The Game of Love (18 page)

That thinking would get her in trouble. This was sex. It was fun, it was carnal. But she had to make sure she didn’t let lust slide into love. Not all the way.

Keep it physical.

Her hands smoothed over impressive pecs, thumbs brushing over his nipples. She felt the rumble of noise through his back. Oh yes, he was suffering. But not nearly enough. She popped the button of his jeans, loving how they slipped just another inch down his hips. The indention at the bottom of his spine called to her, so she gave it a quick kiss. He wiggled like a fish on a hook. Ticklish. She made a mental note.

The rasp of his zipper cut through the quiet air. It was like being a kid again, peeling away that last piece of tape before you get to the last present of the day. His jeans dipped, then dropped away, leaving him in dark boxers. The waistband proudly proclaimed them to be Hanes. She used one finger to pull the band back and let it snap against his skin.

“Hey,” he growled, twisting his head around.

“What, no designer undies?”

“Man needs to rethink his priorities when he spends over fifty bucks for something that covers his ass.”

“On that, we agree.” She peeled the Hanes down, careful to avoid snagging on the erection he was sporting, and doing her best not to brush against it. Her hands roamed his back, buttocks and hair-roughened thighs, in no rush to go farther. Still no sign of the mythical body art.

“Are we still looking for a tattoo?”

“I don’t know. Are we? Or are we just getting you naked?” When he chuckled, she added, “Because let’s face it. That’s really why you made this bet in the first place.”

“It might have crossed my mind,” he admitted, zero shame in his voice.

Her hands drifted to the front, fingers tracing the line of his hip bones, coming close but not quite touching his erection. Then she pulled her hands away completely and walked toward the door. “Lie down on the bed, please.” She flicked the light off. In the darkness, the bed creaked with his weight.

“Exactly how are you going to look for the ink with the light off?”

The nightstand lamp cast a soft, almost candlelight-light glow over the man in her bed. He was the picture of relaxation, a king of his castle. He’d piled pillows behind his back so he was lounging, his arms folded behind his head, legs crossed at the ankles.

“Comfortable?”

“Very.” He patted the mattress next to him. “Your search continues.” The smirk on his face told her that regardless of what she found—or didn’t find—he’d already won. And honestly, with a gorgeous, naked man in her bed, had she really lost?

But she still had some room for payback.

She settled next to him on her knees, and kissed his shoulder, worked her way down to his chest with licks and nibbles and open-mouthed adoration. “Still not seeing any secret tats,” she said against his skin. “But I’m not quite done yet, am I?”

“Nope.” He sounded a bit breathless.

She straddled his stomach and shifted her body down. Her legs brushed against him, and his penis jerked in answer, silently begging for attention.

She slithered down his body, peppering it with kisses. After a quick check to make sure nothing was hiding under his arms, she worked down to his waist. Nipped his hip bone, let the hair from her ponytail brush his erection. Loved his resounding groan of frustration.

Switching gears, she moved down to his big feet. Checking the undersides, she decided to let him relax for a minute and massaged the insteps with her thumbs. He groaned again, this time from pleasure. Mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like,
Best damn idea I’ve ever had.

Well, that did it. No more Ms. Nice Gal.

Skimming her hands along the crease of his legs, which were pressed together still, she licked a trail until she reached his erection. She breathed warm, moist air over it, watched the flesh jerk and reveled in the power.

“Christina…”

“Hmm?” She pressed a wet kiss to the left of his groin, smiling when he twitched.

“Are you—” He cleared his throat as she licked a line up his shaft. “Are you still looking?”

“Found something better.” And she took him in her mouth, humming her appreciation. She chuckled when he sucked in a breath and moaned.

She explored him, gliding up and down at her own pace, taking the time to trace the outline of his head with the tip of her tongue. But when his fingers clenched in her hair, silently trying to urge her to pick up the pace, she pinched the inside of his thigh. Hard.

“Dammit!” His leg jerked out to the side. “What the hell was that for?”

“You know exactly what that—are you serious?”

Yup. There it was. The secret tattoo, high on the inside of his left thigh.

Dammit, she’d lost the bet.

