I was still petrified as we stood there, kissing in a crowd full of football fans, but it was a different kind of fear. It was the kind that came with taking a risk instead of avoiding one, and the kind that was as exciting as it was terrifying.
I didn’t know what would happen next. I had no guarantee I wouldn’t be hurt. And, honestly, I had no idea what I could give, what I could let go of.
But I knew I wanted to try.
Zach pulled back, his eyes searching mine with his hand still in my hair. There were a million words in those coffee eyes of his, a thousand reasons to smile — but there was a bit of fear, too. And it was his fear that somehow brought comfort to me.
He was taking a risk, too.
“Let’s go, then,” he said after a moment, eyes still fixed on mine.
I wrapped my hand in his, letting him tug me up through the stands in the opposite direction of everyone else. They were all filing back into their seats while I was texting Belle that we were leaving early. She just responded with a winking face emoji, and I smiled, tucking my phone away and saying another silent thank you to my best friend who knew me better than I knew myself.
We climbed into a waiting cab, Zach pulling me into his arms and running his fingers through my hair, both of us settling into a comfortable silence on the way to my condo.
And for the first time all season, I didn’t give a damn how the game ended.
Gemma
My hands shook just as much as they did the first night with Zach as I twisted the key in my door. The nerves were almost stronger tonight, born less out of anticipation of what would happen and more out of the high of letting go.
I had surrendered to my feelings for him, backing down on a plan I was so hell bent on sticking with. And now, I was no longer in control.
That both excited and terrified me.
I dropped my keys on the little table by the front door once we were inside, kicking off my sneakers and socks and leaving them by the door, too. The city lights filled my condo with a cool glow, and I only turned on one lamp, leaving it mostly dim.
“Wine?” I asked, already halfway to the kitchen as Zach closed the front door behind him.
He watched me, kicking off his own shoes and leaving them next to mine. “Wine sounds great.”
“Red okay?”
He nodded, and I pulled down a new bottle I’d purchased that week, uncorking it and filling two glasses. My hands were still shaking, breath shallow.
You’re shaking because you want to touch me, because you want me to touch you.
I heard his words in my mind just as clearly as if he’d just said them, and I bit my lip, cheeks flushing as I crossed my living room to hand him his glass.
I did want him to touch me.
I wanted him to touch me so, so bad.
“Thank you,” he said, tapping his glass to mine once I’d handed it to him.
We both took a drink with our eyes dancing over each other, smiles playing on our lips.
“I turned on the game,” he said, nodding to my TV. I hadn’t even noticed it was on.
“Perfect,” I said, but I didn’t even glance at the score. “Better than the music I put on last time.”
Zach laughed at that, shaking his head. “Hey, Marvin set the mood, didn’t he? You knew what you were doing.”
“I knew nothing about what I was doing.”
Zach’s smile softened, his eyes watching mine. “I know. It was adorable.”
“As long as you think so.”
I let out a long, slow breath, crossing the room to where the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the south side of the city. The stadium was glowing in the distance, and I watched it as the crowd roared on my television. It was quiet, the volume low, but I felt that crowd deep in my chest like they were cheering for me.
Kiss him! Kiss him!
My stomach flipped, and I took a sip of my wine instead of turning around to face Zach again. I couldn’t stop shaking. I couldn’t stop overanalyzing the fact that I didn’t have a plan now.
The ball was his. And my defense was weak.
I gripped my glass a little tighter, eyes widening.
Holy shit.
It was like all the adrenaline from the game, from Belle’s pep talk, from having Zach’s arms around me faded all at once in a dramatic whoosh. Suddenly, the nervous energy shifted from excitement to panic.
I’m not in control.
I don’t have a plan.
He was in my condo, again, after I swore he never would be after that first night. I told him I liked him. I admitted I had feelings. I left the guy who was in my plan at the game without even telling him I was leaving.
And now, we were back at my place.
