“Sorry about the olive. That shit can stain,” I say, grudgingly. “Next time I’ll throw a nut.”
I get a napkin to the face in return. And we both laugh. But my insides are heavy, restless. As annoyed as I am with Gray, I know he’s right. And doesn’t that just suck the big one?
Chapter Seven
Fiona
Dex doesn’t come home. Not when Ivy and Gray head up to bed. Not after I’ve read in bed for a few hours. It’s nearly two in the morning when I give up the ghost and turn off my e-reader.
In the silence of my cozy guest room, tucked under the eaves, I stare at the window, now blocked by heavy pink silk curtains. I decorated this room. My first project. I’d gone for white walls, a gold-leaf Rococo dresser, a white Louis XVI-style bed trimmed in lime green satin, and a set of vibrant Warhol Queen Elizabeth prints hanging on one wall. I call it shabby Brit chic. It’s in honor of my mom, who’s British and uses this room when she visits.
The room across the hall, where Dex is staying, I decorated for Dad, the color scheme dark and masculine. Gray flannel on the walls, ebony wood bed, bold photo prints, and pinstriped gray curtains. It’s empty now. Something I’m painfully aware of.
Is Dex avoiding me? Is he angry? Hurt?
I replay the brush of his fingers against my skin when he’d left me. It had felt like a conversation. A promise, maybe.
But what the hell do I know?
Why does it matter so much? And so fast? Just last night I’d told myself he wasn’t my type. Then I had to go and kiss the hell out of him.
Huffing, I kick the covers free, my skin hot and itchy as though I have ants crawling over it.
Maybe I should listen to Gray and nip this thing—whatever the hell it is—in the bud. Dex is out for the night? Good. I’ll avoid him in the morning. And that will be that. We’ll politely go our own ways, and I’ll leave next week.
An hour later I am still wide fucking awake. Damn it.
* * *
Dex
One thing about living alone, you don’t have to sneak into your house. Being a guest, however, I try my best to get up the stairs without waking anyone—a certain baby, to be specific.
I’m bone-tired and smell like cigar smoke. Some of the guys insisted on lighting up. Swear to God, those dogs playing poker paintings have a lot to answer for. Because I can see no good reason why filling up a room with vile blue smoke is conducive to winning poker.
I certainly didn’t need any aid to win. Defensive linemen are shit at keeping a neutral face. I could read them like a book and am a few grand richer for it. A smile pulls at my mouth at the memory of Jaden cursing as he lost again and again.
My smile fades. I took sick pleasure in beating his ass. I tell myself it didn’t have anything to do with that little scene I witnessed at the restaurant, that it was all about being a good center and not letting a lineman get one over on me. But I’m only lying to myself.
Suppressing a sigh, I creep into my room. And halt.
The small, bronze bedside lamp is on, casting a soft, warm glow over the room. Not much light, but enough to see perfectly clear.
Curled up under the covers, an e-reader still in hand, is Fi. She’s fast asleep, her golden hair spread out over my pillow.
For a second I look back at the door. Did I go into Fi’s room by accident? No. I’ve seen her room. It’s light and colorful and feminine.
Besides, my boots are in one corner, a pair of my jeans hanging off the back of the leather armchair next to the window.
My gaze wanders back to Fi, who looks tiny in the big bed. And I’m having a Goldilocks moment here, because I definitely feel like the bear who’s found his bed invaded.
Hell.
I tried to avoid thinking of her all night. She kissed Jaden. I don’t know why. It hadn’t looked involved. They’d been laughing, clearly goofing around. Still didn’t stop me from feeling as though a pole had been punched through my chest.
But her big, green eyes had held guilt and regret when she looked at me. So what could I say?
I don’t own Fi. I want her. I fear wanting her. But I don’t have a claim.
A soft snore leaves Fi’s lips, and she snuggles down farther in the bed.
Fi. In my bed.
Maybe I do have a claim.
