For The One (Gaming The System Book 5)

by Brenna Aubrey

  I opened my eyes and blew out a breath, flopping on my back to stare up at the ceiling. “This isn’t working.”

  He didn’t say anything for a long moment. “Are you angry with me?”

  Deep breaths. In with the good, out with the bad. “No. I’m just frustrated. This obviously isn’t going to work with your…literal way of thinking. We’ll have to figure out something else that will work for you.”

  “It’s okay. People have told me that I’m annoying before.”

  “I’m not going to tell you that you’re annoying.”

  He stiffened. “You think I’m a lost cause.”

  I tilted my head to the side and looked at him. “I don’t. I never give up on people that easily. I’m a fighter, remember? I was born in the middle of a war.” I patted the mat. “Come lie down here next to me. Let’s try something else.”

  He slowly complied until he was lying beside me on the mat. I could smell him again—that clean, masculine smell. It reminded me of the hot kisses we’d shared the other night on my bed.

  I swallowed, suddenly feeling that sexual tension return, like a fist tightening just below my navel bringing a sweet ache. Maybe I needed to do a little grounding and centering myself. This guy was getting me all kinds of riled up—in more ways than one.

  I turned to face him, bending my arm at the elbow to rest my head in my hand. “What is it about crowds that makes you upset? Is there a story behind it?”

  He turned his head to look at me, but when his eyes met mine, he rolled back to look at the ceiling. “When I was in elementary school, I used to hate recess because of all the kids. They would pick on me. Surround me.”

  My mouth gaped in shock. “They bullied you? Why was that allowed?”

  “They never hit me or hurt me—not then. They liked to freak me out, though. They’d stand in a circle all around me and yell, chanting different things. They thought it was funny to watch me get disoriented. When any adults asked what was happening, they’d say we were all playing a game—that I was fine with it. I used to have panic attacks whenever the bell rang and the teacher insisted I go outside for recess.”

  There was a sick feeling building inside me as I listened to his story, delivered with almost dispassionate neutrality—as if he were telling me about a story he’d read in the newspaper. I blinked, my eyes stinging as I felt that pain and confusion of a child trying to sort things out, overwhelmed by all the sensory input being forced on him. In a way, I could relate, having started first grade here in the US without speaking a word of English. It had been overwhelming for me, isolating. And I remembered months of panic and uncertainty. But it had faded as I’d adapted. I’d had the skills to pick up the language quickly. William hadn’t been as fortunate.

  “Shit, that’s horrible,” I said, my voice trembling. He continued to stare up at the ceiling but said nothing in response. On impulse, I reached out and touched his arm. “Hey…you’re here now… not there.”

  He turned and looked at me, and this time he didn’t pull his gaze away. It was almost as if he was unaware that his eyes were staring straight into mine. But I was aware of it and my breathing froze. Our connection sizzled silently in the space between us. Tears sprang to my eyes as I stared deep into that dark reflection of raw vulnerability, with a strong touch of self-loathing.

  William was pure—and not just sexually so. His feelings, emotions, perceptions. Yet it seemed that all the darkness he had seen and experienced, he’d internalized to somehow be his fault. This warped logic was part of the misplaced burden he’d hefted onto his shoulders. And in this moment, I could tell he was troubled.

  I placed my hand on his whisker-rough cheek. “They were wrong, what they did. You couldn’t help your reactions. You are not lesser than them.”

  His cheek bulged under my hand, and he immediately pulled away and sat up.

  I pushed up beside him. “What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t need to be reassured like a child. I’m a man.”

  I paused, unsure of what to say. I felt like I was walking into a trap. “I was empathizing, Wil. I feel badly that you were bullied. No kid should have to have that happen. Just like no kid should live in a city that’s being bombed.”

  He sat for another long moment, still tense. I shifted to rest on my knees and put a hand on his shoulder. He jerked it away. “I don’t want to be touched right now.”

  “Okay. I’m sorry.”

  “War is a tragedy. Autism is not a tragedy.”

