The game, p.18
The Game, page 18
“Time to go,” she said softly as she took a half step back.
“Mmhmm, maybe we could be late,” I offered as I tried ineffectively to reclaim her in an embrace.
She smacked me in the chest and winked at me. “Nope, let’s go. I promise I’ll make it worthwhile later.”
I grinned. Abby always kept her promises.
* * * *
“You shouldn’t have done that!” Abby’s frazzled laugh cut through the crowd as she wound her way through all of the rich fucks we were hoping would empty their wallets for the cause.
I moved away from the group of advertising bros who’d cornered me with an apologetic shrug and turned to her. There were two bright red spots high on her cheekbones, maybe from the champagne, maybe from embarrassment. “Shouldn’t have done what, Stabby?”
She hissed at me. “Don’t call me that in public, weirdo! Shouldn’t have—”
“Told everyone the truth? That the camps and I would be a mess if it weren’t for you and all of the work you do that no one pays you for or recognizes?” I asked with the half-smirk I knew drove her wild.
She punched me and I dodged her fist. “That! Exactly that,” she mumbled as I caught her around the waist and hugged her tightly. “It’s embarrassing.”
“Like I give a fuck. Not to mention all of this talk about doing stuff in public is getting to me.”
“But I care,” she tried to claim as she switched from batting at me with her little hands to biting me since I wasn’t letting go.
“Mmm, Abby. We’re sort of in the middle of people right now.” People had their phones out and I grinned down at her. She scowled, so ferocious, before finally laughing. I tapped her nose. “Let’s get out of here.”
Abby made a show of trying to bite my finger again and wriggled out of my arms and started for the door, her usual long strides hampered by the tightness of her dress. I could see her hands flexing at her sides like she was itching to hitch it up so she could run. The sultry, “come get me, asshole” look she shot over her shoulder went straight to my dick and I took off after her.
“Thank you for being there for me tonight. I needed you.” She wrapped herself around me like a python as we descended the elevator to the parking garage.
“You’re grateful for me?”
“Mmhmm, I need you. And I’m gonna show how bad you as soon as we’re out of camera sight,” she whispered in a sultry voice with a nod up to the little lens in the corner.
We barely made it to the backseat of our SUV before her dress was torn off and thrown to the floor. My pants dropped to join it and she was on my lap, grinding her wet pussy up and down my hard cock, which was pressed up against my stomach as I lay back across the long bench seat. Every few swipes she’d teasingly drop a half inch onto my cock, and I begged her to fuck me. Luckily our car was in a dark corner spot in the parking garage of the fundraiser’s hotel.
“Mmm-mmm, no, how do you ask, Matti?” she murmured with a smirk as she slowed the grind, grabbed my wrists and held them over my head.
“Fucking hell, Abby, let me inside you.” I begged and thrashed, but she had a tight hold of my wrists and was applying the perfect amount of pressure to the ulna nerve to keep me still as she teased me.
“If I let go of one of your hands, will you keep it there?” she asked, and at my frantic nod, she let go and held my cock away from my body so she could slowly slide down it. We both moaned as I bottomed out inside her and I shuddered as I watched a drop of sweat bead up on her upper lip.
“So big, you’re so big and it gets better every time.” Her eyes rolled back in her head and her inner muscles clenched around me like an iron fist in a tight velvet glove. “Grab the door handle,” she ordered as she started to raise herself up on her knees above me.
“Yes, ma’am,” I said, and my voice was hoarse as I tried to encourage her to move faster. “You like this, huh, Abby? Being in charge.”
She nodded and canted her hips forward a little, dropping her hands to press against my thighs. They slid and caught on the fine hairs, the sheen of sweat we’d started to work up changing the friction between us.
I managed to grunt out another line of dirty talk that I knew would tip her over the edge of control. “Take over, baby, use me to get off. I need to see you come.”
