The Name of the Game (15 page)

James grinned, gesturing at his former student. “Eli was just talking about how hot you are.”

“Aww . . .” She batted her thick lashes at the younger man. “Thank you.”

Eli's expression turned sly. “Three-way?”

Gracie burst out laughing, shaking her head. “You're incorrigible.”

Eli hit James on the shoulder. “What do you say, Professor?”

“I don't share. Ever,” James said in a low voice.

Gracie swallowed hard.

“That's a shame. But if you change your mind . . .” He trailed off, his expression filled with hope.

“You'll be the first on the list,” James said, not taking his eyes off her.

“Awesome. I'll be back,” Eli said, filling their glasses of wine before heading back to the kitchen.

Her fingers fluttered to her lips, then fingered the thin silver chain at her throat. He suddenly couldn't wait one more second to taste her. He stood, grabbing her wrist, and leaned over the table, yanking her to meet him halfway. His mouth met hers, in a hard, brutal kiss that held nothing back and would certainly destroy all her illusions about his sexual incompetence.

Her free hand snaked around his neck. The kiss turned a bit frantic at the edges and he pulled away before he ended up taking her right there at the table. He whispered against her lips, “There's definitely going to be orgasms.”

Chapter Thirteen

After closing the place down, Gracie and James crawled into a cab. Her head spun. From alcohol, fun, the excitement of the night, but mostly from James.

He'd taken her on the best date of her life.

She leaned her head against the backseat and studied him as he slid into the cab and gave his address to the driver. In the darkness, the streetlights highlighted his sharp cheekbones, and he was the most beautiful man she'd ever seen.

He caught her staring and raised one brow. “What?”

“You are full of surprises, Professor.” Her voice, a low purr, surprised even her.

He put his arm along the back of the seat, twisting to face her more fully. “Why's that?”

Since she'd stepped into his house that afternoon, he'd been nothing less than spectacular and he deserved his due. Later she'd worry about the implications of this date and how they hadn't fought once, but for now, she smiled. Wanting—no,
needing
his mouth on hers again. “That was, by far, the best night I've ever had, by a mile.”

He picked up a lock of her hair and twirled it around his finger. “So I've annihilated my competition?”

She was past denying anything, not sure if it was the alcohol or James making her honest. “I don't think you've had competition since the day we met.”

He moved closer to her, his gaze dipping to her mouth. “Good.”

“You're a lot more arrogant than I would have thought.”

His finger trailed down her neck and gooseflesh broke out over her arms. “Is that a good thing?”

Her voice dropped an octave as her breath caught. “What do you think?”

“I think you have the softest skin I've ever touched.” He traced a path over her collarbones.

She swallowed hard, her body burning with an ache completely out of proportion to how little he'd touched her.

“I think I'm going to enjoy making you come.”

She peeked at the driver, who didn't appear to be paying attention to them as he tapped out a beat on the steering wheel to exotic music playing over the radio. She licked her lips.

He leaned closer, his mouth a mere inch away. “And I think you need a little arrogance in a man.”

Her breath came out in little pants. She did. She didn't know why, but she did. “Yes.”

His hand curled around her neck. “In this, at least, I understand you.”

She nodded, suddenly wondering if he might be the only man who'd ever understood her.

He brushed his mouth over hers. Once. Twice. Three times.

She moaned and reached for him, pressing her lips to his.

His tongue met hers and she was lost. She twined her hands around his neck, pulling him close. He let out a low growl that thrilled her, heightening her desire until she would have done anything. All night had been one slow, torturous, teasing simmer that now came to a boil. He gripped her hips, twisting her to face him. Mindless of her surroundings, she climbed on top of him, not caring they acted like candidates for
Taxicab Confessions
.

She straddled James as his mouth consumed hers, his grip sure and hard, slightly rough on the swells of her hips. Just the way she liked it. When she pressed against his hard cock, they both moaned.

His fingers tightened and she rocked again. Her breath fast. Her nipples brushed against his chest and she gasped.

