Fair Play (Hat Trick, Book 1)

by Samantha Wayland

  “You should see yourself when you’re in the moment. When you let yourself go.”

  She shook her head, though her gaze never left his hands.

  He drew them higher, skimming her torso until his fingers rested just beneath the curve of her breasts, his thumbs pressing the sides of her ribs.

  Her nipples beaded to hard points, the pull of his hands on the thin fabric of her shirt emphasizing her reaction to his touch.

  She shifted and he held his breath, certain she was going to move away and send him from the room. His heart skipped a few beats when she brought her hands to his and pushed them higher, lacing her fingers through his so that together they cupped her breasts.

  His breath locked in his chest as the heavy weight settled against his palms, her hands warm beneath his, her long fingers offering herself up to his gaze. He slid forward as she leaned back, their bodies aligning and coming into full contact.

  She gasped and arched her back, rubbing against him like a cat. The brush of his cock against the top of her ass tore a grunt from his chest.

  She might hate her lack of inhibition in the moment, but she could not tame it. Thank god.

  He whisked his thumbs across her nipples until the hard beads punched through the confines of her bra and begged for more. His fingers slipped from hers to pinch and tease. She left her hands where they were, holding her breasts up to him, bold and without shame. As she should be.

  Her face was beautiful, lips parted, her eyes heavy-lidded and fixed on his fingers as they worked her nipples. Her hips worked in a slow, rhythmic roll against the tops of his thighs, as if searching for the answering press of his erection, which throbbed with the need to reciprocate. He grasped her hip, responded to her whimper of protest with a hard pluck to her nipple.

  “God, how is this anything but beautiful? Gorgeous.”

  He drew her back, higher, using his hands to cradle her closer. His cock lodged against the firm swell of her ass. She jerked, her eyes fluttered shut and she ground herself back against him.

  Jesus, it was so honest.

  “Open your eyes,” he said softly, his lips brushing her ear.

  She stilled and he waited. His thumb lazily skimmed one nipple.

  She slowly lifted her lids, her gaze locked on his. The dilated pupils ringed in deep glowing green caught him. The pinch of worry around the edges of those sultry eyes punched into his gut.

  “Look at yourself,” he said, his hands roaming over her body once more.

  He slid her blouse from her waistband and ducked his head to suck the sensitive spot behind her ear.

  “Take it off,” he whispered. His tongue rasped over the gooseflesh on her neck.

  “What?” Her voice was breathless. The husky timbre rubbed along his skin.

  “Take your blouse off. I want to see you. I want you to see you.”

  She looked at him, so damn uncertain. Her hands lifted tentatively.

  He held his breath, his body locked against hers, as she slid the first button from its hole.

  Yes.

  She worked quickly, as if once her nerves were conquered, she had to act before they returned.

  The moment the last button came unfastened, he stripped the blouse from her, then yanked his tie over his head and shucked his shirt in record time. The cuffs almost gave him a problem, but he managed. He could sew the buttons back on later.

  He turned his attention, his absolute focus, to absorbing the sight before him.

  “Your skin is incredible,” he murmured. Though he’d seen hints of it in the passing lights of the street lamps, he hadn’t known she was this fair—a warm mix of pink and cream. The dusting of freckles surprised him and he wanted to kiss each one. He started at her throat, his nose rubbing under her chin, his lips moving over the sensitive skin where neck met shoulder.

  “Lovely,” he murmured.

  He pursued each spot with zeal, all the while watching in the mirror. She was staring down at her hands, her fingertips resting on the dresser. The high color on her cheeks increased with every word of praise. Every kiss. She was not unaffected by his touch, but he could practically hear her brain working.

  He brought her idle hands back to her breasts, fascinated by the sight of her long fingers framing her white lace bra. The dark circles peeking through hinted of cinnamon and rose.

  “I like it when you touch yourself,” he admitted gruffly.

  She shook her head and he sucked harder along her neck. Bending his knees, he pressed his cock into the valley of her ass.