Her eyes went from lit up to sparking furnaces as she beamed at me. “Ask and you shall receive. Anything I say, you’ll do?”
“Anything,” I murmured and bucked up slightly in counterpoint to the slow rhythm she set above me. The anticipation was killing me and I felt like I could barely breathe.
“Excellent, keep holding on. I want you as still as possible.”
Fuck.
She rose up and spun around until she was facing the other way and grabbed that side of the car’s “oh shit” handle to steady herself as she began to speed her movements up and down. Every downstroke her pussy clenched around me, and it felt like I was going deeper into her than I’d ever been before. I still wasn’t used to being bare in a woman and the feel of our supersensitized skin gliding together was an unbearable friction.
“You can let go now. Fuck me harder.”
Faster than lightning striking a weathervane I had my hands gripping her hips, raising and lowering her over me. “So close, Abby, so close. Come for me.” I’d barely finished speaking when she began to wail my name as she came harder than I’d ever seen her come before. Somehow she managed to reach down to my balls and pull them tightly as I ground into her on the last stroke and it was my turn, her pleasure giving me my pleasure.
We untangled ourselves and slouched our sweaty bodies on the cool leather of the seat. She rubbed a damp strand of her hair off of her face and peered up at me. Her cheeks were bright red and her eyes glowed like hot coals, the fire between us barely banked. “I love that we’re so good at that.”
“Me too. Let’s get home and do it again, yeah? I think I still owe you one for embarrassing you earlier.”
“Mmmhmm, clothes first.” She smiled wickedly as she tossed me my pants and rolled her dress on. Proper motivation, I was finding, was the key to success.
Chapter Twenty-One
Matti
Like clockwork, Abby rolled out of bed the day after the fundraiser and silenced her alarm. No snoozing for my girl, and she bounced from the bed straight into the shower. I’d never lived with a morning person before and it was absolutely atrocious. But she was changing me, and I struggled out of our warm cocoon to stumble into the kitchen and get coffee brewing for her to take to the office.
Divvying up the morning jobs had happened effortlessly and I marveled again at myself—half-asleep and hungover, but so tweaked about a girl that I was up at six in the morning after going to bed at two to make her coffee before work.
My cup burned my hands as I cradled it while inhaling the bittersweet smell that steamed from the white cafeteria-style mug. A text flashed across my screen and I set down my coffee to reach for my phone, but Abby’s whirlwind arrival distracted me as she sprinted down the hall. “Late again, I’m so damned late!” she muttered, clearly furious with herself.
I’d learned months ago to let her rage in the morning. Early bird she might be, but she was also a royal bitch before her first caffeine hit of the day. I nudged her full travel mug over to her as she slammed open cupboards looking for it. “It’s full,” I said as I tossed a granola bar at her back, where it smacked right between her shoulder blades.
“Bless you,” she murmured as she tore open the packaging with her teeth. She shoved half the bar in her face and gulped coffee to rinse it down.
“How are you usually so refined, yet manage to eat like a feral animal in the morning?”
The middle finger she jabbed into the air in my general direction was answer enough as she took another sip of coffee, wincing at the burn.
“Sleep well? I certainly did. Very well and very satisfied.”
She blushed bright red. “You are such a turd sometimes, Shellenberg. Stop winding me up.”
“Mmhmm, think of me when you’re working like a busy beaver all day. Sitting here all alone, dreaming of ways to wind you up.” I took a sip of my own coffee and considered exactly how pissed off it would make her if I could convince her to be really, really late today.
Her blush intensified somehow. “You are a very bad influence.”
“So you’ve said.” I took another sip and smiled at her. “But you love it.”
She shook her head at me, full lips pressed together in a firm line, and I couldn’t tell if she wanted to smack me or kiss me. I wondered if she even knew.
We leaned against our respective counter spaces and continued to sip our coffee. “I’ll be home around four,” she offered.
“Good, I’ll be here. Cook dinner tonight?”
