Game Play

by Lynda Aicher

  Her tongue peeked out to wet her lips before they curved in a smile gentle enough to hide the fighter within her. She lifted up, lips a breath from his, eyes dark with emotion he read as love and desire.

  “I need you too,” she whispered back.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Sam molded her mouth to Dylan’s, thrusting her tongue through his parted lips to seek out him. His taste, his scent, his touch—she wanted all of it. Now. She wanted the man who saw her—loved her. Enough to understand when she’d given him so many reasons not to.

  She could give him this though. Give them both a moment when could’ves and should’ves didn’t have a say.

  His hands settled on her hips, hard clamps that dug into her sides, and his tongue snaked into her mouth, an invitation to dance with his. Like the flow of the song from months ago, he eased her into the melody until she could only hang on, follow.

  There was so much to think about. Agonize over and wonder if she was doing the right thing. Her heart was torn in two. Wanting to stay for Dylan and needing to leave for herself.

  He cupped the back of her head to tilt it, deepening the kiss. Her whimper rose from her chest on the rising tide of longing and desire that merged with love to overtake her mind.

  She wrapped her arms around him, holding tight to this moment when she hadn’t expected any more. His anger was justified, his compassion exceptional. He explored her mouth with persistent swipes of his tongue that she met. She was beyond questioning the wisdom of it.

  Her chest labored for each breath, heart beating a sprinting pace that matched her need. His trail of kisses, laced with nips down her jaw and over her neck, sent spikes of urgency straight to her sex. But the desire to rush any second of this was squelched by the reality that it might be their last.

  “God,” he growled into her ear, his breath a fiery shot of anticipation over the sensitive shell. “You’re driving me crazy.”

  She gasped for breath, fingers digging into his back as she silently agreed with him. She was going crazy and right then, she didn’t care. She’d fallen off the crazy cliff months ago.

  He stripped his coat from his arms in one powerful shrug and shake that left the material on the floor. The frantic compulsion to once again feel his skin against hers had her struggling with her bulky sweatshirt.

  He gripped the bottom of it and ripped the material over her head before claiming her mouth in another passion-filled kiss. He worked at the fastening of her jeans, his kisses drifting to her jaw in a messy rush of frustrated groans.

  Ones she agreed with.

  Somehow she restrained herself, replaced his hands with her own and stepped away to the sound of his irritated growl. She motioned to her bed littered with boxes. “We need to make room.”

  He snapped around, assessed and started jerking boxes off the mattress a second later. They landed wherever there was open floor space. She let him handle it while she dug through a box on her dresser. The condoms were buried at the bottom since she’d had no intention of needing them when she’d packed up her nightstand.

  When she faced him, he was studying her, chest lifting and falling in deep breaths, the bed cleared with the sheets turned down. His T-shirt hugged his frame in a tantalizing reminder of what lay beneath. What she wanted to touch and feel again. Memorize so she wouldn’t forget when she was gone.

  Heat smoldered in his eyes when she stripped her T-shirt off, her bra following a second later. The cool air swooped in to tighten her beaded nipples even more. He sucked in a sharp breath and matched her move, swiping his shirt over his head and tossing it aside. His muscles flexed with his movement, and she soaked it all in. The smooth definition of his pecs, the solid abs that went with his powerful torso and the dark trail of hair that ran down from his navel. It was implanted in her mind to keep for later.

  The labored pants of her breath sang a primitive mating call before he crushed her to him. The sizzling-hot flames consumed her when his skin finally met hers. Damn, it was better than she remembered. How was she going to walk away from this and survive?

  Their kisses were sloppy and grasping as he maneuvered them to the bed. “I want you so much,” he said between smacking kisses. “I’ve missed this. You.”

  “Me too,” she panted back. The back of her legs hit the bed and she blindly climbed on, scrambling with the fastening of his pants to find his hard cock. She fisted it, the velvety softness seeming to pulse in her fist.

