Not My Match

by Madden-Mills, Ilsa

  He blushes. “It wasn’t like that. Anyway, I’ve never seen him like this. He’s always had girls around him, but he doesn’t get upset or jealous. So you and me, we’re just friends, so forget all that flirty stuff I said. Just don’t fall for me, ’kay?”

  Danika snorts, and he shoots a glare at her. “Women adore me, tattoo girl. I’m every girl’s dream.”

  I stuff my face into the table and try not to laugh. “Ah, Aiden. You’re like a playful puppy I love to cuddle.”

  Danika picks up her tattoo machine. “All bark, no bite.”

  Aiden huffs and glares at both of us. “You two aren’t taking me seriously. I can prove how addictive I am. Give me an hour, Danika. You busy after this?”

  I look over my shoulder at her. She rakes her eyes over him, lingering on his shoulders. Shrugs. “Meh. If I throw a ball, will you fetch?”

  He glowers at her. “You’re gonna eat every word.”

  “Okay, I’ll see what you got, quarterback,” she chirps.

  “Devon, your boy is hitting on your artist,” I call out, giggling.

  “Not a boy,” Aiden says around a breadstick. “Danika’s gonna get the full awesome Aiden treatment.”

  “In an hour?” I laugh.

  He points his food at me. “You make a terrible wingman, and after all the things I did for you with Greg.”

  “That was you, huh? Putting the jersey chasers on him.”

  “True colors, Giselle. How a man reacts around other women is a big clue—even if it is a first date. Devon never looks at anyone but you,” he says. “Been that way for a while; guess it just took me a while to realize it.” He grins. “I saw you in your underwear. I’m never letting Devon forget it.”

  I make a moue with my lips. “Ah, little puppy, you need a pat on the head?”

  He bares his teeth, and I smirk.

  Devon comes back to the den and sits next to me, picking my hand up and threading our fingers together. He gives Aiden a look that says, Mine.

  It makes me feel warm all over. If another woman gets near him—my brain explodes at the image, a scowl forming on my forehead. My hand tightens in his, and as if he reads me, he leans down and gives me a slow kiss. “Yours,” he whispers in my ear.

  A few minutes later, Devon and Aiden help Danika pack while I check out the artwork in the hall mirror, a gorgeous blue butterfly with black edging around the wings and swirls of curvy black ink fanning out on the sides. She dabs Vaseline over it and puts a bandage on, filling me in on the aftercare instructions to remove the bandage after twenty-four hours, then clean it with antimicrobial soap, pat dry, and apply ointment, but leave off the bandages.

  Aiden and she leave, and Devon walks them to the door while I go through the food left in the kitchen.

  “Hey, who called earlier?” I ask when he returns.

  He leans against the counter. “My dad.”

  My eyes flare. “What did he say?”

  He tucks his hands in his pockets. “Not much. Just that he’s okay.” He pauses. “He sounded sober.” There’s a hopeful look on his face that makes my heart snag.

  “Did he say where he was?”

  He shakes his head. “No, just that he’s with friends and wanted to make sure I got his note and that he didn’t want me to worry about him. I told him I paid off the debts.”

  “Do you want to call him back?” It might have been hard to talk with company here.

  “Nah, he said he had to go. I told him I’m here if he . . . wants to go to rehab.” He rakes a hand through his hair. “He said he’d think about it. He’s never been, you know, and I feel like if he could get therapy and a quiet place to figure things out, it might make a real difference. It’s his move now,” he says, weary acceptance in his voice. “He’ll always be my dad, but I can’t keep giving him money.”

  “Whatever happens, I’m here for you.”

  He stares at me, searching my face. “I believe you.”

  “You hungry?” I indicate the food on the counter. “I can warm up the pasta? Aiden ate the bread.”

  His eyes drift over me. “Not hungry for food.”

