Wicked Games: The Complete Wicked Games Series Box Set

by J. T. Geissinger

  I touch a finger to the bow of his lips, then follow the curve down to the corner of his full and perfectly sculpted mouth. “No,” I say, my voice faint. “I’m not.”

  Our eyes lock. Heat flashes over my body. Goose bumps erupt over my skin.

  Ryan whispers, “Tell me you feel that too. Tell me I’m not crazy and you can feel that.”

  Seconds tick by in silence as we stare at each other. Ryan’s expression is that of a man trying to solve a fascinating, frustrating puzzle.

  He abandons his drink on the back of the sofa and slides both hands into my hair. Then he pulls me closer and buries his nose in it, inhaling deeply, combing his fingers through the strands. I allow it and concentrate on quelling the tremor in my body. I dig my fingers into his shoulders and breathe in and out with my eyes closed, every nerve in my body primed to his touch.

  This is unprofessional. And dangerous. You don’t do this. You never do this!

  “I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do,” Ryan murmurs against my neck. “You’re in control of this. Tell me to stop, and I will.”

  His intuition is preternatural. How does he know what I need to hear right now? Somehow I’ve got to make my mind go blank. Think of Reynard. Think of the necklace. Think of how close you are to being free.

  Then I can’t think at all because Ryan slowly pulls my head back, exposing my neck. He skims his lips from my earlobe down to my collarbone, inhaling at the base of my throat.

  “Fuck, I love the way you smell.”

  His voice is guttural with desire. I bite my lip to stop the groan from escaping.

  Using my hair as a tether and the circle of his arms to keep me in place, he trails his nose down my chest and nuzzles it into my cleavage. His breath is hot against my skin. His erection is hard against the back of my thigh. I lose my fight with the tremors, and a shudder runs through me.

  I’m strung so tightly that when the tip of his tongue touches my skin, I jerk.

  He makes a masculine sound deep in his throat and flexes his hips. I barely resist the instinct to rock against the bulge in his jeans.

  Barely.

  I sense that he’s smiling, but I can’t look down to check.

  Soft kisses press against the swell of my breasts. He’s being so gentle. So slow. It’s maddening.

  “You’re panting, Angel,” he says, tightening his arms around me. “Do you want me to stop?”

  “Yes. No. Yes. Fuck.”

  His laugh is soft and dark. “Hmm. I’d say you need more input before you can make an informed decision.”

  Right through the filmy material of my dress, he gently bites my hard nipple.

  It feels incredible. I moan like a porn star.

  Still in perfect control, he releases one hand from my hair so he can squeeze my breast. He suckles my nipple through the fabric. I whimper helplessly as fire roars through my veins.

  He drags the neckline of my dress down. Warm air caresses my breast. Then I feel his hand, rough and strong, cupping my flesh, then his tongue and lips, hot and decadent, draw against my nipple.

  Lost to the sensation, I arch into his mouth.

  He makes that sound in his throat again and sucks harder.

  My shaking fingers slip around the back of his neck. He releases my hair and cups both my breasts in his hands, nosing the fabric away so I’m bared to him. My chest rises and falls rapidly with my labored breathing. Then he goes back and forth between my breasts, licking, sucking, gently biting my nipples and the flesh around them until I’m certain I’ll pass out.

  I’ve never felt quite so lavished. So worshipped. The desire to squirm on his lap to find some relief for the ache between my legs is almost irresistible.

  “Talk to me, Angel,” he murmurs, circling his thumbs over the rigid nubs of my nipples. “If you want me to stop, now’s the time to say so, because next I’m gonna get you on your back and get my face between your legs and eat your pussy until you scream my name.”

  Mierda santa. My body wants that so much, a riot breaks out inside me. My brain is battered with lust hormones wielding hammers until rational thought is all but impossible.

  “I…I want…please…”

  My voice is the husky tenor of a phone-sex operator. I don’t recognize it at all.

  “That’s a yes if I’ve ever heard one,” mutters Ryan. In one lightning-fast motion, he flips me onto my back on the sofa and kneels between my spread legs.

  My dress slides languidly down my bare thighs and pools around my waist. Ryan stares down at me like he’s been electrocuted.

  “Sweet Jesus, woman,” he whispers. “You’re beautiful.”

  Out in the dark night sky, thunder booms. The breeze picks up, fluttering the pages of a magazine on the coffee table. And my heart aches like it might be dying.

  No one has ever looked at me like this. Like I’m a wild, endangered animal that needs to be treasured and protected if it’s going to survive. He might as well be a penitent kneeling in front of a cross for all the reverence in his eyes. The fervor in his gaze is religious.

