Millie planted both hands on his shoulders and pushed. His mouth curved into a smile, and he gave enough resistance to make her increase her efforts. He wanted her giving one hundred and ten percent this time around. No rush to the finish line. This time, he wanted their lovemaking to be more on pace with a marathon than a sprint.
“Tell me you want me,” he ordered.
She pursed her pink lips and gave him a pitying look. “Aw, are you feeling a little needy?”
He shifted to one side and slid his leg up until the meat of his thigh pressed hard against her pussy. Her hips rose off the mattress, her body straining to meet his demands. “I have a lot of needs, but ego-stroking isn’t one of them.”
Her smile heated as she let her hand slip between their bodies and start its teasing slide down to his cock. “How about I stroke something else?”
“Yes, please.”
“So polite.” She cooed the words, but the grip she took on his dick was anything but sweet and playful. “How do you want me?” she asked, her breath hitching as she gave him a hard stroke. “Slow? Fast? Soft and gentle, or do you like things a little…rough?”
He kissed her. Partly to shut her up long enough for his brain to engage again, but mostly because he loved the taste of her. Sweet. Spicy. Hot. Kissing Millie was something like shoving an entire pack of cinnamon gum into his mouth. The heat and flavor nearly unbearable, the sugary shock of her addictive.
“I want you to suck me.”
Her hand stilled, and her gaze flicked up to meet his. The words, stark and unadorned with any of his usual niceties, seemed to jolt her. Truth was, the simple statement shocked him as well. He hadn’t been so blunt with a woman since his days of banging groupies. An apology sprang to the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed it at the last second.
Millie’s mouth—the mobile mouth that drove him to distraction—curved up at the corners. “Do you?”
Her saucy smile erased all thoughts of apologies and rescinding the request. He’d told her what he wanted, and he didn’t want to back down. Excitement pulsed through his veins. But unlike the short, sharp strobes pushing him too quickly to the brink, this surge of desire made his blood run slow and sluggish. As if he had all the time in the world, and she was his to command.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Still smiling, she wet her lips, then popped the collar on his shirt so the tips stood up around her ears. “I didn’t hear the magic word.”
The games they’d played on the phone came rushing back in time to keep him from making a huge tactical error. Of all the teases and taunts they’d exchanged, this was one he would not lose. Whether he had what she wanted or needed was for her to decide. He’d be damned if he forfeited his pride to a woman again. Particularly not one who’d been clawing his back a short time before.
“I won’t beg you.”
“You will if you want me bad enough,” she taunted.
The lilt in her voice told him she issued the challenge with the same gravity as a playground double-dog dare. He smirked in response, then bent to nuzzle the creamy skin exposed by the open collar. Her back arched when his teeth scraped the rise of one breast. “Never mind. I can find other ways of entertaining myself.”
“No, I want to,” she said, grappling for a hold on him as he slid down her body.
“Nah, that’s okay.” Ducking under the shirttail, he pressed a lingering kiss to the juncture of her hip and thigh. Then he let his tongue trace the tender crevice leading to the sweet folds of her pussy. “I’ll just…” He inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of his soap mixed with her arousal. Then he buried his nose in the downy nest of curls. “This seems as good a place as any to hang around a bit.”
“Oh, it’s a great place,” she answered with a husky laugh. And Millie, being Millie, spread her legs wider in blatant invitation. “Stay as long as you like.”
He brushed a kiss across the curve of her belly, a chuckle rolling through him. “So generous.” Clasping the insides of her thighs, he spread her wider still. “Accommodating.”
She moaned as his breath ruffled those damp curls. Millie pressed her heels into the mattress and lifted her hips off the bed, offering her pussy up like a trophy. “That’s me. Putty in your hands.”
Oh, yes. She’d be wet. And hot. And so fucking tight, he could lose his mind. If he hadn’t been raised believing without pain, he’d achieve no gain, he might have broken. But Ty was a professional athlete. A team player. She didn’t realize she was trying to toy with a man long accustomed to finding triumph through hard work, self-denial, and the ingrained notion that no single player could carry the day every day.
He glanced down at his hands. She might be putty, but he was hard as granite. The tips of his fingers sank into pliant flesh. His palms curved to fit the bend of her knees. He was more than twice her size and more stubborn than she could ever imagine. Raising his head, he waited until their eyes met and held. “Maybe I should wait for you to say the magic word.”
Her laugh came fast and breathless. “I’m not that easy.”
“All evidence to the contrary.”
“I’m being polite.”
She added a smirk to the prim statement, which only served to increase his determination. Releasing his hold on one leg, he trailed the very tips of his fingers along the seam of her pussy. He wasn’t wrong. She was wet. And impossibly hot. Without breaking eye contact, he thrust one finger into her wet welcome.
Millie gasped, but he withdrew before she could get a word out. Planting his other hand on the mattress, he stretched up over her again. Her eyes widened with shock, then darkened with arousal when he traced her lower lip with his wet finger, coating the pillowy softness with the evidence of her own arousal.
“Suck me,” he whispered, his voice hoarse and raspy.
And God help him, she did.
Eyes open but heavy-lidded, she drew the digit into her mouth. Her tongue curled around his finger, the very tip barely grazing his knuckle. She pulled him deep, sucking hard enough to make his eyes cross. He closed them, unwilling to give her even that small concession. Not until she gave up something of herself.
