Baller Made (Bad Boy Ballers Book 3) Read online

  I just wanted to hold the moment we’d woken up together this morning in my head, in my heart.

  As soon as Frankie put me down, I said my goodbye and bowed out. I followed the fans, wondering if this was how Calder had felt every time he’d watched me dance but hadn’t been able to stick around. To show me how much he wanted me.

  No matter how tempting it was to stay and drool over him, I drove my rental car to his house, took out my key, let myself into the dark place.

  Dark houses.

  I was used to those.

  All those months Chris was overseas. First tour. Second. Third. Never satisfied unless he was in the sandbox. No longer satisfied with me or what we had.

  Two hours later, I heard the key in the lock.

  Calder was home.

  As soon as he stepped into the kitchen, my body reacted maddeningly. Heat rushed up my spine and down to my belly. Lower, a curl of expectation fluttered between my legs.

  I hadn’t dressed up or dressed down. Maybe I put on lip gloss and fluffed my hair and checked my appearance a few dozen times in between prepping dinner and setting the table.

  And maybe I shivered when he said, in his deliciously low voice, “Hey there.”

  I didn’t look at him yet. I couldn’t. Not with the flush of desire written all over my face.

  “Hey there back.”

  As he roamed closer, cool winter air clinging to his skin melted into a puddle like my body wanted to do. At his feet.

  I wanted a slow hot kiss, his kisses that had made my toes curl the night before. Instead I accepted the light brush of his lips on my cheek. Tingles still happened, and I finally gave in and looked at him.

  He had of course showered after the game. He hadn’t shaved since the morning, the dark stubble pirate-worthy. Per the regulations, he wore a swanky suit—dark gray and well fitting, the excellent cut accentuating broad shoulders, lean hips, and long legs.

  Help.

  Perhaps I should’ve dressed up after all . . . in full body armor.

  I wheeled away before the temptation overwhelmed me to grab his tie, yank him to me, and lick him all over like a kitten with a bowl full of cream.

  Shutting off the oven, I curled my fingers into my palms so I wouldn’t make a grab for him. “I made lasagna.”

  Calder slung his bag into a corner and kicked off his shoes. “Lasagna?”

  I glanced at him.

  He watched me with those piercing silvery eyes. “Since when did you learn to cook?”

  Bending toward the oven, I heard him inhale sharply when I presented him with my ass in the tight black jeans. “Since I figured out the freezer section of the grocery store.”

  His masculine laugh hit all the right notes, the sound so low it was almost sexual.

  I took out the bubbling casserole. Slapped the potholders on the counter. Glanced back at Calder again as the smells of home cooked food filled the kitchen.

  “I’m kidding. I learned how to cook when I became a grown-ass woman.” I started dishing up, a monster helping for Calder and about half that for me. “Take a seat.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He pulled out a chair, but didn’t sit just yet. “Smells amazing, Reggie.”

  I drifted by him, putting our plates on the table already laden with a fresh salad, homemade garlic bread, water for Calder, and wine for me. I knew he went out with his teammates, had been in plenty of situations since his detox where alcohol was present. Never with me, though.

  “Wait until you taste it.” I stood by my chair.

  As I knew he would, he pulled my seat out, waited for me to sit, then easily pushed it in. What I didn’t expect was the soft whisper of his firm lips at the side of my neck.

  “I believe I already did. Taste it.”

  Shivers.

  I tried to keep my hands steady on the fork and knife and wineglass and breadbasket. The man exuded sexual prowess. He’d never really turned it on for me before, so just that slight shift from him completely weakened my knees.

  He took his chair, but before tucking in, he winked at me. He loosened the tie, took off his jacket, unbuttoned the top of his shirt, rolled up the sleeves. Every movement of his fingers capable and nimble while mine continued to shake.

  Thirsty, I took a deep sip of wine.

  Calder drank half a glass of ice water in one go before smiling at me so that damn dimple in his left cheek slid deep. “I could get used to the service.”

  I kicked him under the table.

  “Ow. Woman, did you see how many times I got tackled tonight?” He grinned.

