FILTHY - a Football Romance Page 12

  “Shit, shit, shit.” She grabs her jeans and panties from the floor, running to the bathroom and cursing my name at the same time. When she comes out a minute later, I walk her to the front door.

  “You’re like some kind of sorcerer.” She stops in the doorway, turning to face me.

  “Sorcerer?”

  “I’m powerless every time I’m around you. It’s like you’re casting a spell or something.”

  I laugh. “Not a sorcerer, Delilah. Just a man who knows what he wants.”

  And how to get it.

  I reach for her hair, brushing a messy tendril into place, and then I straighten the crooked hem of her shirt.

  “There,” I say. “Perfect. Now nobody will know I just pounded the shit out of that sweet pussy of yours.”

  Her lips twist. “You and that filthy mouth.”

  “You know you love it.”

  She grips the doorknob, swinging it open. “Goodnight, de la Cruz.”

  Good night indeed.

  Chapter 15

  Delilah

  “What are you getting all dolled up for?” I pass Daphne’s bathroom Tuesday night only to see her hair twisted into a towel turban as she curls her lashes. “Hot date tonight?”

  She turns, dropping the curler. “Um, yeah. Actually.”

  “What? When did this happen? Who?”

  “Weston’s taking me out,” she says with a coy grin. “Just dinner and a movie.”

  “Does he know you’re leaving in a few days?”

  Daphne shrugs. “Yeah. We’re just hanging out. It’s nothing serious.”

  I hop up on the counter, watching my sister prep. Glancing at the wide array of beauty products splattered all over the place haphazardly feels just like old times. I always did hate sharing a bathroom with my sisters, but the clutter is oddly nostalgic.

  “What about you?” she asks. “You going to the HOA meeting tonight?”

  “Oh, god no.” I stick my tongue out of the corner of my mouth.

  “Isn’t Zane going to be there?” She says it in a sing-song voice, teasing me.

  “Yes, which is exactly why it would be weird if I showed up. I have no business being there. I’ll just look like a stalker.” I slide down from the counter when my stomach growls. I’m two seconds from heating up some leftover pizza and settling in for a House of Cards marathon in Rue’s family room. That’s my idea of a cozy Tuesday night. With Daphne on a date and Rue at the HOA meeting, I’m going to take advantage of this rare me-time opportunity. “Anyway, you and Weston have fun tonight.”

  “You’re just staying in?” she asks.

  “What else would I do?”

  “I don’t know.” She dabs cream blush on the perfectly round apples of her cheeks. “Go do something. Anything. Open yourself up to the possibility that something amazing is about to happen at any given moment. And, Del? Nothing amazing ever happens when you sit at home.”

  “Daphne Rosewood, giver of sage advice.” I toss her a wink and get ready to waltz myself to the kitchen. “That’s a good one.”

  For a hair of a fraction of a second, I consider accompanying Rue to the meeting, but I scratch that idea just as quickly as it came to me.

  I kind of do want to see Zane again.

  But, Jesus, he had my pants around my ankles in five minutes flat the last time I saw him. And my core has been in a constant state of arousal ever since.

  I don’t make good decisions around him, which is exactly why our interactions should be limited.

  He’s like a trigger.

  I see him, and I want him, and I melt into a powerless puddle of arousal when his voice vibrates low into my ear.

  And damn it.

  I kind of, sort of, like him now. Or maybe I just like the way I feel when I’m with him?

  Zane de la Cruz might wear a smile and a hard-on just for me, but it’s not my heart he’s after.

  And that’s why a summer fling with someone like him is a heartache waiting to happen.

  Chapter 16

  Zane

  “Zane, over here.” I glance to my right to see Ethel French standing on her toes, waving a piece of paper at me.

  The Laguna Palms clubhouse is hopping tonight with homeowners. A long table dressed in red, white, and blue rests at the front of the room along with two ballot boxes clearly labeled with Ethel and Hank’s names.

  “Hey, Ethel.” I approach her stand and she hands me a pamphlet outlining her platform.

