The Game Plan (Game On #3)

by Kristen Callihan

  Dex doesn’t bore me. Not even close. Life is never a slogging road when he’s around.

  He ends the song with a sweeping bow, tosses the mic to the operator, then hops down, headed straight for me.

  Sweat gleams on his brow, plasters his shirt to his chest. People slap his shoulders and back, try to give him high-fives, including Gray, who is beside himself with glee. Dex doesn’t slow, doesn’t break his stare.

  Every cell in my body seems to zing, making me twitchy with want and joy.

  When he’s a couple of steps away, I launch myself at him, and he catches me. My legs wrap around his waist as I cling to him, find his mouth, and take it.

  Cupping my ass, he holds me tight against him as his tongue slides deep.

  We’re both breathless when we part.

  “I knew you were playing me,” I say against his mouth.

  He’s laughs, low and unrepentant. “I never said I sucked, just that I didn’t like the attention. Told you I wouldn’t fight fair, Cherry.”

  I nip his lower lip. “Take me home, and let’s get to popping yours, Big Guy.” He stills, and I lean back to look up at him. “That was lame, wasn’t it?”

  Dex shakes himself as if waking up. His grip on me tightens. “Not sure. Is that a yes to my question?”

  My fingers thread through his hair, still knotted at the back of his head. “I won’t lie to you either, Ethan. Despite my…er…outspoken ways, I don’t actually like being in the public eye. I had too much of that growing up.”

  His gaze is steady on mine. “I won’t put you in the public eye, Fi. Ever.”

  I nod, because I know he’ll protect me. That’s his nature. Unfortunately, I know my nature too. “And I don’t know if I’ll be satisfied with a long-distance relationship.” He opens his mouth to talk. I kiss it, quieting him before speaking again. “But I’ll try, Ethan. For you.”

  His response is to walk us straight out of the club.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Dex

  Despite wanting to leave the club as fast as humanly possible and find a bed where I can take my time with Fi, we drive home with Gray and Ivy, sitting in the backseat of Ivy’s cavernous SUV.

  Gray is a bundle of effusive energy. “Dude, you were like a rock star up there,” he shouts over his shoulder as he drives, making Ivy wince.

  “Inside voice, Cupcake.”

  He ignores Ivy’s request and keeps on. “You never told me you could sing like that! Jesus, I don’t know what to think about anymore. My honey knows she’s the worst dancer in the world, and Dex is like a fucking rock god.”

  That earns him a slap on the head from Ivy and an eye roll from me.

  “I’m not that good.”

  I’m all too aware of Fi at my side. She’s warm and soft and leaning against my shoulder in total trust.

  I’m going to fuck her. The thought is a stark declaration splashed across my mind. It’s all I can do not to burst out of my skin. My heart is beating a frantic, anxious pace, and my dick is throbbing against my leg with impatient need. He wants out and in. I take a breath, ignore his demands.

  “I’m just a mimic.”

  “A mimic?” Fi asks. Her face flashes in and out of view as we speed past light posts.

  “Yeah. I can sing all right, but I basically pretended to be Dan Auerbach up there, used his style and intonations.” I shrug. It was no big deal. So I sounded a bit like the lead singer of The Black Keys. It was fun. “It’s easy being someone else up there.”

  Fi looks me over, her gaze penetrating. “And yet you loved it, didn’t you?”

  I find myself grinning, remembering the powerful surge of energy and joy that had gone through me, knowing I was entertaining her. “Yeah,” I say quietly, “I did.”

  And because I suddenly feel exposed, the car too quiet, I call up to Ivy, “Hey, what happened to the Fiat?”

  Ivy and Gray met when Gray borrowed her tiny pink Fiat. The guys had gotten a lot of laughs and given him endless shit when he squeezed his ass into that car.

  Ivy’s nose wrinkles with her grin. “Still have her. I don’t think I’ll ever let her go.”

  “You’d better not,” Gray says. “That’s our car of love.”

  Beside me, Fi makes a gagging face, sticking her finger in her mouth as if she wants to vomit. I chuckle and settle down closer to her, taking her slim hand in mine.