  “God.” He ground his forehead into her shoulder, hips pumping forward to meet the slow strokes she’d started. “You’re trying to kill me, right?”

  She chuckled into his neck, a bittersweet note of love and loss. “Is it working?”

  “Too much.” He shoved forward, catching her around the waist before she landed with a soft bounce on her back. The mattress dipped when he caught himself, face inches above hers, legs wedged between hers.

  Their breaths competed in a swift meeting of heavy pants as he stared down. Passion pushed the color back in his eyes to a ring of brown around dark pupils. Love showed clear and true though, despite the layer of sadness. This perfect moment was theirs to hold on to.

  He slowly lowered his head, the predatory intent vibrating out to shimmer over her skin. He stopped millimeters from her lips, his face too close for her to focus on. Her breast grazed his chest when she inhaled, waiting.

  “I love you, Samantha.” His whispered words slid through her to squeeze her heart as his mouth closed over hers. She hadn’t doubted him the first time he said them, but they seemed to sink in now. And she was still going to leave him. The light touch of his lips matched the slow glide of his palm up her arm to her neck. “I’m going to miss you so much.” Words spoken against her lips and reinforced with more feathery brushes until her head spun.

  “I love you too,” she whispered back when she had a chance. Completely. It was both freeing and terrifying to say. Her pulse raced and her stomach twisted around a brief flash of doubt. His eyelids drifted closed for half a heartbeat before they whipped open to fill her with his love.

  Damn it. Why couldn’t she just be happy with that?

  She snaked her arms around him and reared up to kiss him, blocking out her thoughts. Instead, she focused on every light touch, every brush of hot skin on skin until it became another item seared into her memory.

  She ground against his erection, pressed solid and hard between them, the heated flesh a brand of iron over her hip despite their clothing. She needed that in her, needed to forget her pending departure that would rip at her heart, and just feel him.

  “Samantha.” The low groan of her name jerked a sob from her. Yes, she wanted to cry. Samantha. She could be that girl with him. Was that girl with him.

  Foreplay became an exploration of slow strokes, grinding hips and tender touches. Every contact ramped her higher, pushed her closer to him and what only he could give her. At some point, the rest of their clothing was discarded so nothing remained between them. His hands seemed to be everywhere at once. On her breasts, down her sides, dipping between her legs to find the heat that threatened to explode. This was exactly what she needed.

  Nothing but him and the moment.

  The wiry hair on his legs brushed signals of lust straight to her sex, another detail added to her growing collection. She dragged her nails down his back, his spine arching in time with her descent to the hard globes of his ass. The vision of their hidden power driving every thrust into her was almost too much.

  “Make love to me,” she whispered. It came out close to a plea, but it didn’t matter. Not with him. The silky length of his shaft left a wet trail on her hip, and she reached between them to smear the dampness over the rounded head. He groaned into her neck, his fingers tightening on her nipple until she bucked into the jolt of pain. It merged with the pleasure sizzling in her to leave her hovering on the edge. “Please,” she rasped.

  He flung his hand to the edge of the bed, grabbed the dropped condom. A second later
he was looming over her, the packet already opened. The sight of him rolling the protection down his length was erotic with foreshadowing. Her sex clenched, a tight surge of lust flaming through her at the thought of him finally filling her.

  He dropped back down to cage her between his arms. She didn’t wait for him to move. Instead she grabbed his hair and pulled him into a kiss that smacked over already bruised lips. Her legs clamped around his waist, and he shifted until he breached her opening.

  Her whimper came out wild and desperate when she ripped her mouth from his. Her head dropped back to the pillow, his teasing slides at her entrance a tantalizing reminder of the power he withheld. It was cruel and wonderful at the same time. Like pain and pleasure.

  She withstood his torture for a few tense moments before her patience disintegrated with the blinding urgency to feel all of him. She clutched at his shoulders, legs tightening as she tried to force him in her, but he held firm. Her frustration beaded on her skin in a sweaty layer that slicked them both, yet she didn’t push further. Instead she waited, savored and appreciated.