  “You’re damn lucky I didn’t tackle you the second you walked through the door,” I muttered.

  “What was that?”

  “Shut up and eat.” I skewered him with a glare that only made him grin wider.

  I’d never been on the other end of Calder’s full-throttle flirtation. Maybe I’d bit off more than I could chew, but I couldn’t wait to find out.

  After his first mouthful of lasagna he groaned, in such a deep tone I wondered if that was the way he sounded when he came.

  “Damn, Reg. You weren’t lying.”

  “Wanted to make sure you got your carbs.”

  “And cheese. Fuck, this is amazing. Even better than it smells.” He lifted a giant forkful to his mouth.

  “I think you said that the other night about me.”

  His eyes widened, and I worried he might choke. He chewed, swallowed, finished his glass of water.

  “You can’t do that to a man when he’s eating, Reggie.”

  “Funny. That’s what you were doing the other night too.” I tucked a tendril of hair behind my ear and bit into a thick crusty slice of garlic bread.

  Calder narrowed his eyes—the silver a much darker gray all of a sudden—and continued to eat through the mountain of lasagna like it was nothing more than a fancy little sandwich.

  I was not surprised when he went back for seconds, demolished the garlic bread, and pretty much ate through the entire bowl of salad.

  The man had a body built of sheer muscle mass because he worked out every spare second. And I very much appreciated his dedication to his sport and his scarfing down of my meal. It’d been so long since I’d had someone to care for.

  I finished my portion, my salad, and basically sat back to enjoy him enjoying my food.

  “You guys played really well today.”

  “Stupid ref almost screwed everything up for us,” Calder commented.

  “No doubt.” My lips curved. “In fact, my seatmate Frankie threatened serious bodily harm until the call was overturned.”

  Calder paled beneath the ever-present tan and five o’clock shadow. “Frankie, huh? I hope that was okay. He can be a little rough around the edges.”

  “I didn’t get that at all. He was a total gentleman to me.”

  Calder coughed and mumbled something.

  “What was that?” I asked.

  “Nothing. Just . . . you know he has connections, right?”

  “Connections? All I know is he’s gay because he flat out said so, and he likes Brooklyn’s ass.” I leaned forward. “Not as much as I like yours though.”

  Then silence slowly filtered in while we stared at one another.

  Calder dragged his gaze from mine. He dipped his head in a sort of self-conscious movement then scraped back his chair. He cleared the table, cleaned up. After putting in a ridiculously long day and playing and winning an NFL game that made it almost a sure bet Carolina Crush was headed for the playoffs. There wasn’t even a hint of exhaustion in his step or stride.

  I remained at the table, drinking my wine, watching him as the silence tightened between us.

  God, his ass. In a suit. Most women would pay for the view I was privy to. Calder Malone, Crush center man, cleaning the kitchen. When he stood at the sink, I watched the stretch of the dress shirt as his shoulders flexed and twisted. My pulse thrummed in a deep low pulsing hum. Purr. I wanted to rub up all over him. Like a kitten with
a bowl of cream.

  Tension seemed to wrap around him as he braced his hands on the edges of the sink. But maybe he was just fully aware of the way I drooled over him. He released his grip, snapped the damp dishtowel, hung it on the rod.

  Turning, he approached the table. I propped my feet on a chair. He poured me more wine, took his seat with a glass of water in his hands.

  I continued to peruse him, and he met my stare dead-on. Something happened between us. Almost like an invisible kiss drawing us together.

  “Tempted?” I asked, lifting the replenished glass to my lips.

  “No. Not anymore.”

  “You know I’m not talking about the alcohol, Calder.” My gaze drifted to his mouth.

  He shot off the chair so fast it crashed to the floor. He backed up to the counters.

  I rose to my feet. I set the wineglass down. I roamed closer, stopping just near enough the heat beat between us. But I didn’t touch him.

  My chin lifted. “How long are you going to wait before you take what you want?”

  He swallowed. “How the hell are you so sure of yourself?”

  “I’m sure of you.”

  “So I’m the fallback option?”

