Leveling the Field (Gamers)

by Megan Erickson

  Grant jumped up and leaned over Ethan’s desk, his hands braced on the front. “I think the search is fucking dumb!”

  Ethan fell back in his chair and looked up at his usually amicable friend. He rarely heard Grant raise his voice. “I’m sorry? I thought you agreed we needed a host—”

  Grant met his gaze steadily. “I do think we need a host, Ethan. The problem is that I think we need to be looking in-house.”

  Ethan let his gaze slip to his door, where he caught glimpses of some of their staff. “Oh, well then who? Has someone expressed interest?”

  “You’re such a dumb fuck.”

  Ethan snapped his gaze to Grant. “I think the name-calling is unnecessary.”

  “I’m talking about you,” Grant said, his tone deceptively quiet. “You know how to talk on camera, how to appeal to our target audience. You made millions doing it once. You could do it again, you know.”

  It was like Grant had dumped a bucket of ice on Ethan’s head. His entire body was frozen solid, like his fingers would crack in half if he bent them. He’d thought Grant understood him. He’d thought Grant was his friend, but he wasn’t so sure anymore, not if he didn’t understand why asking Ethan to go on camera again was like sending him to hell.

  He wanted to throw something, or hit something, so it took all his strength to sit motionless and say, “Please leave my office now.”

  Grant’s entire body slumped. “Come on, Ethan—”

  He turned his chair to face the window, knowing it was immature, childish, whatever, but he couldn’t have this conversation right now. “I’ll talk to you later.”

  Grant didn’t move for what felt like a long time. Finally, he knocked twice on Ethan’s desk, heaving a sigh, and then his footsteps retreated to the door. When it clicked behind him, Ethan fell forward, bracing his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands.

  No way could he go in front of the camera again. It wasn’t because of the scars, it was because of what the scars represented. There would be questions about why he’d stopped making videos, and he’d have to answer. He wasn’t the charming, carefree Ethan Talley who could play video games like he didn’t have any cares in the world. He didn’t know how to smile like that anymore, how to exude that effortless confidence.

  He wasn’t that person.

  And he didn’t really want to be. Because that person killed his sister, broke up his family, and no longer had parents who spoke to him.

  He dug the heel of his palms into his eyes and then leaned back in his chair, staring sightlessly out his windows, into the parking lot of the industrial park.

  Of course, he knew why he’d been a little angry since Austin’s wedding. He wasn’t going to tell Grant that, because Grant was a gossiping old biddy. And as soon as Ethan confessed he couldn’t get a woman out of his head, Grant would investigate like he was in the fucking CIA, and in a demented whisper-down-the-lane, Lissa would probably hear about it.

  He swore he heard her laughter in his dreams. Or maybe his nightmares.

  Her business card was burning a hole in his wallet. He should have thrown it away, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. And now it didn’t matter because he had everything memorized anyway. He’d resisted calling and had even driven out of his way numerous times in the last couple of days so he didn’t have to ride past her studio.

  He turned back to his desk and tapped his fingers on the surface. A quick glance at his door verified his blinds were drawn and no one would see him inside having a silent freak-out.

  That should have told him he would cave eventually.

  He was self-aware enough to know that he was fucked up. And he was in no position to give anyone any part of himself. But Lissa hadn’t asked for that. He’d asked for all he was willing to give, and she’d accepted with a smile.

  And then offered him seconds.

  He could take seconds. Double dip just once. She wasn’t getting out of his head anytime soon, and if she was willing to help bank this fire in his belly that raged to touch her again, then why not? Why deny himself when he’d been doing it for all these years?

  It didn’t have to be a thing. They were consenting adults who liked sex. With each other.

  It would help him forget about Grant’s request and the fact that, yet again, his past was surging up to knock him on his ass. To Lissa, he was just Ethan Talley, some asshole magazine executive. Who could make her come twice.

  He pulled his car keys out of the top drawer of his desk and jiggled them in his palm for a minute, frowning at them like they were a magic eight ball and would tell him his future.