  “Wow,” I say, flipping through the glossy pages. “This is like the real deal. Very presidential. Look at you, Eth.”

  “I’m sure I can count on your vote,” she says.

  I glance at Hank. He stands in the corner, arms crossed and peering down his nose at everyone. Despite the fact that he’s clearly not the world’s most approachable guy, there are a decent amount of homeowners standing on his side of the room.

  “Going to be a close one,” she says.

  “Nah, you’ve got this,” I say. “I have a good feeling.”

  “Feelings don’t win elections.” Ethel swats me on the shoulder. “Votes do.”

  I grab a ballot and a pen and give her a wink. “I’d vote for you twice if I could.”

  “You’re a good kid.” She smiles. “I don’t care what anyone says.”

  “Thanks . . .”

  “Say.” She leans closer. “You seem lighter.”

  My brows meet. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “There’s something different about you. Something I haven’t seen before.” Her wrinkled gray eyes squint at me. “If I had to put my finger on something, I’d say you’re in love.”

  My face scrunches. “Hate to burst your bubble, Ethel, but I’m not in love.”

  “Then it’s the early stages,” she says. “You know, years ago, I used to run a successful match-making business in Dallas, Texas. I’ve seen it all. The good. The bad. The real. The fake. And whatever’s going on with you, Zane? It’s real as heck.”

  Her serious expression makes me laugh. She doesn’t know what she’s talking about. If I wear the face of a satisfied man, it’s only because I’m finding a release in the form of one smoking hot girl next door.

  That’s all it is.

  Nothing more. Nothing less.

  “I’m going to go vote,” I say.

  Ethel gives me a thumb’s up as I check the box beside her name, fold the ballot, and deposit it in the box. Before I leave, I make damn sure Rue Rosewood sees me, giving her a smile and a wave, and then I get the hell out of there.

  On my walk home, I pass Rue’s house. It’s dark save for the landscaping lights and a little bit of lamplight in Delilah’s window.

  Grabbing some small rocks from around the bushes on the side of the house, I toss one at the glass. Then another. Five rocks later, I see the curtains rustle as Delilah comes to the window.

  Sliding it open, she rests her elbows in the ledge. “You’re ridiculously cheesy, you know that? You could have, like, called or texted or rang the doorbell. What do you think this is, an eighties movie?”

  “Texting is overrated,” I say. “And ringing the doorbell after eight o’clock is prohibited in Laguna Palms except in the case of emergencies.”

  Delilah rolls her eyes. “Since when did you start caring about rules?”

  “Come over,” I ignore her question.

  “Right now?”

  “Yeah.” I shrug. “It’s nice out. I’m feeling like a night swim. Don’t want to swim alone.”

  She glances down. “I’m in pajamas.”

  “Then change.”

  “Not tonight.” She tucks her hair behind her ears. “I’m tired. I’m going to bed soon.”

  I’m quite positive if that damn screen wasn’t in the way, if I could touch her face or run my fingers through her hair or kiss her lips, she’d be singing my tune in two seconds flat. All I have to do is touch Delilah and she’s mine. Just like that.

  Shit. Maybe I am a sorcerer.


  “Well, I’ll be swimming next door if you change your mind,” I say. “And I’m pretty sure you will change your mind because I’m casting a mind-changing spell on you right now.”

  She laughs through her nose. “Mm, hm.”

  “But you should know, if you do decide to swim with me, I only have one rule.”

  “And what’s that?” she asks.

  “No suits.” I say. “We’re a skinny-dipping-only establishment.”

  Delilah makes a disgusted face, rolling her eyes and lifting her hands to the window to lower it.

  “Goodnight, de la Cruz.” She slams the window and pulls the curtains.

  She’ll be over in ten minutes.

  I have a feeling.

  Chapter 17

  Delilah

  The grass between my toes as I shuffle between Rue’s house and Zane’s tickles. I’m in nothing but a white string bikini, which now that I think about it, probably wasn’t the best thing to wear if I’m trying to go incognito, but I was trying to veer away from anything remotely schoolmarm black.