God. Such delicious friction. She moved again. She needed more. So. Much. More.

His hands roamed up the sides of her body, and his thumbs stroked over her aching nipples.

It had been so long. And his hands felt so good. She moved in rhythmic circles, riding him. In perfect rhythm he thrust to meet her. Their mouths matched the frantic pace of their bodies.

He pinched her nipples through the thin fabric that separated them.

She throbbed and pulsed with need. Frustrated. Desperate to get closer. She needed skin. She wanted him pounding inside her. Driving into her.

She groaned, a low, needy sound.

He seemed to understand. He rocked hard at the same time he jerked her hips down. She cried out. Any more of that and she'd come. She dug her hands into his shoulders.

Skin. She needed skin. To touch him.

Wanted everything it now seemed like only he could give her.

A loud, long, insistent honk filled the air, ripping her from her sexual haze and plunging her into reality. James heard it too because he ripped his mouth away and said in an angry tone, “What?”

“You're here, buddy.” The cabbie had the rough, gravelly voice of a smoker.

Heat flooded Gracie's already hot face.

James raked a hand through his hair and gave her a little squeeze. “You'll have to move so I can get my wallet.”

Still panting for breath, Gracie slid off him and fumbled with her purse as James paid the driver, whom she refused to look at. Grabbing her hand, James led her out of the car and up the stairs to his door.

The sexual haze of lust and desire was so strong she could barely breathe. James was in front of her, opening the door with one hand, his other locked around hers. She clutched his arm like he was her lifeline on a sinking ship. He pushed the door open and pulled her inside before shutting out the outside world and cocooning them into his rich, sensual home, which now looked exactly right for him.

Before she could speak, he pinned her against the wall, his hands locked around her wrists, his mouth on hers.

Blocking out the torrent of emotions crashing around inside her.

His mouth was fierce. His tongue demanded. His lips crushed. It was too much. Too crazy, but she was drowning and speech was no longer a viable option.

She just took it. Took everything he gave her until her body was a melting puddle of liquid lava, ready to be molded into whatever James Donovan commanded.

He growled low in his throat, a hot, primal sound that inflamed her blood.

She was going to incinerate. Be consumed by need.

He locked her wrists together, pulled them over her head, and encircled them with one hand. His free palm roamed down her body and cupped her breast. He played with her nipple through the thin fabric of her dress. Stroking the hard bud. Squeezing. Teasing.

She whimpered, arching her hips in invitation.

He didn't relent. Didn't concede to her wishes. No, he continued his torture until she was mindless. If her mouth had been free, she would have begged. So her mind begged for her. Pleaded in urgent whispers to take her soon or she'd be lost forever.

When at last she believed she could take it no more, he stopped, and his hand continued its evil path. Down the curve of her waist. Over the swell of her hips.

He kicked her foot, forcing her to step wide.

Oh, God, yes. She'd been so wrong. He knew exactly what she wanted. What she liked. How she needed to be handled.

He ground the heel of his hand between her legs, right where she desired it most. She rose on tiptoes, desperate to get closer. He slid his fingers into her panties, gliding over her skin, slick from her wetness. His thumb brushed over her clit and she came.

The explosive orgasm thundered through her with unexpected and unanticipated force. She tore her mouth free, as a cry ripped from her throat.

It wasn't a normal climax. Nothing about this was normal. No, this was violent, crashing, endless waves of pleasure so intense her vision dimmed and her world spun.

“Jesus,” he said, his voice hoarse.

Before she had a chance to come to her senses he swung her around, pushing her to the carpeted floor. She tried to form a coherent word but her skirt was shoved up to her hips, her panties pushed to her knees and his mouth was on her.

He licked the hard bundle of nerves.

His tongue moved against her in exquisite torture. No hesitation. No tentative stroking. Just hard, demanding, all-consuming pleasure.

She was going to die.

Break apart and never be put together again.