A tiny cartoon character with a big round brown-and-tan head grinned up at her like a Cheshire Cat. That disproportionate head sat atop a small body wearing a gray-and-red-striped shirt and red pants. It was goofy, it was weird, and it was so hilarious she started snorting with laughter.

“What…what the…oh my God, what the hell is that?” She rolled onto her back, covering her eyes with her arms as her body convulsed with hysterical giggles.

Brett sat up, forcing her to scoot off his legs. “That’s Brutus. Brutus Buckeye, mascot of Ohio State, my alma mater.” It was clear he was trying desperately to hold on to a shred of dignity.

“And Brutus—” she nearly choked on the name, “—is keeping your balls company because…” The absurdity of what she had just asked threw her into another fit of giggles.

He grabbed her and pulled until she landed on her side facing him. Instead of angry, he merely looked amused, and slightly resigned to the story.

“Sort of an initiation thing. The upperclassmen split up the freshmen and took us to different tattoo parlors. Told us it was tradition to get Brutus tattooed somewhere. Made sure we knew it was our choice, but that bucking tradition was bad juju.”

“So you all got Mr. Buckeye there as a souvenir?”

He glanced away for a split second, and she could see his neck turning red in the soft light. Was he blushing?

Then he cleared his throat. “Um, no. Actually out of all the freshmen, I was the only one to fall for it. In fact, I was the first freshman to fall for the stunt in over four years. Everyone else said no. Which I didn’t find out until the next day at practice.”

Chris stared at him, openmouthed, until she hiccupped with laughter. Turning her face into the pillow, she smothered the chuckles as best she could, but they wouldn’t stop coming.

It really was just hilarious. Mr. Perfect, Mr. Too Good To Be True had some ridiculous cartoon mascot permanently inked on the inside of his leg.

With ease, Brett flipped her over on her back, staring down at her with fire in his eyes. “You started something, and I think it’s time you finish it.” He reached over and flicked the bedside lamp off.

Start someth—oh! Brett’s arousal dug into her thigh, and she dropped back into reality. She’d been so caught up in the joke she completely forgot she had been in the process of winding him tighter than a watch. But the look in his eye said that playtime was over, and as his weight settled over her, pushing her into the mattress, she was ready for more.

He tugged her sweatshirt over her head, his mouth feasting on her breasts even before she pulled her arms from the sleeves. Teeth nipped and pulled her hard peaks, and his tongue soothed the ache. She let her eyes close, hands drift to his head, wanting him to stay there forever. His hand was working on the clasp to her jeans before she even knew it, and he pulled away from her breasts. To her horror, she groped at his neck, pulling him back down.

He chuckled and kissed the inside of one wrist. “Sorry, baby, but I’ve got other plans.”

Plans? He couldn’t seriously be thinking of leaving right now. Her eyes flew open, searching for him in the dark. “Damn it, Brett, where the hell do you think you’re going?”

He was sitting back on his heels, fingers curled around her waistband, erection jutting out like a soldier at attention. He froze midact, a confused look on his face. “Uh, down here?”

She flung her arm over her eyes. “I knew that.”

His soft laughter scraped her raw nerves, made her more angry. She kicked out once, but he grabbed her ankle and held her still. Well, there went that idea.

Denim whispered over her hips, and then she was bare. He kissed her hips, her stomach, her thighs, and she decided to be charitable and let it slide—as long as he kept doing that.

His mouth worked down one leg as fingers separated her at her center, caressed, made her squirm for more. But his touch was light, teasing. “Brett.” She clenched her teeth, refusing to beg.

The pressure of his fingers remained almost nonexistent. There only in soft strokes, enough to excite but not enough to satisfy.

“Brett, seriously.” She was shooting for firm, but it came out desperate.

“Mmm,” he said against the sensitive skin behind her knee, gently biting down until her leg jerked.

Not exactly the response she was looking for. But before she could muster up the strength for one more non-pathetic-sounding plea, his mouth headed due north, she felt hot breath on her core, and the words died on her lips.