  “Christ.” His arms trembled where he supported himself. He shook his head, damp bangs clinging stubbornly to his forehead. “You are so beautiful.”

  She opened her mouth to respond, but he chose that moment to finally slam into her. Her cry pierced the air, the satisfaction so intense she almost came from that alone.

  He snapped his hips, withdrawing and sinking into her in quick succession. She flexed her hips and met him on the next hard drive that plunged deep within her. The slap of skin on skin hammered with the pounding roar in her ears. The musky scent of sex filled her nose on each inhalation and blended with his clean fragrance to drive her insane, craving more.

  More of him, this, how free she could be with him.

  He shifted up, his position changing just enough so he brushed over her clit with every downward plunge. The fire built in her groin and spread through her until she struggled to catch a breath. The growing crest of her orgasm hummed through her.

  She stared transfixed at the focused intent on his face. Brows drawn in a scrunched line over hooded eyes, mouth open in a snarl that released a grunt with each impact of their bodies. Deep in the throes of passion, he was so damn sexy she knew she’d never forget that look.

  His eyes flipped up from where he’d been watching their joining. The intensity in them matched any she’d seen on the most dedicated player.

  He slowed then, his strokes lengthening into glides that stretched the sensation and time. His gaze never wavered from her, the love spilling out of his eyes in every descent, words unneeded. It filled her heart, spread from her chest and reminded her soul of what it was like to feel complete. Was she truly insane to leave this?

  He dropped a kiss to her lips then shifted to score his teeth up the side of her neck. His thrust became harder, faster, urgent and built the need in her too. The sensation of him surrounding her, in her, biting her was more than she could take. Her garbled cry tore from her throat as she let the crest break.

  “Yes.” Her declaration collided with his. Her muscles tensed then convulsed as wave after wave of ecstasy flooded her with blinding heat. She struggled to cling to him, hands slipping over his wet skin until she dug her nails in again. His movements stuttered, slowed then stopped, panting breaths heating her neck.

  She drifted for long moments in a blissed-out state of exhaustion. There was nothing but him and the incredible floating sensation that threatened to take permanent hold. And for once, she was okay with that. Drifting. Not caring what came next if it could prolong this moment and keep the end from coming.

  Too soon, he lifted away. Her arms and legs tightened around him on reflex. She didn’t want him to leave. Not after this. Not yet at least.

  His lips pressed wet and soft to her temple, the edge of her eye, her cheek before landing on her mouth. She opened automatically, meeting him in a sweet conclusion to what was easily the best sex of her life. Because it wasn’t about the sex.

  It was hello, goodbye and I love you rolled into one. A gift she’d never expected and would treasure long after she’d left.

  Her whimpered complaint and resistant hold when he shifted up again was met with a gentle chuckle. “I have to take care of this.” He managed to reach between them, and she reluctantly let her legs fall to the sides. The last glide of him slipping from her brought a loss she couldn’t describe. Her chest squeezed around her heart until she could barely breathe. She had to let him go though. Had to remember her reasons for leaving. They were good ones. Right ones, even if they felt so wrong right now.

  He rolled away, the cold air rushing in to scatter goose bumps over her arms and legs. It took all her strength not to reach out and haul him back to her. He swiped something off the floor, and she caught a quick glimpse of his sock as he wiped up the mess then tossed it back down.

  His smile tugged one from her when he turned back. Full and real, dimple included, despite the sadness that held in his eyes. He pulled her around to sprawl across his chest, and she tugged the blankets up before she snuggled into him. Warm and close—one last time.

  She closed off her mind to that thought, not wanting it to intrude. His heart beat solid and strong beneath her ear, his arm holding her close, a hand running through her hair, fingers trailing to the end in strokes that sent tiny shivers over her scalp. With her legs intertwined with his, there wasn’t a part of her not touching him.

  And it both expanded and broke her heart. The tender spot she’d so diligently protected for years was healed now. A deep tissue bruise took its place though, one that would turn into a throbbing, aching mess tomorrow.

