Moody: A Bad Boy Sports Romance Page 3

  So many sensations. So much pleasure.

  Hungry kisses, tasting licks set my senses on fire.

  There’s no turning back. And I can’t stop, even if I wanted to. I’ve waited for him – only him.

  Urged by his strong fingers, I part my thighs allowing him access. His lips kiss, lick, suck a path down my torso. Each caress, each stroke, pure, exquisite pleasure.

  He smirks up at me, hair mussed from my fingers.

  God, he’s sexy.

  “I’ve dreamed about tasting you.” His warm breath brushes my pussy like a gentle caress.

  I moan at the eroticism of his words.

  He lowers his head, burying himself between my thighs.

  “Moody.” My fingers grip his hair as my body jerks upward in response, and a hoarse cry leaves my throat as his tongue circles and dances in slow, delicious strokes across my clit, inflaming it to a desperate ache that has me crying out for release.

  I squirm under him, rocking my hips against his mouth.

  He growls against me and the vibration, coupled by the thrust of his tongue, drives me closer to the edge.

  I fall back on the mattress, straining against the pleasure, eyes closed, overwhelmed by the blistering heat building in my core.

  My entire body feels like a tightly strung wire that’s about to snap.

  Fisting the sheets in my hands, I dig my feet into the mattress, as an intense orgasm explodes through my system, leaving me shuddering, hips jerking against his hold.

  Holy hell.

  Nothing I’ve ever experienced has ever come close, and yet it still isn’t enough.

  I need more of him. All of him.

  He pulls himself to his knees above me, a wicked smirk playing on his lips as he unbuttons his jeans.

  This is happening.

  I swallow hard when he pushes his pants down and the thick, engorged length of his cock springs free.

  My God.

  The rumors about his size don’t even come close to the real thing.

  He’s not just big. He’s huge. And for a split second, trepidation washes over me.

  He pulls a condom from the side table drawer and tears it open, rolling it over himself.

  “Moody?”

  “I’ve got you.” His voice is slightly slurred from alcohol, but his gaze is sober. “Trust me.”

  Trust him. I do. I’ve never trusted anyone more.

  One hard thrust and he’s inside me, claiming me, claiming my innocence.

  Pain.

  My body feels like it’s been split in two.

  He holds still above me, and every muscle in my body seems to throb.

  “Shit, Izzy.” His forehead rests against mine. “I didn’t know.”

  I clench my eyes shut, waiting for the pain to subside.

  “It’s…okay,” I whisper

  “Look at me, sweetheart.”

  I force my eyes open. He’s watching me, brown eyes so dark they almost appear black.

  “Relax.” He cups my breast, thumb flicking over the nipple, making my pussy clench and vibrate around his thick shaft. “Focus on me.”

  I give a small nod, running my hand up his chest and over the hard muscles that ripple beneath my touch.

  “So beautiful.” His lips are on mine, kissing me until I’m completely lost in the sensation.

  This is the side of Moody that people don’t see.

  Tender.

  Caring.

  And at the same time powerful and dominant.

  I moan into his kiss, taking every touch like it’ll be the last.

  His mouth is on my neck, tongue licking over my collarbone, teeth raking over sensitive skin.

  The pain is gone, replaced by an ache for more. I squirm under him, needing to feel him move within me.

  “That’s it.” He pulls back, then pushes inside me again, burying deeper than before. “Take it Izzy. Take all of me.”

  Pleasure radiates through my body, strengthened by each intense thrust of his cock.

  “Wrap your legs around my waist,” he demands, as he strokes inside me with quick, deep thrusts.

  He pushes harder, faster, the pleasure becoming more agonizing with each stroke, until it’s exploding within me, tearing through my senses with such blinding ecstasy, I know I’ll never be the same.

  “I could lose myself in you,” he rasps, driving deeper.

  I’m already lost, unable to fight the pleasure clouding my mind.