His tongue flickered once, a flitting stroke. Again. The touch so rapid she thought she dreamed it. Then he settled down to business, and with one long lick, he made her lose all ability to think. He traced her in slow, wet circles until her hips moved with the rhythm, striving for more friction, more pressure, more.

A humming sound vibrated through her like a plucked harp string, and she couldn’t bite back a moan. Then he sucked on that bundle of nerve endings and she screamed or sobbed, she wasn’t sure which.

He slid up her body, using his forward momentum to thrust into her. Her legs clamped around his hips, driving him deeper. She clawed at his back. He traced her pulse with his tongue as he backed out and rammed back in with such force her teeth chattered. It was amazing.

“No, damn it, no.”

“Yes. God, yes.”

“No, Chris, let go for a sec.”

“What are you,
crazy?
” Her lids cracked open, and his eyes were screwed tightly shut, mouth drawn into a thin line. She yanked her hands away from his back. “Oh my God, did I hurt you?”

“I’m hurtin’, but that’s my fault.” He grabbed one of her legs, still wrapped around his torso, and unfolded them. “I forgot to suit up.” He leaned over the side of the bed to grab his jeans, extracting his wallet from the back pocket and making quick work from there.

He dropped the pants off to the side and came back over her. She was startled at the fierce look in his eye as he slid inside her once more. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Kissed her gently. “I’m clean, I swear. I’d never hurt you.”

She believed him. Even without the words, that look of determination, of protection, was there in his eyes. Cupping his face in her hands, she gave him a soft, lingering kiss. “I know.”

Something indescribable flashed in his eyes. “Chris. I…” Whatever he’d been about to say, he apparently thought better of it. “I’m glad.”

“Brett?”

“Hmm?”

“I know you said you’d never hurt me but…I might hurt you if you don’t start moving.”

He gave her a satisfied grin, moving out and back in once. “Like that?”

“Mmm.” She wrapped her legs around him once more, pulling him in farther. “Like that.”

Brett’s forehead dropped to hers as his hips pumped. She arched, rising up to meet him thrust for thrust, loving the way their bodies came together. Sweat slicked his chest, the dark hair glittering in the dim light, beaded on his forehead with the effort to make it last.

Heat swirled and spiraled inside, a vortex of sensations fighting for space. She was close…so close…

“Baby, come with me.”

His whispered command pushed her over the edge, those sensations clashing together as vivid reds and purples coated the back of her eyelids. Her hips flew off the bed as she struggled to pull him as deep inside as she could. She clenched around him, milked him through his own climax and reveled in the way he called out her name in a hoarse, drained voice. He flopped over her, crushing her into the mattress, as if she had tapped every drop of his energy and he couldn’t move an inch.

Well, maybe an inch. She wiggled just enough to have him shift off-center so she could breathe without gasping.

Just before she slid under completely, Brett nuzzled her neck and asked, “Don’t you have something you want to ask me?”

“Hmm?”

“The bet…”

“Mmm. Wanna stay the night?” The effort it took to mumble the request was astounding.

“Sure. I’ll get my bag out of the car later.”

Bag? That scheming son of a…oh hell. She didn’t care. Not if she got to do
that
again later on.

But as hazy as her mind was, she couldn’t put off having a talk with Brett about the expectations of their arrangement. Not any longer. Not while her heart felt dangerously close to the edge of something too important to ignore.

A comfortable weight shifted over his body. Light kisses peppered his face. He was tired, physically spent and still half-asleep.

And apparently his woman was insatiable.

His woman.
The quick, possessive satisfaction that thrummed through his system only pleased him more.

But that possessive streak came at a price. At one point, he’d damn near blurted out that he loved her. In the middle of sex. Like a confused sixteen-year-old cashing in his V-card in the back of his dad’s Buick. He was thirty-four years old, damn it. He knew sex wasn’t love. Lust wasn’t love, either. But in that moment, with her hands framing his face and her staring up at him with trust-filled eyes, he couldn’t separate them.

But that was too sudden. Love didn’t take a five-second fly-by and keep going. Love, the real stuff, the stuff his parents had, lasted for life, beyond life. And he wasn’t ready to go down that road again.

Was he?