  “Me neither,” I murmur and step closer and toy with edges of his hair, running it through my fingers. “I couldn’t sleep last night, hence the hiding in your closet, and I barely ate a thing today. Studies show that when we’re feeling this . . .” Intense early stages of romantic love . . . “Euphoria, our bodies forget about basic needs and beg for more elevated dopamine, almost like cocaine—not that I know, but—”

  He kisses me long and slow, until I’m breathless. “We can talk later.” He pulls my shirt over my head and undoes the snap on my shorts, mindful of my back as he eases them down my legs. His eyes burn as he stands and takes in the lingerie. I do a little twirl, and he chuckles.

  “You looked like a dream when I walked in; you know that? It was all I could do to keep my hands off you with them here.”

  I put my hand on his chest. “Give me one sec.” I run to my room, grab the item, and rush back to him. He looks down and pops an eyebrow. “Pineapple lube?”

  I work his shirt up his chest and over his head. “Hmm, you’re a big guy, and my inner cowgirl worked hard this morning. Myrtle gave me the lube for my birthday.”

  “What if I don’t like pineapple?” he murmurs as I unbutton his jeans and push them down his legs; then he kicks them across the room.

  “Got strawberry and cherry. You don’t eat it anyway.”

  “I’ll eat you in every flavor. Does it come in bacon?”

  “Gross!”

  He laughs and hops around, taking his socks off. “I’m gonna show you what I can do with that lube. You had control this morning; it’s my turn.”

  “Uh-huh,” I say and ease down his black underwear. Magnificent warrior.

  After stepping away, I make a dash for his bedroom, looking over my shoulder. “I’ve put the mirror from my room in yours. I want to see your face for what I have planned.”

  He chases after me, and I squeal when he catches me and sweeps me into his arms and places me at the foot of his bed. After jumping up, I switch around on him and push him down to sitting. “I get one more time in charge, and then you can do whatever you want.”

  “Let me grab my flogger.”

  “Hush.” I angle the mirror I grabbed earlier, making sure it displays his incredible physique.

  “You know what you’re doing?” he asks slyly as I get on my knees in front of him.

  “Books taught me everything I know, football player. Prepare to have your mind blown—and your dick.”

  His lashes flutter against his flushed cheeks as I take the tip of him, my tongue dabbing as I lick up his steel rod. “Like a very delicious, very long lollipop,” I murmur against his skin.

  “Dirty talker,” he says in a rough voice as his hands go in my hair.

  My gaze finds him in the mirror, tracing the flex and ripple of his chest as he inhales deep breaths. My mouth swallows his crown, and he hisses. Using my tongue until he’s slippery, I take in several inches, flatten my tongue, and slide him against the roof of my mouth—little trick I read about—making it appear as if he’s in my throat. I meet his eyes, and he groans. With an exhale, he eases me off him and stands up, tugging me up.

  “I wasn’t done,” I say with a pout.

  “When I come, it’s inside you.”

  Desire makes me weak as he kisses me, his hands digging into my hips, smashing me against the full length of him as he turns me and walks me to the mirror. In a blink, he has my bra and panties off. Standing behind me, he bends and kisses my shoulders, the back of my thigh. “Mine.” He sucks the bend of my knee. “Mine.” His finger slips inside me. “All mine.”

  Languid, I lean against him.

  His thumbs tease over my erect, aching nipples, his mouth on my neck. “Every part of you.”

  “Devon . . . ,” I moan, shocks of pleasure curling around me, at the feel of us, the intimacy that we’ve created, so soon
, so fast, but yet, here it is, and I love him . . .

  “Look how beautiful you are,” he says gruffly, pointing my face to the mirror. His eyes hold mine in the reflection as he clutches me, his tan forearm around my waist, holding me as if he’ll never let me go. “Kickass girl. With me.”

  Chapter 24

  DEVON

  “With you,” she repeats, and I kiss her, angling her head to slant my mouth across hers. I won’t ever get enough of how she tastes.

  “Devon, am I crazy? With you . . . this . . . it’s so good. Is it always . . .”

  She whimpers as I sweep her up and move to the side of the bed, positioning her on her hands and knees so she can see herself in the mirror.

  A long breath comes from my chest as I run my hand down the arch of her back, skating around her bandage and then kneading her ass. I don’t reply, just stare at her, and she watches me, her cheeks flushing, her hair a mess, her two bobby pins haphazard and close to falling out. I ease them out and set them on the nightstand.