  I know he’ll break my heart. He’s unable to help it. But right now, I don’t care.

  I gasp and call out his name, holding onto him as my body tightens and shudders.

  Every nerve ending in my body seems to explode.

  Pleasure.

  Ecstasy.

  Love.

  Deep, soul-changing emotions.

  I hadn’t dreamed it could be like this.

  Reality is better than any fantasy I could have imagined.

  “Oh my God.” Wave after wave of pleasure rolls over me, and I feel like my heart might actually stop beating. This is why the French call it the “little death,” because it feels like dying.

  Death by pleasure. If I have to die, there’s no place I’d rather be than in his arms.

  Helpless to do anything else, I cry out his name, and hear Moody’s own release in a shattered groan as he collapses on top of me.

  Time seems to stop. The only sound our heavy breathing. My only thought. How am I going to survive this?

  He rolls over, pulling me with him, so that I’m resting in the nook of his shoulder.

  Silence.

  I can feel his heart beating. A quick, rapid beat that begins to slow.

  I don’t move, afraid to break the contact. Afraid that if I do, he’ll ask me to leave. Because Moody Brock doesn’t cuddle, and he sure as hell doesn’t let women stay the night.

  I’ve heard the rumors, even heard it from his own lips.

  “Izzy?”

  My chest tightens. “Yeah?”

  “Go to sleep.”

  Sleep. Right.

  I close my eyes, cheek resting on his chest, a small smile playing on my lips. Knowing he’s giving me something he doesn’t give other women.

  I fall asleep, believing that maybe I was wrong. Maybe Moody really is capable of more than just a casual fling. Maybe for me, he’ll change.

  Maybe.

  Chapter 6

  Izzy

  Four years later…

  “You have to stop calling me,” I breathe heavily into my cell, and lean against the cold staff room wall.

  Two nights on call and I’m exhausted. Too exhausted to deal with Moody Brock.

  “Not going to happen. We need to talk.” His low, deep voice reaches through the phone and pulls at my heart like he has a string attached to it. Yank. Twist. Pull.

  Focus, Izzy.

  “And what could we possibly have to talk about?”

  “Us.”

  My stomach does a summersault and a shiver races down my spine. “There is no us, Moody. There never was.”

  “You know that’s not true.”

  I swallow hard. I can still see the indifference in his eyes the morning he let me walk away.

  Feel the pain as I lay in the hospital losing our baby. A baby I never knew I wanted, but now will never be able to forget.

  And while I was still trying to piece back the broken fragments of my heart, he was out screwing any girl he could get his hands on.

  “Why? After all these years. Why torment me now?”

  “Is that what you think I’m doing?” His voice is rough, clipped.

  “Yes.” I grit my teeth against the hurt I hear in his tone. He’s got no right to be hurt, not after the hell he put me through.

  “You really want me to stop calling? To just step aside and let you marry that dickhead?”

  “Is that what this is about? Because I’ve finally moved on?”

  “Have you?” His voice is a sexy rasp that makes my core clench
. “Have you moved on, Izzy?”

  “There was nothing to move on from. One night, that’s all it was. One mistake.”

  Silence.

  “You’re right. It was a mistake.”

  My throat constricts and my next words are forced. “I’m glad we agree on something.”

  “The mistake wasn’t yours. It was mine. I should never have let you go. I was messed up with what happened with Griffin, I thought I was protecting you.”

  “Protecting me? From what?”

  “From myself.”

  I chuckle darkly. “Well you did a pretty shitty job. But you don’t have to beat yourself up about it, because I knew what I was getting into. Knew who you were. I never expected anything more.”

  “Maybe. But I want more. I’ve always wanted more.”

  Goosebumps prickle my arms and my chest tightens painfully.

  “I know you’re angry–”

  “Angry? No. Just done being jerked around. You want to know the truth? Yeah, there was a time when I thought I loved you. When I believed I could fix you. That we were meant to be together. But I was young and stupid. I don’t regret what happened between us, because it made me smarter. I know what I want now.”

