Fair Play (Hat Trick, Book 1) (8 page)

Garrick watched, wide-eyed, as Savannah slid across the
bench.

His hands shook with the need to take, to claim, to feel her
touching any part of him with any part of her. He was already delirious with
the hint of her arousal in the still, hot air of the car. Drunk on her scent. Intoxicated
by her heavy-lidded eyes—smoky green flashes in the pale street lights before
they fluttered closed.

Her lips touched his and he opened to her. His heart thunked
wildly against his ribs while his cock strained ferociously against his briefs
and the zipper of his dress slacks. He wanted to free his erection. He wanted
to haul her up over him and grind her down on top of him. He wanted so many
things, he could do little more than let her kiss the breath out of him as he
tried to figure out what the fuck was happening.

Good God Almighty, he wanted this so badly he would gladly
yowl at the moon from the pent up need, the desire he’d swallowed down every
time he was near her.

He knew her taste, the flavor of her uninhibited kisses unforgettable
as her tongue danced with his. She groaned, long and loud in the quiet dark, and
her hands fisted in his shirtfront.

Every sound, every yank on his collar, ratcheted his desire
higher.

He drew the knee she had crossed toward him higher, turning
her more fully into his body, the warm length of her leg draped across the tops
of his. He worried his touch would spook her, but she only wriggled closer,
moaned louder, when his hand wrapped around one sleekly muscled calf.

He would have smiled had his mouth not been fully and
delightfully occupied. He skimmed his palm up the back of her thigh, over thin silk
and the rough lace edge at the top of her stocking. He forged on, desperate to
know more than the touch of her lips. At last his fingers met hot, satiny skin,
and he sighed into her mouth as she whimpered into his.

When she shifted, he held on, prepared to beg her not to back
away. Instead she rolled over him, almost straddling his thigh, until her knee nudged
his zipper, teasing his aching cock. His hips surged, searching for more
pressure. Relief.

She growled low in her throat, and he fought back a laugh
when he figured out she was stuck, her tight skirt preventing her legs from
spreading any farther.

She stopped feasting at his mouth and turned her attention
to his jaw. He arched his neck, eager for the tickle of her lips and tongue.  He
dragged in a deep breath, an attempt to think straight that failed miserably
when he inhaled the musk of her arousal.

He needed her closer. Now.

“Come here.” He slipped his arms around her and hauled her
over him. She gasped into his mouth and came willingly. Eagerly. She relinquished
her death grip on his shirt to yank at the material at her hips, forcing it
higher so she could spread her thighs wide and straddle him properly.

His hands tore at the buttons of her wool coat, her fingers
brushing his as she untied the belt. The moment it came loose, she shucked it
off and tossed it into the shadows on the far side of the car.

He had a few seconds to process smooth skin above lace
stockings, a flash of matching lace at the juncture of her thighs. Then she slid
down, her breasts rubbing along his chest until their mouths met again and her
soft heat pressed down on his cock.

God, he was going to embarrass himself. His balls tingled,
and his rigid shaft swelled further. She writhed in his arms, on his lap. He
was damn close to coming in his pants.

It wasn’t just her kiss, though he eagerly drowned in
another of those. Or her taste, or the press of her body. It was that it was so
unexpected.
She
was so unexpected. This woman, who was so controlled at
work, so completely buttoned down. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined
she hid this responsive, demanding wanton within her.

He wanted to wallow in the joy of his discovery. Make
heathens of them both. Not an easy task in the back of a limo only miles from
their hotel.

They had so little time. He tore his mouth from hers, rolled,
and tossed her onto the soft seat. He dropped to his knees on the floor before
her, pinning her to the leather with his hips, his hands. His cock.

She threaded her fingers through his hair and rocked against
him, jamming swollen folds and lace against his shaft as she pulled him close.
Her lips brushed his when she whispered his name.

“
Garrick
.”