Chris worked her way to his jaw, and he felt her lips scrape on his stubble. Peeking from under one eyelid, he saw the alarm clock. 2:04 a.m. He didn’t have to wake up for anything tomorrow, but she sure did. As much as he wanted her again—and boy did he want her, since his dick was throbbing with every slide of her body—she needed rest.

“Wake up, wake up, wake up.” She punctuated her demands with pecks.

Well, if she insisted. In one smooth motion, he grabbed her hips and rolled her under him, pressing his erection into her hip. “Yes?” he growled, his voice hoarse from sleep and yelling out her name.

“We need to talk.” She was smiling, but her eyes were serious. He didn’t care for her tone either.

“About what?”

“This.” She waved her hand over the tangled sheets, their naked bodies. “We never really discussed it beforehand and, I mean…you know.” In the faint moonlight he could tell she was blushing. After everything they’d been through that night, all the things they’d done in that princess bed, she could still blush. He loved that.

What he didn’t love was where this conversation seemed to be heading.

“I was thinking,” she began while he dedicated himself to nuzzling her neck. “I was thinking that, you know, we should kind of make sure we have an understanding before things go further.”

“An understanding?” He nipped her ear. “I’m pretty sure we both understand what’s going on here.” His eyes caught hers, and he smiled. “Or do I need to give you the talk about the birds and the bees?”

She swatted his arm. “Ha. Funny. Focus please.” She had that stern, Mr.-Wallace-pay-attention-in-class voice going on. He really didn’t want to have this convo.

“Did you know the phrase ‘the birds and the bees’ is an English idiomatic expression used to explain procreation to children in a vague yet easy to understand way,” he murmured as he nipped and kissed his way down her collarbone. “Metaphorically, the bee is the male and the bird is the female.”

Her hand took a firm grip on his skull and yanked him none too gently back, far enough to make eye contact. “Who the hell
are
you?” she asked, her voice incredulous. “The Professor?”

She was trying to cast him as the dumb jock again. Damn it, why was she doing this? Rules and guidelines and stereotypes. Hadn’t they left this shit behind yesterday? “What’s the point, Chris?” he asked, not bothering to hide the bite in his tone.

He could almost see her mentally steel herself for the rest of the conversation. Damn. This wasn’t good.

“I think we need to both understand that this…affair, is about mutual enjoyment. And that there should be no hard feelings when one—or both—of us wants to go our separate ways.”

Separate ways. He’d been one extra thrust away from proclaiming love and she was already ordering the get-away car.

He started to curse, but the way she blinked rapidly, eyes darting around the room, looking at everything
but
him made him pause. She felt it, she wanted him as much as he wanted her. Hell, she reached for him more than he did for her. And the Christina he knew wasn’t a woman to jump into bed with just anyone and call it a casual affair, like she was scratching a mosquito bite ’cause it felt good.

She was going on the offense. Something had spooked her and she was giving herself an out.

Maybe he should be upset at her lack of confidence in their relationship, but instead he had to hide his smile against her breast. If she felt like she needed an out, needed to be on the offense, that meant she was doing her best to avoid getting hurt.

Couldn’t get hurt if you didn’t care.

She cared. Oh boy, she cared.

Schooling his face into the most serious expression he could muster while his heart was doing a happy dance in his chest, he nodded. “I see where you’re coming from.” There, noncommittal while still making her think she’d gotten her way.

Was it wishful thinking, or did something sad flash in her eyes?

Cutting off any further discussion about the fictitious demise of their relationship, he took her lips in a searing kiss. He waited until she responded, lips moving against his, opening for his tongue to sweep in. His hand kneaded her breast, and she arched into his touch.

Yeah, she wasn’t immune, and this wasn’t just an itch. She just wasn’t as quick to figure out that this was something special. She was scared.

As he slipped into her, into that wet heat he was already becoming so familiar with, he vowed he would give her time to figure things out. To realize this wasn’t some affair, but the start of a solid relationship. In the end, she’d know they were a good match.

Oh man, cleaning up this mess would take her forever. The crisp early-October wind bit at her cheeks, stringing her hair over her face.