Play Fling (A Stupid Cupid Book) (13 page)

“So….”

Brooke’s cheeks began to hurt from smiling.
“So.” God, did she actually want to tease him? Maybe just a little.
“I was calling to ask if you knew what today’s assignment was. I
missed class.”

A thump sounded. She imagined his hand
hitting the wheel, and stifled a giggle.

“Nope,” he said. “I can’t say that I do.
Shope isn’t one to fill me in, though. You should call him. Find
out.”

Aw. He sounded a little mad. “Do you have his
office number?” She bit her lip.

A breath hissed over the line. “Not off the
top of my head. But, you know, Brooke, I’ll bet he’d let you
slide.”

She liked this game. Even more that he’d
started playing it. “Oh?”

“Definitely.”

“Why is that?”

“I would,” he said, a toe curling octave
lower. “Besides, I may know a way for you to skip the assignment
and not suffer.”

Oh, man. He was good at this. She might be in
over her head. Speaking of head, she needed to clear it and get
back to business. The kiss. And what they would do about it.

“Tell me you’re close to me,” he said.

How could a voice be so sexy? “What do you
mean?” she teased.

“Tell me you live close to campus and that I
can be there within minutes.”

She did. He could. Brooke bit her lip.
“Seventh street. Just off McCarran.”

“See that? Destiny.” He paused. “I just
happen to be right down the street from you and after I flip a
u-turn at the next light, I’ll be two minutes away.”

She gulped. Her heart thudded upward. “Are
you kidding me?”

“Never,” he said.

She glanced around. Her place was a discarded
clothing disaster area. A cold sweat broke over her neck.

“Will you give me your address?” he said.
“Better yet, if I come over now, will you let me in?”

Musical, seductive words. She calculated how
much scurried cleanup she could manage in less than five minutes.
Probably enough if she kicked some into the closet, more under the
bed. She’d just have to be sure not to forget about them.

New consequences from telling him where she
lived, knowing him so short a time, leapt to mind. How was she
going to find her way out of this forbidden forest?

You are my favorite mistake.
“Just
promise me you’re not a deranged criminal first.”

“Boy scout’s honor, cross my heart.”

Hers skipped.

With a deep breath, she plunged on. Address
given, Brooke hung up and cleaned. A toothbrush to get her mouth
kiss-ready. Laundry hidden. Deodorant on. Black panties? No. Wait.
She was only allowing kissing. At most some heavy petting. Nothing
so intimate as panties showing. After really, really trying to make
him understand why anything between them was a really, really bad
idea. What panties was she wearing again? Lacy thong. Good.

He knocked.

She squealed. She couldn’t help it. After
giving her hands a good shake out and smoothing her hair, she
opened the door.

Glasses low, shoulder braced against the
frame, Elliott smiled lopsidedly. “Hi,” he said.

She stepped back for him to enter with a
shrug, all she could muster. Revealing how thrilled she was to see
him—right there, alive and breathing on her very doorstep—couldn’t
be a good idea. Where was her cool when she needed it most?

He closed the door. He walked toward her. She
retreated, backing into her living room. Past the wedding picture
on the entryway table—should’ve hidden that—past the armchair. His
grin curved impishly. His gaze drank her in, then came to rest on
her mouth.

Brooke paused. Now what? She didn’t know what
to say, what to do. What had she been so prepared to explain to
him?

“Nice place,” Elliott said, no longer
smiling.

She thought to say thanks, but the words
froze. He closed the space between them. She felt his body heat
first. The way you feel the spray of a wave before the water laps
over your toes. Smelled his cologne. She wanted to inhale it, close
her eyes. Remember it. But it was hard to breathe.

Eyes intent on hers, he laced both hands into
her hair. Brooke fell spellbound, strung between hope and want and
fear. His mouth lowered to hers.

He kissed her. Slow. Demanding.

Pleasure hiccupped through her. Her hands
trembled. So did her heartbeat. Sensations from before swam back.
Her lips melded to his. Seeking. Tasting.

No kisses. Couldn’t think with kisses.

He nibbled her lip. Her hips tipped to
his.

Maybe one more kiss.

Her hands found his chest. They rested
against the heat permeating through the starched cotton. They
roamed, explored. He groaned her name. “Brooke.” A thrill passed
over her.