I unbuckle my belt and slide my jeans off as quietly as possible. I’d wanted to take a shower. Now, I’m not risking leaving, only to find her gone when I return. I keep my shirt and underwear on, not trusting myself to be naked in a bed with Fi.
Turning off the light, I approach the empty side of the bed and slip beneath the covers.
Fi doesn’t wake up, but she turns my way, as if seeking me. Fuck it. I pull her against me, tucking her back to my front. And she settles in with a sleepy sigh. I let myself soak in her warm body, breathe the scent of her skin. She feels so damn good, my heart hurts.
I hold her closer, my arm around her narrow waist, my hand cupping her soft breast. It feels so right, everything in me relaxes. Yeah, I’m now horny, but exhaustion and the relief that Fi sought me out have the greater claim. I fall asleep before I even know it.
Chapter Eight
Fiona
It’s an awkward thing, waking up in a man’s bed when you don’t remember falling asleep, much less sleeping with the man. It’s even more awkward when you wake up alone.
Sunlight streams across my face, and I stretch my arms over my head. There’s a crick in my neck from reading too long in bed. I don’t know what crazy impulse pushed me to sneak into Dex’s room to wait for him. Clearly that didn’t go well.
Glancing at the rumpled spot beside me, I can tell he slept next to me. Damn if I can remember it though. It stings that he isn’t here now.
But that’s probably a good thing. I have morning breath, and my hair feels matted on one side. Skulking back to my room is like the walk of shame without the benefits of having enjoyed the night before. Yay hay.
A hot shower and cup of coffee don’t relieve my pissy mood. The house is utterly silent and empty, which kind of freaks me out. You’d think somebody would leave a note.
I’m back in my room, scrolling through social media on my phone and having visions of being stuck in some bad Twilight Zone episode where I find out every person I know has disappeared from the face of the Earth, when Dex appears at my door.
Just the sight of him has my skin tightening and my heart beating faster. And it doesn’t matter that I’m wearing an old t-shirt and yoga pants, or that I haven’t yet put makeup on. He looks at me, and I feel beautiful.
“Hey.” He leans against the doorway, his arms crossed over his broad chest. He offers me nothing more.
I slap my phone down on the bed. “Where the hell have you been? Where the hell is everyone else? And what the general hell?”
His wide mouth quirks, making his beard twitch. Yet those golden-green-blue eyes of his remain steady as ever, as if he can look straight into me. “I see someone is in a good mood.”
“Just peachy. I’d like to see how happy you’d be to wake up alone and wondering—” I snap my mouth shut. Stinking Dex, always making me say more than I want to say.
His smile grows, a slow curl of smoky heat. He pushes off from the door. His stride is measured, stalking, and it sets off a reaction in me, clenching my lower belly, igniting heat and an insistent throb between my legs.
The mattress creaks as he places a knee on it, crawling toward me. And, though I’ve been annoyed, I start to smile, even as my breathing goes light and fast. He smiles too, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
He doesn’t pause, just kisses me—soft, melting, and thorough. My hands touch his cheeks, the springy hairs of his beard brushing my palms. God, he tastes good, feels good. I slide my tongue over his and shiver.
Dex grunts deep in his throat and nips my lower lip, suckling it a little as if he’s hungry. Then he pulls back to look me in the eyes. “I left you alone this morning so I wouldn’t do that.”
His lids lower a fraction as he studies my mouth, and the soft brush of his fingertips along my jaw follows. “I brought you bagels. Probably not as good as New York bagels, but they’re fresh.”
“Ethan,” I say softly. “You’re avoiding the question.”
He eases down next to me, resting his head on his hand. “Gray told me you kissed Jaden to help Ivy out.”
My shoulders tense. “I swear Gray gossips more than a flock of old ladies at a cotillion. Where are he and Ivy anyway?”
“Took the baby and drove to Muir Woods to walk around the redwoods.”
“Those shits. I wanted to go there.”
“I’ll take you.” His expression is calm, but his gaze is sharp on my face.
I snuggle into my pillow. “Gray was right. It was just a peck, a stupid joke, really.”
