Ty’s laughter trailed off as the silence on Millie’s end drew taut. She was waiting for his response, but he had no idea how he was supposed to react. Every nerve ending in his body went on high alert when the phone rang. But her mention of a bedtime story made the jumpy little buggers stand down.
Ty eyed the glass he’d pulled off a shelf and the decanter of scotch he’d unstoppered. A bedtime story? What about some bed time? Was she saying she wouldn’t see him? The thought was enough to spur him into lifting the cut-glass bottle and tipping a couple of slugs into the glass.
Had he spent the whole day drowning in nothing but wishful thinking?
Given how things went the night before, he figured she might be a little wary, but he never anticipated not seeing her. His ego wouldn’t let him believe she didn’t want to see him. She was into him. He knew that as sure as he knew the pattern of his hook shot.
She’d said she was going lingerie shopping. He might not be any expert on female behavior, but he’d been married long enough to know some women kept a whole hierarchy of bras and panties stashed away. Certain bits and pieces for everyday wear, another whole category dedicated to special circumstances like jogging or strapless dresses, and finally, the ones designed to make someone sit up and howl.
Millie wanted him. He was sure she did. The problem was, she seemed to want him only on her terms. Too bad he had no earthly idea what those terms were. She was using her no-nonsense voice. The one she used with nagging reporters and other pesky annoyances. It galled him to hear it. The last thing he wanted was to be another necessary evil in her world.
“Did I lose you?” she asked, her voice sultry and teasing.
Perhaps he was overthinking things. She might not be rejecting him. This tease about a bedtime story might be a ploy to get the upper hand. Which he’d give her gladly, as long as he could get his hands on her. He weighed and discarded a couple of possible moves she might be setting up and chose the obvious option. Home-court advantage. She probably wanted him to come over to her place. “How about I come over and get settled in?”
“Not tonight.”
Her answer was short and delivered with a quiet firmness that marked the decision as final. But he wasn’t one to give up without hurling one last miracle shot at the goal. “Why not? I could pick up ice cream. We could eat it in bed.”
Millie hummed appreciatively. “Ooh, ice cream. Tempting, but no. Not tonight,” she repeated.
This time, he caught a ragged edge of impatience in her voice, so he eased up. Taking the tumbler of scotch from the bar, he crossed the room to the oversized chair positioned directly in front of the television. The screen glowed in the darkened room. He dropped into the seat like his ass was weighted down with concrete and took a gulp of his drink.
Fire ran down his throat. He gripped the glass tightly. A growl of disgust rose in his chest when Greg Chambers’s stupid, smug face filled the center of the screen. Without even looking, he jabbed the power button with his index finger and smacked his lips as the room sank into further darkness. “Why not tonight?”
Millie didn’t miss a beat. “I like the anticipation.”
Well, hell. How was a guy supposed to argue with that kind of logic? “Do you?”
“Oh yeah.”
Her voice was rich and deep. Each syllable crashed over him like an ocean wave. Drawing a bracing breath, he let his arm swing down. He set the glass on the floor beside the chair, then carefully placed his hand on his leg. “Okay, fine. Tell me this bedtime story of yours.”
“You comfy?”
Ty glanced at the dark-wash jeans and custom-tailored shirt he’d put on in expectation of seeing her. They weren’t nearly as “comfy” as the sweats he’d ditched when he got home. Hearing her voice made him semihard. Listening to her dictate the way his evening would go left him torn between wresting control of the situation from her pretty little hands and surrendering to her every demand. But Millie had a point. These were early days for them. No need to push until she shoved.
“I’m comfy enough,” he replied at last. “How about you? You…comfy?”
“I’m completely naked.”
The promptness of her reply coupled with the purr in her voice marked the statement a bald-faced lie, but he figured her fib was the kind of untruth a man could get behind. “Oh yeah?”
“Naked and hot. So hot,” she said, letting her voice go wispy at the end.
Acting or not, the image she invoked worked for him. In the blink of an eye, he went from mildly aroused to hard enough to bust a zipper. “What got you so hot?”
He half expected her to come up with some phone sex hotline BS about him and how she’d been thinking about him all night, but as usual, Millie was full of surprises.
“I bought a book of erotica.”
He took a full minute to absorb what she was saying. Not only had his brain short-circuited, but the synapses still firing had also immediately zeroed in on the possibility she hadn’t been teasing when she’d said she was naked. And hot.