  Or what to do.

  These feelings, this want, was all new to him. Or at least, new to the post-accident Ethan. He wasn’t sure what to do with them, but the only thing that worked was when he was with her.

  He fisted his keys and left his office.

  Chapter Six

  Daniel held up a pink boa and blew away a few stray feathers as they threatened to land on his head. “Well, that was fun.”

  Lissa plucked a riding crop off the satin-draped cushion. “It was, wasn’t it?”

  His cheeks were still pink, probably a flush left over from watching several lingerie-clad women spread out on set. “I really think we should offer a discount on boudoir shoots and do, like, one or two a day.”

  Lissa threw a set of furry handcuffs at him. “Oh, shut up.”

  “Hey, I spent a lot of time hunting down these props!”

  Lissa laughed. “You did great, my young padawan. Now get going, I know you have a class soon.”

  He gazed around at the mess in their studio. “But—”

  Lissa shook her head. “It’s worse than it looks. Now shoo.” With one last look, he scurried away. “Lock the door when you leave!” she called after him.

  Ten minutes later, she was still cleaning up the props to the boudoir session she’d done that afternoon. A group of moms who’d all been friends in college decided they wanted to get the photos done together for their husbands and significant others. Lissa glanced over at the empty bottles of wine and grinned. It had been a blast.

  There was a knock at the door, and Lissa glanced at the clock. They were closed, but sometimes people didn’t see the sign, or it could be Daniel returning.

  She wiped her hands and righted her clothes before walking to the front door. But when she pulled it open, instead of Daniel standing there, it was…Ethan.

  Large aviator glasses covered his eyes, and again, he wore an all-black suit, this time with a dark blue patterned shirt underneath.

  Her body heated immediately at the sight of him, easily recalling the sensation of being touched by those hands that now hung confidently at his sides. A large silver watch peeked out from the hem of his sleeve.

  She’d thought about him every day—multiple times a day—since the wedding. She thought he’d never contact her again, but here he was, on the doorstep of her studio. She braced a hand above her head on the door. “You could have called, you know.”

  He jolted, and a furrow appeared between his brows, like he hadn’t thought of that. “I didn’t want to talk to you. I wanted to see you.”

  She snorted. “You’re shit at seducing, you know that?”

  His lips tilted down. “Do I need to seduce you?”

  She cocked her head, eyeing the dark stubble on his jaw, those full lips. She huffed a laugh and shook her head then motioned for him to come into the studio. He stepped inside in two strides, and she shut the door behind him, locking it.

  He watched her. “I can come back another time.”

  She waved a hand in dismissal. “It’s fine. I’m just cleaning up from a shoot.” She walked down the hallway into the studio, the click of his dress shoes following her.

  Without pausing, she continued to clean, and after thirty seconds, he joined in silently, grabbing a trash bag in the corner to throw away the wine bottles and plastic cups. She wiped her hand on her forehead. “You don’t have to do
that.”

  He shot her a look like, what else am I going to do? and she ducked her head so he didn’t see her smile. He looked ridiculous, dressed in a suit and picking up stray pink feathers to throw away.

  He turned with his back to her, so she was able to study him uninterrupted. She wasn’t sure what possessed her to leave him her card at the wedding, but she had. Now that he was here, even though she told herself not to get involved, that he was her golden ticket for her project, that didn’t stop her body from coming alive at the sight of him.

  She needed to send him on his way, or put the brakes on this. If she continued to sleep with him, it would fuck everything up. She’d have to tell him this couldn’t happen again, that she didn’t want it.

  With a nod to herself, she turned around and continued to clean up. When a noise drew her attention, she looked over her shoulder to see Ethan wiping a table, a light purple feather boa wrapped around his neck. She began to laugh, and he stared at her with those ice-blue eyes. “What?”

  “That just might be your color, Mr. Talley,” she said, pointing to his feather scarf.