  Unhinging the gate to Zane’s backyard, I hear the splash and trickle of water, and I spot him as he comes up for air as he swims laps.

  I stand at one end, take a seat, and dip my legs into the pool.

  A minute later, Zane comes up for air, gripping onto the ledge and dragging the water from his face with the palm of his enormous hand.

  “Hey.” He smiles when his eyes focus on me. “I knew you’d come.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” He can think he’s the reason all he wants, but he actually has Daphne to thank. Her words echoed in my head all night. Nothing amazing ever happens when you sit at home. She’s the reason I’m here right now.

  Zane swims to me, his hands resting on my thighs, and I catch a glimpse of navy board shorts beneath the water.

  “You’re wearing swim trunks,” I say.

  He scoffs. “I wasn’t going to swim naked all by myself. That’s kind of creepy, don’t you think?”

  “Everything about you is kind of creepy.”

  “You don’t mean that.”

  “I mean, you throw pebbles at my window . . .”

  “That’s not creepy. It’s sweet,” he defends himself.

  “Depends on who you ask.”

  “Get naked and get in here so I can have my way with you,” he orders.

  “And if I don’t?”

  He pulls me into the water, and I wrap my legs around his waist. My arms drape over his shoulders, and I feel myself smiling like some foolish idiot who’s decided to gamble her heart despite knowing better.

  Zane’s fingers tug at the ties around my neck and back until my top falls into the water and floats away. Next he works at my bikini bottoms until I’m completely naked, embraced by his warm salt-water pool and the intensity of his body heat.

  Reaching beneath the water’s surface, I yank his shorts off, my hand grazing across his hard cock.

  “You don’t waste any time, do you?” I tease, gripping his hardness in my palm and pumping the length.

  His lips crush mine, water lapping around us, and he pulls us both lower. I taste the salt on his skin and the mint on his tongue, and all I can think about is how amazing I’m going to feel the second he’s thrusting everything he has inside everything I have.

  “Can anyone see us back here?” I whisper against his mouth.

  “No, baby,” he says. “It’s private. It’s just us.”

  He grips my hips, pulling me closer against him as I release my hold on his throbbing hardness. We’re touching under water, his cock pressing the outside of my sex like an unconventional definition of cock tease.

  “I want you,” I whisper, fully owning the fact that once again, I’m completely powerless.

  Zane de la Cruz takes me from good girl to bad in three point seven seconds, and I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t the most exhilarating feeling I’ve ever known.

  “You going to be my naughty girl tonight?” His voice is deep, reverberating through his chest and against mine.

  I nod, biting my lip before kissing him again.

  “Tell me how bad you want me,” he commands.

  “So bad.” I kiss him. “I want you so bad . . . I want you inside me.”

  “I’m going to make you come so hard you can’t breathe, gorgeous,” he growls. “I’m going to fuck you harder tonight than I ever have because I want you to know you’re mine. I don’t want you to forget. This sweet pussy of yours belongs to me. No one but me, do you understand?”

  I nod, pressing my lips against his strained, muscled neck as my hands wash down his chiseled chest.

  “I mean it, Delilah.” He stops until my gaze meets him. “Your body belongs to me and only me.”

  My head tilts. “Fine. Then it’s only fair that your cock is my property too.”

  Glancing up, I notice a security camera trained on the backyard and another pointed at the pool.

  “Are those things on?” I ask.

  “Always,” he says.

  “Are we being recorded?”

  “The tapes are deleted once a week automatically,” he says. “I’m the only one who has access to them. I have to have a security system, Delilah. Now, come on. I’m dying here.”

  His lips inch at the sides, and he lets me slide down his body. His hands on my hips, he turns me to face a jet along the pool wall. Positioning my body in the right spot, he ensures the air stream blows against my clit just enough to heighten this entire experience, as if it weren’t already incredible.

  “Spread your legs, gorgeous,” he says into my ear, pressing the head of his cock between my ass and dragging it lower. “Let me remind you why you came here and why it is you can’t stay away no matter how hard you try.”