  I nodded. “I agree. Actually, in some ways, I think it’s a blessing.”

  He looked at me sideways, probably trying to determine if I was being serious or not.

  “I wish I could see the world the way you do sometimes,” I explained. “I wish I could have your sensitivity, even when it’s so intense it hurts. I wish I could focus my talents like you can. I’m sorry…I didn’t mean to insult you.”

  He turned his head and looked at my chin, then my nose, then my mouth. His gaze stopped there. “Jenna,” he said.

  “Yes?”

  “I want to kiss you.”

  “Help me visualize what you mean. Would you kiss me on the lips…or on the cheek?” I answered, unable to resist the urge to tease him.

  His eyes rested on my lips with unwavering concentration. “On your lips. My lips and your lips.”

  Oh yes, please. I smiled. “For how long? Would it be for five seconds or closer to a minute?”

  He hesitated but didn’t tear his eyes away. I licked my lips, just to torture him a little.

  “And would our mouths be open or closed? Or maybe halfway open? Would there be tongue? How much tongue?”

  Another long pause. “You’re teasing me.”

  “I was just trying to be cute… Are you mad?”

  He growled, reaching over to hook his hand around the back of my neck, pulling my head to his. And this kiss. This kiss.

  Wow.

  His lips caressed mine, then pushed open my mouth. Without wasting a moment, his tongue slid in with confidence. Our previous kisses had been amazing, but this one…

  He kissed me like he’d been doing it every day of his adult life. Our tongues tangled and writhed, and my blood pressure shot up about a hundred points. I was hot everywhere. Arousal blossomed wet and scalding in my center, radiating outward with each movement of his mouth, each swish of his delicious tongue. He was quickly, coolly enslaving me.

  Despite the fact that he just told me he didn’t want to be touched, I chanced that he might have changed his mind. I leaned forward, putting my hands against his chest, rubbing them down his front. His chest was hard, solid, strong—a blacksmith’s chest. I continued to touch him firmly like I knew he preferred.

  Suddenly, I felt his hand slide against my belly, stroking with that same deep pressure. My stomach somersaulted and I sat up in front of him so we were facing each other, my legs across his thighs.

  He was still kissing me, his tongue exploring my mouth with the intrepidity of an astronaut on a new world, more driven by the urge to experience new things than held back by the need for safety.

  As his hand continued to stroke my stomach, I noticed that each time it inched closer to the bottom of my bra before lowering again. I ran my hands shamelessly over his nipples, rubbing them through his shirt, and was rewarded with his quickening breath.

  I yanked my mouth from his and began kissing his rough jaw, then his throat, all the way down to the neckline of his shirt before kissing back up again. His Adam’s apple bobbed beneath my lips and his hands slid over my shoulder blades, holding me fast against him.

  “Wil,” I breathed. He didn’t answer but continued kissing his way across my jaw to my ear, then taking my lobe into his mouth and lovingly caressing it with his tongue. “Touch me…touch my chest.” My voice sounded shaky with my desire.

  His hands on my back froze and his mouth found its way back to mine. We kissed again and his hand cupped my breast. Immediately, my nipple hardened under
his touch. His palm rubbed against the already sensitive nub, sending shocks of heat from my breast clear down to my center, tightening that desire to a laser-thin focus.

  “Wil,” I whispered between follow-up kisses.

  “Yes?” he said.

  “I have another breast. And you have another hand.”

  I didn’t have to tell him twice. His other hand slid around my body and began to lavish attention on the neglected breast. When he rolled both his thumbs over my nipples, my back arched, pushing my chest harder against his hands. Every nerve ending in my body was pulled so taut you could play a melody off them like a bow dragging across the strings of a violin.

  I needed to feel the heat of his body next to mine—that heavenly feeling of skin on skin. My hands dropped to his waist, slid under his T-shirt and across his flat stomach. His eyes snapped shut and his hands froze. I wasn’t sure if this would be the point where he’d pull back, so I pressed my advantage.

  “Take your shirt off.”

