The Dirty Girls Book Club (32 page)

Gazing into Woody’s deep blue eyes, she needed to move, to stroke the simmer of need, and so she did, lifting up and down on him.

“That’s it,” he said. “Ride me. Take me. Take what you need.”

Her body demanded that she do exactly that. Moisture trickled down the insides of her thighs as she rose high on his shaft, then plunged down again. His cock stroked the sensitive walls of her vagina, nudged her aching clitoris.

Her body tightened with pleasure, with need. Chasing orgasm, she swiveled her hips as she raised and lowered herself. The musky aroma of sex was more pungent, and the only sound was the panting of their breath and the slippery suck-slap of wet flesh.

One of Woody’s hands was under her butt, maybe to support her or more likely so he could explore the crease that ran between her cheeks and all the way down to where their bodies joined.

As she spiraled higher, closer, he lifted the bottom of her slip and gently rubbed her clit.

“Oh God,” she cried. “Yes.”

She rested the crown of her head on his chest and gazed down, seeing his big hand fanned out over her belly, his middle finger between her legs. Each time she rose, his shaft slid out of her; then as she sank down again it disappeared to fill her completely.

Anchored between his hands, front and back, impaled by his cock, all she could do was enjoy the sensations as he took her on a roller-coaster ride that went up, only up, until she crested the peak and cried out as her body came apart.

Clinging to him, she shuddered as waves of pleasure consumed her, then finally slowed until only an occasional tremor rippled through her.

Somehow, she managed to lift her head from his chest. He was hard as steel inside her, his cheeks were as ruddy as her own must be, and his blue gaze was fierce and primal.

“Your turn,” she managed to say, wondering how she’d summon the strength in her legs to keep riding him.

But maybe she wouldn’t need to. He surged to his feet and she barely managed to wrap her arms and legs around him so she could go along for the ride.

Expecting him to carry her to the bedroom, she was startled when, after kicking free of his pants and underwear, he merely walked around to the back of the couch. He eased her away from him so that his erection sprang free, and let her down to the floor. “Turn around.”

Not sure what he had in mind, she slowly obeyed as he said, “Bend over, holding on to the top of the couch.”

Hesitantly, she gripped the back of the couch with both hands and stretched out so her torso leaned toward the couch and her butt thrust toward Woody. She felt so vulnerable like this. She’d never had sex this way, and wasn’t sure if she wanted to.

He raised her slip past her waist, but didn’t pull her thong off. “You have the sexiest ass.” He brought his body up behind hers,
leaning over so his front met her back and one arm hugged around her. His cock nudged her tangled thong; then he tugged it aside again.

She was so slick with her own juices, he slid inside easily, fully, and she gasped with the delicious impact. Oh yes. She did want this. It felt amazing, being cradled against him as he pumped forward into her. Woody truly was giving her a sexual education.

He buried his face in the back of her neck, pressing kisses to her nape beneath the loose curls of hair. Her nape was sensitive—another erogenous zone he’d revealed to her. Shivers of arousal tingled from where his tongue teased her exposed skin, and deeper ones pulsed from her core, where he thrust harder now.

She gripped the couch, bracing herself to take his thrusts and push back against him.

“God, Georgia,” he panted against her skin. “Can’t get enough of you.” He kissed his way around to that particularly sensitive spot on her neck, sucked, then nipped her.

“Oh!” A second orgasm built within her, more quickly than she’d have believed possible. Would Woody last long enough to carry her along with him when he came?

Bracing herself against the couch, she gazed down again, to see her breasts in black lace jiggling with each thrust, a strong arm holding her captive. Was this really her, this wanton, sexy creature arching to take the powerful thrusts of her lover?

“Damn, I need to come,” he gasped. His thumb, rough with urgency, touched her clit. “Come with me.”

She was so aroused, so sensitive, that one touch, one command, was all it took to topple her, and they climaxed together for what seemed like forever.

After, they remained like that, bent over, his body curved over hers. Finally, he groaned and straightened, and she gingerly did the
same. “I should take yoga,” she murmured, rubbing her lower back as she turned to face him. “I’m not as flexible as I should be.”

“And I’m not as young as I once was.” His eyes sparkled with humor. “What say we both go curl up in a nice, comfy, big bed?”