“I didn’t like it.” A wrinkle forms between his brows. “Seeing that, I mean.”
“I know.” My fingers curl into the covers to keep from reaching for him. I don’t feel like I have the right to now. “I’m sorry. I wouldn’t want to see you kissing another woman.”
“I don’t want to kiss another woman.”
We stare at each other, nearly nose to nose now. And it feels…comfortable, tentative, new, strange. “I don’t know what to make of this,” I whisper. “I didn’t expect you, Ethan.”
His eyes search my face. “I’ve been waiting two years for you to see me.”
He says the words clearly, without hesitation, and still I can’t believe them.
A lump rises in my throat. “We’ve only interacted twice before in all that time.”
“Four times, not counting the wedding. You were there when Gray and I graduated. And at Draft Day.”
“You went high in the first round,” I say, remembering now. “That’s rare for a center.”
“You wore a white sundress with cherries on it for graduation, and a gray knit dress with black knee-high boots for Draft Day.”
My chest feels too tight, and I have to clear my throat to speak. “Why didn’t I notice you before?” Because he was right in front of me the whole time. This big, beautiful man who doesn’t shy away from honesty.
With a caress of his thumb, he eases a lock of hair behind my ear. “I didn’t exactly make myself known.”
“Why not? And why now?”
He frowns, watching his thumb glide over the edge of my jaw toward my lips. “Couldn’t stay away from you this time.”
Before I can ask what he means, Dex slides his large hand to my nape and hauls me close. His mouth claims mine—needy, demanding, a complete counterpoint to the careful way he holds me. Hot mouth, gentle hands.
It drives me crazy, and I press up against his solid frame, thread my fingers through his hair as I meet him kiss for kiss.
A grunt of contentment rumbles in his chest as he rolls me back and rises over me. He’s huge, his shoulders so wide they blot out the light. Flowing hair and full beard, he also looks a bit wild—pure man when I’ve only ever been with boys.
On the outside, Dex comes off as reserved, maybe even shy, but he doesn’t act that way when he’s with me. Right now, he’s in total control. He angles his head and kisses me deeper, exploring with a steady thoroughness that leaves me restless and desperate for more.
Dex is too perceptive not to notice. With slow, sure strokes, he runs his hands down my sides, back up to my cheeks, soothing me, slowing me down. And still he kisses me as if it’s the most absorbing thing in the world.
His touch, the way he tastes me like fine wine or sweet cream, settles into my bones, makes my flesh hot and heavy. I grow languid under his care.
The tip of his tongue traces the corner of my mouth, the edge of my lips. I’m so sensitive there now, the touch shimmers over my skin, down to my sex. Breathing hard, I turn my face toward his, open my lips wider, silently begging for more of his torture. Large hands frame my face, hold me still while he sips at my mouth.
The rough of his beard tickles my throat as he moves downward, stopping to suck the spot where my neck meets my shoulders.
“You taste so good, Cherry.” He licks me again. “Like wet dreams.”
His muscles shift and bunch under my grip. I clutch him close, open my thighs to him so he can lie between them. Dex grunts, grinding his massive cock against me as if he can’t help it.
More. I need more.
He does too. His hands gather up my shirt, pulling it over my head with an impatient tug. “Let me see you.” His finger flicks open the front clasp of my bra before he smoothes his rough palm under the cup and along my breast. “Let me touch you.”
I groan, arching up, desperate to wiggle out of the bra. He helps pull it free.
Dex kisses me once, almost distracted, then his gaze moves to my chest, a lock of hair falling over his brow as he looks down. “Mmm,” he hums, rubbing the flat of his palm in a circle over my chest. “There they are.”
He captures the stiff tip of my nipple between his fingers and gives it a tweak, tugging a little. And I moan, the action sending heat punching straight to my clit.
“You like that?” He does it again, lingering longer before swooping down to suck my abused nipple deep into his warm mouth.
God. My hands grip his hair, holding him there as he sucks and tugs, his wet tongue flickering over me. He plumps my breast with his fingers, sucks me again. The way he goes at me is almost single-minded, as if the world could fall apart around us and he wouldn’t stop. It is so fucking hot I can barely breathe.
