Game Changer

by Melissa Cutler

  Her eyes searched his face. “What if I’m ready now?”

  A corner of his lips kicked up in a grin. His hand cupped her mound. He sunk his middle finger between her folds and rotated it. Her chin tipped up and her eyes closed.

  While his finger worked, he kissed a path down her neck and to her left scar. “Are your scars sensitive like my scars, or are they dull?”

  “Dull.”

  Even still, he licked across it with the flat top of his tongue. He would never kiss another breast again. He would never suckle a nipple or plump a breast in his hand, but how could he mind that, even a little, when it meant that Harper was healthy, when it meant that he got the gift of living with her for the rest of his life?

  He closed his eyes and breathed through the emotion that tightened his throat at the thought. “Then tell me what does feel good,” he said, his voice ragged. “Tell my mouth where to go.”

  She combed her fingers into his hair. “I don’t know. This is the first time . . .”

  She sounded distressed, so he pushed up on his elbow until his face was even with hers and let his working finger go still against her clit. “Then we’ll find out together, won’t we?”

  Her eyes turned lost and distant, so he brought her hand to his right leg and pressed it over his stump. “Touch me here.”

  She rubbed it. He groaned and dropped his head against her chest, it felt so good.

  “The first time I figured out that the nerves of my amputation site had gone wonky, it was a female doctor who was touching me. I was mortified. She gave me my first amputation woodie. It’s, like, the most freaky, inconvenient erogenous zone ever.”

  Her expression relaxed. She rubbed it hard. He grunted, letting her know good and well the effect she was having on him. Then her hand left his leg and took hold of his dick. He hissed through his teeth and rewarded her efforts with a deep, demanding kiss before moving his mouth to the nape of her neck. Baring his teeth, he gently bit her muscle.

  She arched her back, her movement on his erection pausing. “There. Yes.”

  He focused his attention on her neck, but set his finger to working her clit again, rotating and dipping it into her wet heat, then repeating the rhythm until he was certain he’d gotten her out of her own head again.

  Shifting his weight, he moved his dick away from her hand and knelt between her legs. He replaced his fingers with his mouth and, in no time, her cries of pleasure filled the room. This time, he let her come when she was ready. She clamped her thighs around his head and practically levitated off the bed. There was no faking the intensity of the tremors that thumped through her body with every contraction of her inner muscles.

  He planted lazy kisses along her inner thigh while she came down from her orgasm. “So that’s what you really sound like.”

  “Oh, damn, that was good,” she breathed, her body a melted pool of flesh.

  Smiling, victorious, he grabbed two pillows and lined them up next to her hips, then rolled her over onto them, her stomach and chest pressed to the bed.

  He grabbed a bottle of lubricant from his nightstand drawer and drizzled it over her ass.

  “And again,” he growled, rising above her.

  “Again what?”

  He sunk his teeth into the back of her neck at the same time his finger breached her ass. She arched against him with a half-grunt, half-whimper.

  “Again, I’m going to make you come.”

  He worked his finger in and out. Her toes spread and her body tensed.

  “It’s been a long time since a man has tried this move with me.”

  “Did you like it then?”

  “Sometimes. Depended on the man. And his skills.”

  He grunted his amusement and slid a second finger in. Oh, he had the skills, all right.

  “Are you going to take me like that tonight?” she asked.

  The thought had occurred to him. “Maybe. Eventually. Not this first time, though.”

  He kissed his way across her back. He traced her shoulder blades with his tongue, then outlined her spine. Her muscles relaxed around his finger, letting him claim that part of her, too, as he was the rest of her body. When her back was thoroughly explored and fully claimed by his mouth, he shifted his weight, kneeling between her legs so he could put both hands to work.

  With his one hand still busy, he drizzled more lubricant over her cleft, spreading it down to her pussy. She wasn’t getting very wet naturally, and for all he knew, that was a result of her surgeries messing with her hormones. He’d bath her in lube if it came to that. No problem.