  He opened his eyes, looking again at my mouth, and his hands left my breasts long enough to tug on the neck of his shirt and pull it up over his head.

  That didn’t take much coaxing.

  I smiled, pleased at being one layer of clothing closer to the goal. “Now—”

  But he was already reaching for my shirt, pulling it at the neck. I moved his hands to the bottom hem of the shirt instead.

  “This is how girls do it.”

  “I’m not a girl.”

  I laughed. “But I am.”

  With a smile, he slowly took the hem of my shirt and drew it up and over my head. Then his eyes fixed on the knotted nipples evident through the thin material of my bra.

  This was happening. This was so happening.

  Without any further hints from me, William’s hands returned to my breasts, cupping them over my bra. I pulled his head down to kiss me with one hand while caressing his very lickable chest with my other hand. Wow…who’d have thunk that a modern-day blacksmith-turned-warrior knight could be so hot and sexy?

  “Jenna,” he muttered against my lips when we finally came up for air. He spoke in halting syllables, so I knew he was trying to slow things down—which signaled to me that it was time to stomp on the accelerator.

  I lowered my mouth to his chest, kissing my way down to one of his nipples and rolling my tongue over it. He tasted salty and sweet, like saltwater taffy.

  His breath hissed through his lips and his fingers threaded through my hair.

  “That feels so good,” he whispered shakily.

  I moved over to lick and suck the other nipple. He let out a satisfying groan, which I felt clear down to my toes. Every nerve and muscle in my body was now crying out for release.

  “Wil, I want you,” I said, kissing my way back up to his neck.

  “I want you, too.”

  I reached back and unhooked my bra with one hand—a skill I’d mastered with some practice—and let it slide down my arms. His hands were on my breasts seconds after freeing them from my bra, and the rough and callused touch felt exquisite on my sensitive skin.

  I rose up to kiss him. His kisses grew fiercer, his tongue plunging into my mouth, forcing mine into submission with the ferocity of his ardor. When we broke contact, I was breathing hard and so was he. His handsome face was flushed, his eyes dark with desire. I could tell he was about to lose control.

  My plan to seduce the hot hunk of man-virgin? So far, so good.

  Slowly, William lowered his head and enveloped my nipple with his hot mouth. “Yes,” I breathed, urging him on, having already learned that subtlety was completely lost on him. “I like that a lot. I—”

  My words died in my throat. There were no words. No thoughts even, only the piercing, intense pleasure of his mouth sucking my nipple. I think I might have even forgotten to breathe because, damn, it was overwhelming. Desire arced through me like lightning.

  I grabbed William’s head, threading my fingers through his thick hair to hold him where he was. Had I not done that, I may have collapsed into a helpless puddle of sexual heat on the floor. Holy shit. It wasn’t just his kisses. It was his touch. It was everything. It was electric—and I was hooked.

  “Oh, Wil, I want it. So. Damn. Bad.”

  His mouth froze for a moment, then he pulled away—mere millimeters, but it was enough to make my breath lurch with the deprivation. “What is it?”

  “What?”

  “You said you want ‘it.’ What is it?”

  There I went again, assuming the obvious was clear to him. “This…us. I want to be together.”

  “We’re together.”

  “No, I mean…together as in…as in having sex.”

  Another pause. His breath curled across the surface of my tender nipple, and I throbbed with the loss of his touch. I smoothed my fingers through his hair, then rubbed my thumb across his cheek.

  “It’s okay to want it, Wil.”

  He drew back and I noticed his face was flushed. Staring at my throat, he said, “Tell me you’re staying and not traveling with the Ren Faire.”

  My head spun. “I—what?”

  “I told you already that we are not going to have sex so I can just watch you leave. If we do this, I want your promise that you’ll stay.”

  His voice was flat and cold, and it brought all my sexually-charged hopes crashing down. I fell back on my legs and looked at him. He turned, snatched up his shirt and slipped it over his head, but it was inside out. With a mild curse, he realized his mistake, and I was treated to another nice view of his chest while he straightened himself out.

