Page 91 of Game Changer

It’s so powerful I’m wrecked.

But he doesn’t let up. He continues to rub my clit with his thumb. The pressure is almost too much as I’m still coming down.

I reach for his hand to make him stop, but he grabs my wrist and pins it behind my back. The car moves forward, and I’m lost again.

“I’ve wanted to watch you come since the first day I saw you.” He’s so close to my ear his words are a vibration that has me panting. “I’ve wanted to hear you scream my name.”

He pushes two fingers back inside of me, and I mewl.

I’m at his mercy, and I love it.

He’s taking me apart, leaving me with nothing to hold on to.

His lips brush my ear. “Again.”

“I can’t,” I whimper.

“You can.” He commands it. My head falls back against his shoulder again. My entire body is tight and hot.

“Come on, baby.” Clay’s breath is hot against my skin. “Come for me.”

My hips rise as my stomach sinks, and a second orgasm rips through me.

It’s so powerful, so intense, I can’t hear anything but the ringing in my ears.

Only Clay and his demand that I give him everything.

Only the pulse of his fingers deep inside me.

The limo comes to a stop, and Clay pulls his fingers from me. He grabs a cloth napkin from the door and wipes his hands.

He gathers my hair off my neck and presses his mouth there. “Next time, it won’t be my fingers. And that’s a fucking promise.”

I shiver as he helps smooth my hair back into place.

I don’t realize the car has pulled to a stop until he holds out a hand.

* * *

“I get one every year. Mark the end of one season and the start of another,” Clay says as I look up at the sign for Ink and Glory after he helps me out and I adjust my dress, my core still thrumming.

“Figured you see me so well that you could help me pick it out.”

The idea that he’d include me in this floors me. He keeps his cards close, and the ink on his body is as close to a tapestry of his feelings as anything you’re likely to find.

My heart swells. “I’d love to.”

We look at some designs, but I don’t like any of them.

Finally, I get an idea and call over the artist. He starts to sketch based on my description, and Clay watches.

“A mountain,” I declare when it’s done.

“For Denver,” Clay reads, skeptical.

“No. Because they’re the kind of strong the world can’t break down. Not wind or rain or snow. They’re weathered, but that only makes them more beautiful. Like you.”

He takes me in, emotion flitting behind his eyes. “Sounds like a plan.”

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