  He pressed two fingers into her pussy, thrusting in opposite time with his other hand. She rocked her hips up, granting him access and surrendering to his will. He bit her ass cheek until she moaned, leaving a mark and claiming that, too.

  “I’m going to take you soon. You need to know that I haven’t been with a woman since the last time you and I had sex, and I’ve been thoroughly tested as a requirement for the show. But if you want me to wear a condom, I will. No pressure. You tell me what you need from me.”

  He dove face first at her other ass cheek and left a matching mark on it, then licked the tender area he’d marred. Damn, he loved the way her flesh tasted. He wanted this every night for the rest of his life.

  “You haven’t?” Her voice was thick with arousal.

  “Haven’t what?” he murmured against her skin.

  “Slept with anyone?”

  “No.” He pulled his fingers away from her body and stretched up along the length of her. He kissed her cheek, then captured her earlobe and suckled it into his mouth. “And if you’re wondering if that choice had anything to do with you, then the answer is yes. There is no one else for me, but you.”

  Her mouth fell open with a tremulous exhale. “Brandon,” she breathed.

  He pressed the weight of his body over hers, one hand stroking his dick, making sure he was rock hard and ready for her. “Condom. Yes or no?”

  “No.”

  He took her hips in his hands and thrust into her, shouting a curse at the pleasure of it.

  He took her with long, fast strokes, each slap of his hips against her ass sending ripples over her flesh. Her whole body rocked in time with his thrusts. She felt so damn good, he was burning up his willpower at an alarming rate. He was the kind of man who could orgasm more than once a night, and thank goodness, because he wasn’t going to last worth a shit this time.

  When her cries of pleasure simmered down, he smacked her ass, then rolled onto his back next to her. “Climb on me.”

  The better to work her clit again.

  While she moved, he poured lube into his hand and doused his dick with it, doused her pussy with it—everything sticky and sweaty and real. More real than anything else in his life.

  She straddled him and the feeling was so tight and good, so hot and wet and right, that he moaned and gripped her hips, holding her still until the urge to orgasm had passed. Her body was flushed with arousal, her belly soft and luscious, and her gorgeous blonde hair framing her scars. “You look damn good riding me. Damn good.”

  With a seductive smile, she started to move, working her body the way that felt best for her, and all the while he teased her clit, building her up again, making sure tonight was everything that their first time together hadn’t been. When he sensed her getting close, he took hold of her hips and pulled her up so he could thrust hard as he pulled her down, up and down, impaling her onto his dick over and over.

  She fell forward, mashing her face to his, gasping and moaning her orgasm into his mouth. Panting, her body still pulsing weakly, she pushed up and reached behind her and grasped the end of his right leg.

  He grunted, his abs contracting as shot after shot of pleasure rippled through his nerves.

  “Open your eyes and come for me,” she said, rockin
g her hips.

  No problem there. When he peeled his eyelids open, she nodded her approval. “That’s right. Give it to me. Now, baby.”

  Breathing hard, he focused on her eyes and the work her hand was doing. He thought about her pussy milking him. He thought about how this was the woman he was going to spend the rest of his life making love to.

  His orgasm was a spike of ecstasy so profound, his voice went hoarse. He ground their hips together, pumping into her, claiming that part of her body as his, too.

  They collapsed on the bed, side by side. His hand smoothed absentmindedly over her leg. After a long stretch of contented silence, she hummed. “I need a shower.”

  He rolled to his side and kissed a path over her chest. “Sounds good. I can make love to you just as well in the shower as here.”

  Her hand fell onto his hair, petting him. “Again? Tonight?”

  Hell, yes. He couldn’t get enough of her. He was starving for Harper’s touch, her flesh, her kiss. They had so many wasted years to make up for.

  His finger found her pussy. “Yes, again,” he commanded, swirling his finger in rhythm with his words. “And again, and again, and again . . .”