  Her chest rises as she watches me put lube on my length, then spread her apart with care, tasting her, groaning as I make her slicker. I’m past any finesse at this point, all man, just want to get her off so good and hard and make her fall for me until she can’t ever think about anyone but me.

  “Dev . . . ,” she cries, wriggling as my fingers dip inside her. So fucking wet. One hand on her hip, I guide myself all the way inside, letting her adjust to the angle and fullness.

  “Nice and slow,” I groan, knowing that’s going to be a lie in the next few minutes. I can’t get enough of her, I can’t think, I can’t . . .

  “Please . . . ,” she begs, her shoulders bent to the bed as she presents her ass.

  I set up an easy pace, muscles vibrating with tension. She clenches the blanket as I take her in a measured pace, barely hanging on to my sanity.

  “Giselle . . . ,” I mumble as she clenches around me, and my control snaps. Speeding up, I fuck her hard, my pelvis grinding into her as my fingers find her clit. My heart pounds as the air around us intensifies, sharpens. I’m not aware of anything but her gasps of pleasure, the shape of her mouth as she gasps for air, the music in the den, the hard slap of our skin. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you today, baby. Dropped five passes at practice. Coach chewed me out, and I didn’t even care. I want you like this, want to make you beg me, make you cry when you can’t get me. You want that?”

  “Yes . . .”

  My fingers caress her. “I’m going to be the first thing you think about, the last man you fuck.” I can’t stop the torrent of insane words. “I want you”—thrust—“all those theories you got”—thrust—“and I got one for you: you’re in deep with me.” Thrust.

  “Yes,” she moans.

  I lick at the mist of sweat on her shoulder. “I’m gonna be needing this every time you walk in the room; every time you say my name, I’m gonna be right there, ready. I don’t give a fuck how different we are—no matter what happens, I don’t care as long as you’re here. I want you all the fucking time on your knees for me, and I’ll get on my knees for you, baby; just tell me, just tell me how to make it work . . .”

  She screams out my name and tightens around me, spasming, her hips jerking as I come, the pull of her sizzling down my spine. Still thrusting, I ride out the wave, milking every tingle of pleasure that swallows me whole as she rocks against me. Sex with her feels different from anyone else, emotion in my chest clinging tight.

  Shaking, I land on top of her, breathing hard, feeling uncertain and scared. I slip out, kiss her around her tattoo, and grab a towel and clean her up as she lies limp on the bed. Crooning to her softly, I scoot her to the head of the bed and hold her against my chest. My hands play with her hair as I try to get my own lungs back to normal. “You okay?”

  She nods and looks at me, searching my face. She opens her mouth—then shuts it and licks her lips.

  Yeah. That.

  I kiss her, soft and slow, heart hammering, as I try to stay chill, when my head is a wreck. She’s so trusting, open, giving. “That was . . .” Best I ever had. “Intense.”

  She lays her head on my chest, and we rest, my fingers idly tracing her shoulders. My head races, tumbling around with thoughts of how this relationship is supposed to work. She isn’t like anyone else. She’s not a girl I can let go. She’s shoved me over that cliff, and I’m lying at the bottom on the rocks, waiting for her to finish me off.

  Just . . .

  Please.

  Stay.

  The days fly by as the team prepares for our preseason game in Miami. Giselle and I stay up late at night talking or watching TV or playing video games. She begs for Shark Week, and I relent on Thursday and get grossed out while she giggles. I called her a bloodthirsty scientist, and she said I was a wittle scaredy-cat jock.

  On Friday, she pulled out The Complete Illustrated Kama Sutra and showed me the Lotus position, where the man sits down with his legs crossed, and the woman straddles him, wrapping her legs around his waist . . . and she asked, Could you do it?

  “Starting to think you just want me for my flexible body and stamina,” I teased her. She laughed and kissed me, and I forgot about everything else.

  At night, we crawl in bed and talk with the stars over us. Not even tired, we get up early and eat together; then she walks me out in workout clothes. She’s getting back to her running before the semester starts.