“Definitely, you pick the recipe and text me the ingredients. I’ll pick up anything we don’t have on the way home.” Her phone buzzed with an event reminder. “Crap! I really have to go.”
I watched affectionately as she dithered. She either wanted to kiss me or hug me, but she was wary that I was going to keep messing with her. “Winding her up,” as she liked to say. Putting her out of her misery, I reached over to squeeze her in a fast embrace and kissed the top of her head. I managed to swipe my phone from the counter as I tore myself away from her and headed back to the bedroom.
“See you tonight.” Her regretful sigh lingered behind me as she left.
Back in the bedroom, I set my mug on the nightstand and flopped back onto the messy bed. The linen sheets were still all soft and warm, a faint scent of us hovering above them and wrapping around me. Home, security, Abby, love. It was all there, all falling into place. I had dreamed about her for a long-ass time, far longer than I’d ever waited before making a move in the past. She scared the fuck out of me, but she’d said she was in this for me, for real, and I was going to hold her to it.
I buried my nose in her pillow and inhaled, groaning slightly as I flashed back to the way she’d owned me last night. That look in her eyes, both playful and proud of the control she’d held over me, the reactions she could coax from me. My pleasure in her very capable hands and the trust that had blazed from her eyes as she’d nodded to turn control over to me, the switch happening in a blink of an eye as I’d flipped her on her back and plowed into her.
My phone buzzed again, reminding me of the message that I’d ignored while fixing my lady’s coffee. I scanned through the short message, nothing but a command from Sylvie to call her when I got my sorry ass out of bed. For that she could wait, and I settled back into the pillows for a quick, one-handed trip down memory lane.
* * * *
I called Sylvie back about an hour later as I finished scrambling eggs and pulled bacon out of the oven. Sometimes I took the command to treat myself a little too far and I knew my workout later that morning was going to be rough.
“Matthias.” Her voice grated on my still slightly hungover brain.
“Sylvie, what’s happening?” I slid the food onto a plate and headed over to the island where the jar of Mexican hot sauce, a glass of orange juice and another mug of coffee awaited.
“A Premier League team wants you back in the U.K., playing for them next week. What do you think?”
I choked and the hot sauce I’d liberally poured over my eggs went straight up my nose, searing my sinuses.
“Matthias?” she asked, sounding vaguely impatient.
“Yep,” I croaked. “Hang on.” I blew my nose inelegantly into a napkin. “Okay, say that again?”
“A Premier League team—Tottenham—wants to pick you up for an absolutely obscene amount of money. They want you ready to start for them next week. Apparently there was an injury and Dierckson is out.” Lars Dierckson was a Swedish defender who’d made a name for himself over the last few years, following in my footsteps. We both played the same position, but he had taken on my party boy mantle and lowered the bar on whatever was considered socially acceptable. I despised him.
“They want me to replace Dierckson?”
“Yes. A defender for a defender.” She sighed. “And there’s more. Somehow they think that this whole ‘good guy in a serious relationship’ cover you and Abby have very convincingly put together is fake. In their words, they want the ‘real you’ back.”
I could imagine the air quotes and my hackles started to rise.
“It’s a huge contract, Matti, absolutely huge—enough to retire on even if you only play one more season—”
“Sylvie, it isn’t fake,” I cut in.
“What’s not fake?”
“Us, me and Abby. I mean, we’re not, like, really engaged or anything, but we’re definitely a couple.”
Sylvie snorted in derision. “Dating with your grandmother’s ring on her finger? You kids are fucking adorable.”
“Hey—”
“I get it, Matti. But the thing with Tottenham is, they don’t give a shit about your personal life. They want you back in the Premier League and they will actually pay you extra to go out and make a scene. They’ve lost more than a defender with Dierckson injured, they’ve lost their main headline generator and a fan favorite.”
“Sylvie, I’m not that guy anymore,” I tried to tell her.
“I know, you’re very mature now, Matthias.” She snorted again.