  She groaned and squirmed away. “Until there’s nothing left of me for you to discover, or so you said.”

  He rolled to his other side, swung his leg to the ground, and grabbed his customized waterproof shower foot. Standing, he offered her his hand. “I do believe you’re starting to catch on. Let’s go. Your shower awaits.”

  ***

  Brandon woke to his phone’s ringtone punctuated by a vigorous pounding on his front door.

  Harper’s arm fell across his back. “I think we overslept.”

  Lying on his stomach, he got his elbows under him and pushed his upper body off the bed to look at the clock. It was ten. “Shit.”

  “I know you’re in there,” came Lucinda’s muffled voice from the other side of the front door.

  With a curse, Brandon swung his legs over the side of the bed and pulled his prosthesis sleeve on.

  Harper was already out of bed. Nude, she pawed through her suitcase. “What’s going on? Who is that?”

  Brandon shook his head. “Lucinda’s here.”

  Harper pulled on a green sleeveless shirt with lace around the scoop neck. “Were you expecting her?”

  “No. Not until this afternoon. I have no idea what the hell’s going on.” He slid his leg into his Invictus sport foot, then stood, adjusting the fit.

  He looked over his shoulder at her, at the scars on her chest and her messy bed-head hair. He watched her tight, trim body while she pulled on a miniscule, lacy thong. His heart contracted painfully. She was so beautiful, he ached from it.

  Lucinda pounded on the door again. “Brandon? Open up!”

  He grabbed a pair of shorts from a drawer and stepped into them. As soon as he got rid of Lucinda, he’d sit Harper down and lay his cards on the table for her. He had no idea how to make things right with the show while being true to Harper and the love he felt for her, but he’d have to find a way. He’d have to, because he couldn’t lose Harper. Not now, not when he’d finally realized how completely he loved her.

  “She’s going to bust that door down,” Harper said. She sounded panicked. “What we did violated your contract. They could sue you, Brandon. Oh God, I hadn’t thought about that before. This is bad.”

  “I’m going to take care of it. Nothing bad’s going to happen.” He snatched his phone from his nightstand and pressed the redial button as he walked from the bedroom, closing the door behind him so Harper could get dressed in privacy.

  “I’m at your front door,” Lucinda said when she answered his call.

  “No shit. Stop knocking before my neighbors complain.”

  “It’s ten o’clock. Your neighbors can deal. Let me in.”

  Brandon swiped Harper’s dress and shoes from where they sat near the front door and tucked them out of sight behind the sofa. He opened the door and found not only a frantic Lucinda, but also Mac with his camera on his shoulder and the red recording button glowing.

  Brandon glared at Mac, the betrayal making his stomach drop. “Why are you filming this? Am I not allowed a single goddamn minute of privacy?”

  Lucinda brushed past him and into the condo. “Calm down. This is protocol.”

  “Ambushing me in my own home is protocol?”

  She stomped toward the bedroom door. “Filming the groom packing for his romantic getaways is part of the deal. I told you about this weeks ago. It’s on the weekly agenda I handed you yesterday.”

  Brandon wedged his body between Lucinda and the closed door. With Harper visiting, he hadn’t paid much attention to the show’s paperwork. “You two will need to come back in a couple hours.”

  Mac remained near the front door, though the camera was pointed at Brandon. “No can do, dude. You’ve got a plane to catch.”

  “Yeah, this afternoon.”

  Lucinda rocked onto her tiptoes and angled her head, as though looking for a way around Brandon to open the bedroom door. “You’ve got to get prepped for the trip with Winnie. You need hair and makeup. Wardrobe. This is television. You don’t just roll out of bed after screwing your personal assistant all night and drive to the airport.”

  Low, Lucinda. “That was unnecessary.”

  “Look, Brandon. I’m not the devil, here. I’m not out to get you. I’m just doing my job. So is Mac. Nobody made you sign on for Meet the Groom. But you did. You signed a contract agreeing to come on the show in search of true love.”