  She spends the rest of the day writing, and when I come home, tired and worn out from camp, I take one look at her, and exhilaration rushes over me. I’m barely paying attention to camp. I’m on a high. There’s a nagging voice in the back of my head that screams that I’m rushing, that I’m going to fuck it up, that she’s going to disappear, but I shove it down.

  The team flies to Miami on Friday for a Saturday preseason game, and we win, 28–7, a tight game with our offense running the show. Jack is resting his arm, and Aiden gets a day in the spotlight, trash-talking Jack the entire flight home. When we land in Nashville late that night, Giselle’s in the parking lot next to the Maserati. She and Elena stand chatting as Jack and I hoist our duffel bags to our shoulders and head their way.

  “Giselle seems happy,” he says, shooting me a glance. “And you. How are things?”

  “Good.”

  “Look, we’ve been friends a long time . . .” His voice trails off, a torn expression on his face as he grabs my arm.

  “What?”

  He studies me. “I haven’t seen you this happy in a long time.”

  “But?”

  “But she’s staying with you. It’s going to make ending things hard, don’t you think?”

  “Who said I was planning on ending it?”

  “Come on. It’s you.”

  I’m really fucking sick of this.

  “We aren’t temporary,” I snap.

  We stop under a parking lot light, and he takes in my tight face and tense shoulders. “All right, all right. Maybe I’m wrong. I hope I am.”

  Before I can respond, Giselle runs up to me, and I drop my duffel and wrap her in a hug when she jumps at me. I twirl her around, my hands on her sweet ass. “Baby, fuck, I missed you. Barely slept.” She’s wearing low-rise jeans and one of my shirts. “You look good.”

  “I watched you on TV. Two touchdowns,” she calls in glee, eyes shining.

  We’re in our own world, but I feel the heat of Jack’s and Elena’s gazes, sense the puzzlement radiating from them as they watch us from his Escalade. Who cares if they don’t get us together? I do. She does.

  “I finished my book,” she whispers in my ear, and I laugh and give her another spin. “And I saw Cindy in the basement when I went to check on the hood of the car. Quinn had it fixed in a day. Cindy wants to know if you’re available to babysit sometime. I told her you’d love to.”

  “Did you miss me?”

  “Terribly. I invited Myrtle and John over, and we ordered sushi and watched a French film after the game.”
<
br />   “Hopefully not the one with the ‘nice’ cinematography?”

  She grins. “No.” Then her face grows serious. “I couldn’t sleep without you.”

  She’s still in my arms, her legs wrapped around my waist, and I don’t want to let her go. “Come with me next time. I’ll buy you a first-class ticket, and you can sit in the stands, and I’ll blow you a kiss.”

  She nods rather distractedly. “Okay. I have some news.”

  “Oh?” I let her down as Jack and Elena finish stowing Jack’s duffel, then walk over to us.

  “You remember Robert, the guy who gave me his card at the diner?”

  “Yeah. John’s son. He wanted to have lunch. Did you meet him?” I frown.

  She waves me off. “No, I told him I was dating you, but it turns out he wanted to talk about my book. He’s a literary agent. Myrtle had given him a copy.”

  I arch a brow. “So he wasn’t interested in you?”

  She blushes. “Maybe a little, but he also wanted to talk business.” Her eyes light up. “He’s going to shop it around to a few publishers and see if they want my book. Can you believe it?”

  Elena walks up, pride in her voice. “I told her I have contacts in publishing, but she wants to do this on her own.”

  “Good news,” Jack says.

  I take her in—the way she looks, the softness in her face, the happiness that radiates. “Going places, baby. You deserve it all.”

  “She does,” Jack murmurs, his gaze on me.

  Chapter 25

  GISELLE

  “Dear Heavenly Father, we come to you this Sunday with a meal before us, prepared by hands that work for you. Please bless this food, and use it to nourish our bodies. Thank you for bringing my family here. Encourage their hearts to visit more. A mother’s love never ends; she knows the words her children cannot say, and she supports them through good and bad, even when she knows they might fail along the way. Mothers are the pillars of generations to come, which brings me to my daughter Elena and her husband, Jack. Please make her fertile and give them babies to populate the earth. Lord, I need grandchildren in my life to fill the empty places.”