Page 38 of Playing Games

I shake my head, squeezing the very top of her thigh, my fingers splayed on the denim fabric of her tight jeans at the line where leg meets torso. “I’m saying yes to the process, no to the act tonight. Tonight, I think I should touch.”

“Touch?”

“Touch,” I repeat.“Everywhere.”

Lexi swallows hard before nodding. “Okay.”

My hands are slow, but my heart is the opposite. This moment is the pinnacle of thousands of hours of thinking about what it might be like to touch her, feel her, and experience her. This giving in, this relinquishment of control by one of the smartest women I’ve ever met, this level of trust in me to handle things with consciousness and care—it’ll go down in my own personal history as a landmark point in time.

A core fucking memory.

Moving slowly, I sit down beside Lexi on the couch and drop my hands to her hips, pulling her toward me. I lift and settle her in my lap, sliding my hands to the top of her rain jacket and unzipping it slowly. Her beautiful blue eyes practically glow as she concentrates on my every move.

“You feel warm,” I tell her, the heat of her lap in mine a welcome and arousing sensation.

She nods, whispering, “So do you.”

Her jacket slides from her shoulders easily, and a plain white T-shirt cups her breasts underneath. Her nipples stand out, thanks to the change in temperature, and I have to restrain myself from leaning forward and taking them both in my hot mouth and sucking.

I lift her quickly off my lap and lay her back on the light-blue couch, and she gasps, her whole body shaking with anticipation. I lean forward and cover her body with my own, my lips skimming hers.

“I thought we were just touching,” she says, her whisper desperate.

I smile against her mouth. “We are just touching. My body is touching your body, and your body is touching the couch. Right?”

She nods, her head so close, her forehead brushes mine, and I slip out just the tip of my tongue to run the seam of her perfect, plump lips.

Her breathing escalates again, and I sink my weight into hers, my hand finding the tangles of hair at the back of her head. Hermouth searches for mine, and I give in to the request, melding our lips and taunting. Slow, steady, and soft, I kiss her like we have all the time in the world, like our mouths aren’t strangers at all, but long-lost friends.

She moans, and I sink my tongue through the opening that creates, touching the tip of hers and swirling. She tilts her head in my hand, desperate to get deeper so she can taste more, and I follow her lead.

She tastes like sweet fruit and intrigue—like nothing I’ve ever experienced before.

Carefully, I pull back enough to disengage, running my lips along the corner of her mouth, to her jaw, and down her neck until stopping at her collarbone. Her body responds, arching into mine, while her hands grip at the skin of my back.

“Feel good?”

She nods. “Yes.”

“Good. I want to make it feel even better.”

Her head jerks. “Please. Yes.Please.”

Hearing Lexi Winslow beg me for more wasn’t on my summer bingo card—hell, I didn’t even think it was on a list of remote possibilities. But I swear, at the sound of it, I’d do anything to keep it.

I’d be morally gray, desperately corrupt, unfair, and unjust. I would walk a lava-covered volcano, fight a dragon, sell my soul to an underground world—as long as it ended in hearing her say please again.

Climbing off her, I undo the button on her jeans and lower the zipper, grabbing them at the waistband and pulling them down as gently as I can manage. She lifts her ass for me to make it easier, and a smile paints itself across my face. Her plain black cotton bikini underwear are undeniably sexy but appropriately practical. They’re so perfectly Lexi.

I wouldn’t expect her to wear thongs or synthetics or bother with unnecessary laces. I’m unbelievably interested to see if any of that changes the more we’re together, but my guess is that it won’t. And for some reason, that makes me smile.

I’ve seen the lingerie of many a desperate woman—none of it changed what lay underneath.

Shifting her slightly, I lie down on the couch next to her, my back to the upright cushions and her spread-out body near the edge. She watches carefully as I run my hand down her stomach, over the white of her T-shirt, around the bikini line of her panties, and then underneath, to the hot, wet apex of her center.

As I make contact, her head rolls back, and a moan falls from her lips involuntarily. It might be the first thing on scientific record that Lexi Winslow has done without meaning to.

“Yeah,” I say softly, encouragement rolling off me into the soft shell of her ear. “Just relax and feel me.”

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