  He seemed confused at first then glanced down at himself. He plucked at the boa. “Oh, uh, I just wrapped it around me to get it off the floor.”

  She pointed to a chest in the corner. “You can put it in there.”

  He made to walk to the chest but then stopped abruptly and glanced down at the table he’d been cleaning. With a raised eyebrow, he lifted a riding crop and a pair of handcuffs.

  “Props,” she explained.

  “Props,” he echoed.

  “Yes.”

  “And exactly what kind of shoot were you doing, Miss Kingsman?”

  The amusement in his voice surprised her. She turned around to face him and leaned against the wall behind her. “Boudoir.”

  He murmured an assent, his gaze on the end of the riding crop.

  Something flashed over his eyes, and with a slight quirk to his lips, he stalked toward her. His expression held a predatory gleam, and while a huge part of her wanted to be his prey, the rational side told her to run.

  Which she did. With a squeal, she launched herself away from him, but he was faster than her and had much longer legs. His arm wrapped around her waist, and then he hauled her back against his body. Her breath made an oomph sound and then she was laughing and squirming as he began to tickle her neck with the ends of the feather boa. “Stop, I’m ticklish!” She pushed on his arm, but it didn’t budge. She managed to grab the riding crop out of his hand and reach around to give his thigh a firm hit.

  He froze. And so did she.

  His breath came fast against her ear. “Did you just…smack me?”

  “Um…” she mumbled.

  “You did, didn’t you?” There was a smile in his voice. “You just smacked me with that crop.”

  “You were tickling me!” she yelled.

  He loosened his arm, and she slipped away, dashing over to the chest and then pulling out a masquerade mask. It was green and black with feathers and sequins, and she held it up to her eyes with an attached stick. “Lissa’s not here. Madam Bravo can answer any questions or concerns.”

  He laughed—a loud, raucous, deep-belly laugh. He looked as surprised as she was at the outburst of sound. Something deep inside of her unfurled at the sight of his beautiful face lit with humor. How had she ever thought his eyes were cold? They were anything but cold when he was like this.

  He took a step toward her and she held an arm out to stop him, even though all she wanted to do was run into his arms and climb him.

  “Madam Bravo,” he said.

  “Yes,” she answered in a haughty voice.

  “What kind of lingerie does Lissa have on?” He took several slow steps toward her. “I’m thinking something with satin and lace. Purple or pink.” He was close now, so she had to lean her head back to look at him. She curled her hand behind her and rooted blindly in the box before her hand closed over exactly what she’d been looking for. Ethan’s lips curled into a sensual smile. “I bet if I touch you, those panties will be soaked through, am I right?”

  God, his voice. It did things to her, which was why she tossed out one last defense against Ethan Talley. From behind her back, she flung her arm above their heads. In the next second, glitter rained down.

  She took that moment to get away, out from under Ethan’s gaze, but once again, he was too fast for her. He gripped her wrist as he waved his hand and sputtered as the rainbow glitter coated them. “You think you’re funny?” he asked, smirking.

  As the glitter settled, she blinked away what had settled on her lashes. Ethan’s hair was coated. He had a clump of gold glitter right on the edge of his nose and a couple on his lips. His dour jacket now looked…well, like he belonged in a Pride parade; glitter stuck to the fabric. She began to giggle, and laughter burst through his lips, despite his trying to contain it.

  In the next instant, she was flat on her back on the floor, right on that stupid fake white bearskin rug she’d bought as a prop. She wrapped her legs around Ethan’s waist as his tongue slid into her mouth.

  She thought about pushing him away, telling him she didn’t want this, but that was a lie. Her hips were thrusting against the hardness in his groin, and her nipples were beaded and poking through her thin—pink satin and lace—bra.

  Damn the man.

  Whatever. One more time. This would be it, and then she had to find a way to ask him about the project. It wasn’t her fault she was irresistible. And this was strictly about getting off. No emotions. It would be fine.