  “Not even”—I ranged up to him, my lips at the corded side of his neck—“close. And you damn well know it. So stop with the guilt trip already. It’s getting tired.”

  His hand shot out, grabbing my hair, jerking my head back. His other arm banded around my waist and he lifted me up and into him. The hard thrust of his cock rocked against my belly, and his quick reaction pulled a moan from my throat.

  “You have no idea how much I want to devour you.” His gravelly voice sent chills over my body.

  “What are you waiting for?”

  His hand twisted harder, and I gasped. My nipples rubbed his chest, my pelvis bucked against his cock.

  His kiss brutal and lashing, his tongue did devour. The silence broken only by my gasps and his groans, he kept me still with his hand delved into my hair. I drew in a stuttering breath as soon as he let up, a curse leaving his wet lips. I brushed my cheek against his, loving the masculine burn of his stubble on my softer skin.

  My hand trailed down his chest, and I stepped back. Watching the silver-black clash of his irises, I tugged on his belt buckle.

  “But first I want this.” I touched the hot, rigid, thick bulge bucking against his pants. “In my mouth.”

  “You sure?” His dick throbbed as I traced its length.

  “Oh yeah.”

  “Then you need to sit down.”

  “Why? Worried I can’t take it?” I smartassed, but I let him guide me to my chair.

  I took that seat and laid my hands right back on his belt.

  Calder widened his thighs, and I caught my breath at the enormous erection barely constrained by the slacks. I nuzzled my face against his clothed cock, smelling the heat, the want. Filling my lungs with it.

  I couldn’t wait to have him in my mouth.

  I looked up as I unbuckled the belt. He unbuttoned his shirt, shrugged it off, his cheeks hollowed and pink. Eyes low and thunderous. Muscles tensed and carved from granite.

  My fingers fumbled. His hands clenched at his sides. I slid the belt free then managed through the button, the tab, the zipper, his cock at mouth level with me. I could almost taste him in my throat already as I dragged fabric down. First the pants. Then his briefs.

  He shucked them away along with his socks.

  I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. Full mast, his cock pumped up and beyond his abs. The thin trail of black hair down his stomach created a soft looking nest around a raging hard-on so big I wondered if I’d even get the drum tight dripping head into my mouth.

  His scent alone made my panties wet. Cock out, hung, incredibly hard, and in my face. Licking my lips, I leaned in.

  Calder caught hold of my hair again, stopping me just before my lips touched that mouthwatering crown. “Wait.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Temptation

  Calder

  REGGIE HADN’T STUCK AROUND after the game. While doing the whole ass-pat/back-slap thing on the field following our victory over the Legends, I’d searched the stadium for her. Frankie Burelli gave me a big thumbs up then sent his eyes to the empty seat beside him.

  Not gonna lie. I was disappointed, which meant one thing only. I wanted her in the same way I always had. Not as an in-law. Not as a platonic friend. As my own.

  Fact confirmed when I read what she’d texted me as soon as we’d made it into the locker room:

  Congrats on the game. See you at home.

  Home. Mine. I clicked off the phone and hustled my ass into the showers.

  More dudes filtered in, everyone on a high after getting that much closer to the possibility of reaching the Super Bowl. The usual round of “good game” and “fuck yeah” and “Crush it” swirling around like the mist of the hot steaming showers.

  “You in a hurry or something?” Brooklyn stood under the spray next to me.

  “Maybe I’m sick of this stinking locker room. Swear to God someone has crotch rot.” I scrubbed soap into my pits.

  He lifted his junk. “Ain’t me. Delaney makes sure of that.”

  I snorted. The fucker was so damn happy since Delaney had agreed to marry him. “You’re a lucky bastard, Baller Brooks.”

  He held up his hands. “Baller no more.”

  “Except with the baller babe, right?” I cut off my shower, wrapped a towel around my waist. Almost slipped on the tile in my haste to get dressed and hustle the fuck out of there.

  “Where’s the fire, Calder?” Rafe called out while Marquis rubbernecked with his long dreads tucked under the pink shower cap.

  I flipped a middle finger to all the assholes that included Akoni, Bunyan, Buckley, and Deacon.

