Rafe Macintyre—the rocket-armed Carolina Crush quarterback—has nothing to lose and everything to prove. All because of one woman . . . Miss Peyton Fox. When the tough-as-nails chick takes over as team owner, Rafe is ready to turn the epic-fail season into a Super Bowl championship. But the winning has to start with Peyton’s love.
No stranger to playas on and off the field, Peyton Fox is born and bred NFL royalty. Been there, done him, and called the plays even before she took up the Carolina Crush crown. She has zero time for a love life and even less time for games unless they happen between the endzones. Unfortunately, Rafe Macintyre has one hell of an arm, and he’s full of hot southern charm. He’s not too bad to drool over either, but it’s been five years since she tangled with him—a mistake she doesn’t plan on repeating.
The consequences of one night of rebellion will last a lifetime. It’s all fun and games until someone gets knocked up.
I led Peyton upstairs after grabbing her bag, our hands brushing together sending that same hot sizzle coursing through my body.
“You can shower up in here.” I guided her into my room, giving it a quick once over.
I’d changed the sheets, made the bed, tidied the fuck up . . .
Dammit. I’d missed a pair of briefs on the floor.
Swiftly kicking them under the bed while Peyton inspected the ocean view outside the tall windows, I said, “Bathroom’s through that door. I put out fresh towels for you.”
And dammmn, Peyton looked good in my bedroom when she spun to face me. “This is your room?”
“Mmm.” My gaze lingered on her body and that goddamn bikini-thing.
“What about you?” she asked, strolling closer.
“Are you inviting me to join you in the shower?” Because if so I was in danger of shredding my shorts with my rapidly hardening cock.
“Maybe.” She blushed deliciously.
Drawing her straight against me, I brushed a light kiss over her smooth, slightly salty lips. “Trust me, darlin’. If my mom and Liv weren’t here I’d have us both stripped down and you soaking wet in ten seconds flat.”
Her fingertips made small circles through the black hair on my chest, and I cursed quietly. “Who says you haven’t already made me wet?”
I barely refrained from mauling her. She had to feel the solid bar of my cock hot and throbbing and pressing against her belly.
“I’d love to find out.” My palms skimmed to her hips, but she pulled back an inch.
Her cheeks flushed even more. “I suppose this happens a lot.”
Her bare feet overlapping, she shrugged. “Having women over. And I don’t mean your mom and Liv.”
I tilted her chin beneath my knuckles, lifting her eyes to mine. “Peyton Fox, you’re the first woman who’s ever been in this bedroom. I swear.”
She whimpered once then I crushed her against me. The floodgates opened and our lips slid together. She gripped the back of my neck. I hauled her up and wrapped her legs around my waist. Our hot tongues tangled, tasted. And I was so close to slamming her against the wall. Her grinding hips were making me crazy.
When she started nibbling my neck with her soft moist mouth I had to break away before I ripped her suit off and tackled her to the floor.
Fuck me. Her nipples were making peaks in the material of that sexy blue suit, so hard I could think of nothing but sucking them.
“You’re staring at my boobs.”
I stared some more. Mighta drooled, too. “Because I want them in my mouth.”
When she started untying the string behind her neck, I pivoted away. “Fuck. Don’t test me, Pey.”
I heard the wet slap of her suit hitting the floor, and it took the last shred of my willpower to keep my eyes glued straight ahead. Struggling to breathe deeply enough for air to actually inflate my lungs, I stood like a wooden soldier. A very stiff wooden soldier.
And when I felt her bare tits—warm from the sun—brush against my back, I jerked forward as if burned.
“Now I gotta go cool down before I do something everyone will hear.” I rushed out of the room, her smoky laughter following me all the way.
Hurrying downstairs, I stripped off and dove into the outside shower, hitting that shit on straight-up ice cold. No joy. Even the icy prickles of water couldn’t deflate my cock.
A Yankee transplant who has traveled the world, Rie started out a writer—causing her college professor to blush over her erotic poetry without one ounce of shame. Not much has changed. She swapped pen for paintbrushes and followed her other love during her twenties. From art school to marriage to children and many a wild and wonderful journey in between, Rie has come home to her calling. Her work has been called edgy, daring, and some of the sexiest smut around.
You can connect with Rie via the social media hangouts listed on her website https://www.riewarren.com.
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