ForePlay: A Checkmate Inc. Novel Book 1 (The Checkmate Inc. Series)

by Shelly Alexander

  Then she does the one thing that shreds the last thread of my willpower. The tip of her pink tongue darts out to trace her bottom lip. My brain starts to whir like an outdated hard drive.

  “Then let me pitch a proposal.” She’s half whispering.

  If your proposal includes riding my face until you come so hard you can’t think straight for a week, or letting me bury my tongue between your thighs until my entire face is wet with your taste and you’re crying out for more, then hell yeah. I’m all in. No pitch necessary.

  “I’m listening.” Because isn’t that what women really like? They like a guy to listen.

  “A week from Monday I have to present my campaign ideas to Adam. If he approves it, then he’ll let me present to you.”

  Wait. I frown. “I already told him I want you to be in charge of the campaign.”

  She shrugs. “Doesn’t matter. Everything goes through the partners first. They have to sign off on it before the client sees it. The campaign I put together for you has to be nothing short of brilliant… I have to be the best in the PR biz for Checkmate so he can’t deny me. If I’m not, he’ll fire me. Guaranteed. It’ll be the opportunity he’s been looking for.”

  The reality that her douchebag boss still has that much control over her barrels right over me. So does the fact that my sister and I have inadvertently put Chloe in a situation that could either cause her career to soar or end it with a crushing blow. “Why do you stay, if he’s such a jerk?”

  She sighs. “When I dated him last year, he wasn’t a partner. The Richards in Simmons & Richards was his dad. It didn’t last long. I ended it because, well, a person can’t hide their true colors forever. He didn’t take it well.”

  “And now he wants you gone because you’re a constant reminder that he’s not the ladies’ man he wants to think he is.”

  She laughs, and I’m glad the sadness in her tone is gone.

  “He needs a reason to fire me so I can’t sue for sexual harassment. I’ll leave Simmons & Richards, but I want it to be on my terms. If I give him a reason to fire me, he’ll sink any chance I have of getting hired by another decent firm.” She wraps those beautiful lips around the straw and sucks down two gulps of Sex on the Beach like it’ll give her the courage she needs to finish pitching her proposal. “So I was thinking…” A sexy-as-fuck blush seeps into her cheeks. “Last night you told me how Checkmate works. I was thinking maybe you could also show me. Personally. Every night after work.” Her blue eyes darken and brush over my face. My heart beats in an odd rhythm at the possibilities. At the thought of touching her, tasting her. Fucking her.

  Because I’m one hundred and fifty percent certain that is what she’s asking me to do. It’s not that I mind the idea of her under me, or riding me, or any other position she wants to try. It’s that I also want to date her, get to know what she likes and doesn’t like, look into her heart and her mind. But she’s putting a timeline on it, a drop-dead date. A week from Monday, that’s what she said. That would imply that she’s mostly interested in fucking, because real meaningful relationships go on longer than that, right?

  I must be the stupidest goddamn smart guy ever to almost get a PhD in biochemistry, because for a second, I actually think about saying no unless we can take it beyond a casual nine-day hook up.

  That uncertain look is back. The one like she’s just made the biggest mistake of her life. The one that says she’s been rejected. The one that makes me want to move heaven and earth to set her world right.

  “You know what? Forget I said anything.” She tries to take a step back, but I gently circle her wrist with my fingers and stroke the soft skin under my thumb.

  I angle my large frame so the crowd can’t see the intimate connection of our hands. “I’m in.” Hell yes, I’m in. I’ll take whatever she’s willing to give me. Nine days, nine hours, nine minutes… okay, I always make sure a woman is infinitely more satisfied than what can be accomplished in nine minutes, but you know what I mean. “But there’s something you need to understand, Chloe.” Her name rolling off my tongue is so sweet I can almost taste it. “The Checkmate experience is much more than just…” I glance around to make sure no one is within earshot. “It’s not about a one-off.” I tilt my head so she gets my meaning. “That’s not our goal.” It’s certainly not my personal goal either. “If it was, the misogynists’ accusations would be dead-on.”