  Brooklyn framed the shower stall as he stuck his head out. “Got anything to do with a certain showgirl?”

  “Yeah. Maybe.” I jabbed him in the ribs, sending him back. “Just about as much as you wanna go ride horses with a certain Carolina Cougar.”

  “Low blow, my man.”

  I snorted, my bare feet slapping on the tiles. “Low blow? Save that for your fiancée. Ain’t interested.”

  “Douche.”

  “Dick.”

  “Got a big one.”

  “So do I.”

  I rushed to my truck, a fully kitted-out and jacked-up Ford F150. On the way out, I handed an autographed game ball to Scott, the security guard on call day and night, so he knew Reggie Malone had every right to come and go whenever she wanted.

  The twenty-minute drive to my house put me on edge. Downtown Charleston. Through the crosstown traffic. Over the Ravenel Bridge to the old village of Mt. Pleasant.

  My house.

  Lights on.

  Music playing.

  Food cooking.

  A person.

  My person.

  My woman?

  It never failed to amaze me how Reggie could be so starlet gorgeous on stage—an absolute cock-wrecker in revealing costumes with suck-me red lips—then so girl-next-door at other times. Tonight I came home to the girl-next-door I’d first fallen for.

  I’d detailed her from head to toe the second I stepped into the kitchen. Specifically her more-than-a-handful ass when she bent toward the oven. Dressed casually, she was no less heart-stopping or cock-hardening than when she was on stage. Tight black jeans, a snug button-down shirt unbuttoned just enough to showcase her ample breasts and perfect cleavage made for tit-fucking, bouncy dark brown curls framing her sweetheart face. I glanced at her feet.

  She was barefoot. Her toenails painted the same sex-red she wore on her lips when she danced like the temptress she could be, but tonight Reggie turned to me with a casual smile.

  And I was a goner all over again.

  Then there was dinner—homemade lasagna I ate until I thought I’d explode. But my gut ached for a million different reasons, all of them centered on Reggie.
Especially when she sauntered over to me, her sultry voice like smoke licking my skin, “I want your cock in my mouth.”

  And now she was sitting on a chair with my dick in her face. My pants open and shoved off, shoes gone, tie and shirt flung away as ragged breaths chugged in and out of my chest.

  My cock jerked and throbbed when she licked her lips, leaned in closer.

  “Wait, Reggie.” I grabbed hold of her hair and stopped her before her lips made contact with the tip. Thighs jumping, stomach tight. Her breath enough to make me blow my wad. “Wait.”

  “Why?” She wrapped her fingers around the base of my shaft, slowly curling them into a soft squeeze that made all the veins ripple. “I want your hard fat cock so far inside me I choke on it.”

  “Jesus, Reggie.” Twisting her hair in my fist, I hauled her neck back.

  I was so fucking turned on I could barely see straight. Hardly had enough restraint to stop myself from plunging right between her ripe lips and thrusting into her throat. Soaking her mouth in come.

  So turned on. And it was so wrong. I was fucking torn in two. Wanting her so much.

  “You know what I think?” She shook her head free, and unbuttoned her shirt from top to bottom until she exposed high full tits in a black lace bra. Then her fingers walked down my clenching abs into the pubes surrounding my upright shaft. “I think you call me Reggie instead of Regina so you don’t have to see me as a woman.” She arched her back and cupped her up-thrust tits. She pulled down the cups until her nipples—bright pink and peaked—popped out.

  Then she rubbed her breasts against my rigid rod, biting into her bottom lip. “But I am all woman. And I want you. I know you want me too.”

  Her nipples brushed my dick, sending my senses spinning. Hard bolts of arousal spiked to my balls.

  Snarling, I yanked her head back again and tugged at one hard nipple. Her hot moan was second best to her hot lick at the thick cockhead I pushed against her mouth.

  She took her tongue away only to smile at me with a wicked glint. “I thought you said we were moving too fast.”

  Groan.

  “You want my cock in your mouth, Reggie?” Rubbing the tip over her sweet parted lips, I pinched at her nipple. “No more talking, sassy. Open up and take it.”