Red Card by Carrie Aarons Page B

laughed wickedly.
    I was so close, sweat trickling between my breasts and coating my hair as my breaths came out in labored huffs. The orgasm was right there on the tip of my clit, circling low in my core and swamping my flesh in goosebumps.
    “Harder.” I choked out. “Harder. Faster.”
    I didn’t even recognize the voice coming out of my throat, begging and hoarse as I squirmed further down the bed, trying to impale myself on Killian’s hand.
    And then they were gone, Killian climbing off the bed and planting his legs on the floor in a total power stance. Nothing about him was soft. Not his body, not his expression, and especially not the impressive staff between his legs.
    My climax sat just beneath the surface of my skin, prickling and crying out to be released.
    “If you want my cock inside of you, you know what to say. Where are your manners?”
    I had never had someone speak to me in such a rude, dirty manner while doing this. Taylor had barely spoken at all. I found Killian’s filthy, controlling mouth a huge turn on. Each time he spoke his words skittered across my fevered skin, detonating small atom bombs of lust over the trigger points on my body.
    Normally, I wouldn’t beg. Especially in a situation like this, where I knew he was purposely degrading me. But I couldn’t help it. Right now, I even wanted to.
    “Please. Please, Killian…” My voice was a hoarse whisper, one I didn’t even recognize.
    His eyes gleamed and those luscious, plum colored lips tipped up in a sinful smirk.
    “You know, you played it well, Leah. I’m used to whores chasing me around, just waiting to drop to their knees and swallow my come. Doing practically anything right off the bat so that I’ll stick it in them, fucking them until they can’t bloody stand. Anything to have my superstar cock inside of them, making them climax the hardest they ever have in their lives.”
    He circled the bed, bending down to roll my stiff nipple in between his thumb and forefinger as he continued on. I could do nothing but writhe with helplessness at his touch, caught in the dream-like state between the highest arousal ever and what I knew would be the longest orgasm of my life.
    “But you, you are a smart little twat. You tried to bat those big green eyes my way, act so innocent and young. You threw me off, making me believe we were actually starting to become…well, friends. But I don’t do nice, or friendly. Those little girl looks and giggles might have thrown me off for a minute, but now I remember. I’m an asshole. A nasty, formidable serpent.”
    He leaned down then, his breath hot and angry in my ear. “So get the fuck out my house.”
    My sweater hit me in the face, my jeans thrown where my feet rested at the end of the bed. And then Killian walked out, leaving me completely naked, ashamed and alone in his bed.

11
Killian
    T he media was a necessary evil in my life. Yes, they were bloody invasive, at one time publicizing the most gruesome moment of my life for all the world to see. Paparazzi followed me everywhere, wanting to dig through my most personal business, never giving me an inch of privacy.
    But it also meant I was doing my job well. If I was on the top of their radar, it meant I was winning games, bringing our country glory and all that bullshit. And it also meant they exposed rats when they infested my life.
    In the case of Leah Watson, the media was a bloody godsend.
    I’d been absolutely horrified when I saw her face on that morning’s paper. But that horror quickly turned to red hot rage as I read the story on the inside cover, finding out all about Leah’s past and her strife to become the wife of an athlete. She’d tricked me all right, and I wouldn’t soon forget that.
    I’d spent the rest of the week reading any article about her in my spare time.
    Leah Watson. Senior at University of Oklahoma. Public relations student. Former girlfriend and high school sweetheart of all-state wide receiver Taylor