  “That’s my point.” She looks at my thumb moving on her wrist. “I want to see for myself what Checkmate does for a man… and experience for myself how it affects a woman.” She looks up into my eyes, lust flaring to life in their blue depths.

  “If you’re sure.” I feather strokes back and forth across the inside of her wrist, and she draws in a deep breath. “You said you have doubts about mixing business and pleasure.”

  “I do. I’ve made that mistake once, and it didn’t work out so well.” She looks down at our hands, then locks her blue eyes onto mine. “But in this case, business and pleasure seem to be one and the same.”

  A thrill as electric as a thousand-watt bulb zings through me. I extend an open palm toward the lawn chess set. “Then let the game begin.”

  Chapter Six

  I have to remind Chloe where all the pieces go on the giant chessboard, since she hasn’t played in years.

  “Promise you’ll give me a chance?” Chloe says after we get all the pieces reset.

  I meet her in the middle between the two rows of black and white soldiers lined up to do battle. “I’ll give you anything you want.” My meaning is clear. “What you want is the whole point.”

  “And you’ll be patient?” She bites her lip for a second. “Because I don’t remember all the rules or the moves.”

  I want to take her to my apartment so goddamn bad right now, because the conversation is getting more arousing by the minute. “It’s like riding a bike.” My voice is gravel. “It’ll come back to you with each piece you remove.” My gaze travels over her clothing all the way down her gorgeous body. “I’ll help if you need it, but if you don’t need help, I’d rather watch.”

  Swear to God, her breath catches. “Okay,” she finally says, and her voice is breathy. “Teach me how to play.”

  Dear God, I love those words.

  But I’m picturing Chloe removing each piece of clothing. Slowly. Methodically. With her eyes locked with mine. I swear someone has dropped a weight on my chest, because I can barely breathe. I try to snap out of the haze I’m in by explaining the game. “Chess is about achieving checkmate in as few moves as possible while protecting your king from capture.”

  She arches a brow. “That sounds oddly similar to the accusations against your company. ‘Mating without commitment’ was one of the more popular tweets yesterday after the launch.”

  “I see you’re as sarcastic as you are smart and sexy.” I give her a playful smile. “But the people making the accusations have failed to consider that in both chess and at Checkmate Inc. the queen is the most valuable component.” I fold my arms over my chest like I’m her coach, her instructor in this dangerous game we’re playing. “Show me what you’ve got.”

  “I like that, the queen being the most important.” She walks to a pawn and rubs an open palm over its smooth head. Her blue eyes simmer, and she keeps rubbing. Her hand moves over the round tip slowly, softly, seductively. Waiting for my response.

  I swallow and try to calm my thundering heart. “If you keep doing that, I might embarrass both of us right here. Mostly myself.”

  She lets out that throaty laugh that makes my mind turn to mush and my dick turn to stone. “If I’m unsure what to do next, you can guide me,” she says.

  “I was hoping you’d say that.” One side of my mouth quirks up.

  The smile she gives me is so real, so sweet, that I start to think she’s way out of my league. I have an Upper West Side apartment that costs more than most people make in a lifetime. I’ve been on the covers of Forbes and GQ along with my two business part
ners. Women of all ages and tax brackets hit on me. A lot. So why do I feel like the quiet chess team guy who can’t get a date unless the girl has lost a bet?

  She moves a pawn forward two spaces on the outside edge of the board, and I know I’ll be her pawn for the next nine days, if that’s what she wants.

  “First mistake,” I say. “Try to control the center of the board.” I move one of my center pawns forward two spaces. “There’s one spot on a man that’s most vulnerable, and he’ll protect it with everything he’s got and at all costs. Any idea where that spot might be?”

  Her gaze takes a nice, slow journey over the opening of my jacket, over the indigo blue thermal Henley I’m wearing. Her eyes snag on my belt buckle, then drop just below.

  “Good,” I say, letting her look her fill. “Chess is no different. Controlling the middle of the board means protecting your king.”

