Shameless (Playboys in Love #1)

by Gina L. Maxwell

  Since my arms are pinned across my body under his, I rock my hips back to grind my ass at the base of his shaft. His breath hisses out through clenched teeth, and I know I’m wearing him down. He’s a healthy, red-blooded male. He can only say no to sex for so long before he caves.

  Twisting in his arms, I force him to loosen his hold, and turn to straddle his lap. There’s plenty of room for my bent legs to rest on the outside of his, and I realize for the first time how roomy the tub really is. “This bathtub is magnificent, Chance. I’ve never seen a claw-foot tub this big before.”

  “I had it custom made. Standard sizes are too small for a guy my size. I look like a giant with my knees in my chest.”

  That image has me chuckling as I wrap my arms around his neck. “Well, I’m thankful it’s big enough for the both of us.”

  Chance scoffed. “You don’t take up much room, sweetness. In case you haven’t noticed, you’re a tiny little thing.”

  I gasp, feigning indignation. “Am not.”

  “Are, too,” he says, smiling and leaning in for a kiss.

  I’m sure he meant it to be innocent, a quick peck and then start to pull away. But I follow him back and nip his full lower lip before soothing the sting with a lick. Groaning, he grants me entry into his mouth, and I don’t waste the falter in his resolve. I sweep in and dance my tongue with his. He tastes like beer and spearmint and him.

  His arms band around my back and crush my breasts against the hard planes of his chest. I roll my hips forward, desperate for the connection he’s denying us. He wrenches his mouth away so I take my kissing show on the road and attack his jawline, his neck.

  “We should get out,” he says, his voice strained. I hum my disagreement as I kiss the soft spot behind his ear. I want him like this. Now, here. “I’d rather take you to bed so I can make love to you properly.”

  I pull back and search his face for clues that he actually said two particular words. “Make love?”

  “Yeah, make love,” he repeats, a hint of amusement playing at the corners of his mouth. “We don’t always have to play rough, do we?”

  “Not at all. It’s just I didn’t think…I mean, I thought you were only into…” I shake my head and tell myself to quit while I’m ahead. “Never mind.”

  His expression turns solemn. “That used to be the case, but now…” He reaches up and strokes my cheek with the backs of his fingers. “Now I’m into everything, as long as it’s with you.”

  My jaw falls slack with the intention of responding, but words fail me. His brow furrows the slightest bit, a wrinkle of doubt marring his smooth skin. “I’d never do anything to hurt you, Jane. You know that, don’t you?”

  I might not know everything about Chance Danvers, but I do know he’d never do anything to physically hurt me. Everything we’ve ever done together has been about mutual pleasure, even when it comes from a little bit of pain. I trust this man implicitly with my body.

  But as I gaze into the deep blue of his eyes, and see the tender way they roam over my face as he waits for my answer, it’s not my body I’m worried about. Chance is showing me a side of himself that could very well destroy me if I let myself fall for him. Because eventually he’ll want his freedom, and all I’ll want is him.

  I’d do well to keep that in the forefront of my mind, to build some walls around my heart to protect it from the storm my brain can see coming from a mile away. Except, people who build walls never actually feel anything. They experience things in half-truths, as mere shadows of what they’re meant to be. And as much as I’m afraid of the falling out I’m sure will come, I’m even more afraid of missing out on the rush of falling in.

  “Yes, I know that,” I whisper, giving him a soft smile. “Make love to me, Chance. Right here, just like this.” I raise up and position the head of him at my entrance, then he sucks in a breath and holds it as I slowly impale myself on his thick cock.

  As always, I’m overwhelmed by the way he stretches me to fit him, my channel molding around his hard shaft so that it caresses every one of my nerves. And yet, this feels different. This isn’t our usual fucking. There’s no roughness, no hints of humiliation. No dominance or submission. He isn’t only filling me up in the physical sense. As I stare into those fathomless blue pools, I feel him pouring himself into a void in my heart I hadn’t even known was there.

  “God, Jane,” he says when I’m fully seated. “You feel…” I rock my hips. “Fuck.”