  “And what’s that? Jason Reagan? You have no idea who the man really is. What he’s capable of.”

  “Stop.”

  “You need to know the truth.”

  “The truth is you can’t handle the fact that someone else wants me.”

  “That’s not what this is about. I want what’s best for you.”

  “And that’s you?”

  “Yes.”

  I sigh and shake my head, hating how much I wish that were true. He has no right to make me feel this way after all this time. It’s unfair and cruel.

  “I don’t know what’s going on with you, but you need to leave me alone.”

  “Tell me you love that jackass and I will.”

  I open my mouth to say the words, but I can’t. I don’t love Jason, and the revelation leaves me feeling numb.

  “You can’t, can you?”

  “You’re an asshole. You know that?”

  “Yeah,” he growls. “But it doesn’t change the fact that you’re in love with me.”

  Arrogant prick. I’m glad he can’t see me right now, because he’d see the truth. He’s right. I’ve never stopped loving him.

  “I’m hanging up now. Don’t call me again.”

  “Izzy.” I hear him swear right before I end the call.

  I sink to the cold linoleum floor and close my eyes and curse Moody Brock. Because once again, he’s taken my perfectly ordered world and flipped it upside down.

  Chapter 7

  Moody

  The minute I step through Theo and Mac’s apartment door, a small, dark haired whirlwind runs towards me, pudgy hands outstretched, begging me to pick her up.

  “How’s my girl?” I scoop her into my arms and tickle her tummy.

  Logan giggles and shoves a miniature doll in my face. “Look, Uncle Moody. Polly Princess.”

  “Cool.” The kid is obsessed with princesses, and I’m pretty sure Theo has bought her every doll on the market. He spoils her rotten. And I don’t blame him. I’d probably be the same way.

  Fatherhood. It changes a man. Or at least it should.

  My chest tightens knowing that for a few short months it might have been a possibility.

  I never thought I wanted kids. Didn’t think I’d be good at it. I never really had a father figure in my own life. While other kids’ dads were coaching their little league games, my own father was teaching me how to dodge flying beer bottles, and making sure I knew what a useless little fucker I was.

  The only good thing the man ever did for me was teach me how to fight.

  “Come see.” Logan squirms in my arms until I put her down, then reaches for my hand and pulls me towards the living room, where she’s got a whole village of princesses set up.

  “Thank you so much for watching her,” Mac says, coming out of the bedroom, dressed in a sharp black dress. “She’s already been bathed and fed, and Claire will be here in the morning to take her back to her place.”

  “We’ll be fine.” It’s not the first time I’ve taken care of her.

  “I know.”

  Theo walks into the room and wraps his arms around Mac, then kisses her hard on the mouth. When he pulls back, my stomach tightens at the love I see mirrored in their eyes.

  “Look at my gorgeous wife,” Theo says, making Mac blush.

  It’s amazing what the two of them have survived – the mistakes and bad choices, the evil that tried to destroy them both.

  Watching the way Theo is with her, how he fought to keep her, to save her, makes me want to be a better man. To fight for the only woman who’s ever meant anything to me.

  Izzy.

  I thought I was doing the right thing by letting her go. But I know now I was wrong.

  She’s angry with me, and I know it will take time to heal the hurt I caused, to make her trust me again.

  The first thing I need to do is make her see that Jason Reagan is all wrong for her. How the hell she got caught up with that asshole is beyond me.

  Hell, she practically admitted that she didn’t love him. And how could she, when I know her heart belongs to me. She just doesn’t want to admit it. The woman is too stubborn for her own good.

  What she doesn’t realize is that I’m just as stubborn as she is and I have no intention of letting her slip through my fingers this time.

  I’m ready to fight.

  For her. For a future. For a family.

  Because I finally realize that those things are all that matter in this world.

  ***

  When Theo and Mac are gone, I stick on a movie for the kid and sit down beside her on the couch.