  Our naked bodies are wrapped in warm beach towels as I lie in his arms in a swinging hammock. The humid Florida heat blankets us as the salt water evaporates from our skin.

  He smells like summer.

  Like suntan lotion and coconut and sea salt and aftershave. And his skin is warm and soft beneath my palms, wrapped over a layer of muscles fit for a professional football player.

  I get it.

  And I’ll never judge another ball bunny again.

  Football players are sexy and strong and virile, and I’m pretty sure the big hands to big cock correlation is more fact that fiction.

  A symphony of crickets and bullfrogs fill the quiet night as stars light the sky above us. This is a million times more romantic than it should be, but I can’t bring myself to leave yet. I’m comfortable here in his arms. And his fingers are tracing circles into my shoulders and my ear is pressed into his chest and it just feels . . . amazing.

  Daphne was right. Nothing amazing ever happens when you sit at home.

  “I like us when we’re not fighting,” he says, breaking the silence.

  I look up at him. “That came out of nowhere.”

  He shrugs. “Just making an observation.”

  “I’ve never had pool sex before.”

  “That’s random.”

  “Just making an observation.” I flash him a smile.

  “Glad I could be the one to pop your pool-sex cherry.”

  “That sounds disgusting.” My tongue pokes from between my teeth.

  “It sounded better in my head.” He kisses the top of my forehead. I’m not sure why or if he even notices he did it.

  “So you’re from Chicago?” I ask after a minute of silence.

  “Are we doing this?” he asks.

  “Doing what?”

  “The whole getting-to-know-you thing?”

  “What’s wrong with that?” I sit up, careening my body toward him until our gazes lock. “I’m curious about you, that’s all.”

  “My past is in the past.” He clears his throat. “I like to leave it there. I live in the present, Delilah. Nowhere else.”

  “But the past is what makes us who we are.”

  “Bullshit.” His jaw tightens. “The pre
sent makes us who we are. The present is all we have. Anyone who believes otherwise is an idiot. No offense.”

  “I’ve spent my entire academic career studying what makes people do what they do, and it all boils down to external factors,” I say. “Most of which stem from the environment in which we’re raised.”

  His eyes close drowsily and his brows lift. “Good for you.”

  “I can quote dozens of scholars and professors who would seriously beg to differ with you. Jung would be rolling in his grave right now if he heard you.”

  Zane laughs. “Calm down. Come on. Lay back down. I like you better when you’re breathless and horny.”

  “Don’t write me off like that,” I say. “This matters to me. I’m dedicating my life to this field of study, and you have the nerve to brush it off like it’s some kind of hack profession.”

  “Now you’re putting words in my mouth.” He sits up and the hammock sways. I nearly roll off, but he braces his arms against mine and pulls me closer. “I’ve got something else you can put in your mouth though.”

  I smack his bare chest and scramble to get off the hammock.

  “If we’re going to be friends . . . fuck buddies . . . whatever the hell this is we’re doing,” I say, “I kindly request a certain level of respect between us. I don’t make fun of football, so please don’t make fun of psychological analyzation or question its legitimacy.”

  Zane swings his legs to the side of the hammock, eyes wide open now.

  “Jesus, Delilah. Sorry.” He doesn’t sound genuine. He sounds annoyed at me. “It’s just, I’ve been through some shit. I’ve made some bad decisions. I’ve hurt people. I have regrets. And beg my fucking pardon if I don’t feel like sitting here and rehashing it all with you after I’ve just had some of the best sex of my life.”

  I yank the towel off my naked body and throw it at him. “I only asked about Chicago, asshole.”

  Plucking my floating bikini pieces from the pool, I redress and head for the gate.

  Chapter 18

  Zane

  I check into the Cougars’ private gym at four on Friday. It doesn’t matter how much I work out this week, I still can’t seem to blow off enough steam. Ever since Delilah stormed off Tuesday night, I’ve been walking around with a giant chip on my shoulder and a perpetual case of blue balls.