  “You’re still leaving, aren’t you?” His breath warmed her forehead before he pressed a kiss to her temple. One he held as he squeezed her tighter.

  Tears stung her eyes, her throat burned and she was helpless to stop the tears from falling. “Yes,” she whispered. Her stomach rolled with misgivings and failure—something she hated. “I’m so sorry.” Her voice broke on the simple words and she choked back a sob. She had to be stronger.

  “Shhh,” he soothed, his chest hitching. “I get it.” He swallowed, breathed deep. “I don’t like it and I wish like hell that I could change it, but I understand.”

  “It’s not fair to you.” A fact she agonized over.

  “There’s a lot about this entire situation that isn’t fair.” He nuzzled her hair, voice deepening. “It is what it is though.”

  So true. Stripped down to the simplest explanation, it was nothing more or less.

  She lifted up to search him. Her vision blurred and she rubbed her eyes to clear the wetness. He ran a thumb over her cheek, wiping away the dampness that remained. Was she really going to walk away from him? This? Her heart had a leaden beat that weighted down her chest and battered it from the inside out.

  “I—”

  He laid a finger over her lips, cutting her off. “Let’s…” He sucked in a breath, let it out. “It’s good. Okay? I just want to hold you for a while, then I’ll let you go.”

  He was trying to make it easier for her, and she swore her love grew even more. She dipped her head, pressed a kiss to his chest before sucking the skin into her mouth. She grazed her fingers over the resulting dark purple mark, then found the spot she’d claimed during her weeks of sleeping next to him.

  She had to be insane to leave. Had to be. To hurt them both like this.

  And she’d only hurt them both even more if she stayed. She swallowed hard, bit her lip to keep it still and willed the tears to hold.

  She needed her own dreams. Her own accomplishment that was just for her. Not for her dad or coach. Or for Dylan. Maybe then, she wouldn’t keep hurting the people she loved.

  Chapter Thirty

  Dylan stared at the condensation that’d collected to create little streams down the outside of his glass. If he did that long enough, the outer designs would blend with the amber liquid within it. He lifted the glass ju
st enough to give it a quarter twist on the coaster. There were new patterns on this side.

  “Are you going to drink that or stare it to death?”

  A silent laugh puffed out before he turned his head to Walters. “Does it really matter?”

  He shrugged. “Not to me.”

  It wouldn’t have mattered to Dylan if it had. The scotch was a temptation he refused to succumb to. The alcohol wouldn’t heal his heart or the aching loneliness that came with Samantha’s departure. He studied the deep color, assessing how it appeared lighter around the ice cubes than on the bottom. He gave the glass another quarter twist, his fingertips long numb to the chill beneath.

  “Did you want something?” he finally asked Walters when the man took a seat after ordering a bottle of water. The party in the adjoining room was filled with special invitees to the private Glaciers event. A small promo opportunity in the short break before the next round of play-off games. Dylan had already done his time in the meet-and-greet function, smile plastered on, stock answers dispersed.

  “Probably the same as you,” Walters said, taking a sip of his water. “A little bit of quiet away from that.” He tipped his head toward the room they’d both fled. Dressed in a suit like Dylan, he’d loosened his tie at some point and undone the top button on his shirt.

  A baseball game was playing on the flat screen in the corner, the volume turned just high enough to catch the chatter without hearing the full commentary. He checked the time on his phone and debated whether it was too early to leave.

  “Expecting a call?”

  He frowned at Walters. The man nodded at the phone in Dylan’s hand. “No.” He’d talked to Samantha before he’d left tonight. The conversation, like all of them, had been bittersweet and not even close to enough. And it’d only been three weeks since she’d left.

  “Heard from Sam?”

  “Yeah.” His reply held a note of pain he hadn’t meant to let out. It was so different, not seeing her now when he knew there was no chance of it. Damn, that scotch was looking really good. His mouth watered and he gave it another quarter twist. He could sense Walters studying him, but he didn’t acknowledge the man.