  So she fumbled at his suit jacket, tugging it down his arms. With their lips still fused, he loosened his tie, and she bit and licked at the skin of his neck as he fumbled to undo his belt and zipper.

  “I need inside you,” he muttered. “Haven’t thought of anything else for two fucking weeks but getting back inside you.”

  She pushed on his shoulders so he was forced to lean back. Then she gripped the hem of her short dress and tugged it up to over her head. Bracing her heels on the rug, she spread her legs. “Go on, get inside me then.”

  …

  There was glitter everywhere. In her hair, shining off her dark skin, stuck in the fibers of this ugly bearskin rug.

  She wore a pink satin and lace bra and matching thong. And she was spread out in front of him like a buffet of skin and glitter. He ran a finger down her throat, between her breasts, down to the waistband of her panties. A shudder wracked her body, but she stayed silent, biting her lip as he tugged her panties down her legs.

  Her flesh was bare and glistening, and he did the exact thing he’d been dreaming about since the wedding. He lay down on his stomach, hooked her legs over his shoulders, and pressed his lips to her.

  She squirmed under him and cried out as he licked and sucked at the sensitive flesh of her pussy. She wasn’t silent or docile as he moved on to her clit. She rolled her hips and moaned, and he had to grip her hips hard to keep his mouth on her.

  “Ethan.” Her voice was breathless. “Don’t stop, don’t—” Her words cut out when he sucked on her clit. “Oh God, don’t you fucking stop.”

  He let go of one of her thighs and slid a finger inside of her, plunging it in and out. The sounds around them were obscene, between the wet suction of his tongue on her flesh and the echo of her moans.

  He blew on her clit, and she gasped. “You like my mouth on you?” He added another finger inside of her and crooked them.

  She arched her back as he twisted his fingers and pumped them inside her. “Yes, I fucking love your mouth, now get back to work!”

  He grinned and obliged, and it was only another couple of seconds before she shouted his name and came, her inner walls clamping down on his fingers like a vise.

  He leaned back, shoving his pants down and reaching into his pocket for the condom he’d placed there with a wish.

  He rolled it down his shaft as she watched, her eyes half-lidded. He tapped her sensitive skin wi
th the head of his cock. “You ready?”

  She reached for his cock and guided the tip inside of her as she licked her lips. “Fuck me.”

  With a snap of his hips, he buried himself to the root. “With pleasure.”

  He fell on top of her, with his forearms on either side of her head. He wasn’t sure she’d want to kiss him. In his experience, not all women wanted to after he’d gone down on them, but she grabbed his face and tugged, smashing their lips together. In the next second, her tongue was in his mouth and he was fucking into her like his cock had a mind of its own.

  Her nails scraped down his back, and he was strung so tight that a firm smack on his ass had him coming so hard his vision blurred.

  With a moan, he managed to roll to the right and collapse at her side so his body didn’t crush the woman beneath him. He peeked at her out of the corner of one eye. His arm was flung over her bare stomach and her hand was resting on the tops of her breasts, which rose and fell as she gulped air.

  She rolled her head to the side and blinked at him, and then her lips stretched into a wide grin. She plucked something off the end of his nose, and he wiggled it before sneezing. She laughed and held up a chunk of glitter that must have been stuck to his face.

  “Did I…?” he cleared his throat. “Um… Did I fuck you with glitter on my nose?”

  She nodded, her eyes shining, her lips twitching like she couldn’t contain her glee.

  “I trust you not to tell anyone about this,” he said as he sat up.

  Her face fell and he loomed over her to say gravely, “Glitter sex would ruin my brooding rep, wouldn’t you say?”

  She laughed, curling onto her side as he stood up and tucked himself back into his clothes. With a hand arched over her head, she played with the ends of her curls as she watched him get redressed.

  He glanced around her studio. “This is, uh, a nice place.”

  “Thanks.” She stood up and pulled her dress on over her head.

  His back itched, and he reached around, finding a small patch of glitter stuck to his spine. He sighed. “I’ll still be finding this stuff on me a year from now, won’t I?”