The Playmaker Read online

  “No, but we do have another week or so.” He points to his head. “Depending.” He goes oddly quit for a second, and the playfulness is gone from his face, something I can’t quite identify moving into its place when he says, “About that. Just us these next couple weeks, okay?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t want you to be with anyone else.”

  Seriously? He’s asking me for a commitment?

  “And you?” I ask in return. “Do these rules apply to The Playmaker?”

  “I don’t want to be with anyone else either, Nina.”

  A thrill rushes through me, but I do my best to play it off as casual. “I don’t have time for anyone else this week, Cole. Cooking for you and learning the game is going to eat away at the week fast.”

  “Okay,” is all he says as he goes back to his flower.

  We paint in silence for a little longer, and I lean back to take in our artwork.

  “Not bad for your first attempt,” I say. “I think that will look nice in your place.”

  He arches a brow and gives me a look that suggests I’m insane. “You think I’m hanging this in my place?”

  “Of course you are.”

  “I just about lost my man card coming here to paint a damn flower, Nina. Do you want me to cash it in completely?”

  I laugh. “No, I like your man card.” That brings a smile to his face. “I just think something personal will be nice in your house. It’s not like I’m asking you to hang it in the man cave you’ve yet to show me.”

  “We didn’t have a chance today,” he says as he makes a long stroke for the stem, the green paint easily gliding across the canvas. He has a nice, even stroke with steady hands. Probably from hockey, or maybe even sex. “We won’t have a chance tonight, either.”

  “Why not?”

  He leans into me and puts his mouth near my ear. “Because I’ve been sitting here with a boner all night.”

  “Cole,” I say, and whack him.

  He laughs. “Come on, Nina. You can’t dress like that in front of me and expect me not to get hard.”

  “What are you talking about?” I look at my T-shirt and jeans.

  “Do you have any idea how your ass looks in those jeans?”

  “They’re just jeans, Cole,” I say, but secretly like the way I get to him, the way he makes me feel special. “And I thought you were a boob man.”

  “I’m every kind of man when it comes to you, and as soon as we get home, all these clothes are coming off. Now hurry up and finish your damn daisy so we can go.”

  Feeling giddy and juvenile for reasons I can’t even understand, I take my paintbrush from the water, dab it on my paper towel and flick it at him. Paint splatters his face and his mouth drops open.

  Oops! I really didn’t think there was any paint left on the brush.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” he says, his eyes darkening, but I think it’s from lust and not anger.

  “Red looks good on you,” I say, and stifle a laugh as I look at the speckles.

  “You know what looks good on you?” he asks, and loads his brush with blue.

  “Don’t you dare,” I say, unable to hold my laugh back any longer.

  He flicks paint at me, and it gets all over my face and in my hair. At least he spared my clothes.

  “Cole!” I squeal, and all eyes turn to me. “You’re going to pay for that,” I say under my breath, but I love this side of him. He’s not being The Playmaker. He’s just being playful.

  “You think you’re not going to pay, too?” He grabs a piece of paper towel and wipes his face, but all he manages to do is smudge the paint. “You’re the one who started it, like usual.”

  “Lies…all lies. You’re the one who was always bothering me and picking fights. It was like it was your favorite pastime. Or your job.”

  His grin is cocky and arrogant. “It was. That’s the job of the older brother’s best friend, you know.”

  I huff out an exaggerated breath. “We really do have a lot of anger issues to work through.”

  “Can’t wait.”

  “You’re going to need a shower first,” I say.

  “You too.” He captures my wrist, runs his thumb over my flesh and the room closes in on me. Heat flashes through me, crawls up my neck, and I have no doubt my cheeks are flaming pink.

  “Since you got me dirty, you’re going to be responsible for getting me clean.”

  “Oh, and what about me?” I shoot back.

  “Don’t worry, I plan to lather you up, too.” He leans into me, puts his mouth to my ear. “Every single inch of you,” he says, his hot breath sending ripples of delight down my spine. “Now finish up so we can get the hell out of here.”