One little mistake. In all her life, she’d
never dared take what she wanted. What if she did now? To feel, to
touch, be touched. Yearning engulfed her. More kisses. More touch.
She clutched his shirt. It untucked. Her hands lowered, dipped
under the edge and—oh, dear God—his skin. Hot and smooth.

His navel. His waist. Pectorals so firm and
contoured. She moaned. He kissed her more. All the while holding
her hair, cupping her face. Running a thumb over her lip, her
cheek. Every stroke sent a shiver downward.

A hard, sweet ache bloomed inside of her.

His mouth moved to her neck. Shivers and
heat. Her hands grew bolder. The top button of his khakis was a
puzzle for her blind fingers. She solved it, then found his zipper.
A rush of noise in the crashing of hard breaths and rustling
clothes.

All those large consequences shrank in the
shadow of her desire, growing, aching for more. His mouth was
delicious. His body moreso.

Elliott picked her up, the look in his eyes
undid any remaining rational thought processes. He found her room,
her bed, lay her upon it.

Button by agonizing button, he undressed.

Her heart slammed. Or was it desire? She
itched to race for the end, to feel the thunder and storm of what
his kisses promised. Wet and hot and consuming her.

His shirt fell away. Broad shoulders graced
his firm chest and dip of lean belly. He lowered his pants, kicked
them off. His boxers followed, and his erection sprang free.

She couldn’t help but stare. Hard and long.
Thick. He wanted her.

Elliott joined her on the bed, held himself
above her. Brooke looked up at him, gloriously naked. Shameless.
Her gaze adored in the cut of his shoulders, the dip of his chest.
Flexed muscle. Shining skin.

He paused. Unspoken words hung between them.
Should she stop him? Brooke felt a catch in her throat. The
question reflected in his smoldering gaze. Did she want this? She
nodded.

Yes.

Yes, she wanted this. Wanted him.

Elliott bent, kissed her nose and began
undressing her. One pant leg, the other. He pulled her sweater over
her head, her hair spread out behind her. Silence breathed around
them. The bedding whispered against each shift. The blood rushing
through her veins roared in her ears.

He dropped each article, slow, tantalizing.
He ran his hands up ankles to thighs. Brooke shut her eyes, fearful
of the way he looked at her. How could she watch when feeling him
so overwhelmed her?

“Brooke,” he whispered.

She didn’t answer, didn’t need to. Her name
came again, in turns while his every touch teased her skin. Yes,
she silently begged. Yes. He licked the backs of her knees, her
wrists, her inner thighs. Closer and closer, he drew his weight and
flesh to hers. Heat. Softness.

“I don’t want to rush you,” Elliott said, low
at her ear before suckling the lobe. “I want this to be
perfect.”

Oh, Elliott. Yes. His voice worked as much
magic as his hands. She craved hearing it as she craved him to move
higher, tighter. She longed to feel him inside of her, hard, fast.
Deep. But for every pull of her hands on his hips or shoulders, he
resisted. He slowed.

He waited.

His mouth danced warmth down her neck, over
each breast, scorching each nipple. Lower. Downward. Rounded her
belly button, tickled her hip. His tongue circled and lined. His
breath heated and cooled.

Brooke wriggled in anticipation. Her neck
arched. Yes. She raked her hands through his hair as he nudged her
knees apart. This was craziness. Her body moistened and throbbed,
ready for him. Her mind swam through sensation. Fears fought the
current, slipping through in spurts and warning her to stop.

Stop him. Stop before it was too late.

But how could she go back now? The moment
she’d followed him today, kissed him behind a locked door,
consequences were born. Daring to complete this fantasy only
sharpened what had already taken shape.

She deserved to know how this fantasy ended.
How could it be fair that she’d lived so long without this? Without
him? The knowledge every touch brought made a day without it feel
cruel.

No. She would not stop him. Couldn’t.
Already, she neared hot bliss. One lick lower, another press with
his teasing fingers pushing her toward sweet pulsing climax. Her
need ran beyond the physical, beyond ecstasy. More than her naked
body cocooned in steely arms, held close, secure. She couldn’t
remember the last safe comfort of another being holding onto
her.

Elliott kissed her lowermost belly. “Brooke,”
he whispered. “Look at me.”