  “Anyway,” Ivy drawls, her smile still in place. “When Leo was born I thought it better to have a family car.”

  “And I told her it would be over my left nut that we’d get a minivan.” Gray makes a face.

  Ivy pats his knee. “And because I like his nuts—”

  “Aaand we’re done,” Fi cuts in. Thank God. The word “nuts” calls attention to my own. They’re aching now.

  The car’s gone quiet again. Gray turns up the stereo and drives. Which leaves me cocooned in darkness next to Fi. The lazy tones of Flunk drift over us, and my awareness becomes the soft breaths she takes. Her faint scent grows stronger—girly shampoo and a faint musk I realize, with a kick to the gut, is arousal.

  I’m going to fuck her. I probably should phrase it nicer—make love to her or worship her body with my dick. Something like that. But I’m fairly certain my first time will be straight-up hard and frantic fucking. I just pray I can last more than a minute. That I can satisfy her.

  The fear that I won’t makes my chest clench. I want to please Fi. More than please her. I want her to forget every guy who came before me. But aside from watching porn and reading up on certain techniques, I have all but zero applied experience, which vastly lowers my chances of giving her maximum satisfaction.

  Why did I wait all this time? I know full well how important it is to practice. I should have just stopped overthinking and done it in college. Fucked my way past ignorance and accumulated some skills to do her right.

  Fi’s thumb glides over my palm, barely a touch, but every nerve in my body seems to be tracking it. That tiny caress feels better than anything I’ve known. I turn into that touch, burrow my nose in her hair. No one on Earth smells like Fi. No one else makes that particular sound when she breathes. And the fact is, I’m glad I haven’t been with anyone else. I don’t want to touch anyone but her.

  The tips of her fingers wander up my inner arm. Up and down. I feel the stroke like a phantom touch along the shaft of my cock. The weight of her stare has me realizing I’ve had my eyes squeezed shut, my teeth clenched so I don’t grab her here and now, haul her onto my hard dick.

  Releasing a breath, I meet her gaze. In the darkness of the car, her wide eyes gleam. My breaths slow until I’m aware of every inhale, the way it stretches the muscles along my chest, how every measured exhale tightens my lower abs.

  And still she strokes me, her touch feather light over my biceps, lingering at the knobby bone of my wrist. Jesus. She gives my index finger a little tug and it’s like she’s grabbed my dick. I grunt, swallow a louder moan.

  And Fi watches it all, her expression rapt. I’m so under her spell that when she speaks, a low murmur meant for my ears only, I nearly jump out of my skin. “I can’t stop touching you,” she says.

  “You hear me complaining?”

  Her pretty lips curl. But the smile dies just as quickly, and she releases a soft breath. “This is the longest car ride ever.”

  I can’t help it. I have to touch her. My hand slides up her thigh. I know beneath those tight jeans she’s smoother than silk, soft and lush. She trembles under my touch, and when I cup her heat, those plump thighs clench over my hand. I give her a squeeze. She’s damp, even through the thickness of her jeans. Fuck me.

  “You aching here, Cherry?” I whisper, watching her eyes glaze over, her lids fluttering down.

  Little white teeth bite down on her plush bottom lip as she gives the barest nod. My chest hitches. I push just a little harder and am rewarded with the sight of her lips parting, her brow knitting as if she’s fighting a whimper.

  She grip
s my wrist, and I think she might push me away, but she holds me fast. Slowly, I grind my fingers in a circle. “Here is the only place I want to be,” I tell her, my voice a ghost in the dark.

  She slumps against me, her open lips on my shoulder, her breath, humid and panting. Beneath her soft sweater, her nipples peak, hard buds that I want to test with my teeth, suck in my mouth.

  I’m drifting downward, intent on doing just that, when the car halts, snapping the spell. Gray throws the interior into harsh light when he opens his door. Fi catches my eye. Her cheeks flush pink.

  We’re here. And it’s going to happen.

  * * *

  Fiona

  I swear my heart is trying to pound its way out of my chest as I take Dex by the hand and silently head up the stairs, aware of my sister’s and Gray’s stare but not caring. Dex follows me, his grip secure, his steps steady.

