Dirty Player: A Rough Riders Novel (31 page)

He kissed me quick and hard, pulling back with a large smile. “This place is packed. We had to park blocks away. Good day?”

“Amazing,” I said, breathless from the kiss and the surprise at seeing him. “What are you doing here?”

“You think we’d miss this?” He tilted his head, not giving me much space to back away.

In truth, I did. They had their first home game in a few days and their practices had been brutal. I figured they’d all be too tired to stop by, and I didn’t blame them.

He must have noticed I thought that because his grin faded and he shook his head. “Someday you’ll realize you’re not the only person who will do everything they can for the person they love. Until then, I’ll have to work harder to teach you.”

He kissed me again and pulled back.

I was quickly turned and twisted and pulled into Beaux’s arms. For a brief second, I saw and heard the clicks of flashes from phones. 

“Hey, Sis!” Beaux boomed, I was guessing more for the crowd than me. “Congratulations on this! This place is the shit.”

I slapped his shoulder when he put me down and quickly turned away. I couldn’t let anyone see me cry now, not even happy tears. 

“Thanks.” I sniffed and reached for my champagne. “How are you guys doing?”

“Sore as hell, more ready than anything for Sunday,” Beaux said, helping himself to a glass of champagne. Before giving me time to prepare, he raised his glass in the air and shouted for everyone to hear, “To my sister! And to the best damn jewelry shop in town!”

Dozens of women raised their glasses in their air, stars in their eyes as they looked at the men in front of me and next to me, as if they couldn’t believe what they were seeing.

“To Stamped!” Beaux shouted again.

“To Stamped!” the customers shouted back.

I glared at Beaux as he tossed back his champagne in one quick chug. “I’m going to kill you.”

He winked at me. “Think of this as more free publicity. Chicks think they can come here and see me and you’ll have a line wrapped around this place for months.”

“Your ego knows no bounds.”

He rolled his hips, eliciting more cheers for an entirely different reason. “Hey. If you got it, flaunt it.”

“You’re a dork.”

“And you’re my sister, who’s always supported me and cheered for me. Now it’s my turn. Get fucking used to it.”

 With that parting shot, he grabbed another glass of champagne and walked out from behind the counter, pulling me with him.

Quickly, Beaux and Kolby were surrounded in a sea of women clamoring for their attention and autographs.

Oliver sidled up next to me, one arm wrapped around my back while other women asked him to sign anything they could find in their purses. Never once did he take his arm off me, indicating exactly who I was to him.

There was something about that—his desire to be honest and forthright, to not hide our relationship from anyone—that caused me to take another sip of champagne, lean into his side, and enjoy the hell out of the ride.

I looked up and caught Melissa’s gaze. Her light blue, happily shining eyes flickered from Oliver back to me, and then she winked.
Dream
, she mouthed.
Love
you
.

She turned away to ring up another sale before I could respond, but I took her point.

This was my dream. All of it. And I was going to live it.

***

“Faster,” I whimpered into his throat as Oliver moved inside of me.

“Slow,” he responded, looking down at me. “I want to feel you.”

It was morning, three days after Stamped’s grand opening, and nothing had slowed down. 

That day was the first home game of the season. The team was 2-0, hoping to make it three wins that afternoon. I hadn’t expected Oliver to wake me up that morning, his tongue doing delicious things to my pussy before I’d fully awakened, but I’d quickly gone with the flow.

Now, he was driving me mad.

He slid out and in again, my knees pulled up high to the sides of him so he slid in deeper.

I was close, so close, but his frustrating pace was keeping my orgasm just out of reach.

“Oliver.” I gasped, as he hit a new spot deep inside of me. My fingers pressed against his shoulders as I arched into him.

“Tell me you love me.”

“I love you,” I said without hesitancy. 

His eyes seared into me as he gritted his teeth together.

“Please.” I pressed one of my hands to his cheek. “I’m so close.”

He grunted as he thrust into me hard. “Like this?” In. Out. Harder. Not faster.

God.
He was killing me.

My hips arched up and into him, trying to get the friction I needed that he was keeping from me.

“I need you.”

“You have me,” he responded, so forcefully that I knew he was losing control. 

He pulled back, and I took the small break in our skin pressing against skin to slide my hand between us. 

“Fuck, yes. Do it. Get yourself off.”

It didn’t take long. His long, hard dick inside me, moving slow, grinding against me when he was fully inside, my fingers helped take me over the edge and I tightened around him, my heels digging into his lower back as I came.

“So damn beautiful when you come,” he growled and dropped his forehead to mine. “Hold on to me tight.”

I did what he asked, wrapping my limbs around him while he pounded into me, his speed finally increasing like I’d asked for, drawing out my orgasm.

“Oliver.”

“Fuck, Shannon.” He seated himself to the root and came on a growl, my name reverberating through the walls of the bedroom in his hotel room.

We’d stayed there the night before when he’d dragged me out of Stamped, my fingers cramping from working so hard.

Melissa had been with me even though she was staying at Beaux’s since I had yet to buy any guest room furniture. When Oliver had shown up, his interest and desire clear in his eyes, she’d practically shoved me out the door, promising she’d find something to do to keep her busy for the night before I picked her up for the game. His parents were in town, staying at his house for the weekend, and he said he wanted the night alone with me. I’d meet them for breakfast before a driver took them to the game early, but I was still trying not to think about that part yet.

It had taken only a few hours before photos of us at Stamped on Thursday had surfaced on local gossip sites. Then they’d gone viral on social media platforms. My notifications had been dinging through the roof so much that I’d finally shut down my phone earlier in the day.

