Page 72 of Game Changer

The need to be seen and touched. The need to be safe from judgment, like I am with him. Only with him.

Clay takes his time drawing the wet fabric down my hips. It sticks to my skin, making me squirm as he drags it down past my knees and ankles.

My body feels heavy and languid and warm, like molasses sliding through summer heat.

Suddenly, I’m naked in this bunk bed. There’s nothing between us except want and need, and it’s overwhelming.

He rocks back to look at me, inhaling sharply. “Fuck, Nova. You know I’m gonna think of you like this all the time now.”

The words light me up, sending little spirals of pleasure through me.

I could say the same for him. His body is a work of art, and that’s before the tattoos. Miles of tanned skin, smooth and rippling.

When I hone in on the bulge in his shorts again, there’s a thrill of excitement blending with the fear.

He spreads my legs wide, and I shut my eyes tight at the sensation of his breath along my sensitive skin.

He runs a finger along the inside edge of my thigh, millimeters from where I’m wet and needy.

Nerves lace through me, and my toes flex.

Damn. His mouth is dangerous enough when we’re talking.

The idea of him using his lips, his tongue, to—

“Nova.”

I blink my eyes open to see him staring down at me. His expression is a mask of concerned intensity.

“What’s wrong?”

Shit. Was it that obvious?

Of course I went and made the hottest moment of my life awkward.

“I just haven’t done this a lot,” I say, but it comes out more like a mumble.

He glances toward the window, then back at me. “How much is 'a lot'?”

Oh God. This is not how I wanted this to go.

Normally, he’s good at making me feel like there’s not five years of adult life experience between us. Right now, though, it’s painfully obvious.

“A couple of guys, Brad, and… You know what? Never mind. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“I don’t need names, Pink. I want to know why you went stiff on me.”

Clay seems genuinely intent on knowing, so I give him the most honest answer I can.

“I was just thinking how every guy I’ve been with turned out to be an asshole, but it was nothing like this with them,” I rush on as his expression darkens. “It didn’t feel like this. You make me feel so good I can hardly stand it.”

He stills.

“Give me your fingers,” he says.

I do, and he takes them in his mouth, swirls his tongue around them. It’s sensual and filthy, the way he sucks with his eyes on mine, and I could watch him do it all day.

Until he releases them with a pop.

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