"Turn around," she said, in a sexy, take-no-prisoners voice, then tied his T-shirt around his eyes. While he had his back to her, she ran her hands over his incredible chest. His muscles tightened and flexed beneath her palms, and she pressed her br**sts into his back, laying her cheek between his shoulder blades.

He smelled like freshly cut grass, and heat, and she let the memory imprint itself deep into her subconscious. Slowly circling him, enjoying the view from every angle, she was pleased to see his erection straining hard against the zipper of his jeans. Giving thanks that her wraparound dress had a long belt, she quickly untied it and snapped it between her hands.

"Hands together above your head," she commanded, going all the way up on her toes to tie the silk sash around his wrists. When she was finished she took a step back, loving how good he looked stretched out before her, waiting for her to touch him.

She tapped her finger on her lips. "I would tell you what I'm going to do next," she said, "but that would negate the point of the blindfold, wouldn't it?"

"I'm game for anything," he said, and she smiled. So was she. She undid the button of his jeans, letting her fingers slide over his cotton-covered c**k as she pulled the zipper down.

Once she'd pushed his jeans down past his hips, she slipped her finger into the slit of his boxers and found his silky smooth skin. She moved her finger up, then down the long, hard length. He groaned and wet heat flooded her. He didn't even have to touch her and she was on the verge of coming. Part of her wanted to toy with him, to make him beg, but more than that, she wanted to take him in her mouth, feel him thrusting into her lips, her cheeks, her throat. In a flash, she pulled down his boxers and was kneeling before him. His c**k was beautiful and so perfect, standing proudly before her. She blew out a hot breath and a drop of pre-come emerged. She flicked out her tongue to taste him and he groaned again.

Grasping the base of his shaft with her hand, she licked her lips and moved his swollen head around the warm wetness of her mouth. She tasted his salty-sweet arousal and the next thing she knew she was sucking his thick member all the way into her mouth, down her throat, pulling at it with her cheeks while she pumped her hand on his shaft. Her other hand ran up his chest, and as he grew bigger and harder with every lash of her tongue, she groaned around his cock, urging him to let go. He went completely still for a long moment before rocking feverishly against her lips. The next thing she knew, he'd worked loose from his silk binding and she was on her back on the soft dirt beneath the bleachers. He was lying above her, pushing her dress to the side, pulling her panties away from her wet pu**y lips.

And then he was pushing into her and they were kissing and she felt so safe, so wonderfully safe with him that her climax came quickly and beautifully, the moon shining through the wooden stands, illuminating them both just enough that she could see him watch her as she came, with an expression that almost looked like love.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Ty's first thought when they arrived at Julie's parents' house the following evening was Mine is bigger. He almost laughed out loud at the ridiculous thought. Yet hadn't he spent years trying to outdo everyone around him? Everyone who had thought they were superior to the kid from the trailer park?

He'd done better than all of them combined. So much better, in fact, that it didn't seem to matter much anymore.

Julie climbed out of the backseat of the Rolls-Royce her parents had sent over, her movements uncharacteristically stiff. She looked like someone had shoved a poker all the way up her ass to her neck, and Ty couldn't help wondering if she was ashamed of being seen with him in front of her "people." The previous night out on the football field, before she'd tied him up and had her way with him, had been the most they'd ever really talked. With any other woman, that would have been enough for Ty. Surprisingly, he'd started to hope for more.

"We don't have to stay long," she said, her voice clipped and strained. "Drinks and dinner, then we'll leave."

He adopted a relaxed stance, hoping it would rub off on her. "No worries. I'm happy to do whatever you need me to do."

She looked angry. "I don't need you to do anything. You shouldn't even be here." Forcefully clearing the mutinous expression from her face, she reached for his hand. "Thank you for doing this. You should be taking the night off, not be forced to schmooze with my parents' friends." Ty wanted to pull her close to let her know that he'd play defense for her tonight, but his fingers had barely brushed over hers when she abruptly pulled hers away.

"Daddy!" she said in an abnormally high-pitched voice.

Ty looked up the winding, paved staircase to see if her father had changed much in ten years. Nope. He was still lean, still tanned, still immaculately dressed. A Rolex watch gleamed on his wrist. Ty's expression betrayed none of his dislike.

"You're late," was all Julie's father said in greeting.

She'd barely made an excuse about traffic when her father cut her off.

"Wonderful to see you again," he said to Ty.

Ty hadn't forgotten the day they'd met. He'd been a junior in high school and Julie's father had, like everyone else, wanted a piece of the superstar action. Ty was destined for the pros and lots of money. But first, he'd have to choose his launchpad.

Blake Spencer was a Notre Dame man, and he'd been sent to bring Ty on board using any means possible. Most sixteen-year-olds would have been awed by dinner at the Ritz—where the waiters hadn't asked for his ID—by the $1,000 bottle of champagne, the caviar, the filet mignon, and the hookers waiting in the limo after dinner.

But Ty was more comfortable getting burgers and talking strategy than he was with white tablecloths and waiters who bowed and scraped. He'd rather be out shooting pool with his friends than listening to some ass**le go on and on about what great investments he'd made and how he ran his company with an iron fist. The couple of things Julie's dad said about football sounded weird, like he'd read them from a how-to book, or memorized a TV commentator's remarks.

So yeah, he remembered her dad. Only now did Ty stop to wonder why he'd never given Julie credit for surviving such a jerk of a father.

An invisible punch smashed into his solar plexus as the answer snaked through him: Because you thought you were surviving the worst. No one else had it as had as you, did they?

"We were all thrilled when we found out our Julie was working with you." Ty nearly cracked a smile. Julie sure as hell hadn't been pleased. Which had been a large part of her charm.

Her father continued braying into the silence. "A client like you is really going to raise her profile. She should be very thankful that the Outlaws thought of her."