AllFreeNovel
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I love it when a woman doesn’t try to filter herself around me.
I hate fake. Fake hair. Fake eyelashes. It’s just not for me. But the one trait I hate the absolute most? Fake-ass personalities.
There’s nothing sexier to me than a woman who’s comfortable with being completely herself, and there’s no filter on the woman who sits adjacent to me.
“Mmmm…it’s a curse I am forced to bear. So, tell me, why is it that you’re so damn good-looking?” She presses. The smile that tilts her lips is pure sin and seduction. Her white teeth sparkle against her bright lips, begging me to run my tongue across them. Not yet.
“I don’t know. Ask the people over at Sports National who made the decision to put me on the cover of their magazine in a towel. Some of us are just blessed by Jesus. What did you call it? I guess it’s just a curse that I’m forced to bear.”
That damn cover. Talk about a curse. That photo was never supposed to see the light of day, let alone the cover of the biggest sports magazine in the nation. I catch hell in the locker room and panties at the grocery market. But it’s so much worse than that. My mama framed the damn thing and hung it in her living room.
“Do not use the name of the Lord’s child in vain, Damien Henderson. It’s fucking photoshop, obviously.” She rolls her eyes, clearly amused by my obvious discomfort with knowing half the country has seen me in nothing but a washcloth identifying as a towel.
“In vain? You’re cute. I see what you did there. What makes you think it’s photoshop?” She and I both know that’s the furthest thing from the truth.
“You’re telling me that your abs really look like…” She motions between us, and I wish she would slide her hand beneath my shirt and confirm for herself, “That, underneath this overpriced cotton blend?”
Instead, she touches my shoulder gently, running her fingernails from one shoulder blade to the other. A shiver races up my spine and catches the attention of the hair on my neck as I feel the tiny hairs prickle to life beneath her touch.
“Want me to prove it to you?” I take the bait she’s tossing around so generously. I bite back, gently. I’m saving the best for later. She’s teasing anyway.
Her shoulder brushes mine as she leans in even closer. Her breasts threaten the thin lace straps of her tank top. I don’t dare divert my eyes from hers and give myself away. No matter how badly my need for this woman wants to deceive me.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Henderson. Are you hitting on me?” She wiggles her perfect ass on the stool next to mine coyly. Her breath fans my face, and the sweet scent of whiskey washes over me.
She’s intoxicating.
“So, what if I am, Mrs. Henderson?” I seal my fate. I no longer care about the celebration of the night or the notoriety that comes with it. I want one thing and one thing only. I want her.
“My husband might have something to say about it.” She answers, unashamed, tugging her lip between her teeth.
My blood heats in my veins at her insinuation. This is my favorite game.
“He doesn’t have to find out. Come back to my room with me. Let me show you what being with a real man is like. I’ll be your secret.” I make her an offer that I know she won’t refuse. The fire in her eyes makes promises that I know her body is fully prepared to keep.
“A real man, you say? I’ve never been with one of those.” She gently taps her chin with her delicately manicured fingernails, and I growl in response before she continues. “Tell me, what exactly are you planning to do with me?”
Not here. My cock throbs with need against the zipper of my pressed slacks.
“We’re leaving. Since you love games so much, it’s time for a little game of show and tell.”
The frayed thread of control I had remaining snaps. This is far from over. It’s only just beginning. I toss a fifty down on the bar. We stand in unison. I see Coach watching me with a shit-eating grin on his face. We’re not fooling anyone; not trying to. I nod goodbye and turn toward the exit. She follows willingly. It’s going to be a long night, just not here. We need privacy, and a key card in my pocket to a penthouse suite at a hotel two blocks from here offers me all the assurance I need.
Never in my wildest dreams could I imagine the culmination of events that led us to this night.
The perfect team.
The perfect win.
The perfect woman. My wife.
Sounds like I’m living a dream life, doesn’t it?
It hasn’t always been this way. Why, you ask?
Because the woman from the bar, the woman I sold my soul to – my wife, is my best friend’s little sister, and I literally had to die to get here. This is the story of how I cheated death and lived to tell about it.
And, boy, am I living.