  The hunger in his eyes prompts me into action, and I increase my brush strokes, because yeah, I want to get home and get in the shower with him.

  Less than twenty minutes later, we stand and have our picture taken with our paintings so they can upload them to the website. I think about my brother seeing the two of us together, not that I think he checks out the Paint Nite website. Still, what would he think if he knew that Cole and I were secretly seeing each other—for sex only, of course? I never really dated in high school, and he didn’t seem to care one way or another, so I can’t imagine he’d think this was too much of a big deal. On the other hand, I’m his sister and this is his best friend, so he might not like the idea of us together at all.

  Then again, Scott had said Cason decked him for looking at me the wrong way. Could that be true? Probably, considering Cole thinks the guy’s a douche bag.

  My hair is still a sticky mess as we walk to the car and drive back to Cole’s place. I park and we make our way inside. Cole sets the locks and hurries me up the stairs to his big master bathroom.

  “I can’t believe you got paint in my hair,” I say as he turns the water on and adjusts the spray.

  He grins. “I was aiming for your shirt so you’d have to take it off. One way or another, I was getting you out of these clothes,” he says and step up to me. His knuckles brush my sides and he tugs my T-shirt free.

  Completely comfortable in my skin around him, despite my barely there curves and breasts, I lift my arms so he can remove my shirt with ease. He tosses it to the floor and steps back. Green eyes flash with raw hunger.

  And right there—that look on his face is the reason I have no inhibitions around him. No man has ever looked at me like that before.

  “Out of those jeans, now,” he finally says.

  I pop the button and turn from him, showcasing my ass as I slowly, teasingly slide my pants down my legs. Wow, when did I ever become so bold? Sure, I write about things like this, but never practiced the moves in real life—except for that time that jerk reenacted the scene from my story. But Cole is not that jerk, and I like the way he looks at me, like a man who hasn’t had a meal in a long time, and I’m an all-you-can-eat buffet.

  I kick my pants away and turn, standing before him in my bra and panties.

  “Jesus fuck, you are sexy,” he mumbles, and brushes his hand over his chin. The scruff on his chin makes a soft chafing noise, and I shiver. How will that feel, abrading my skin? Damned if I can’t wait to find out.

  I point to him. “You’re overdressed.”

  He makes quick work of his clothes, dropping a condom onto the counter before he steps into the huge shower. I look at all the jets and the rain-shower nozzle above us.

  “We really do have a water theme going, don’t we?” he says, his voice rough, raspy as he steps up behind me, his hard cock pressing into the small of my back. I gasp a little, and wiggle my ass.

  “Stop poking the bear, Nina, or I’ll never get this paint off you.”

  I secretly smile, and Cole grabs his shampoo. He pours a generous amount into his palm and starts washing my hair. I reach up to help, not used to anyone taking care of me, and he swats my hands away.

  “I’ve got this,” he says. “I’m the one who
did this to you.”

  I relax under his touch and just enjoy the feel of his hands on me. He finishes washing my hair and positions me under the rain-shower nozzle. It falls gently over my body and washes away the shampoo. I’m about to do his hair when he lathers his hands and runs them over my body. He spends a few extra seconds on my nipples, and they grow hard from his ministrations.

  “I don’t remember you getting any paint there,” I say.

  “You never can be sure. I’m just exercising caution.”

  “It’s good to exercise caution,” I moan and arch into him, blatantly letting him know how much I like what he’s doing. His soft chuckle curls around me.

  “I wonder where else I should check,” he says, his deep voice rumbling through me as he turns me around, until my back is pressed against his chest.

  I widen my legs, giving him full access to my body. “Everywhere.”

  His breathing becomes harsher against my neck, and his cock throbs against my back. I wiggle to make him crazy and he gives a breathy groan, his fingers trekking downward in a slow-ass seduction that’s making me insane.

  “Are you thinking here?” he asks as he parts my folds. He lightly runs his fingers around my clit, torturing me with things to come, and I moan.