  He couldn’t tell whose moan was louder.

  Savannah’s, though, was cut off with a strangled gasp.

  He ground against her again and brought his lips back to her ear. “You can be as loud as you want. As loud as you need to be. I want to hear it. I need to hear you.”

  She shook her head, her lip caught between her teeth.

  “Yes, Savannah,” Garrick groaned, arguing with her and encouraging her all at once.

  She gasped when the force of their frottage tipped her off balance. He caught her hips as her hands planted on the mirror. She stared, wide-eyed, at her own imagine within the frame of her fingers.

  “Do you see how lovely you are?”

  She studied her reflection as if looking at a stranger.

  He tugged the teak pins from her hair and let it tumble down around her shoulders.

  He wanted her to see herself. To see her true face, not the professional mask she wore all day. He was transfixed by the glossy mahogany mane flowing halfway down her back. The thick fall of silk framed her face. Its rich, dark color and her pale skin emphasized her bright eyes and soft pink lips.

  “How can you not see how stunning you are?”

  He hooked a finger around the heavy curtain of hair and drew it away from her face, her ear. He began another exploration of her neck, the freckles on her shoulder he hadn’t worshipped yet.

  She held perfectly still and he closed his eyes, afraid to see her shutting down. He was determined to bring her back into the moment.

  She jumped when he pinched a nipple. His other hand drew down her side and skimmed over her hip to slip beneath the hem of her skirt and stroke up the inside of her thigh.

  She still didn’t move. His anxiety grew, his mind spinning with ways to entice her back. To make her let go. He stroked higher, lifting her skirt.

  Her leg shifted and eased into his hold. He smiled against her skin.

  Taking shameless advantage, he brushed his fingers over her panties. Her whimper rang in his ears. His other hand gathered more of her skirt and forced it higher, until he could hook his fingers into the strings running over her hips.

  He looked at their reflection and saw how she stared down at his hands and the delicate fabric covering the junction of her thighs.

  “May I?”

  “Yes.” The word was barely more than a soft exhalation.

  He tugged down on the tiny scrap of lace and she wriggled her hips, helping him ease them lower. He stroked his palms over every inch of skin and stocking, admiring her strong calves, the soft curve of her knee.

  “Your legs are incredible.”

  She made a soft sound, a laugh of sorts. He grinned. Not a denial. Progress.

  He bent to pull her panties off and thought his heart might explode when she daintily stepped out of them. She left her shoes on, which was hot. And helpful. The height gave her, them, an advantage he had every intention of pressing.

  He knelt at her feet and she flattened her hands to the mirror, her ass canted toward him. She looked down at him over her shoulder, her gaze hot and without inhibition or shame. Damn good thing he was kneeling or his legs would have given out.

  He stroked his hands up her legs, trying to retain what little grip he had on his control. He was unbearably tempted by the sights before him—the smooth curve of her ass, the hint of labia in the shadow between her legs, the shine of arousal on her thighs.

  Need gnawing at him, he leaped
to his feet, placed his hands over hers on the mirror, and wrapped himself around her. She was still turned to look at him and he captured her mouth, thrusting his tongue against hers, the erotic dance a precursor to what his body clamored to do. For what he prayed might come next.

  Groaning, he broke free of the kiss and used his cheek to turn her face back to the mirror. Smoky green eyes met his.

  “Do you see it?” he asked.

  “What?”

  “That this—” he rolled his hips against her ass “—is not ridiculous?”

  “No.”

  He ran a hand down one arm and cupped her breast. “No, what?”

  Her mouth fell open, her eyelids fluttered as he pinched her nipple and snugged his erection into the crease of her bare ass.

  “Not ridiculous,” she breathed.

  He smiled and rubbed his face against her neck, burying it in her silky hair.

  “This is beautiful.” He dropped his hand to her hip and rocked against her.

  She thrust back. Their teasing quickly took on a rhythm.

  “Beautiful,” he whispered into her ear.

  “Yes,” she groaned.