And I had no idea what to do.
I took another sip of my wine, forcing a breath, but it got caught somewhere in my chest when a warm hand brushed my hip.
“It really is some view you have up here,” Zach said, sliding up behind me. One hand still held his wine, the other gently holding my hip as his eyes washed over the city lights.
“Still hard to believe this place is mine, sometimes,” I breathed, pulse ticking up a notch with him so close to me. His breath was warm on my neck, his hand firm as he held me, and where I was visibly shaking, he was serene and calm. Zach commanded my attention simply by standing there behind me, tall and confident, and it was then that I realized.
I’d given the control to him.
And somewhere, deep down beneath my anxiety and fear — I liked that.
Zach turned his gaze from the city to me, but I couldn’t look at him. I just stared out the window as he lowered his lips to my shoulder, eliciting a shiver as he kissed the tender skin there.
“You’re still nervous.”
“Even more than last time,” I blurted out on a breath.
Zach chuckled, his warmth leaving me long enough for him to abandon his still-full wine glass on the table next to my couch. He slid up behind me again, this time both hands wrapping around my waist, pulling me flush against him as he breathed me in.
“Remember what I told you last time?” he asked, his breath husky and raw as his hands slipped under the fabric of my hoodie. His hands pressed flat against my stomach, lips brushing against the skin of my neck again.
“Mm-hmm,” I managed, but I’d already closed my eyes, soaking in the feel of his hands on me.
“This is the best part,” he said, repeating his sentiment from that first night. “You’re nervous, because you’re excited, because I’m new and I make you feel something.”
I swallowed as his hands slid up a little more, under the tank top I wore beneath my hoodie, his fingers splaying over my rib cage.
“You want to touch me,” he breathed, rolling his hips against my ass. I gasped at the feel of his hard-on, knowing he was already so turned on, so ready.
“Yes,” I breathed.
His hands drifted up even more, fingers slipping beneath the wire of my bra. He brushed the bottom of my breasts, gently at first, and then his fingertips rolled over each of my nipples just as he sucked the lobe of my ear between his teeth.
“And you want me to touch you.”
“God, yes.” I panted, back arching of its own accord. I wanted his hands on me, fully on me, wanted to press every inch of me against every inch of him.
I almost forgot about my wine, the glass slipping in my hand, and I took a step toward the table where Zach had abandoned his glass. But his hands tightened around my ribs, holding me in place.
“No,” he commanded, and his fingers inched their way up, rolling over my nipples once more. I moaned, head falling back against his shoulder. “Hold onto that wine glass,” he said, dragging his tongue over the back of my neck. “And don’t you spill a fucking drop.”
He squeezed my nipples tighter before letting go of them altogether, and I whimpered, body shaking at the loss.
Zach kissed down my neck, over my shoulder, biting down on the muscle as his hands
slipped from under my hoodie and dived down to my jeans, instead. I barely got another breath in before the button was unhooked, the zipper yanked down, and his hands hooked in the hem, rolling the denim down over my hips as he pressed against me harder from behind.
“Ever since the night I first touched you, I’ve been dying to touch you again,” he breathed, tugging my jeans down as I wiggled to help him in his efforts. “To taste you again.”
I moaned, rubbing my ass against his rigid cock once my jeans were around my knees. He felt so big against my bare skin, thick and hard and ready to demolish me. But he didn’t rip my jeans off farther, didn’t yank me around or take even a single article of his own clothing off.
Instead, he let me wiggle the rest of the way out of my jeans, all while holding my wine glass as steady as I could. Then, he gathered my hair in one hand, tugging a little as he moved it over one shoulder and whispered into my ear.
“Can I taste you, Gemma?”
“Yes,” I breathed, the word reverberating through me. “Please, please.”
I felt his lips curl against my skin, and Zach pressed one more kiss beneath my ear before his hands ran their way down my back, over my hips, and he held them tight as he lowered himself to the ground behind me.
