Page 76 of Devil in Disguise
She did her best, though. She told him, “You don’t get to make up rules in the middle of the game. That kind of outlaw mentality’s going to get you kicked right out of the NFL. Excuse me? Owen Johnson? Mr. Clean?”
“Uh-huh.” He’d set down his cue, and now, he got both hands on her hips. Which meant that finally, he was going to pick her up and kiss her.
He didn’t. He pulled her thong down and said, “Step out.” As soon as she did, he twirled her so she was facing away from him, picked her up, and lifted her all the way onto the table. Her hands went out to cushion her landing, and her cue clattered away. He pulled her slowly back by the waist and said, “Get your knees under yourself. You’re going to stay right here on the edge.”
If there was one thing she’d have said about Owen, it was that he had no kink in him. Yeah, he couldtalkabout it, but he was as straightforward as a guy could be, and as gentle, too.
So why was he moving behind her, sliding his hands up her shirt, and cradling her breasts, pinching the nipples between big fingers? Why was he shoving that shirt all the way up?
Wait.He hadn’t evenkissedher! He couldn’t be going to do it like this.
His hand was on her butt, but if he knew how much she needed this, he sure didn’t show it. He just rubbed his hands over her butt and thighs instead. Not careful for once, but greedy, like he wanted to touch her everywhere. And then he said, “Stay there.”
She wasn’t what you’d call “comfortable.” Her knees were on the felt at the edge of the table, her shins over the bumper, her forearms on the table. She could see him, though. He went over to the couch as the coach on the big screen yelled at the official, his arms waving. Owen stripped off his T-shirt. Slowly, so she could watch from behind. Then he picked up a container that she recognized as lube, and something else, too.
Oh, my god.
He turned around. Bare-chested. Bearded. Unsmiling. His huge arms and chest unadorned by any tattoos, because he didn’t need them. And walked back to her.
* * *
He didn’t knowhow he’d made it this long, and he didn’t know how he wasn’t just going ahead and fucking her right now. He sure as hell needed to, but instead, he came to stand behind her, ran a hand down her ass and up again, and said, “If you want me to take you up to bed, I will.”
“Really?” she said. “You scared to show me that you’re the boss?”
Oh,shit.
On the screen, the crowd was roaring, the team was driving, and pretty much the same thing was happening in his body.
He tried one more time. “If you want to stop, tell me so. Just say ‘stop.’”
She shouldn’t have been in any position to be sassy, seeing as how her ass was in the air and she was wearing just about nothing—except aBucsshirt—but she said, “Owen. You’re seriously wrecking my buzz here.”
He managed to smile. He’d have laughed, but the need was clawing at him now. He got some lube on his fingers—it was a new kind, made to tingle—and started spreading it on her. Slowly.
He felt the moment when she realized. When her muscles stiffened, and she said, “Oh. Wow. Uh …” And started to rock.
He kept it up. And brought the deerhide flogger down on her.
It was the softest he’d been able to find. “All of the sensation and none of the sting,” the sales copy had said, and he’d tested it on himself to make sure. Even so, she jumped. That was nice, so he did it more. He did it harder. And when she was rocking, when she’d started to moan, he asked her, “What happens to bad girls who wear the other team’s shirt?”
She said, “They get a, uh … spanking.Owen.Please.”
“That’s right,” he said, and showed her hard.
* * *
She hadn’t thoughthe’d reallydoit. Even though it didn’t really hurt, it was such a … a non-Owen thing to do, and such a forbidden thrill. The fantasy he’d told her about, back there in the stairwell, but he wasdoingit. And it was winding her up so high.
The announcers, still talking. The crowd, still roaring. Theswishandslapof the soft suede tails landing on her skin. The tingling everywhere, centered right … there. Where Owen’s hand had just gone.
The orgasm came suddenly, and it came sharp. An earthquake striking just below the surface, jolting you hard and fast, and she was calling out, her elbows banging against the felt, her hands trying to grab and finding nothing. And Owen, shoving his way inside her at last. His hands gripping her hips, all the size of him moving in a hard, hot rhythm. The rough felt under her palms, then against her nipples, because one of his hands was on her back, pressing her down. Her cheek was on the felt, and he was going faster.
The announcer shouted, “And Franklin breaks the tackle! He’s at the 40. At the 30. Two men to beat! Oh, what a move! How did he get out of that tackle? Dragging the free safety with him now, and he’s going down! Oh, my! Fifteen seconds left on the clock, and the Packers are sprinting to get set!”
Inside her, Owen upped the tempo, his ragged breath in her ears, and she was spiraling up, and up some more, the wave building higher and higher, nearly at the crest.
So close. So close. She was just …