“That sounds very appealing.” And not only because she could stretch out her aching back. She loved sharing the night with him, one of them spooning the other, or him on his back with her nestled in the curve of his arm.

How could a guy feel like an old man and a teenager, all at the same time? As Woody took his turn in the bathroom after Georgia, his body ached like he’d been run over by a Zamboni, yet he felt terrific. An endorphin high from the great sex, he figured. Not to mention the thrill of winning the first game in the playoffs, topped off by coming home to find Georgia looking über-hot in skimpy black lace.

A man couldn’t ask for a better day.

He popped a muscle relaxant and a painkiller and, whistling, walked naked from the bathroom.

Draped over a chair by the bed was Georgia’s black slip, and she was tucked between the covers, grinning at him. “Woody, you’re a terrible whistler.”

“Gotta have one thing I’m not perfect at,” he joked back.

Was this woman really his lucky charm?

His life had sure improved since she came into it. Except for that VitalSport contract, but even the marketing campaign wasn’t turning out so bad. People were giving him respect, not just because he looked good in the clothes, but because he was making a contribution to the campaign. Which reminded him …

“Hey, I forgot to tell you.” He slipped between the sheets and gathered Georgia’s warm body into his arms. “You know that
Ellen DeGeneres Show
thing?”

She gave a tolerant smile. “It’s all right. I know it’s not feasible.” He cocked his head. “Huh?”

“We didn’t include it in our plans.”

“You didn’t think I’d come through,” he realized, a little miffed. But then, how many guys could pick up a phone and secure a spot on the most popular TV talk show?

“Woody, it’s all right. It would be really tough to—”

“How does Wednesday, two weeks from now, work?”

“Wh-what?” She gaped at him.

Smugly, he went on. “There’s a spot if we want it. But I need to get back to Ellen tomorrow. What do you say?”

“Seriously? Oh, Woody,” she squealed and hugged him tight. Tight enough to make him wince. “That’s fantastic!”

“I’m glad you’re happy.”

She settled back, lying on her side so she could look at him. “While we’re on the subject, there’s something else I need to tell you about the campaign.”

“Yeah?”

“You know we were planning a formal launch next week, just before the Boys and Girls Club fund-raiser on Saturday?”

He winced again, this time at the thought of his photos—in underwear—plastered everywhere. “Uh-huh.”

“Well, Terry had a great idea. He suggested we use teasers instead, pretending they’re insider leaks. Marco Sanducci’s keen on it. Terry’s setting up a Facebook page, supposedly written by an anonymous female fan, and it’ll have sneak-peek stuff. Photos before they’re retouched, which we’ll label ‘Woody: Raw.’ ”

He groaned.

“Man up, tough guy,” she teased. “We’ll have short clips on You-Tube. Terry’s been shooting video, right? ‘Fangirl’ will tweet everything. We’re hoping it’ll go viral. That’s more contemporary and exciting than a traditional launch.”

“I guess it makes sense,” he said grudgingly. People loved the idea of getting insider scoops, and viral buzz was a big deal.

“We’re starting tomorrow, so the confidentiality ban is lifted. Feel free to tell your teammates and friends—the more, the better.”

“Oh, great.” He’d be in for the razzing of his life when those underwear ads came out. Couple years ago, one of the guys had done a nude shoot for a women’s mag and the rest of the team—Woody included—had made huge posters and stuck them up in the players’ lounge.

“If you don’t tell them, they’ll find out on their own.”

True, and maybe the timing wasn’t so bad. He’d keep the guys so focused on the playoffs that the VitalSport thing would barely be a blip on their radar.

“On a happier subject,” he said, tugging her back into the curve of his shoulder. “I talked to my mom.”

“She’s still feeling good?”

“Better every day. I think this is working.” And how great it felt to share his happiness with Georgia.

Woody’d always kept pretty quiet about his personal life. With his teammates, he was a dedicated player and an easygoing guy to talk sports with in the bar. With women, he was an easygoing guy who liked females and sex. Somehow, with Georgia, he’d found himself revealing more and more about the shadows that haunted him. The only thing he hadn’t told her about was his former agent’s betrayal, because he’d promised to keep the fraud a secret as long as Martin stuck with Gamblers Anonymous. Though Woody’d told his judge friend in confidence, it didn’t feel right to tell anyone else.