But of course, she wouldn’t. Not easily. Millie sucked his finger the way he dreamed of her working his dick. Fast, hard, relentless. He felt each pull down to the soles of his feet. Her mouth was hot and plush. He wanted to swap appendages. Demand she do the little flicker thing she was doing with her tongue to his dick instead.
His mind clouded, but he didn’t have to be a genius to realize Millie was as turned on by this game of brinksmanship as he was. She moved beneath him, her hips bucking and her legs restless. At last, she hooked a foot behind his knee and pressed his leg down so she could grind against his thigh. She rode him like a rodeo queen, her body gyrating in every possible direction, but she kept her seat. The heat of her pussy emanated through the thin nylon of his sweats.
“Huh-uh.” He wasn’t about to let her push him to the brink again. Not like this. Not so fast. He yanked his finger from her mouth and raised himself, holding his body up and away from hers. “You’re not gonna rush me.”
“What if I have a curfew?”
“You’ll miss it.” Pressing into his hands, he lowered to kiss her. Her hands closed around his biceps. He smiled against her mouth when she gave him an appreciative squeeze and purr. “Like that?” he asked, lifting onto his toes and following through until his arms were fully extended.
Never one to miss an opportunity, Millie flashed a million-watt smile, hooked her thumbs into his waistband, and promptly pantsed him. “Do it again,” she cooed, running the flats of her palms over his stomach.
He did as she asked. Her mouth was wet and eager, each swipe of her velvet tongue pure temptation. When he pushed up again, the tip of his cock caught the tail of the shirt she still wore. He tucked his chin to his chest and stared, captivated by every nuance of the sight. The glowing translucence of her skin against the deep blue of his shirt. Her sleek, willowy frame smothered in the voluminous fabric. Three tiny, plastic buttons kept her breasts hidden from view, but the bottom of the shirt fell open, exposing the riot of dark curls and the place he most wanted to be.
“The red hair suits you,” he said as he dipped down again. “But I have to say the brown is pretty hot too.”
“I’ve always felt like more of a redhead.” Her lips curved into an inviting smile. “Took me a while to find the right shade. I’m not really the carrot type.”
He kissed her slow and deep, their tongues circling in a sensuous, hands-in-each-other’s-back-pockets kind of dance. He felt her wriggle her hands between their bodies. She got one button open before her intention registered. Breaking the kiss, he shook his head and growled. “No. Leave the shirt on.”
A huffy laugh escaped her, but those busy hands fell to her sides. “Okay.”
“I like the way you look in my clothes.” He kissed his way down the taut tendon in her neck, then allowed himself the luxury of licking a path along her collarbone to the hollow of her throat. “I like how you look in my bed.” Hoisting his weight one more time, he rolled to the side and reached for the nightstand. “But what I like best is being inside you.”
He tore open the condom wrapper, mentally congratulating himself for not using the word that sprang to mind first. Love. He loved being inside her. But he didn’t dare use the big l-word in any context. Not when he had her right where she belonged.
Millie’s breath hitched when he pushed into her wet heat. Her pussy closed around him, swollen tight from their previous encounters. Conscious she might be a little sore—hell, he was—Ty moved slowly, sinking into her inch by mind-blowing inch. When he was seated deep inside her, he paused to catch his own breath. Millie made a soft mewling noise in the back of her throat and squirmed. Somewhere in the depths of his sex-addled brain, he recognized the noise, but he couldn’t quite put a finger on why. All he knew was the squeak had about the same effect as a ref’s whistle on him.
He moved cautiously at first, gliding in and out of her snug pussy with excruciating care. Biting the inside of his cheek, he watched and waited while she adjusted, wriggling her hips until they met at the right angle. Then she wound those long, lean legs around him, tilted up to meet his thrust, and smiled beatifically.
“Ten bucks says you can’t make me come again,” she whispered.
The challenge made him stumble, but he soon caught up to pace. Bracing his weight on his forearm, he wedged his hand into the nonexistent space between them. “I’ll take that bet.”
“Nuh-uh.” She clamped a hand around his arm and yanked. “No hands, sport.”
Growling deep in his throat, he acquiesced to her request. “Fine. Game on.”
Shifting his weight forward, he pressed into his knees and changed the angle. Pushing into her from above, the shaft of his dick trailed along her slick clit with every stroke. “Like this? Will this get you off, Mil?”
She made the squawky noise again, and Ty knew he’d hit the right spot.
“Gonna get me too, but I can wait. Oh, I can wait.” His breath came harder. He was pretty much lying his ass off about the waiting thing. Thankfully, her pussy was getting tighter still with every stroke, and those maddening gasps and grunts were coming fast and furious now. Greedy for more of them, he picked up the tempo. “I’ll wait, Millie. I can hold off. As long as it takes. I’m gonna win.”
And win he did. Big. Her fingernails bit into his back as the first shudder rolled through her. If he wasn’t mistaken, the last gasp sounded a lot like his name. And then she screamed. Not long or loud. Barely more than a yelp, really, but Ty couldn’t hold back. Those slippery, sweet walls clamped tightly around him, and the next thing he knew, he was coming again. This time, his climax was far more feeling than force, but Ty couldn’t give less of a damn if he tried.
She owed him ten bucks.