  And he’d found it, as the show promised—just not with one of the contestants. “I’m aware of the contract I signed.”

  “Then you know you can’t be seen with other women outside the show. There are paparazzi hiding out in the bushes outside your condo right this very minute, waiting to find dirt on you to sell to the tabloids. The public eats that stuff up. America’s favorite groom dishonored, cheats on his prospective brides. I can see the headlines now.”

  “It’s not like that.”

  “Oh, please. Did you at least close the blinds last night when you were screwing her?”

  Brandon honestly couldn’t remember if he had or not. But it didn’t matter. All that mattered now was damage control, not only for the show, but with Harper. He folded forward, his hands on his knees, as his world threatened to unravel.

  “I took the liberty of calling Harper a cab that can take her to the airport. It’s waiting downstairs out by the back entrance of the building,” Lucinda said, her tone gentler than before. “With some care, I think we can smuggle her out without the press discovering her.”

  That’s not how his time with Harper was supposed to end. “I need more time.”

  “You don’t have any to spare today.”

  He stood and tipped his chin up, his eyes on the ceiling. Be that as it may, he was going to take whatever time he needed to get right with Harper, the show be damned. “Wait in the kitchen, both of you.”

  When they were out of view of the bedroom, he opened the door. Harper stood at the foot of the bed fully clothed, her face pale and drawn, her eyes on Brandon. Next to her leg sat her suitcase, zipped up and ready, the handle extended. There was no doubt in Brandon’s mind that she’d heard every word of his conversation with Lucinda.

  “Take a seat,” he said, closing the door behind him. “They can wait.”

  “I don’t feel like sitting.”

  He nodded. Neither did he.

  “We can still try to be friends, right? Even after all this, we could try.” Her face was long with worry and sorrow.

  He swallowed hard and walked to her, then pulled her into his arms. She leaned into him, but stiffly. Her arms remained at her sides.

  He buried his nose in her hair and drank deeply of her scent. “I can’t be friends
with you anymore, not like we were. We can never go back to that, for one really important reason. I’ve fallen in—”

  She pushed back, out of his embrace, and clamped a hand over his mouth. “Don’t.”

  He gently pulled her hand away by the wrist. “Harper, please let me get it all out.”

  “No. It doesn’t matter what you say because this afternoon, you’re leaving on your first of three romantic getaways with your TV girlfriends. Life’s too short for me to waste it sitting in my brick fortress while you’re off gallivanting around the country screwing the brains out of your next conquest.”

  Panic made him lightheaded. She wasn’t giving him a chance to explain. She’d already made up her mind about what was going on and what he wanted from her. “You’re not like that for me. A conquest. At one time, yes, I’ll admit it. But everything changed. You have to see that, too.”

  Her pained gaze roved to the window. “There are times I wish things hadn’t changed between us. Sometimes I wish I didn’t know . . .” Her voice faded off as she shook her head.

  “Know what? That we’re perfect for each other?”

  She pressed her outstretched fingers to her temples. “I said, don’t. Don’t say that kind of thing to me again because it hurts too much, knowing you’re going to be getting engaged to some other woman in a week.”

  “That’s nothing. Temporary. I’m talking about a lifetime here, with you and me.”

  “Then you should know that I’m not going to wait for you. I’m done sitting around, waiting for life to happen to me.” With a sharp inhale, she unzipped a compartment on her suitcase.

  She didn’t mean that. She couldn’t. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be. Not now. Not with Lucinda and Mac in his kitchen waiting and a taxi idling outside and so many things he needed to say to Harper to make her understand.

  She pulled a blue paper from her suitcase. The cocktail napkin that started it all. “I don’t need this anymore, because I feel it, in here.” She placed a tight fist over her heart. “I know what it means to really live and I’m never going back to the way I was.” She wadded it up and let it fall from her fingers. It bounced against the carpet and rolled under his bed. Then she took her suitcase handle and walked from the room.