  Logan snuggles up to me and sticks her thumb in her mouth. I know Mac’s trying to break her of the habit, but I think it’s fucking adorable.

  Halfway through the movie, she begins tugging on her ear, and whimpers, “Owe.”

  One glance at her and I know something’s not right. Her cheeks are bright red, eyes slightly glazed. I touch her forehead and wince. Shit. She’s burning up.

  “I want Mama.” The tears start, which for her is unusual.

  “Okay, kiddo.” I pick her up and she snivels, resting her head on my shoulder.

  Finding the gun-shaped thermometer in the first aid kit on the counter bathroom, I press the green button and place it in Logan’s ear like I’ve seen Mac do. When it beeps, I wince at the number that blinks on the small screen.

  Shit. I can deal with a hell of a lot, but a sick kid isn’t one of them. My chest squeezes as I try to console her and figure out what I’m supposed to do.

  Carrying her to the kitchen, I dial Theo’s cell.

  “Everything okay?” Theo asks when he answers the phone.

  “She’s burning up. Temps almost a hundred and five and she’s saying her ear hurts.”

  “Shit,” he says, echoing my own thoughts,

  “What’s wrong?” I can hear Mac’s panicked voice in the background.

  Theo replays my message, then says to me, “It’s probably an ear infection.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “Can you take her to the ER? My mom’s working. I’ll call her and let her know you’re coming.”

  “Yeah.” I glance down at Logan and try to remain calm.

  “I’m turning the car around now. We’ll meet you there in a couple of hours. Call me if anything changes.”

  “Okay.” I hang up and exhale a long, unsteady breath. Logan’s lying lethargically in my arms. “Hey, kiddo. We’re going to go visit Grandma Claire at the hospital, okay?”

  She glances up at me, brown eyes glassy with fever. Then all hell breaks loose, because she starts seizing in my arms, and I’ve got no fucking clue what to do.

  Chapter 8

  Izzy

  I meet the ambulance as it pu
lls up to the ER, shivering as a cool blast of air hits me.

  “What do we have?” I ask the paramedic when he opens the ambulance doors.

  “Three-year-old girl, high temp, febrile seizure. She’s stable.” He hands me a chart, then turns back to help the second paramedic lower the stretcher.

  My stomach twists in a thousand knots when I see Moody in the back of the ambulance.

  Is the girl his?

  His gaze rests on me, but his usual arrogance and cockiness is gone, replaced by cold fear.

  “Sir, you’re going to have to let us take her now,” the second paramedic is saying, when Moody hovers protectively over the child. The way he’s looking at her, like she’s the most precious thing in world, practically makes my ovaries explode.

  Focus, Izzy. You’re a doctor, and his kid is sick.

  “I’m not leaving her,” Moody barks, as he steps down onto the pavement, grasping the child’s tiny hand in his own large one.

  “You don’t have to,” I say, trying to keep my voice calm, despite the tsunami of emotions that rush through me. “Let them do their job.”

  He gives a tight nod and steps back, raking a hand through his hair that’s come loose from the tie holding it. My eyes flicker over him briefly, and I immediately regret it. How can a simple black t-shirt and a pair of beat-up, old jeans be so sexy?

  Swallowing hard, I tear my gaze away and turn back to the paramedics.

  “Take her to exam room two,” I say, issuing a series of other orders.

  “Is she going to be okay?” Moody’s voice is strained.

  “Tell me what happened.” We follow behind the men as they push the stretcher down the long corridor.

  “We were watching a movie.” His breath shudders and his voice is tight with emotion. “She was pulling on her ear. I noticed she had a fever, then the next thing I know she’s fucking seizing in my arms.”

  “How long did the episode last?” I try to keep my composure, but it’s difficult with him, and my voice cracks on the last word.

  He doesn’t seem to notice. “Less than a minute.”

  “And does she have a history of seizures?”