When he did, his face was directly in line with my ass.
I sucked in a breath, one hand still clutching that damn wine glass as the other hung awkwardly at my side. I didn’t know what to do with that empty hand, where to put it, what to touch. I wanted it in his hair, but he was behind me. I wanted to touch him, but he was out of reach.
But when his tongue ran along my left ass cheek, a satisfied growl ripping from his throat before his teeth sank into my flesh, I didn’t have to think about what to do with that hand anymore.
I gasped, hand shooting out to slam against the window as a mixture of pain and overwhelming pleasure washed over me.
Zach chuckled, both hands taking a firm grip on my ass. “You love to shake this thing when you strut away from me,” he husked, hands massaging my cheeks. “Drives me absolutely insane.”
He spanked me, and I yelped, nearly forgetting about the glass again until the red liquid sloshed up the side, threatening to spill.
“Ah, ah,” he tsked, rubbing the skin he’d just reddened with his palms. “Don’t spill.”
I groaned, throwing my head back as he snaked one hand between my thighs. The side of his index finger rubbed against my clit, the lace of my panties giving the perfect amount of friction to bring every nerve to life.
It’d never been like this with Carlo, with anyone. Just like every other aspect of my life, I always honed control in the bedroom. I was the one who went down first. I was the one who climbed on top. I was the one who initiated, who set the pace, who finished first.
But when Zach touched me, he sucked every ounce of control out of me like a god taking my soul. When his hands were on me, I was his — his to own, his to do with what he wanted.
I never knew the kind of pleasure that could come from letting go.
“Goddamn,” Zach breathed, a guttural moan leaving his throat as he slipped one fingertip beneath my panties. “You are so fucking wet, Gem.”
I didn’t have time to moan or husk or agree with his assessment before he slipped that finger inside me, hard, thrusting all the way until he was knuckle deep. I gasped at the feel, hand searching for grip on the glass, but there was no relief. So I tightened my fist around the stem of the wine glass, surrendering to the goosebumps covering my skin.
“Bend,” Zach commanded, and he pressed the small of my back down as the other hand hooked at my hip, showing me how he wanted me.
I leaned forward, cheek hitting the glass as I tilted my ass out, legs still straight, back arched.
“Good girl,” he said, and he hooked his thumbs in the straps of my thong, pulling it down my thighs all the way to my feet.
I tried to step out of them, to free myself from the lace, but he clamped his hands around my ankles.
“No.”
He didn’t say anything more, but in the next second, I felt that same lacy fabric tighten around where his hands just were. He tied the straps into a knot, securing my feet in place, and then his hands hooked in my waist, bending me even more.
And then, without warning, without giving me a chance to catch another breath, he buried his face between my thighs.
His tongue swept over my clit, swirling before diving between my lips as I gasped for oxygen. My breath fogged the window, and the hand holding my wine glass weakened to the point that it was almost painful to continue holding on.
“Fuck,” Zach breathed, his voice rumbling between my legs. “So sweet.”
“Zach, please,” I whimpered, but I had no idea what I was begging for. Did I want more? Less? Did I want him to stop or dive in completely?
I didn’t know, not until the exact moment he delivered on what I hadn’t even realized I was asking. Slowly, he ran the pad of two fingers up my seam, and just as they slipped inside, his tongue ran over the crease where my cheek met my thigh.
And then, he was eating my ass.
My eyes bulged open, like my brain was on autopilot to immediately object. But my body stopped my words from coming before they even had the chance to form.
Holy shit.
His fingers worked relentlessly inside me, curling and pumping, while his tongue swirled the tight, puckered, forbidden hole. He didn’t breach it, just applied the perfect amount of pressure to spark a wave of taboo pleasure through me. I moaned, trying to widen my stance, to give him more, but my ankles were shackled.
And in all my squirming and panting, I spilled my wine.
“Shit,” I cursed, tilting the glass back upright and eyeing the red stain on my carpet.