Big hands cup my breasts, kneading and playing with them. And all the while he licks my nipples. Sucks and nips at them until I’m writhing beneath him, desperate for some relief, for him to sink his cock into me. I make a sound of impatience but he simply lifts his head and stares, rapt, at my chest.
“God, you’re so fucking gorgeous,” he rasps. “Look at you, all pretty and flushed and panting.” He presses the tip of his thumb against my nipple, making me whimper. “Will you come like this? From me playing with your tits?”
I just might.
“Dex—”
“Ethan,” he says. “When I have my mouth on you, it’s Ethan.”
Then he puts his mouth on mine, claims it like he already owns it. I shiver, lick my way across his upper lip before kissing him long, deep. He shivers then too.
“Ethan,” I say, just to give him what he wants. “Ethan.”
He kisses me, a rhythmic undulation, his tongue slowly thrusting in and out of my mouth, his fingers worrying my nipple, plucking at it, flicking it in a way that’s almost crude.
It’s too much.
“Touch my pussy,” I demand against his lips. I’m almost halfway to coming as it is. “Touch it.”
I feel his smile.
“Is it wet?” His hand slides down my bare stomach.
“Fucking dripping,” I pant, kissing his cheek, the corner of his eye, his mouth again.
He slips beneath my panties, and I’m so worked up, so hot, that I arch off the bed, a strangled groan tearing from me as his blunt fingers ease over my slick flesh.
The world tilts on its axis. Dizzy, I grab onto his rock-hard shoulders.
His breath fans my face, his lips just grazing mine as he watches me. I stare back, unable to move—to fucking breathe—as his fingers slip-slide and circle my sex. His touch is messy. No finesse, just pure, methodical greed.
“I think you’re a closet sadist,” I say through gritted teeth, my hips jerking against his hand.
Though he’s shaking, sweat dotting his brow, his eyes smile at me. “Why?”
“You’re enjoying this. Driving me crazy—” A strangled moan tears out of me and his thick, long finger plunges in deep. “Oh, fuck.”
With an answering groan, he drags that finger out, pushes in again. I strain into his palm, my arms stretching overhead to claw at the
pillows.
“Ethan…” I want to fuck him. I need to. My teeth grind with impatience.
He pushes another finger into me. So thick. So good.
“Cherry,” he whispers, licking my breast. “Give it to me, Cherry.”
My orgasm rides through me so hard, I come back to myself in stages—the warmth of his hard body, the sheets wrinkled beneath my sweaty skin, my breath slowly leveling out.
Slightly dazed, I blink up at him. He looks slightly dazed as well, his eyes wide, his lips parted.
“You’re beautiful,” he says.
“So are you.” I mean it. I want to strip him bare, lick my way over every inch of his big body. But he’s moving away, pressing a soft kiss on my belly before standing.
He’s fully dressed, and here I am, shirt off, nipples wet and tight, my pants halfway down my ass. I’m not one to be shy about my body, but I sit up and tug my shirt on. Because he’s clearly not getting undressed, even though the bulge in jeans is enough to stretch them tight.
“I’ll go toast the bagels,” he says. Right before he bolts.
Chapter Nine
Dex
There’s a slight tremor in my hand as I saw the knife through a sesame bagel. I grip the handle tighter when really I want to chuck it, bagel and all, across the kitchen. Because I left Fi—gorgeous, delicious Fi—alone in the bedroom.
Jesus Christ, I’m an idiot. She’d been lying there, flushed and panting, the rosy tips of her nipples glistening from my mouth. And I left her like that.
The sweet sounds of her coming, those breathy whimpers, ring through my head.
The bagel splits in two, and I set the knife down, take a slow breath. I made Fiona Mackenzie come. Hard.
She doesn’t know hers is the first pussy I’ve fingered. I had no idea she’d be so slick and warm, so tight. My teeth grind at the memory.
The Game Plan (Game On #3) Page 6