“You, uh…” He paused to swallow the boulder lodged in his throat. “You did?”
“Yes, and I have to tell you, this might be the best thing I’ve ever read.”
He blinked, then blew out the breath trapped in his lungs. As he exhaled, Ty slumped in the chair, tugging at the snug denim of his jeans in an effort to make his situation a tad more comfortable. “Is it?”
“Well, I’ve only just started reading,” she confessed. “But when I got to this one story, I thought you might enjoy hearing it.”
“Yeah?”
“The title is ‘One on One’ and stars a woman who likes big, tall basketball players.”
“She does?”
“Mm-hmm.”
He heard a rustling noise, and the throb in his groin area picked up pace. He knew the sound. She was in bed. Or on the bed. Somewhere near a bed. Location didn’t matter. “Let me come over, and you can read your story to me live and in person.”
“No, it’s more fun this way.”
“I could argue otherwise.”
“Don’t.” She spoke with enough decisiveness to make him snap his mouth shut. “Do you want me to read you this story?”
He hesitated long enough to swallow his disappointment and sink down lower into the chair, stretching his legs out wide in front of him. “Yes. Please.”
His phone beeped to indicate an incoming call, and he pulled it from his ear to check the caller. Mari’s face filled the screen. Instinctively, he dismissed the call. The last thing he wanted at this moment was his ex-wife intruding on his time with Millie, even if it was only over the phone.
“Still with me?” Millie asked.
“Yes.”
“Good.”
In the lull, he heard the distinct sound of pages being flipped. Frowning at the ceiling, he wondered if Millie had taken the time to write down whatever dirty little ditty she wanted to share with him.
“Mind if I pick up where I left off?”
He chuckled. She could start wherever she wanted as long as she kept talking to him. “Not at all.”
“Okay. Here goes.”
She cleared her throat so officiously he had to smile.
“Sweaty. Beads of perspiration dotted his brow. Occasionally, one made a fast break, the tiny droplet of exertion coursing down his temple, over the rise of his cheekbone, then sliding along the sharp angle of his chiseled jaw.”
“Sure, always the guys with the chiseled jawlines,” he murmured.
“You’re no slouch in the sculpted department, so stop moaning,” she said derisively.
Thrilled by the zing of her sharp wit, he sat up straighter, if for no other reason than to prove he was no slouch in any department. “Ma’am. Yes, ma’am.”
“God, I love the way that sounds.” He laughed, but she picked up right where he’d interrupted. “Celeste wanted to lick him. Taste the salty tang of his skin, feel his heat against her tongue. But he was in the zone, and there was nothing more mesmerizing than watching Beck take down his faceless foes. The flex of his calf muscles as he pivoted was a thing of beauty. Stepping onto the asphalt court, Celeste beamed an incendiary glare at the long, baggy shorts he wore. She used to mock the pictures of those hoopsters from days gone by in their snug, tight shorts. Now, she yearned to see him in a pair.”
“Never gonna happen,” he muttered.
“Hush.” The command was crisp, but he heard the smile in her voice.
“Sorry. Hushing.”
“Celeste never considered herself a gambling woman, but she’d bet his quads were a thing of beauty. And to run her hands up those taut hamstrings as she took him deep—‘You playing?’ At first, she didn’t realize that Beck was talking to her. He didn’t look at her. Nor did he miss a step in his charge to the basket. The chink of the metal link net made her nipples tighten to hard, aching buds. The ball fell into Beck’s outstretched hands as soft and silent as a leaf drifting to the ground. His chest heaved as he shifted his weight onto his right foot. He tucked the ball snug against his side and squared up to face her head-on.”
Millie paused to catch her breath, but Ty didn’t dare interrupt. She’d said one of the magic words—nipples—and now she, Celeste, and Beck of the chiseled jaw officially had his undivided attention.
“Emboldened by the challenge in his stance, Celeste stepped out of the shadows and into the pool of orange-gold glow shed by the playground’s lone security light. Adding a sway to her step as she approached, she smiled. ‘A little late to be playing ball all by yourself.’
“He raised an eyebrow, rolled the ball out from under his arm, and held it aloft on the very tips of his fingers. ‘I was hoping someone would come out for a pickup game.’