  “And his crown jewels?”

  I got nothing. I mean, this girl is sharp. The barrage of sensual innuendos she’s been firing at me since yesterday are leading me to believe that she might want to be a little naughty. I just don’t know how naughty, but I’m hoping she’s going to show me over the next nine days.

  She moves a center pawn forward so that it’s next to mine.

  Another mistake. I could make a move called en passant and capture her pawn by jumping it. This setup is the only time that move is legal, but I agreed to give her a chance. Plus I don’t want this game or this conversation to end yet. It’s the best foreplay I’ve ever experienced.

  We keep going until several of my black pieces are scattered behind her, and only a few of her white pieces are behind me. I play along, so the game doesn’t end too soon. She moves her queen to the F-7 position and says, “Check.”

  “Nice.” I really am impressed. For a novice, she’s doing pretty well. “I only have one move from here.” I move my king to the D-6 position. “Now it’s a game of sacrifice to keep you from checkmating me.”

  “What if I want you to checkmate me?” she says. Our eyes lock. Heat pounds through my veins. My gaze is drawn to the quickening rise and fall of the swell of her breasts that’s exposed just above the dip of her cowl-neck sweater.

  If we weren’t in public, I’d have her naked in ten seconds flat. Screaming for more in another ten. More tongue, more finger, more dick. Deeper, faster, harder, slower, sweeter, however she wants it, I’d give it to her.

  She moves her knight. My pawn takes it. She moves her remaining knight.

  “Check,” she says for the second time.

  “Good move.” I move my king to D-5. “But not quite good enough to ’mate.”

  Swear to God, her eyes dilate. “So as a chess instructor, what do you think my next move should be?”

  Asking me to bend you over while I fuck you from behind would be a great move. I’d grasp your hip with one hand and wrap that long, silky hair around the other. I’d bend over you, molding my chest against the softness of your back and whisper the dirtiest things in your ear while I take you for the ride of your life. Once you came, I’d lay you back on the bed and do it all over again. And again, and again, and again, making sure you had ten orgasms to my one.

  “What about that piece?” She points to a rook on the back row. “I haven’t moved that one yet.”

  I clear my throat. “Good choice. But you tell me, where would you move it?”

  She points several squares straight in front of the rook and gives me a questioning look.

  I shrug. “Examine the board. Take your time, and assess the risk. It’s your prerogative. Your choice. The power is all in your hands, and every move either increases your domination of the board or weakens it.”

  I’m telling her so much in those words. Every sentence is a veiled tutorial on how she can call the shots with a man. With me. It’s all about her. All about what she wants. About her discovering what makes her feel sexy and wanted. Because I already know that if she feels sexy and wanted, then she’s going to make me one happy son-of-a-bitch.

  She studies me, then does the same to the board with the same intensity. She picks up the rook and moves it forward, placing it on the square she just pointed to. Which is right at my feet. Now we’re standing toe-to-toe, and I’m looking down into her blue eyes.

  “Your move,” she whispers.

  “The move I’m picturing right now requires privacy and maybe even soundproof walls, because you’d be screaming for more,” I whisper back.

  A sexy gasp slips through her parted lips.

  I want to drop a kiss on her that would make her panties wet right here in Central Park. Then again, if the look in her eyes is any indication, she may already be as wet as I am hard. Because hell yes, I’m as hard as fucking granite. So hard that the ache in my dick has started to spiral into other parts of my body, and has my mind spinning with fantasies of her giving me head until I come in her mouth.

  Let’s hope that’s one of the moves she wants me to guide her through over the next nine days.

  The sun has moved far enough to the west that it’s shining on her back. I can see the silhouette of her body underneath the barely-sheer sweater. Her tits are perfect for sucking, licking, and fucking. I hope that’s another move she wants to experience this week.

  I picture what she’ll look like in the throes of an all-out, mind-blowing, earth-moving orgasm. Her eyes will clamp shut, her brow will furrow, her lips will part on a scream of ecstasy. She’ll arch into me and squeeze my ass to pull me deeper into her. And I’ll milk her orgasm for all it’s worth, never letting up.