He shivered, sucking in an unsteady breath. The tight grip
in his hair anchored him to her. Their mouths met and she plunged her tongue
into his mouth. He kissed her back. Madly. Desperate to imprint himself upon
her in the little time they had left.

Clasping her thighs, he spread her open, lifting her knees
higher as he changed the tenor of the kiss. His tongue danced into her mouth
and took control while he mastered her lips with his, taking complete
possession. His cock twitched and leaked when she acquiesced beautifully beneath
him, her body pliant. Her hum of approval buzzed down his spine.

He did not retreat, he led. His hands began a slow,
torturous slide down her legs, from the backs of her knees and under her
thighs, across those precious inches of bare skin.

Gasping with the need for oxygen and the skin-tingling pleasure
of finding her thighs wet, he tore his lips from hers. He nibbled along her
neck, behind her ear, giving extra attention to the places that made her groan
loader, writhe harder. He hoarded the knowledge he teased from her body. He was
an able pupil, eager to learn. Hoping to bring this knowledge to bear another
time, but knowing this might be his only chance.

His thumb brushed over the lace covering her pussy and she
jolted beneath him. He pressed harder and his heart stuttered at how wicked,
how
incredible
she looked with her head thrown back, her thighs splayed
wide, her skirt around her waist as she gasped out his name.

It was a plea for more. He could not refuse her.

Dragging himself away from her long neck, her tempting
mouth, he turned his head and licked a determined path along the inside of her
left knee.

Now she shouted his name. Loudly.

It was unlikely the chauffeur couldn’t hear at least some of
this, but Garrick didn’t care. He craved her uninhibited reactions. He nibbled
higher, delighting in her gasps, a giggle, her frantic groan when he hooked his
thumb in the lace stretched between her splayed thighs. He tugged it to one
side. She was wet, swollen. The head of her clitoris rose from her folds and begged
for his attention.

City street lamps flashed outside the window. Their time was
short.

With a groan of hunger, he danced his thumb over her clit,
slicking through the thick cream and across the hood again and again. Holding
the thin lace barrier aside with his fingers, he eased the other thumb deep
into her body.

She rocked against him. Repeatedly. He adored her abandon.
Her brutal honesty. He wanted to laugh with the sheer joy of it as he
desperately held on to the woman writhing without restraint in his arms.  He
couldn’t get enough, so he pressed harder, stroked faster. It wasn’t enough. He
withdrew his thumb.

“No!” she cried.

He thrust two fingers high and deep and she whimpered,
rolling her hips again. He was frantic to give her the pleasure she sought. He tortured
her clit with a thumb and her hot channel tightened against his fingers.

“Garrick. Garrick!”

Fuck, he loved hearing his name from her lips. Gasped.
Hollered. Panted. Moaned.

She planted her hands on the seat and used her arm to gain
leverage, lifting and thrusting against him.

“Oh god, Garrick. Please. I need… I need…”

She was begging. God help him, she was
begging
as she
bucked against him. The sound raised the hairs on the back of his neck, his
need growing with every whimper.

He pushed her leg back farther, held her open so he could thrust
harder, twisting his fingers, rubbing them the length of the front wall of her
channel until he found the spot that made her whimper louder.

“Oh my god!” Her mouth dropped open and wide eyes locked on
his.

She held herself suspended above the seat, frozen in
pleasure. Gorgeous.

With deep satisfaction, he rubbed harder, surged farther,
and with a last great cry, she blew apart in his hands.

Savannah keened Garrick’s name. She was loud, too loud, but she
had so completely lost mastery over her own body, all she could do was let it
out as the waves of her orgasm rolled over her.

Arms shaking, her elbows gave way and she fell back to the
seat, gasping in delicious pain and bliss as Garrick’s fingers jammed hard into
her clenching body. Another swell burst within her and she threw her head back,
quaking as another long groan tore from her chest.

God, it was good. So fucking
good
.

For a long time she floated there, collapsed against the
soft leather behind her, beneath her, panting as she regained something
resembling consciousness.

Then the limo drew to a slow rolling stop.