“‘Aren’t you lucky I came along?’ When she was within striking distance, she nudged the ball from its perch. He didn’t stop her.
“‘What do you want, Ce?’
“Unintimidated by his gruff question, she stepped up, stopping only when they stood toe-to-toe. ‘Same thing I’ve always wanted, B. You.’”
“Christ, I want you,” Ty said, his voice much rougher and deeper than Millie’s imitation of a man teetering on the edge.
“Do you want to hear this story or not?”
“Tell me your story,” he countered. “Tell me what you’d want to do if you were Celeste.”
His voice cracked at the last, but he was beyond caring. His jeans were too tight. The shirt felt like a goddamn straitjacket. He’d go full-on Bruce Banner if he didn’t get out of them soon.
He popped the button on his pants for comfort’s sake, then set to work on getting out of the shirt. His breathing was ragged, big gusts of air blown directly into the phone as he yanked the tails of the shirt from his waistband. He made short work of the last buttons. The phone dropped into his lap as he yanked his arms from the sleeves, oblivious to the fancy cuff links he’d chosen to impress her. A growl of frustration rose from his throat when his arms got stuck. Fumbling through the bunched fabric for the fasteners, he spoke loudly enough to carry through the speaker.
“Does he have a shirt on? Or is good old Beck playing skins against himself?” One hand free, he grabbed the phone and tucked it back under his ear before setting to work on the other. “Because I’m almost out of my shirt, and soon I’ll be down to my skin too. Tell me what you’d do, Millie.”
“I’d have to touch you,” she said, her voice quiet and almost quivery. “Your chest. Damp and slick. Celeste has the right idea. I want to lick you like a lollipop every time I see you running around on the court.”
“Do you?”
“God yes.”
“And if we were all alone on a dark playground court? What do you think’s gonna happen, Mil? Is she going to take him home? Is he going to fuck her on the playground?”
“Oh yes.”
She moaned the words. But she couldn’t give in so easily. If she wanted to hold him off, then he’d play along. For now. As long as she told him the whole story. Her way.
“What happens? What do they do?” he prompted.
She drew a shaky breath, then exhaled in a rush. “Do? What else can she do? She’s gonna push him up against the fence.”
His chest tightened, and his heart skipped a beat. “And?” he managed to ask, expelling the last bit of oxygen he had left.
Millie didn’t answer right away. Damn if she wasn’t right. Anticipation crackled between them like a live wire. The wait was…unbearable. And unbelievably hot. He’d never figured he’d go for the delayed gratification thing, but then again, he never anticipated resorting to phone sex to get his rocks off.
While he was in Reno, sex by proxy seemed like a reasonable means to an end. Now that he was back and Millie was a scant few miles away, it felt like an exhibition game. Each move was meant to get them primed and ready for the real deal. Frustrating but sexy as hell.
“She’d pin him against the wires, using her body to press him into the shadow outside the ring of light.”
She hesitated, and he was quick to jump in with an encouraging, “Mm-hmm.” The last thing he needed was for her to leave him alone in the dark. Waiting. Wanting. He unzipped and hooked his thumbs into the waistband, waiting for her to toss the ball into the air so the game could begin for real. As expected, Millie didn’t disappoint.
“Then she’d sink to her knees, dragging those hideously baggy shorts down as she went.”
“You like the short shorts too, huh?” He shoved his jeans and boxers down, wincing when his painfully hard dick sprang loose. He’d have to hold off on touching himself. This woman set him off like a damn bottle rocket.
“Of course I do. What could be better than watching a bunch of guys with tight asses and long, muscular legs running and jumping?”
“Women’s beach volleyball.”
His prompt answer earned him a laugh. One of those husky, rumbling laughs that hit him low in his gut and reverberated through his entire body.
“To each his own,” she said, a chuckle coloring her words.
Time to stop pretending to be other people. He pressed on with only a subtle, but important, change in pronoun. “I’m up against the fence,” he reminded her as he pushed his jeans and briefs past his knees. “My baggy pants around my ankles.”
“Your fingers tangled up in the wires, your bare ass pressed against the cool metal,” she added.
“Ah, chain link. Anyone could see us, Millie.” He wrapped his hand around the base of his dick and squeezed. Hard. “Is that what you want? You want people to watch?”
“I’d get down on my knees,” she whispered. “The ground would be hard. Your cock too. But your skin is so soft.”