Zach clicked his tongue, withdrawing his fingers and mouth from me all at once. The loss was instant, my body convulsing, and I cried out in protest.
“You spilled the wine,” he said, running his hands up my thighs and spanking my ass again as he stood. “Now, it’s my turn.”
In the next second, my wine glass was in Zach’s hand instead of mine, and he’d spun me, my bare ass pressing against the window as he slammed his mouth hard-on mine. I moaned at the taste of me on his tongue, his hard on rubbing against my clit as he rolled his body into mine. Then, he pulled completely away, leaving me gasping for air and another kiss as he placed the wine glass on the table next to his and turned back to face me with a wicked grin.
“Careful getting out of those,” he said, eyeing where my panties were still tied around my ankles. His grin disappeared as he yanked his long-sleeve shirt over his head, and though I wanted to move, to untie my shackles, I couldn’t do anything once he was half-naked in front of me.
His chest was broad and tan, a deep line cutting him all the way from the middle of his pecs down to the very last ab that rested right above the hem of his jeans. Every muscle ebbed and flowed as he shifted, tearing his shirt the rest of the way off and letting it drop on the floor at his feet. I followed the movement, scanning every inch of his bare chest and stomach, breath shallow.
My eyes caught on a small patch of hair that started just below his belly button, dipping beneath his jeans, and framed on each side by a dip in his muscles that framed his groin in a perfect V.
Zach really was a god.
His eyes raked over me, hands working the button and zipper on his jeans as he watched me. He bit down hard on his bottom lip, tugging his jeans down and letting them drop to the floor, and I swallowed, keeping my gaze trained on his face.
I took his cue, pulling my hoodie and tank top over my head in one, fluid movement. My hair caught in the neck hole, tumbling over my shoulders once I was free, and I unclasped my bra next, letting my breasts spill free.
Zach paused where he was ready to pull his briefs down, shaking his head as his eyes raked over my now-completely naked body. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he breathed, his hand rubbing over the bulge straining
against his briefs. “Come here.”
I bent, carefully pulling the lace of my panties wide so I could step out of the contraption he’d tied me up with. And when I stood again, there wasn’t a single piece of clothing left on Zach’s body.
He stood there like a king, stroking his impressive length as his eyes set me on fire from across the room. Every roll of his fist over his cock made his hips flex, made my mouth water, and my heart started beating so fast I was afraid I’d pass out if I didn’t get in the safety of his arms to hold me upright.
I took the first step, but then he was charging toward me, too. We crashed together in the middle of the room to the tune of another roar of the crowd on the television, and I didn’t know what was happening at that game, but I felt like they were all cheering for us.
Zach wrapped his arms around me, pulling me into him like he couldn’t get close enough, his tongue slipping inside my mouth like he wanted to brand every part of me. The way he touched me wasn’t timid or nervous, it wasn’t hesitant or unsure. He touched me like I’d only been his to touch, like I was born for this, for him — and now that he had me, he knew exactly what to do, from years and years of wanting. Of waiting.
“Purse,” I breathed, pointing to the counter behind him. “Condom.”
Zach tore his mouth from mine, crossing the room in three steps and dumping my entire purse on the counter.
I laughed. “Oh, no, it’s cool. I’ll clean that up later.”
Zach didn’t apologize, just smirked, tearing open a condom and rolling it over his length on his way back to me. He wrapped his hands around my wrists, pulling them over my head as he backed me up into the window again. “Did you hear me apologize?”
His mouth captured mine before I could respond, and as my ass hit the window, he dropped his grip from my wrists, wrapping his hands around my waist, instead. I planted mine on his shoulders, and as he lifted, I pushed, wrapping my legs around him as he leaned me against the glass.
My breath caught as he lined up at my center with just a dip of his hips, and we both paused, foreheads pressed together, oxygen dancing between us.
The Wrong Game Page 17