  “Good?”

  He shakes his head almost imperceptibly, as though he doesn’t know how to answer, then grabs the sides of my head and takes my mouth in a soul-stealing kiss. It isn’t fast or hurried, but is no less intense for it. Without words, our bodies speak about things our heads won’t allow and our hearts will only half believe.

  As our tongues thrust against one another, Chance’s hands grip the globes of my ass and guide my movements. Breaking the kiss, he encourages me. “That’s it, baby. Work yourself on my dick. This is all you. Take what you need from me.”

  Slow and steady, I grind myself on him in fluid strokes. Back and forth, in mini circles, up and down, I do it all. He groans and cusses. His hands roam over my body, hefting the weight of my breasts, tweaking my nipples then sucking them into his mouth.

  The sparks in my belly have turned into an all-out conflagration of desire, sending invisible waves of heat rippling under the surface of my skin as my climax grows nearer. My motions pick up speed, and I’m racing toward the finish and the high I know awaits me at the end, yet still never wanting to stop, never wanting this amazing feeling to get away, in case I never get this opportunity again.

  “You’re so sexy, Jane, you know that? And beautiful. So goddamn beautiful it hurts.”

  “Oh God, Chance, I…I’m…”

  “Fuck, you’re getting tighter. Don’t stop,” he grinds out, then reaches down to rub my swollen clit. “Keep going, baby. I want you squeezing my cock when I come.”

  “Yessssss…” White light eclipses my vision, and I give a keening cry as my orgasm finally crests, atomizing into a million specks of pleasure that flood my body.

  He pumps once, twice, and the third time he holds and shudders his release, roaring into the side of my neck as he spills himself inside me. I hold on to him tightly, and my limbs tremble as he rocks us through the last of the aftershocks.

  I don’t know how long we sit like that, fused together, but the water is barely lukewarm when he finally lifts his head. His cheeks are flushed, his lips swollen from our kisses. Unable to resist, I run my fingers through his damp locks, pushing them back from his face and letting my nails lightly trail over his scalp.

  I discovered how much he likes that a few days ago, and now I love doing it whenever I can. I love watching his eyes close and his head drop back onto his shoulders as the shivers roll through him. I love that I can do something so innocent that gives him just as visceral a reaction as when we’re doing much less innocent things.

  I take advantage and lean in to dust kisses under his stubbly jawline, causing him to groan and press his forehead to mine. “Are you trying to kill me, woman?”

  I smile coyly and draw designs through the trim hair on his muscular chest. “That depends,” I say. “Would another go-round kill you?”

  His quiet laugh comes from deep in his chest, and I can feel the vibrations in my fingertips. “Definitely not. But even if it did,” he says as he traces my lower lip, “it’d be worth it.”

  I still, taking in his words and the way his eyes are boring into mine, and tell myself not to look too much into them. Sexually, we’re great together, neither of us has ever denied that, and that’s exactly what he probably meant. He certainly couldn’t mean that making love to me was far more necessary than he’d thought possible.

  Though, if I let myself reflect on things too closely, I might come to that conclusion myself and realize that I’d fallen fast and hard for my handyman stripper.

  A chill races over my skin, a
nd he immediately snaps out of Flirty Chance and back into caretaker mode. “Come on, sweetness, let’s get you warmed up and into bed. Round two can wait until you’ve had some rest.”

  Tired and sated, I let him lift me from the tub and dry me off with a towel that had been hanging on a warming rack. It’s like wrapping up in a blanket that just came out of a hot dryer and has now ruined me for all future post-bathing ventures, as did noticing his multi-showerhead marble shower stall with bench seat. I seriously do want to move into Chance’s master bathroom.

  When he picks me up, the independent feminist in me is ready with an “I can walk” protest. But as soon as I’m cradled against him, my arms instinctively go around his neck, and I press my cheek onto his shoulder, quickly shutting the bitch up. I can walk some other damn time.