  Truth is, I might be the one walking up those stairs first, but he’s the one leading me with that intense gaze of his, all hot and wanting. It prompts me to put one foot in front of the other. To rise higher and higher.

  I tremble climbing the stairs. This is going to be Dex’s first time. And he’s giving that honor to me.

  What surprises me is how much that matters. How much he matters.

  When I’m with Dex, I’m not worrying if I’m good enough. Instead, I’m aware of my body, the way it feels, moves, and reacts to his. He puts me in a state of euphoria mixed with tight anticipation. He’s addicting, and I want all of him.

  By the time we enter his room and close the door behind us, my knees are weak. I turn to face him, maybe to reassure him—I’m not even sure of what—and he’s on me. His mouth is hot and open, assured and taking what he wants. My pulse leaps. I suck in a breath and kiss him back, jumping up into his arms when he grabs my ass and lifts me high.

  The room spins, and then I’m in Dex’s bed, straddling his thick thighs as he leans against the headboard. As if being in the bed somehow grounds him, he slows us down, caressing my shoulders, murmuring a sound of contentment.

  “I love the way you kiss me,” I say against Dex’s lips. We exchange air, a gusty sigh, and he angles his head, flicks his tongue along my upper lip.

  “I love the way you taste,” he murmurs before taking a slow, languid taste of me again.

  I shudder, feeling it down my spine, up my legs. “You don’t kiss like a virgin, Ethan.”

  He kisses me again, a little deeper, nipping my lower lip. With a grunt, he grips my ass and tugs me closer.

  “And you sure don’t act like one,” I whisper breathlessly.

  “Guess I forgot to read the virgin handbook.” His voice is husky against my skin. “I’ve had a lot of time to think about what I’d do with you once I got my chance. Vivid, detailed plans, Cherry.”

  His hand cups the back of my head, completely engulfing it, and he kisses his way down my neck. I shiver in response, wrapping my arms around him, pulling myself a little closer—because there’s no way I’m moving him. He’s too big.

  Had I snubbed big guys before? A mistake. There’s so much to explore. My hands coast over his shoulders, the muscles there liked honed granite.

  “Take this off.” I pluck at his sleeve. I want to see him, feel his hot skin.

  Dex sucks a sensitive spot at the base of my throat before pulling back. He reaches behind him, grabs hold of his shirt, and tugs it over his head in one swift motion. His hair flows wild around his face as he sits back and looks at me with eyes like smoke-quartz in the lamplight.

  “Sweet hot peppers,” I say on a gasp.

  He grins, even teeth flashing white in the frame of his dark beard. “Never heard that one before.”

  I can’t even answer. I’m too busy just looking. Because Ethan Dexter without a shirt on is breathtaking. I knew he was built—kind of hard to hide that. But seeing him in the flesh is so much more.

  There is nothing lean or sinewy about him. He’s simply solid, defined bulk. A body designed to take a hard impact and not cave. To endure. Broad shoulders like mini boulders, pecs as big as dinner plates. His abdomen is a veritable slab, a wispy little happy trail of golden brown hair starting a few inches below his navel.

  Tattoo sleeves run from his wrists to the caps of his shoulders. Elegant script the width of my palm spans his collarbones.

  “‘Here be dragons,’” I read out loud. “Are you the dragon?”

  The corner of his mouth quirks. His hands rest on my hips, holding on with just enough tension to tell me he isn’t quite comfortable with the inspection but is letting me look anyway.

  “Map makers used to put the saying along the borders, for places where they hadn’t yet charted. It’s in reference to the unknown, to be mindful of the unexplored.”

  I peer closer and see the faint latitude and longitude lines drawn beneath the words. The map stretches to his shoulders where twin sea serpents play.

  I trace the words, and he shivers, his nipples drawing tight and—

  “Holy hell.” His left nipple is pierced. “I did not expect that.”

  The tops of his cheeks pink. “I…ah…have sensitive skin. Tattoos, piercing—getting them hurts like a motherfucker. But pain helps me focus when I get too…” His color grows deeper.

