Page 34 of Dirty Player
I tilted my head. “Yeah. I guess. He doesn’t let anything get to him. Is that why you’ve been such a dick to him? You don’t think he takes this shit seriously?”
“There are men who join the game for the game and not the work.”
I snorted. If he only knew. “How cute. I’ll tell Beaux that. He’ll think it’s fucking hilarious. You think he made it as far as he has based solely on natural talent and not his work ethic? How fucking hypocritical of you.”
Oliver’s water bottle crushed inside his death grip. “He lacks intensity. It worries me.”
“He has confidence in his ability and the members of his team in spades. That keeps him loose.”
It hit me then, why it bothered him so much. My irritation that had prickled at the first question began to flicker and disappear. “That’s why it bothers you, isn’t it? He’s enjoying himself out there. Playing his hardest, loving the ride and the life and the game and hell, everything else he has to do in order to get on top and stay there, and it pisses you off he does that while still having fun.”
His lip curled. I’d made my point.
“Tell him he’s hesitating a half-second too long in the pocket. He needs to speed up his throws or he’s going to get sacked every game.”
“Maybe you should get open quicker.”
Another lip curl. Another wave of irritation rolled off him like a tidal wave. Something else I couldn’t miss sparked and burned brighter.
“Fucking hell,” Oliver growled. “How is it that you’re pissing me off, and all I can think about is bending you over this table and fucking the attitude out of you?”
A delicious, warm shiver rolled down my spine.
“You want that?” He stepped forward, setting the damaged bottle on the counter. “Do you know how fucking hot it is that I can read every thought that flashes through your eyes? You hide nothing from me.”
That could be a disaster at some point.
I swallowed a huge gulp of water to settle my nerves and stood from my chair. “Exactly how would you like it to happen?”
I turned my back to him then and pulled his gray shirt, which I’d thrown on earlier, over my head.
I’d barely gotten it tossed onto the floor when one of his hands was at my hip, the other between my shoulder blades, pushing me down.
And then my shorts were pulled down, my legs kicked apart.
His lips hit my shoulder and I heard the tear of foil right before his cock drove into me, not giving me time to adjust—but I was already wet and ready for him.
When we were done, he learned that even a deliciously hard fucking that was quick and powerful wasn’t enough to erase the attitude from me.
Chapter EIGHT
OLIVER
I moved more hay into Winne’s stall, my back hurting worse than it should have been. It’d been bugging me for months now. Not painful, but a dull ache that never seemed to go away despite pain meds and deep tissue massages and chiro appointments.
Yesterday and last night’s activities had made the pain flare up, but I wouldn’t change a damn thing.
I was still hoping to finish cleaning out the stalls before Shannon woke up. The sun was just starting to rise, and while I knew she said she had to get home early, I figured I still had time.
I had plans for her before I had to take her back to her brother’s.
We’d reached an impasse yesterday when I’d talked about Beaux. Her defense of him along with the fact that she’d read me so well made me not want to jump into that topic of him ever again.
He wasn’t going to kick my ass for fucking his sister. And I might try to be less of a dick to him.
I pushed people.
I always had. I wanted to be the best and needed to know everyone else on my team wanted the same thing. Seeing someone so kicked back and chill over practices and incomplete throws and bad plays ate at something deep inside me.