I was terrified as to what Oliver’s parents would think about me. When I had met Patrick’s parents, they’d made it clear they didn’t think someone from a run-down home with a single mom was anyone close to being good enough for their son.

Based on the things the media had been saying about me when they saw Oliver’s arms wrapped around me, or the kiss we’d shared when he’d first shown up, it was also clear that half of America thought the same thing about Oliver and me.

I’d tried not to let it bother me. I knew the truth. In some crazy way, Oliver and I fit.

But his parents might not think so, and I was terrified to spend three hours that afternoon watching a game with people who might hate me.

I blew out a breath at the thought as Oliver slid off me, draping a sheet over my hips as he moved. “Stay here. I have something for you.”

“Another present?” I asked, my face paling.

He laughed and sauntered to the bathroom to clean up. “You’ll like this one, I promise.”

I’d liked the last one, eventually. I’d liked it so much I’d wanted him to take my ass over and over again—and while there’d been play in the last couple of weeks, it hadn’t happened.

I thought about asking him for it then, but remembered his game later.

When he came out of the bathroom, still naked and completely confident in his body he walked directly to the closet and came out holding a white box—the kind of box dress shirts came in.

“What’s this?” I sat up and brought the sheet with me to cover my breasts.

Oliver sat down next to me, his hips to the side of mine on the bed. He reached out and tugged the sheet until it fell down. Before I could reach for it, he leaned closer and pressed his lips right between my breasts, softly and slowly, making my nipples harden at the sensation.

“Hey,” I whispered, running my hands lightly through his shaggy blond hair. He dragged his eyes up to mine. “Careful or you’ll start something you won’t be able to finish.”

“I’ll finish,” he promised. “Later. But I want you to have this.”

He sat back up and held the box out to me. His bottom lip disappeared between his teeth.

He was nervous.

It wasn’t a look I saw on him frequently, if ever, and my hands trembled slightly as I took the box from him.

“You always wear Beaux’s jersey at the games,” he said as I set the box in my lap. 

I knew instantly what it was and my pulse kicked up a notch. 

“The last few days have been crazy with media and everything, and I know it all took you by surprise, but I want you to wear this today.” He cleared his throat and that vulnerable side of him peeked out before he vanquished it with a blink. “I want you to wear my jersey when you cheer for me.”

“Oliver,” I breathed out. I opened the box, and inside it was as he said: his jersey, the blue and teal colors of the Rough Riders, and the number eighty-seven stamped in bright blue right on the front. I held it up and smiled, looking at him. “I feel like you just asked me to go steady.”

He laughed softly, his eyes narrowing with that look I knew so well. “Later, I want to fuck you in only this, my number and my body all over you.”

“Well, that’s something to think about when I’m with your folks today.” I chuckled with him then and pressed the shirt to my chest. “Thank you,” I said, trying to erase the nerves that assaulted me at the mention of his parents. “Of course I’ll wear it to the game.”

“And later?” He leaned forward and pressed his lips to mine.

“You’ll have to wait and find out.”

Chapter TWENTY-FOUR

SHANNON

Grace Powell pressed her soft, warm hand to my cheek and smiled. “Well, you’re even prettier than the pictures we saw this week, aren’t you?”

Next to me, Oliver groaned. “Ma.”

“Well, she is.” Her kind, hazel eyes, which were exactly like Oliver’s, came to mine. “It’s lovely to meet you, Shannon.”

“You too.” I grinned and held out my hand for Sean to shake. “You too, sir.”

“None of that,” he said and pulled me in for a hug that was tighter but faster than Grace’s when she’d hugged me. “We’re huggers in this family.”

Oliver snorted. “Or you’re just pretty and he likes the ladies.”

Sean pulled back and winked. “That might be it, too. But my son knows how to pick ‘em, that’s for certain.”

I tried and failed to stifle my giggle as Oliver groaned again.

I was obviously meeting his parents. They’d driven from his place to The Mayfield Tower for an early breakfast before Oliver had to be at the stadium. He was dressed in a suit, and that black-and-gray tie he’d tied to my wrists when he’d taken my ass. My eyes had gone hazy and half-lidded when he’d walked out of his closet earlier, him in that suit and tie, and he’d smirked.

“Guess that tells me what we’re doing later,” he murmured, pulling me in for a long and wet and
heated
kiss.

I had pushed him away, my cheeks burning with heat, and next to him I still felt ridiculous. I was dressed in frayed skinny jeans and sandals and his jersey like he’d asked. With him in his suit, we didn’t look like we fit. 

“Let’s eat some breakfast,” Sean said, patting his small, rounded stomach. “I’m starving after working the horses this morning.”

“You didn’t ride Hulk, did you?” Oliver’s concern was obvious. In the past few weeks, I’d learned that nobody but Lee and him rode Hulk. He was too wild, still—too unpredictable.

Sean flicked a hand in the air, dismissing him. “It was fine. Quit worrying about me.”

Oliver growled at his dad and looked at his mom. “You let him do that?”

She rested a soft hand on his forearm. “It’s fine, dear. Honest, he was okay.”

“He looks tired.”

“You worry too much.”

He rolled his eyes and looked at me. I was chewing my bottom lip. In truth, Sean looked exhausted and his skin was a bit pale. I had never met him, but he did seem like a man Oliver had the right to be concerned about. He’d told me frequently over the past few weeks that he thought his dad was constantly overdoing it, not taking into consideration that at nearing seventy, he wasn’t as capable as he used to be.

“Somebody needs to worry,” Oliver muttered, but followed his mom into the restaurant.