  “Horny?” I supply, my finger running gently over his skin, because I can’t stop touching him.

  “Yeah.”

  “Got a lot of tattoos, Ethan.”

  His eyes burn into mine. “Yeah.”

  It’s almost too much, thinking about all that suppressed lust and need, and how it’s now focused on me. I touch the small silver barbell. Dex grunts, his hips shifting against mine. He gazes at me though lowered lids, his lips parted.

  “You like that?” I whisper, doing it again, tweaking a bit.

  His fingers clench my thighs, the thick erection in his jeans rocking me forward. I brace my hands on his shoulders, caress his smooth skin.

  “Have you any idea how fucking hot you are?” I press a soft, lingering kiss on the hollow of his throat.

  He swallows hard. “Whatever you say now, I’ll believe.”

  Humming in response, I kiss him again, between his pecs, moving down to that tempting little nipple.

  A groan tears from him as I suck the hard, cool barbell into my mouth, worrying the nub of his nipple with the tip of my tongue. He’s so tight his body trembles, his fingers kneading my shoulders as if he can’t decide to hold on or let go.

  It spurs me on, makes me take that delicious nub between my teeth and bite, pulling at the metal.

  “Oh, fuck, Cherry.” He practically bucks me off with the thrust of his hips, his back arching off the pillows. And I haven’t even gotten to his cock.

  Which is all I want to do now. I smile against his skin and nibble my way down the divot that divides his abdomen.

  Dex pants beneath me, and I know he’s watching. I come up on my knees, angling my body so he has a better view. My tongue flicks out, licking into his small belly button.

  “You’re trying to kill me,” he rasps.

  “In the best possible way.” I nuzzle his happy trail, my fingers working the fly of his jeans. They’re stretched tight over his cock, and the zipper makes a loud buzz as I force it down.

  I love the way he sucks in a breath, his abs retreating as if he’s almost afraid to feel my touch, but then he cants his hips as if to say, please, please, go lower.

  The flat of my tongue drags across thin, tight skin, the muscle beneath quivering, and I slowly part his jeans. Crinkly brown hairs greet me. Hell, there’s nothing under these here but Dex.

  His cock slides out, standing up for attention.

  “Jesus,” I rasp.

  “What?” His hoarse whisper drifts down to me, and I glance up, see his flushed cheeks, his dazed expression. He’s panting now, a sheen of sweat glistening over his chest.

  “Give me a moment,” I say, my hand reaching out to stroke his hot skin. He’s so fucking hard he pulses. He s
wallows, his cock jumping under my touch.

  I have to take a breath and calm myself. Some girls don’t like cocks—or at least the look of them. I do. I love everything about the male anatomy. Dex’s is beautiful—big enough that I know it’s going to be work getting him in, and long enough that I know I’ll feel each thrust he makes. The thought alone has my thighs pressing together in anticipation.

  But that’s not what holds my attention now. No.

  He’s pierced. Silver studs glint at the base of his wide cock head. One on the top and one on the bottom. I’ve never been with a guy who’s pierced, but I’ve heard stories. I know those little nubs will hit all the right spots inside of me.

  My thumb rubs the larger of the balls on the top, and Dex sucks in a sharp breath. But he doesn’t move. He’s waiting to see what I’ll say.

  “Now, this,” I rub him again, loving the way it makes him twitch with pleasure, “had to hurt going in.”

  “You have no idea,” he says in a raw voice.

  “When?” And why?

  Dex licks his lower lip. “After the wedding. You stripping down to that pretty green bra and those tiny panties. My wet dream walking. Should have gone for you then.”

  I wasn’t ready for him then. I was still all about wild parties and dragging myself through college. I wouldn’t have appreciated Ethan the way he deserves.

  I stroke along the underside of the flared head, finding the smaller steel piercing. His hips shift, and he hisses, but he lets me play.

  “You could have found someone else,” I murmur. “Do you know how many women would kill to have you?”

  “Didn’t seem to want anyone else,” he whispers. “It had to be you.”

  God, the thought of him wanting me so badly. All that pent-up need hiding behind such a calm façade. It terrifies me. And it makes me want to take him hard and keep him forever.