“Come on, Sylvie. That’s bullshit.”
“I know, sorry. I’m not used to you being so amenable, I guess. So, what do you think?”
“What about Abby?”
“What about Abby? I don’t understand.”
“What will she do over there? Assuming she wants to go, that is.”
“Um, you’re not kidding, are you? The two of you are really together?” Sylvie asked slowly, as if I were three and had miraculously delivered a Shakespearean soliloquy.
“You know we are, and I know she’s told you that too.” My irritated tone left no room for argument and she hummed in response.
“Yes, yes, she did and you’re right, having her over there would be great for exposure. If—I mean, when—she comes back, it will be good to have her right there for a tryout. I do still have a few lines out for her and there’s been some interest that hasn’t gone beyond initial conversations,” Sylvie said thoughtfully. “But does she want to leave? I mean, she’s building a life in Chicago too. Every time I’ve chatted with her lately, she’s been a bit hesitant. I’d assumed you two would be long distance.”
“She will, if I’m going.” We were a team. We supported each other. “Maybe not right away, I know she’s really wrapped up in coaching and the camps. Plus her med team is here.”
“Okay, how about I push the teams I’ve been chatting with about her? Let them know she’s on her way back and looking for a home?”
“That would be great, but you should probably talk to her first. Make sure she’s even interested in playing for those particular teams when she’s ready for her comeback.”
“Of course, of course. You’re in, then?” she asked, seeking that final confirmation.
I took a massive breath and felt my T-shirt tighten across my chest. “Yeah, we’re in.”
“To be clear, kiddo”—her voice was affectionate finally—“you’re single, as far as they know. They’re expecting your previous antics to give them an attention boost. Ironic, no?”
“Sylvie, there’s no way I’m going back to that bullshit image. Abby would kill me and I don’t know if it’s even something I can—”
“No buts, it’s part of the package. Sorry, but if you can fake being engaged, I’m pretty sure you can fake being single for a bit. Don’t worry about it.”
At that moment, I felt much more than a small bit of foreboding about what Abby would think if we had to fake a break-up and me being single.
“Sylvie, really, promise me you’ll try—”
“All right, Matthias, I’ve got to run. I’m about to hop on a plane to Chicago. Will get in touch with a few teams for Ms. Abigail Jane and a contract from Tottenham for us to review. I’ll try to get the party boy clause cut out. Toodles.”
Click!
She’d hung up on me.
I pulled up my group text with my brothers and sent out an SOS of sorts. An animated GIF of a guy lurching for a phone with blood running down his face, a shadowy stabby figure behind him.
Seconds later a FaceTime call lit up from Markus. Alina hovered behind him in the background and I could hear her saying, “Is he okay? He’s not, like, really dead, is he?”
His eyebrows were at his hairline and he was a little out of breath, no shirt on as he sat on a lounge chair on his deck. “Matti? Are you all right?” He frowned as he took in the video image of me, sitting at my kitchen island, calmly sipping coffee. “You’re fine. What’s the deal with the SOS? Oh, wait—”
A chime and Max’s dark hair and eyes filled the screen. He was also shirtless, and I could see someone behind him shrugging into a robe. My eyebrows took the opportunity to meet my hairline and Markus was actually turning into a tomato as we contemplated the fact that our very reclusive, uptight brother…had…sex.
“What?” Max’s grin was positively demonic. Some rustling from his end and the video blurred as he moved around. When it cleared, he was sitting up against the wrought-iron spindles of a bed with a few pillows behind him. “You’re not dead, I see.”
Markus shook his head in shock.
After so many years, it was thrilling to see my oldest brother at such a total loss. Even better, having my super uptight, next oldest brother actually doing something…naughty, apparently. “Nope. Not dead. Although you… What is it the French call post-sex, Markus?”
“Le petite mort?” Markus mumbled, now trying to hide a shit-eating grin even though his cheeks were still a bit pink.
