Page 22 of Game Changer
David ruffles his hair and rubs his eyes, breaking the moment. "Sorry," he mutters.
"Are you okay?" I ask, partly concerned, partly relieved for the interruption.
He laughs softly. "I'm having thoughts I probably shouldn't be having right now."
"If it's about drinking, you can resist it," I say, assuming he means the craving. "Just take it minute by minute if you have to."
His smile turns rueful. "Resisting alcohol is actually easier than resisting what I'm thinking about right now."
My heart stutters. "What are you thinking about?"
"Do you really want to know?" he asks, his voice lower, rougher.
"Tell me," I say. "Or show me."
"I'll show you," he says, and before I can process what's happening, his lips are finally on mine.
Fireworks. Literal fucking fireworks explode behind my eyelids. He's a better kisser than I remembered, his lips softer, tasting of mint. He must have had gum earlier. His hands cup my face gently at first, then with growing confidence as I respond, parting my lips to deepen the kiss.
He kisses like a man starved for touch, for connection. His hands move from my face to my waist, then to my hips, one sliding down to cup my ass. I should stop this. It's too soon, too complicated. My child, our child, is sleeping just down the hall.
But I can't. God help me, I don't want to. I've been alone for so long, carrying the weight of everything by myself. To be touched, to be wanted, to feel desirable again… It's intoxicating.
David pulls back slightly, his breathing ragged.
"Can I..." he starts, his voice deep and gravelly. "Is this okay? Can I keep going?"
I nod, unable to form words, and that's all the permission he needs. Suddenly he's on his knees before me, hands sliding down my legs, fingers hooking into the waistband of my jeans. He looks up, seeking final confirmation, and I lift my hips to help him as he slides them down my legs.
I'm self-conscious about my body. Motherhood and stress have added curves where there were none before, but David doesn't seem to notice or care. He kisses his way up my legs, from ankle to knee to thigh, reverent and thorough. When he reaches the edge of my panties, he traces the band with one finger.
"Can I take these off?" he asks, his eyes squinted with desire but still seeking consent.
"You're not going to see anything you haven't seen before," I say, attempting humor to mask my nervousness.
He chuckles. "It'll be like our first time all over again."
This David is different. The David I knew five years ago wouldn't have asked permission, wouldn't have taken his time. He certainly wouldn't have dropped to his knees, gently spread my thighs, and looked at me like I was a feast he'd been dreaming of.
But that's exactly what he does now, his big hands gripping my thighs as his mouth finds me. His tongue is relentless, skilled in ways I don't remember, finding spots that make me gasp and arch against him. I'm embarrassingly wet, but he seems to love it, groaning against me as I grip his hair.
When he finally pulls back, gasping for breath, his chin is slick. "I don't want to stop here," he says, "I want all of you."
"I've missed your big dick," I admit, surprising myself with my boldness.
He laughs again, extending his hand to help me up from the couch. I take it, and he leads me not to the guest room, but toward another door I hadn't noticed before—his home office, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city and a plush leather couch against one wall.
The view is incredible, dizzying. Part of me is self-conscious about the possibility of being seen, but another part, a part I'd forgotten existed, is thrilled by it, by the idea of being with him so openly, so completely.
We kiss again, more frantic now, hands pulling at clothing until we're both naked. We pause, taking each other in. He's still magnificent. Broad shoulders, strong chest, tapered waist. His knee bears a wicked scar from a surgery, but it doesn't diminish his beauty.
"You're fucking gorgeous," he breathes, and I believe him because of the way he's looking at me, like I'm a miracle he never expected to find.
He guides me to the leather couch, laying me back against it. "I know you always preferred being on all fours," he says, positioning himself above me. "But this time I want to see your face. I want to watch you come."
Jesus Christ. Who is this man and what has he done with the self-centered boy I used to know? He's so goddamn hot like this. Confident but considerate, taking charge while making sure I'm with him every step of the way.
He strokes himself a few times, his impressive length hard and ready, before positioning himself at my entrance. The first push inside makes us both gasp. It's been so long, but my body remembers his, welcomes him like he belongs there.