  I force myself to snap back to reality. I mean, fucking hell. We’re in the middle of Central Park. At my sister’s company party with a crowd of people ambling around. And I’m in the middle of an erotic fantasy.

  Best. Fucking. Chess match. Ever.

  “You’ve forced me to take your knight.” I push my king in a diagonal slide, and remove another one of her valuable pieces. The thought of removing anything from her makes me lick my lips.

  “I’ve already given you my next nine nights.” A gentle breeze coasts over us, and she hugs herself. “If you want them.”

  I take off my jacket and go to her, draping it around her shoulders. “Oh, I want them, Chloe.” I pull the jacket closed in the front.

  “Thank you.” She snuggles into it.

  “You’re welcome, but you shouldn’t thank me yet.” Without taking my eyes from hers, I walk backwards. With my foot, I slide my rook a few spaces, and say, “Checkmate.”

  She gasps, her gaze flying to her king. She scans the board. “I didn’t see that coming.”

  I sure as hell saw her coming. Many, many times. But I don’t tell her that. She’s asked me to show her how Checkmate works. And that’s exactly what I plan to do.

  She counts the number of black pieces she’s captured from me. “Not bad, I guess, considering I’m playing a champion.”

  The crowd has melted away again, the way it always does when a highly intelligent person becomes completely enthralled with something they’re interested in. I walk to her, dip my head so that my nose almost brushes hers. “But I still won, so it doesn’t matter how many of my pieces you captured. In the game of relationships, Checkmate Inc. always wants the woman to win. If you win, then it’s a win for your partner too. The point is for you to define what winning means, not the guy.”

  I glance over her shoulder toward the crowd. My sister is talking to Dex, pointing in our direction like she’s issuing a command for him to check on us. He nods and starts in our direction.

  “Besides,” I return my stare to her eyes, but it involuntarily drops to her lips. “I had you in two moves, I just didn’t say so. It would’ve crushed your desire to learn the game. You wouldn’t have had time to see if you might like it. It would’ve left a bad taste in your mouth—” I’m still staring at that particular part of her anatomy, and her lips part. “—before you saw what the game really has to offer.”

  “Nice analogy,” s
he says. “And precisely why I want to see Checkmate in action. Personally. With you.”

  Chapter Seven

  Early the next morning I hit the gym to work off pent-up energy from dropping Chloe at her apartment door without so much as a goodnight kiss. A Pound of Flesh Fitness is quiet and all but empty this early on Sunday.

  Music is blaring through my earbuds, and I’m pumping iron as hard and fast as I can. This thing with Chloe is messing with my head, and I need to get it screwed back on right. It’s also messing with other parts of my body, and I need to work up a sweat one way or another.

  I know it surprised her when I was a perfect gentleman last night, but sex isn’t my only objective in this scenario. Sex will happen soon enough, and when it does, I’m convinced it will rock our worlds. First, I want intimacy. Intimacy will make the sex all the more mind-blowing.

  I’m staring in the floor-length mirror, watching the sweat roll off my face and flexing arms as I rotate the weights up and down. The owner of the gym walks by with a client he’s training, and notches his chin up at me in a “Hey dude” gesture. I return it in the mirror and keep on pumping.

  Oz, Dex, and I knew Ethan Wilde in college. He was a baseball scholarship jock. The kind who always had girls swarming him, but he was one of the nice guys. When he blew out his rotator cuff his senior year, his dream to play in the Bigs died, but he still made something of himself by opening his first gym in the heart of Manhattan. Now, A Pound of Flesh Fitness is growing, with three other locations in the city.

  When I’m done, I shower and head to our anchor studio on Fifth Avenue to meet Chloe. The press release she wrote for me initially included an invitation to handpicked members of the media for a behind-the-scenes glimpse of what Checkmate offers its clients. It has never been done before, because client privacy is paramount to our success. I’m making an exception in this case, because our PR account rep can’t do her job without seeing us in action. A point she made crystal clear yesterday.