  He pressed his hands back over hers on the mirror. “Keep your hands here. Don’t look away.”

  She nodded. His heart stuttered as he took in the tops of her stockings accentuating pale, smooth skin, the damp curls in a little V covering her mound.

  His cock lurched. His stomach clenched.

  Now. He needed her now.

  “Please, tell me you have a condom,” he said hoarsely, regretting his lack of foresight and the blunt question.

  She moaned and rubbed her ass back against him. If she kept that up, he’d go in his pants and the question would be moot.

  She shook her head. Garrick’s heart plummeted.

  Then her head snapped up. “Wait. Yes!” She plunged her hand into the girly make-up kit on the dresser in front of them.

  She pulled out two strings of condoms taped together with the words GET LUCKY IN MONCTON written with one letter on each little foil packet.

  Garrick laughed.

  “Oh god,” she groaned in obvious embarrassment. “It’s my friend Grace. She’s kind of a nut.” Her cheeks heated to a deeper pink, even as she planted her hand back on the mirror and thrust her ass back, forcing another grunt up from his chest.

  Garrick tugged the chain of condoms from her hand and tore a packet loose. With it clenched by one corner in his teeth, he shucked the rest of his clothes, leaving them in a heap by their feet. He ripped into the packet, rolled on the condom, and turned back to Savannah as quickly as he could.

  But not fast enough.

  In the twenty seconds he’d taken to prepare, to protect them both, she’d gone from confident to cautious.

  He wrapped his arms around her and brought them back into complete contact. His cock glided along her ass before coming to rest in the crease, his thighs framed hers, tickled by the lace of her stockings. He curled his arms around her ribs, pushing her breasts together and enjoying the rough rub of the lace cups against his biceps.

  He looked into the mirror. They made the picture he’d hoped. Her hair was tousled, her skirt around her waist, stocking-clad thighs and high breasts in lace. With him wrapped around her. Naked.

  He adored her. Not only in thought, but in action. He worshipped her with his lips, his hands.

  He fought a smile when her wary look bled away. Her skin glowed, her chest blushed pink, high color staining her cheeks. She caught his eye.

  Her little smile was the sexiest part of all.

  His index finger dipped into her navel, and her ass bumped back into his groin. He sucked in air through his nose and wrapped an iron fist around his control. Her smile faltered and faded altogether when he traced his fingers through her soft curls. The little sound in the back of her throat was music. The roll of her hips back against his, the rub of her skin against his cock—heaven and hell all wrapped up as one.

  He slid his hands south, through the soft down and slipping between her legs. She opened for him, sliding her legs apart, eager and honest once more.

  He wanted access almost more than he wanted his next breath, but his height was going to be a problem. With the breathtaking lack of inhibition he prized, hungered for, Savannah lifted one knee and propped it onto the surface of the dresser. Now when she spread her legs wider, she remained at the perfect height.

  God, Garrick thought as his knees wobbled, who is seducing and who is seduced? It didn’t matter. Not anymore.

  His finger slid into thick hot cream. She was drenched, her arousal coating her labia, slicking her thighs, the scent wrapping around them as he stroked the pad of his finger over her clit.

  He delighted in how she watched his hand, her body, with abject fascination. Her moan was long. And muffled.

  He flicked his finger back and forth over her clit, driving her up, loving the grind and roll of her ass against his cock.

  She whimpered. And again. Never releasing what had to be the painful bite of her lips.

  “Let it go,” he begged. “Don’t hold back.”

  She gasped when she finally opened her mouth. “I can’t!”

  His finger worked her harder, mercilessly battering her clit. Determined. He used his other hand to spread her open, letting them both see the bright reds and pinks hidden within her folds.

  She bit her lip again, the desperate sounds coming from the back of her throat almost painful.

  “Say it. Scream it if you have to.”

  She clamped her mouth shut.

  He slid his middle finger into her pussy, sinking in to the hilt.

  “Oh god,” she groaned.