She couldn’t. If she did, she might cry. She
shook her head, arched her hips up to his mouth.

He inched back. “Please. Open your eyes. Look
at me.”

Emotion welled up her chest. Not sadness. A
strange kind of gratitude she could not let him see. She took a
steadying breath.

He inched back. She panicked. Would he stop?
The risk of him stopping now, invested as her body and mind had
become, she had to. She opened her eyes.

“Hi,” he said with a grin.

She smiled. “Hi.”

His lids were lowered. “Are you okay?”

“Yes.” She laughed and suddenly, she was.
“Are you okay?”

He shook his head. “If I don’t take a break,
it’ll be over before I can really get you started.”

“I see.” No she didn’t.

He rose up and nestled his torso between her
thighs, set his chin on her belly. She hadn’t known how tense her
limbs had been until they relaxed. His weight felt good. Whole
somehow. A completion. Her desperation to have him eased away,
allowing her desire room to spread.

Elliott planted small kisses over her ribs.
Brooke watched through half closed eyes. The ache gathered tighter
between her thighs. As he kissed, his muscles pressed against her
mound, punctuating each touch. Christ, but she could climax right
there, her body pushed and held to his waist. The heat, the
hardness. One small circle then another and she could….

Brooke closed her eyes. Her mouth
watered.

She upturned her pelvis. A groan caught in
her throat. Oh, but he felt so good. So right. Elliott lifted. But
before she could protest the painful vacancy, he returned, this
time with his mouth exactly where she needed it, at her core.

“God, you’re so wet.” His finger slid into
her heat. Pleasure sprayed through her. His mouth suckled and
licked inch after inch of her. “You taste so good.”

Her body throbbed while her ears burned. She
curved her hips. She dug at his head. So close. She moaned, willing
his finger deeper, his tongue faster. Both complied. His tongue
flicked her hot spot, his finger drove a rhythm. He slipped another
in. Her swollen walls welcomed the intrusion, wanting more. More.
All of him. Driving swift strokes….

Brooke gasped.

Yes. Just that. Right there. “Oh, God, yes.”
Again. Oh, Elliott!

Don’t stop. “Elliott,” she panted.

Please, oh please, don’t stop.

He didn’t. He licked and stroked and pressed
his fingers deeper and deeper until with a burst of waves, she
came. Her climax drummed up her core and outward. It beat in wet
pulsing waves. Another and another. Harder. Longer. She cried out
his name, and she rode each incredible pulse. Pleasure sang through
her muscles until letting go. Her limbs collapsed onto the bed.

Brooke’s eyes fluttered open as Elliott moved
to lie at her side, a gloating grin shining her way. He rested a
hand on her hip.

“Well,” she said and tried to steady her
breathing. Her heart slammed. “I must say. I’m impressed.”

She blinked her eyes when he laughed, notes
in the aftermath, an assurance. Her panting began to calm down, but
her mind still buzzed with awe. She nodded, and closed her
eyes.

“Very impressive,” she whispered, groggily
wondering what to say next.

Chapter Eleven

“Brooke?” Elliott whispered. “Brooke? Are you
asleep?”

A soft snarfle noise answered him. Yep, the
woman was asleep. He didn’t know whether to be insulted or
flattered. Nevermind that he was rock hard and dying to feel what
his hand and mouth had just explored. Her legs splayed out on the
covers like a foal’s. Beams of twilight filtering through the
window outlined their muscle tone, the edges of her knees.

His arm had gone numb. But he didn’t dare
move it yet.

He wanted to let her sleep. He lay watching
her, taking in her curves and lines. While his arm deadened, his
mind sharpened. The night’s events accumulated there. From the
moment she’d walked out of Shope’s office without giving him her
name, he’d been hot for her. His previous fascination from afar
hadn’t been a big deal. Even when he’d acted on it. Jumped and
fallen on his face, as it were.

Watching her disappear down the hall that
day, his crush had imploded on him. Warm and fuzzy became hot and
lusty. That shouldn’t matter much, though. Not like he wasn’t used
to wanting a woman. He’d wanted plenty, gotten what he’d wanted
plenty, in bed, in life. Brooke was different. Now more than ever
and not because he’d yet to finish what they’d started.