Georgia rested her head on his chest. “That’s wonderful about your mom. You take good care of her.”

“As much as she’ll let me.” Much as he loved his mom, it was hard to think of her without feeling guilty, and a little angry that she’d never looked after herself, or let him do it.

“Parents are supposed to love and protect us, and it’s hard when the roles shift.” She sighed, her breath warm against his skin. “It’s also really hard on a kid when their parents don’t protect them as well as they should.”

He guessed his mom had done her best, but she’d stayed with that asshole when he hit both of them. She’d told Woody marriage was forever. To him, marriage had looked like hell.

He’d rather talk about Georgia’s family. “You and your mom have some issues.”

“We do.”

“She’s always loved you, though?”

“Yes.” He heard an unspoken “but.”

So, he said it. “But?”

“Her life centered on the men. Her husbands and boyfriends. She was all about being part of a couple, not about being an individual or a mom.”

He knew that feeling, but this was her story so he kept quiet.

“It wasn’t all bad, because it taught me to be independent and to think for myself. But … she didn’t protect me as well as she could have.”

Her body had tensed, and his did too. “Tell me,” he urged.

She was quiet for a long moment. “She dressed me in clothes that were too sexy for my age.” Another pause. “When I was thirteen, one of her boyfriends started coming on to me.”

Anger made his hand tighten on her shoulder. “Shit, Georgia. He didn’t—”

“No, nothing that extreme. But he brushed against me and … fondled me. I knew it was wrong, but I was scared to tell Bernadette because I figured she’d take his side.”

Shit! Rage coursed through him. “I’d like to beat up the bastard.” And castrate him.

“I was in bad shape. I gained weight, threw out all the clothes my
mom had bought, and wore boy’s clothes. Bernadette reamed me out for it.”

“Oh man, you poor kid.” Now he wanted to yell at her mom.

“Finally, in tears, I burst out with the story.” Wonder in her voice, she went on. “I was sure she wouldn’t believe me, but she did. She dumped the guy.”

“Thank God.” Too bad his mom hadn’t had the guts to dump his dad.

“I started to feel better about myself and I lost the weight, but I never wanted to wear the kind of clothes she liked. I met Anthony the next year and—thank heavens—he didn’t care how I dressed. He liked me for who I was. He respected me.”

Woody thought about how she’d looked when he first met her. All tailored and stiff. She’d said she wanted to be professional, that gender didn’t belong in the workplace, that she’d never use feminine wiles to get a promotion. All of that was true, he was sure, but there was more to it. A part of her was still scared that a man might try to take advantage of her.

No wonder she’d picked a sensitive, intellectual guy like Anthony. The surprising thing was that she’d given Woody a second look, much less let herself be seduced into having sex with him. He was an aberration—maybe a walk on the wild side.

She was an aberration for him too: as unlike his usual dates as a woman could get. And he, a man of action and not of sensitivity, was in way over his head.

“I’m really glad you met a guy who treated you right,” he said gruffly. “And I wish your mom would, you know,
get
who you are and respect that.” Anthony would’ve had something much wiser to say, but that was the best Woody could do.

“Actually, things are better between us, and it’s thanks to you.”

“Me?” Had he heard right?

“You were right about changing things up by inviting Bernadette
to the game. We kind of bonded. And talked. It was good. But now she’s nagging me about bringing you over for dinner.”

He chuckled. “Her and Tom Westin. He’s trying to fix a time for me to come for dinner after the playoffs, and he invited you.”

“Woody.” Her voice was tentative. “Does it bother you that they’re treating us as if we’re, um, a couple?”

He hadn’t thought much about it, but now he did. Meeting her mom? Guys met the parents when a relationship was, well, a
relationship
. “Guess we’d better set them straight.” And then a horrible thought dawned on him. They’d talked about this, but women’s minds worked in mysterious ways.

“You don’t, I mean … You know that I, uh …” Crap, the last thing he wanted to do was hurt Georgia. “You don’t do relationships,” she said flatly, lifting her head from his chest and staring at him. “That’s what you’re trying to say.”