  He sets me in the middle of his luxuriously unmade bed—which makes me feel better about my own perpetually rumpled bed—and gets in as he pulls the covers around us. Romeo hops up from wherever he was on the floor and, after several turns in place, curls into a little ball on the side we’re not using. Chuckling, I give him a couple of scratches behind his ears, then sigh in contentment as I sink into the mattress that probably costs more than half a year’s rent at my apartment.

  But it isn’t until Chance tunnels an arm under my head and wraps the other one around my middle to tuck me into his chest that I know what true contentment is. I feel a tender kiss at my temple, and as my breathing evens out, and exhaustion finally tugs me into the shadows of my mind, I hear echoes of a whisper I can’t be sure came from reality and not the beginning of a dream.

  “I more than like you, Jane. A lot more. And it’s scaring the hell out of me.”

  That makes two of us…

  Chapter Eighteen

  Jane

  I wasn’t able to get off early from my shift at the restaurant, so I arrive at my aunt’s house in Elmhurst about an hour after the party starts. My cousin Julia turned twenty-one today so my aunt is throwing her a huge birthday party combined with one of those pleasure party events, where a representative shows up with a bag full of sex toys to demonstrate and samples of edible lube to pass around for everyone to try. Needless to say, my aunt—my dad’s sister—has always been the coolest mom I’ve ever known. My own mom is great, too, but she’s more “lemonades and family picnics” than “margaritas and sex parties.”

  I can hear the squeals and laughter from all the way out on the street as I make my way up the sidewalk to the front door. My smile comes easy, as I’ve been on cloud nine for the last couple of weeks. Chance and I have been great. Better than great. Most weeknights he spends at my place, and then we spend the weekends at his.

  Yesterday, I finally turned in my thesis, and he took me out to celebrate. We went to dinner at the Signature Room on the ninety-sixth floor of the John Hancock building and then hung out at Navy Pier and rode the Ferris wheel (where he may or may not have made me come with his hand up my dress).

  All in all, I couldn’t be happier, and as much fun as I know I’ll have at Julia’s party, I can’t wait to see Chance later. He’s coming to my place, since he’s in my area of the city for a job, and then he’s teaching me how to make microwavable s’mores—a bachelor staple according to him—and we’ll watch the new Jason Statham movie. I gave him my spare key since I figured I’d be here pretty late, but maybe I can sneak out early without anyone noticing.

  I let myself in, and I’m instantly bombarded with loud music, colored lights, and the smell of alcohol. It’s like stepping into a nightclub in the middle of a suburban home. The foyer is empty, and from the excited sounds coming from the back of the house, I’m assuming everyone is in the family room.

  “Oh my God, Janey, you’re finally here!”

  I turn to the right, where the dining room table is covered in enough bottles of liquor to serve an army of drunks for a week, and see Emily, Julia’s older sister. It’s obvious she’s had a few already when she bum-rushes me in a hug that almost has us falling on our asses. Luckily, I’m sober and able to steady us before we need an ambulance.

  “Hey, Em,” I say, returning her hug before peeling her off. “Sorry I’m late.”

  “Don’t be silly, you’re right on time. Wow, you look fantastic. Have you been working out?”

  Only if you count the calories burned by having tons of sex. “No, but I tried a new makeup technique. I found a smoky eye tutorial on YouTube that doesn’t make me look like a raccoon,” I say with a wink.

  She shakes her head. “No, it’s something else. I mean, your eyes look amazing, but…” She gasps and points at me accusingly. “Oh my God, you’re totally getting laid!”

  I laugh and try to deny it, but I can feel the heat in my face making me a liar. “Okay, fine,” I admit, “I might have a pretty awesome thing going with a guy right now, but that’s all you’re getting out of me.”

  “I knew it! I’m so happy for you, Janey. You deserve something awesome after that last prick. It’s about time you hopped back on the horse.”

  Before Emily gets any more preachy, I change the subject. “How’s the birthday girl?”

  “Fantastic and very, very drunk. Come on, let’s get you a drink and then you have to see what I got her. Hands down, it’s the best present here.”

  “Okay, but only one drink,” I say as she pushes me into the dining room. “I drove and I can only stay for a couple of hours.”