She trailed off into a whisper, but now his hand was moving up and down. Too damn late. There’d be no stopping now. “Take me in your mouth.” He heard Millie moan. He was so distracted he almost missed the buzzing hum. “Do I hear a vibrator?”
“Mm-hmm.” Millie’s confirmation was more a purr than a proper response. “My favorite one.”
“Jesus.” He groaned and covered his eyes with his free hand. “You have more than one?”
She laughed, but he didn’t care. She could laugh all she wanted. He would sit and fuck his fist while he pictured her sliding a rubber dick in and out of her sweet, tight pussy.
“I have about a half dozen, but some aren’t as…satisfying as others.” Her breath hitched, then she sighed softly. “This one is almost as good as the real deal.”
“You’re fucking killing me,” he ground out.
“I’d like to suck you.”
The rasp in her voice only amped him up more.
“Outside. In the dark. With your skin all hot and damp, and the breeze cool on my neck.”
He could picture her so perfectly. Feel the sweet tug of her mouth. Her heat. The plush velvet of her tongue. He’d push deeper, dragging the head of his cock over the vulnerable spot at the back of her mouth.
“Hard and deep,” she continued, insinuating her point of view into the vivid images he’d conjured in his head. “My hands on your thighs. Celeste had the right idea. I’d squeeze your quads, feeling them bunch and flex as you pumped into my mouth. I’d stroke your hamstrings and drag my nails lightly, so lightly, under your balls…”
He groaned then, loud and proud. Literally the only response he could manage.
“I’d press you deeper into the fence. The links would give some under the pressure, then bite into your ass. I’d like to bite your ass,” she added, almost as an afterthought.
“Do it.” Hell, he’d let her shred him limb from limb if he could only be inside her.
“I wanna suck you, Ty. Outside. In a place where it’s dark but not pitch-black. Where anyone or everyone could see us. See me. On my knees, bringing you to yours.”
“I’m there,” he panted. And his warning was no lie. His cock pulsed with the need to let go. He clenched his teeth hard, and he wished he had the stamina to hold back indefinitely. Make her keep going. Never stop.
Her breathing caught again, then she gave a maddening half squeak, half moan that told him she was teetering right on the edge with him. “I want to suck you so hard you’ll think I turned you inside out.”
“And I’m gonna fill you up.” Words burst out of him with the first pulse of his climax. He went wild. Hot, wet lashes of release streaked his stomach, thighs, and hand, but his orgasm didn’t stop him. He pumped away, fisting his cock in perfect syncopation with the quick puffs of breath exploding in his ear. “I’m gonna come in your mouth. In your pussy. On your tits, your belly, your ass. I’m gonna cover you in me, because you’ve already got me crazy for you.”
She came with a cry she didn’t even bother to stifle. One of the things he liked about Millie—she was a woman who knew how to take her pleasure and revel in it.
But she never let emotion overtake her.
He needed to remember she wasn’t the type to be swept away. And as much as he hated to admit as much, he kind of was.
When he was young, he had dived headfirst into the sea of willing women that surrounded professional athletes. In Europe, he’d seen and done a few things he couldn’t imagine asking an American girl to do. A couple of sophisticated French girls had laughed at what he’d called his “American prudery.”
He’d fucked a Russian dancer with a pierced clit for a while. The sex had been great and the girl nearly insatiable, but he’d bailed when she suggested he poke a hole through his dick. He’d been relieved when his contract was up and he had an excuse to pull up his good old American underpants and run back to the United States with all his parts intact.
He’d thrown himself into coaching and his postgraduate studies with the same single-minded focus he’d brought to the court. And the day Mari first walked into his lecture hall, he’d made up his mind to have her. She’d been so beautiful. So fresh-faced. At least in those days. She was no virgin, of course, but after the excesses he’d seen as a player, her Midwestern sensibilities were a balm. But everything changed not long after they started seeing one another exclusively.
Letting his head fall back, he listened to the sound of Millie’s ragged breathing as he tried to pinpoint exactly when he’d lost the handle on his marriage. First, he had bought her a pair of perfect tits. Mari was self-conscious about the size of her small breasts. While he’d been perfectly satisfied with them, he had wanted her to be happy and comfortable in her own skin, so he’d paid for the augmentation.