  I refused to call this an impasse. I knew he wanted it. I knew he was like any other red-blooded man in his mid-twenties. And he was clearly turned on… How resolute could he actually be?

  I leaned back on my arms and pushed my breasts out at an attractive angle. I was rewarded when William fixed his eyes on my chest, then I watched the struggle cross his handsome features. Finally, he closed his eyes and sat back.

  “Put your clothes on,” he said.

  I ignored his request. “Why don’t you want to—?”

  “I never said I didn’t want to.” And judging from the still obvious erection in his jeans, he could hardly deny it.

  “Then—”

  “But we aren’t going to. Not until I have that promise. And if not, then we won’t.”

  I’d change his mind—sooner or later. No man, no matter how stubborn, was that strong. Besides, he didn’t realize the favor I was doing him by not committing. Bad things tended to happen to people who loved me…

  I swallowed and shoved that thought aside.

  “This isn’t the Middle Ages, Wil. You aren’t responsible or committed to someone just because you sleep with them.”

  He tensed. “If you think that’s the reason, then you’ve completely misunderstood me.”

  I raised my brow, the challenge in his voice rankling me.

  Reaching over, I grabbed my shirt and bra and put them on my lap. After a long moment, he opened his eyes, probably thinking that I’d dressed. When he saw that I hadn’t, he didn’t close his eyes again.

  “So even though we could be enjoying ourselves…”

  “It’s not about enjoying. It’s about you running away afterward.”

  There it was again. It had riled me up when he’d leveled that at me earlier today at the park, and now it just pissed me off.

  “You don’t know anything about me or my history, so it’s rude to say I’m running away.”

  He shook his head. “People are always calling my honest statements rude. I didn’t mean to be rude to you. But what is it, then, when you have people here who care about you, like Alex and Mia…like me. And you’re just going to go away with no plan to ever come back?”

  “I—” How could I explain this? I’d always thought about it as moving on to catch the next rainbow. To learn, to grow as a person. To experience life. To not grow stifled…attached. Because attachments could wound
and murder parts of your heart, tearing those parts in the most painful manner possible when those attachments left you forever.

  He wouldn’t understand.

  He couldn’t understand.

  And there was no sense in arguing about it, so I did what I was best at. I changed the subject.

  Stretching out in a pose, I pushed out my naked chest. “Wil…I want you to draw me. Like one of your French girls.”

  His gaze slid down my body, warming the parts of me that it touched. “I have already.”

  I licked my lips and smiled. “Like this?”

  He didn’t answer, but heat crept across his face.

  I sat up. “You did?”

  His face was stoic. “I refuse to answer on the grounds that it might incriminate me.”

  “Pleading the Fifth? Hmm…now I’m going to have to see this. I’ll make you a deal. I’ll put my shirt back on if you show me.”

  He thought about that for a long time. “I could just hold out until you want to go home. You have to put your shirt back on for that.”

  “That’s true. But until then, I’d be wandering around topless in your house, maybe even brushing up against you, falling against you. You know…being wanton.”

  He continued staring at my boobs as if he was mesmerized.

  “You want to touch them again, don’t you?”

  He stood. “I’ll show you some drawings if you put on your shirt.”

  With a small noise of triumph, I did as he asked. But in reality, I would have won either way. Having him grope me again with those big, callused hands certainly wouldn’t be considered a loss by anyone’s definition.

  William gave me the succinct version of a grand tour of his large, ranch-style home. As he led me into his art studio, which interestingly enough was in the master suite, he explained that not only was it the largest bedroom in the house, but the lighting was the best there. He’d even installed an industrial-sized sink and drying rack in the attached bathroom so he could wash his supplies.

  The room was equipped to the nines with special tools and items I didn’t even recognize. The floor was polished concrete, and there was special diffused lighting with filters and shades at the ready to adjust the lighting. There were also blackout curtains that could be drawn on all the windows. It was a lovely room and would have made a wonderful bedroom, but as an art studio, it was amazing.