  She stops in the middle of pouring me a partially liquefied frozen margarita from the blender and looks at me like I just told her Santa isn’t coming this year. “Whaaaaaat? Janey, come on, why do you have to leave so early? You just got here.”

  Thank you, Captain Obvious. I sigh dramatically and say, “I know, it totally sucks, but I have to be at work at three a.m.”—(no, I don’t)—“and I need at least a few hours of sleep if I hope to not pour coffee into anyone’s lap.”

  My cousin makes a sound of disgust, but resumes pouring my drink. “When are you going to stop working your entire life away?”

  “As soon as I can afford to. Tell you what, the day I can quit waitressing to supplement my income, you and Aunt Martha can throw me a party from dusk till dawn, just like this one, if you want.”

  Her face lights up as she hands me the strawberry margarita. Clapping, she says, “Deal! And I’ll get you the same gift I got Julia.”

  I laugh at her drunk-girl enthusiasm. “What is this amazing gift you keep talking about?” A chorus of excited screams rends the air, and I have to shout to be heard. “And what the hell is going on back there?”

  “It’s my present to Julia! Come on, we’re missing out on all the fun,” she yells over the din and leads the way through the house to the great room in the back.

  All I can see are the backs of women standing in a circle and cheering, and I half wonder if Aunt Martha hasn’t erected a Jell-O ring where naked men fight to the gelatin death. As crazy as it sounds, it’s not outside the realm of possibilities when it comes to my aunt.

  Emily grabs my hand and pushes her way through the crowd, dragging me with her as I try not to spill my filled-to-the-brim drink. When we break through the other side, I’m shocked at how many people are actually here. There have to be at least fifty women ranging in their early twenties to late fifties around the perimeter of the room, some sitting on furniture and folding chairs with the rest standing to fill in the gaps.

  It’s when my eyes land on a practically naked Austin that my stomach drops out. He singles out one of the squealing girls and sits her on the tufted square ottoman in the middle of the circle.

  Emily leans in and squeals in my ear. “Strippers! Told you it’s the best gift ever. I saw these guys at a party I was at last month, and knew I had to get them for tonight. Are they not the hottest specimens you’ve ever seen?”

  I’m unable to speak around the lump of nerves in my throat, but Em just laughs, probably thinking I’m struck dumb by the drool factor of her surprise. I nervously look around the roo
m, searching for Chance. My heart stops when the crowd parts on the other side, but it picks up again when it ends up being a tattooed guy leading a second girl into the circle. As he places her identically on the other side of the ottoman, I recognize the man as Roman. At least, I think it’s Roman.

  Every time I’ve seen the straight-laced lawyer, he’s dressed either in a suit or preppy casual wear you’d see in an Eddie Bauer catalog, the perfect picture of money and sophistication.

  But this Roman is like the other one’s evil twin. His jet-black hair is sticking up like fingers have been plowing through it, diamond studs are in his earlobes, and tattoos cover almost every inch of his upper body and arms. As he and Austin start dancing for their captive audience of two, Roman sticks his tongue out, revealing a silver ball flashing in the lights. His ears and his tongue are pierced? I briefly wonder what else might be pierced, but stop myself before my eyes drop to the front of his thin, white boxer briefs.

  One thing is for sure, though. Roman isn’t the model country-club boy I’d originally thought. He’s the poster child for wild times and probably even wilder sex. Addison would eat him up and lick the plate clean.

  As they start dancing, relief that Austin and Roman are the only two men here floods my veins. I don’t think I’d handle it well to see Chance getting pawed by other women. Taking several sips of my fruity drink, I decide to relax and enjoy the show along with the rest of the crowd. Despite not doing anything for me, Chance’s friends are still fine specimens of the male form and dance like Channing Tatum.

  The guys step up onto the ottoman with their feet on either side of their respective girls. They’re both so tall that the girls have to look up to get an eyeful of what the men are packing, but then the problem is rectified when Austin and Roman clasp their right hands together and lean back, using each other for counter balance. They bend their knees to bring their crotches eye-level, then use their free hands at the backs of the girls’ heads to pull them in close and grind on their faces.