  I wiggle some more, desperate for him to touch me already. “Yes, definitely there.”

  He urges me forward with his knees, and when I reach the back of the shower stall, he takes both of my hands and presses them against the grey tile. “Keep your hands there,” he growls.

  “Cole…” With my ass to him, I’m spread wide open, his for the taking. Never in my life have I felt so exposed. I’m not sure I could do this with someone else but with him, and I love it.

  He pushes my wet hair from my shoulders and runs calloused fingers down my back, until he reaches my ass.

  “This ass,” he says, and kneads my cheeks like dough. “I’ve wanted to squeeze it all night.”

  “Oh, God…”

  “God? Is that one of the names you used to call me, Pretty BallerNina?” he asks, the horrible nickname pushing all my buttons. But I’m beginning to believe he likes teasing the hell out of me, because he likes it when I shoot my mouth off.

  “Not even close.”

  “Then tell me. When I pissed you off, what did you call me?”

  “Mainly an ass.”

  “I like ass,” he says, and cups my cheeks harder. “Tell me what else you called me. When you and Jess stayed up late at night whispering, what were all the nasty things you said about me?”

  “I said you were a cocky bastard.”

  “Cocky. Hmmm.” He presses his lips to my neck and says, “Yeah, that sounds about right.” His lips glide over my wet skin, and my stomach flutters. Jesus, he sure knows just how to touch me. “Did you ever call me a prick, Pretty Nina?”

  He slides his hand around my waist and tugs, lifting my ass to him. His cock slips between my legs, and I cradle him with my thighs. Passion-drunk, I shift, move, anything to get him inside me, but he holds back, clearly wanting to play with me longer.

  Bastard.

  “Tell me,” he says. “It’s good to work out the anger.”

  “Of course I did. I hated you. You were a total prick.”

  “You weren’t the nicest girl around, either, you know”

  “I know,” I say, and think about all the times I gave him the death glare. I’m pretty sure I flipped him off a few times, too. But I can’t think about that right now.

  Jesus, touch me already. Put your fingers inside me

  “When you called me that, were you thinking about my prick?” He pauses, and when he inches back and breaks the contact, I nearly cry at the loss.

  I glance at him over my shoulder, about to beg, but my mouth hangs open when he takes his big cock into his hands. He strokes it with long, swift caresses that burn through me, taking my temperature from simmer to inferno. As heat and desire bombard me, my knees wobble. Who knew I’d like that so much?

  “Like what you see?” he asks, his lips quirking at the corner.

  No sense in lying, so I whisper, “Yes.”

  Green eyes sweep over my body, linger on my spread legs. He slides a hand between my thighs, coming so close to my sex. “Yeah, me too. So, when you were calling me a prick, were you thinking about how good mine might feel sliding inside you?”

  He strokes himself harder and I gulp, because yeah, I was thinking those things. But I can’t admit that. I just can’t.

  “If you don’t tell me, I’ll know as soon as I put my finger inside you,” he says, his voice full of determination and conviction. “I bet I’ll find you all wet and clenching as you remember those days.” When I go quiet, he says, “Don’t forget, we don’t like each other, so it’s fair game to say whatever we want to each other.”

  At that quick reminder that this is some messed-up game we’re playing, I suck in a fueling breath and say, “Yes. That’s exactly what I was thinking.”

  “Would you touch yourself when you slid between the sheets, Pretty Nina? Play with this hot little pussy while you thought about me filling it?”

  OMFG. His dirty mouth is doing the most delicious things to me, and I swear the second he touches me, I’m going to come all over him. I begin to pant. Seriously. I’m panting. Like a goddamn St. Bernard left in a hot car, in Death Valley.

  “Yes,” I manage to get out through gasps as my body quivers, aches to join with his.

  “Yeah, thought so.” A sound catches in his throat, a half laugh, half moan. “Do you have any idea how much abuse my cock suffered because of you? Fuck, girl. I can’t even count up the amount of nights I fucked my palms until they were raw.”