The wedding had been a circus. He blamed Kim Kardashian and Kris Humphries. Mari’d watched their whole wedding fiasco with rapt attention and figured since she was marrying a basketball player too, she should have the same. Ty hadn’t had the heart to point out he was a somewhat failed and now-retired ballplayer. He also didn’t have a bevy of television executives bankrolling their nuptials. The wedding should have been a big, fat red flag, but he’d been neck deep before reason made even the slightest bit of headway.
After the honeymoon—two weeks at an exclusive Bora Bora resort she’d seen on some celebrity gossip show—she’d moved into his small house off Eastern University’s campus and started her relocation campaign. The offer from Wolcott had given Mari the perfect opportunity to buy and furnish her dream home.
But no matter how much he gave, nothing was ever enough. Between the weight of her demands and the resentment building inside him, their marriage had started to show the first stress fractures. And he’d let those go as well, took the path of least resistance. Each wave of discontent had pushed his relationship with Mari closer to the breakers. He hadn’t done anything to hold off the inevitable. Frankly, he hadn’t cared enough to try. When he’d first heard the rumblings about her infidelities, he’d even been a little relieved. He hadn’t expected his star player, the kid he’d helped groom for greatness, to betray him as well.
“Ty?”
He jolted at the sound of Millie’s voice in his ear. Pulling the phone away, he gave his head a sharp shake to disperse any lingering reveries and glanced down at himself. He was a mess. The liquid fire that jetted out of him minutes before was now a cool, sticky reminder that he was alone. Again. Jacking off in his living room because the woman he was seeing thought she should call all the shots. A flash fire of anger ignited inside him. He scowled at the sad, sorry shambles he’d made of himself and cursed under his breath.
“You okay?” she asked.
No. He was far from okay. He was righteously pissed. He’d wanted to do right by her, and she wanted to toy with him. Yes, he’d told himself he could wait. He’d be patient and let her come around to seeing things his way in her own time. But he wasn’t going to play these games for long.
“I’m fine,” he answered, clipping the words off short. “Thanks for the story, Mil. I have to go get cleaned up. See you tomorrow.”
Without waiting for her response, he ended the call and dropped the phone to the floor beside his glass of scotch. “Why do I bother?” he muttered as he used the tail of his once perfectly pressed shirt to clean himself up.
Apparently, reminiscence and bitterness were two main ingredients in whatever witchcraft were needed to conjure up the ghosts of big mistakes barely past. His phone rang, and the screen lit up. Mari’s smiling face beamed up at him. He shoved himself up out of the chair, wincing as he yanked his shorts and jeans up over his hips. “That’s all I need,” he grumbled.
Ty stepped carefully around the abandoned drink and the shimmying phone. He made it two steps before the anger gripped him by the throat again, and he whirled to glare at the photo on the phone’s display. He’d snapped the picture here, in this room. The couch and chair had just been delivered, and Mari’d been so proud of her decorating skills. And he’d been happy to see her happy.
“Ain’t nobody happy now,” he said, directing the pronouncement toward the phone.
As if the damn thing heard him, it fell silent, and the call kicked over to voicemail. Swooping down, Ty dragged his hand along the floor until he scooped up the glass. No message alert chimed, so he bolted the drink, welcoming the burn of liquid fire scorching its way through his chest and down into his belly.
His mouth twisted into a grimace, he eyed the now-silent phone with trepidation. He wasn’t interested in anything Mari had to say. She had gotten what she wanted—a hotshot star in the making and a chunk of Ty’s nest egg. He had gotten his freedom. They had nothing left to say to each other. They’d said all that needed to be said in her lawyer’s office.
Shuffling his feet, he set the glass on an end table as he passed, then wandered into the powder room off the hall. The sight that greeted him wasn’t pretty. The lines between his eyebrows and around his mouth cut grooves into his skin. His eyes looked dull and tired. He needed a haircut. Leaning heavily on the pedestal sink, he peered into the mirror. “Get a grip. Tell her you’re not playing these games.”
He blinked, then snorted at his own theatrics. Flipping on the tap, he ran cool water over his right hand, washing away the residue of the evening’s activities. He was right. He knew he was. He had things he needed to say to Millie. Things that had nothing to do with naughty stories, yanking his own chain, and this power struggle they had going on. He needed to figure out a way to tell her he’d give her whatever she needed without coming off sounding like a pushover.
“Yeah, good luck, buddy.”