He moaned, and it vibrated against her swollen flesh. His fingers plunged inside, first one, then the other.

He hit her G-spot.

She let out a low, mewling wail. Like an animal. Like a cat in heat.

He massaged in hard, rhythmic circles as his mouth latched onto her clit.

Perfect, perfect rhythm.

Her hips jerked.

Her body keened.

Another orgasm built inside her, so forceful it threatened to devour her.

“James,” she cried out, her hands falling helplessly to the side as she started to rock against his mouth and fingers as though some demon possessed her. “Please, James. Oh God. I can't stand it.”

In answer, he increased his pace.

His fingers moved harder.

His lips firmer.

His tongue faster.

Relentless.

Strong strokes built an inferno inside her.

Need coiled tighter.

And tighter.

And tighter.

She burst, climaxing so hard, she lost all sense of time as the contractions beat through her and hot wetness slid down her thighs. She shook in a mindless heap on his floor. Helpless to do anything but ride the waves of the orgasm controlled by James's ruthlessly talented mouth and uncompromising fingers.

Finally, he relented and she went limp. Her muscles lax.

He crawled up her body and she managed to blink at him, her brain still numb from shock and pleasure.

He ran a finger down her cheek; so tender it was hard to believe he'd been so merciless. “You okay?”

“I was wrong,” she managed to say. “You're the devil.”

He chuckled. “You have no idea.”

Her fuzzy brain wanted to follow the thread, but her tongue was so thick, her body so heavy, it drifted away before she could get the words to her mouth.

He gathered her in his arms. “Come here, I'll carry you.”

She shook her head, but he ignored her protests and picked her up off the floor. Exhausted, she put her head on his chest and managed to mumble. “Too heavy.”

He laughed and started to climb the stairs as though she weighed nothing.

“You're gonna hurt yourself,” she said, her brain finally starting to work, although she was too limp to move and lay against him like a rag doll.

“I can deadlift three hundred and fifty pounds. Trust me, you're a feather.”

She had no idea what deadlifting was, but he wasn't even breathing hard, so she settled and let him take her where he wanted.

Several unconscious minutes later he placed her on a soft bed. Her body finally stirred to life. She tried to sit up, but he shook his head. “No, stay here, let me get you some water.”

Lashes drifting closed, she sank back down into the fluffy comforter.

Her last coherent thought was that James had excellent taste in furniture.

Dressed in a robe, Gracie crept down the stairs, her head a bit achy from all the alcohol she'd consumed. She was mortified. She'd passed out on James. Again! He'd given her two of the most fantastic orgasms of her life and she'd promptly passed out.

She wanted to die of embarrassment.

In the light of day her confusion over last night had only grown. James was nothing like the man she'd created in her mind. Nothing he did was expected, from the massage he'd arranged for her yesterday, to the place he'd taken her to dinner. How could she loathe him and focus on how incompatible they were if he didn't make any mistakes?

And those orgasms. She shivered. The man was clearly an evil genius. Her stomach flipped. She'd come so damn hard. He'd driven her insane.

As she went down the steps, she saw James already sitting at the table, reading something on his iPad.

He looked up.

Their gazes locked.

She wanted him. She wanted more of what she'd had last night.

As her nipples beaded and her belly leapt with desire, a furious heat filled her cheeks. Why did she keep blushing around him? She was not a blusher!

He gave her a cocky smile that flashed that damned dimple. “And how do you feel today?”

She cleared her throat, sliding into the chair farthest away from him, and said lightly, “Nothing a little coffee can't cure.”

He stood, and she about started to drool. He wore a white T-shirt that molded to his magnificent body, and gray sweats. The glasses were back in place, but his hair was messed up, making him appear so endearing her heart skipped a beat.

If he were another man she'd almost slept with, she'd walk right up to him, bold as brass, wrap her arms around him, and seduce him. But she couldn't do that with James. He wasn't like other men. She couldn't seem to control him. Or her attraction to him. And every time he touched her, the world tilted off its axis.