  My heart nearly stops at that revelation.

  I twist, trying to see him, to gauge his seriousness. Is this a part of the game, or did he really masturbate at night, thinking of me? That can’t be right. It just can’t be. We loathed each other. Right?

  While my brain is functioning enough to know it’s a lie, all part of this hate-fucking game, my goddamn heart isn’t getting the message. It wants to believe Cole lusted after me.

  I shift again, trying to face him, but he puts his hand on my neck and holds me in place.

  “Now I get to do all the dirty thing I’ve always wanted to do to you,” he says. “Stay put.” The shower door slides open, and I listen to the foil crinkle as he rips into the condom and sheathes himself. A second later he positions his cock at my entrance. His hands slide to my hips, grip them for leverage, as he powers forward and slides all the way inside me, filling me up until I’m moaning and grasping at the wet tiled wall.

  “I was wrong,” he growls.

  Wrong?

  Oh, God, what was he wrong about? Having a secret affair with me?

  He presses against me, caging me with his body. “Blue doesn’t look good on you. I do.”

  He drives into me hard.

  “Cole,” I cry out. He inches out, only to slam back in again, a loan moan in his throat as he seats himself high inside me. I try to breathe, try to think, to move, but I can’t do any of those things. No, all I can do is focus on the pleasure centered between my legs.

  “You feel so fucking good,” he says, and begins to slide in and out, creating a rhythm that shuts down my brain. I move with him, my body on autopilot, taking, giving, wanting…needing.

  Friction builds between my legs, and my sensitive nipples pucker even more as he pounds into me. He bends over me, his chest pressed against my back, and his fingers slide between my legs. The roughness of his palms against my skin brings on a hard quiver, but then I begin to tremble with need as he applies the perfect amount of pressure to my clit.

  “Yes, just like that,” I cry out.

  I angle my head and try to see him. I catch a glimpse of his face, his jaw clenched tight, a storm building inside him, and I must say, I love that look on him.

  I push against him, wanting him deeper in my body, and the air leaves his lung
s, spills over my neck and back. He flicks my clit, runs his fingers over it, and as much as I want this to continue, to make this last all night, I’m fighting a losing battle.

  The pressure in my core amplifies, every nerve ending zapping, firing, sparking like I’d stuck my wet finger in a light socket, and I let out a whimpering cry as I let go, coming all over his cock. I close my eyes and focus on the points of pleasure as he stills high inside me. My sex grips him tight with each hard clench, and it brings on a round of hushed curses from behind me.

  I try to suck in air as he lets go. “So good,” I whisper.

  “So fucking good,” he says, and continues to fill me with his cum with each hard pulse. When he finishes, he puts his arms around me, and hugs me tight, his head resting against my shoulders, his heavy breaths on my neck.

  Steam fills the shower, and once again I feel giddy. A sound catches in my throat, and there’s nothing I can do to stifle it, seeing as my hands are still pressed against the wall, exactly where Cole told me to keep them, and my body is too boneless to move an inch.

  “Something funny?” he asks, his voice vibrating against my body and sending heat through me again. God, what is it about this man? I just had sex with him, and I want him again.

  “No,” I say, and giggle some more. “Nothing funny.”

  “You kind of laugh at the weirdest moments,” he says, but I hear the humor in his voice.

  “I know.” I move against him, take pleasure in his cock still buried deep inside me.

  He puts his mouth near my ear. “I need more,” he whispers, as he slides his cock out of me. “I’m not nearly done with you tonight.” He inches back, and I can’t see him, but I know he’s giving me a long inspection. “Stay just like this, Nina. Seeing you wide open, with your sweet ass in the air, is making me hard again.”

  I glance at him over my shoulder, and his eyes are the darkest shade of green I’d ever seen. There is an intensity about him that kicks some small working brain cell into action.

  I push off the wall, and my body collides with his.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” he asks, his deep voice filling me with a new kind of need. “I told you to stay put.”