  “Yes, tell me.”

  She shook her head. He thrust his finger, his other hand still working her clit. She ground against him, forcing herself down on his finger, and he added a second.

  She groaned again. Louder.

  “Yes, that’s it.”

  Savannah shook her head again, her hair shimmering around her face, her mouth open, her breathing hectic as he took her higher.

  Her next groan was louder still. Truer.

  She stared at him wide-eyed. “No.”

  “Why can’t you? Why can’t you scream it until the rafters shake?”

  Savannah looked like she was desperate to do exactly that. “Because Rick is in the next room!”

  Garrick faltered. Oh shit.

  Savannah started to laugh, her entire body shaking. He dropped his forehead to her shoulder. How had his plan had gone so terribly wrong?

  Now they were both laughing.

  He met her sparkling green eyes in the mirror and his heart did something funny in his chest.

  “You are beautiful.”

  Her smile didn’t falter. “You are too.”

  His brows went up and he glanced at his reflection. He was the same as always, though maybe a little better. He looked really good wearing nothing but Savannah.

  Clever woman had backed him right into a corner. How could he refute her claim and expect her to believe his?

  He smiled at her again, hoping this wasn’t the only time they’d play this game. He could win it eventually. “Thank you,” he said graciously, albeit gruffly.

  He resumed a slow stroke across her clit. She sucked in a deep breath through her nose. He shifted his fingers, still lodged inside her body, and rubbed the sensitive front wall of her channel, hoping to find the right spot.

  The flood of arousal and jerk of her hips told him when he had.

  “You’re welcome,” she gasped.

  He moved his hand faster.

  “God, Garrick. Keep doing that.” Her hips kicked in little circles, her leg shaking against his thigh.

  He worked her clit harder.

  She bit her lip hard enough that he feared she’d draw blood. He didn’t let up, and was rewarded when with a shudder and choked-off cry, Savannah came. The tight muscles of her pussy pulsed around his fingers. His cock a
ched with the need to thrust inside the rippling heat, but he didn’t slow, his fingers relentless until she slumped, her head hanging between her outstretched arms.

  He buried his face against her neck, desperately trying to walk himself back from the ledge.

  “I don’t know how you’re going to do it,” he said, his voice rough after what felt like hours of need riding him hard.

  “What? Do what?”

  “Keep quiet while we do this.” He eased back and pulled his fingers from her pussy.

  She gave a long, low groan. “Do what? I think I managed that pretty well.”

  “Yeah,” he murmured, his lips to her shoulder. Hands shaking, he guided the head of his cock through the slick folds of her pussy. “But how about now?”

  He thrust up, his swollen, exquisitely sensitive crown stretching into her body.

  “Oh God. Oh God, Garrick.”

  He surged farther, slipped deeper, his eyes bulging at the heat clenching around his cock. God, how he’d wanted this. Her. But it was more than he’d imagined.

  She suited him perfectly.

  Physically, though, the fit was a little tight.

  Short, sharp thrusts took him farther. He fought for every inch. His ears rang with the roar of his own blood and the almost constant noises from Savannah. She thanked him, cajoled him, her words and jumbled phases whispered hoarsely and punctuated by whimpers and moans.

  Wide green eyes captured his in the mirror. His arm slid up, across her chest, to curl a hand over her shoulder. His other hand returned to its work tormenting her clit.

  He drove himself forward, sinking into her to the hilt.

  In return for her absolute honesty, he could give nothing less. The moment was shockingly intimate. Their gazes locked together.

  He slowly withdrew from her welcoming depths and stopped when only the head of his cock remained clasped within her. Then he slammed all the way back in. Heaven.

  He did it again. At some point her eyes fluttered shut, or maybe his did. She tilted her hips, urging him deeper as she ground back against him.

  “Harder. Please.”

  Sweat broke out over his entire body. Not a problem. Harder and faster were about the only speeds he had left. Within seconds, he was powering in and out of Savannah’s body, and she was slamming her hips back to meet his.