Snapping her eyes open, she jerked back in the seat, shocked
by the sudden departure of Garrick’s hands from her body and horrified to see
the front door of the hotel out the window.

Holy shit. What have I done?

Garrick knelt before her, his hands on his thighs, his
breath coming in deep drafts. He stared at her, his chest heaving.

The slow burn of mortification bled into her cheeks, heating
her neck, her entire face.

The driver’s door shut with a soft click and she jumped,
panicking. Her skirt was around her waist. Her legs still spread around
Garrick. One of her shoes had somehow tumbled clear to the other side of the
car to land by her coat.

In desperation, she cracked the back window, clamping her
legs together and hoping the dark interior would hide the rest.

“I’m so sorry,” she said quickly, not even sure what she was
apologizing for. The inconvenience? The screaming? “Can you drop us off in the
garage? By the elevator?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He said it without blinking, not giving the
slightest indication anything was amiss. Savannah’s face flamed hotter.

God, what is
wrong
with me? How could I do that?

With a quick jerk of her hem, she straightened her skirt,
ignoring the tangle of lace and cotton between her legs. She could fix that
later. She looked over at Garrick, who was slipping his sport coat off his
shoulders.

“You’re going to freeze when we get out of the car,” she
said foolishly.

Garrick’s slow smile made her stomach lurch, even as it
rejuvenated the burn in her face. He gestured downward and she dropped her gaze
despite her better judgment.

His erection was huge. But not nearly so obvious as the
large wet spot she’d left along his zipper and across the front of his pants.

And here she’d thought it wasn’t possible for her face to
get any redder.

“Oh god, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I, ah, I don’t—”

He stopped her rambling with a gentle touch to her cheek. She
was surprised his fingers didn’t sizzle, her skin felt so hot.

“Hey,” he said gently, “there is nothing to apologize for.”

He sounded so sincere. But she’d had men laugh at her before.
At how crazy she got. She’d lost her head. Again.
And with Garrick.

Another stroke to her cheek. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

He frowned, no doubt aware she was lying. She couldn’t bring
herself to explain.

The limo dipped down into the brightly lit concrete parking
structure and eased to a stop at the elevators. Garrick slid her shoe back on
and helped her into her coat. By the time the door opened and the driver’s hand
appeared to help her out, she felt reasonably intact.

She stood by and watched Garrick climb out behind her,
biting her lip when he carefully held his coat folded over one arm in front of
him, as if the balmy fifteen degree night were too warm for a jacket.

They thanked Hodges for his service, and he left.

The elevator came almost immediately and was blessedly empty.
She prayed it would stay that way, that the rest of the team was in their rooms
for the night. She hit the buttons for the fifth and seventh floors. Garrick
stood beside her without comment.

When the elevator stopped on her floor, she braced for the
worst and turned to Garrick. He looked concerned, possibly alarmed—which was
hardly a surprise after her behavior in the car. She slapped her hand on the
door when it started to close. She ought to say
something,
but what?

“Are you embarrassed?” he asked.

Oh god, here it comes.
She cringed. “Of course.”

“Because of me?”

She looked into his face, confused. “What?”

“Are you embarrassed because you were with me, specifically?”

What the hell was he talking about? “No. Of course not.”

“You keep saying
of course
like you’re making sense.”

Clearly she wasn’t, but loathed having to explain. She took
the coward’s way out. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow before the game.”

She lurched from the elevator, then strode toward her room
as quickly as she could without actually breaking into a run.

As post-orgasmic goodnights went, it left a lot to be
desired. She heard the elevator doors slide shut behind her and, with that
final thud, felt a world of regret.

She squeaked, barely swallowing her scream when a big hand
wrapped around her elbow and turned her around.

Garrick.

“What are you doing?” she whispered furiously.

“Honestly? Trying to figure you out. Just when I think I’m
getting the hang of it…”

Could this night get any worse?
A fresh wave of shame
heated her cheeks. “I’m sorry.”