  He slowly slides his hands down my spread thighs. When he reaches my waist, he circles it and squeezes, learning my shape. Then he pushes the dress up past my hips, exposing my stomach all the way to my ribs, the entire time staring down with intense concentration.

  He traces his index finger lightly around the tattoo near my left hip. His questioning gaze flashes up to mine.

  “Dragonflies live a short life,” I whisper, mesmerized by the ardor in his eyes. “They know they have to make every moment matter.”

  His eyes are piercing. “I’ve heard that a dragonfly landing on you is a dead loved one coming to visit.”

  My heart twists so violently, I suck in a breath. I turn my head away and close my eyes to hide.

  Ryan lowers himself onto me, resting his weight on his elbows. He murmurs into my ear, “Okay. Sore spot. We won’t go there tonight.”

  The way he says “tonight” lets me know he has every intention of getting it out of me in the future, however.

  But there’s no future here. This is one of those unexpected things that pops up randomly in life. A fleeting spark between two strangers, a moment in time that’s special exactly because it’s so short.

  Things like this aren’t meant to last. A few hours of pleasure in a lifetime of pain is the best we can hope for.

  It dawns on me that I’m being offered an incredible gift.

  It doesn’t really matter that I’m here on a job and my initial intention was only to use him as a pawn to make my play. It doesn’t matter that I’ve never crossed this line before, or that I’ll never see this man again after tonight.

  What matters is that this connection—this strange and beautiful thing—is real. Ryan makes me feel alive. He makes me feel special. He makes me feel seen, something I never truly am.

  I’m a fool if I let him slip through my fingers when I could have a memory that could sustain me through all the dark times to come.

  The decision made, I relax on multiple levels. I exhale my final resistance, take his face in my hands, and look into his beautiful eyes, the blue of opals and clear summer skies.

  “No, we won’t go there tonight. But let’s go everywhere else, Ryan. Let’s go all the places we need to go. Let’s do it all.”

  There’s a long, tense moment where he doesn’t respond. He just stares at me, searching my face. Then a smile curves his lips, dangerous in its intensity.

  “There you are,” he says softly.

  I warn, “You only have a few hours until I turn into a pumpkin. Make them count.”

  He chuckles. “Goddamn, I love a bossy woman.”

  “Then you’re in luck, cowboy.” I pull his face toward mine. “Now shut up.”

  When I kiss him, he’s still smiling.

  6

  Mariana

  There are kisses, and there are kisses. Slow, deep, and incredibly hot, this one wins best in show. Only seconds in, I’m he
lplessly squirming.

  I wonder briefly how many women it must’ve taken for him to perfect his technique, then decide I don’t care. For tonight, his talented mouth is all mine.

  It’s so good, I bite his lower lip and sink my fingernails into his back, desperate for more.

  He laughs softly against my greedy lips. “Easy, killer. What’s your rush?”

  “It’s been too long. And you’re delicious.” I’m panting. Close to begging. Long-dormant nerve endings are waking up, ravenous with hunger, like vampires at dusk.

  “Right back atcha, Angel. But we’re not rushing anything.” His eyes are dark, so dark they’re almost black. His voice drops to a growl. “I’m gonna savor you, inch by inch.”

  I shiver, thrilled by the sound of that, and he laughs at me again. My eagerness pleases him. His smile is devilish. We both know he’s got me exactly where he wants me.

  For now.

  I say, “Okay. But hurry up.”

  He puts a finger over my lips and proceeds to ignore my demand.

  He starts at the sensitive spot just below my earlobe, investigating it with his lips, gently stroking the skin with the tip of his tongue. Then he moves his mouth slowly down my neck, pressing soft kisses every half inch, cradling my head in his hands as his lips go to work on me.

  My eyes drift shut. This is heaven. I have to remember this. I have to sear this memory into my mind so I can take it out and admire it later on.

  I make a small sound of desperation. He quietly shushes me. His hands glide to my shoulders. His fingers toy with the straps of my dress.

  He rests his cheek on my chest for a moment, listening to the clamor of my heart. It’s terribly intimate. I know my heartbeat sounds like gunfire. My cheeks burning, I turn my face to the cushion and clench my hands to fists.

  “No hiding,” he whispers, lifting his head. “There’s no hiding from me now, Angel. It’s too late for that.”

  I don’t open my eyes or indicate I’ve heard him. When his hand slides around my throat and gently squeezes, my lids snap open. My entire body tenses.

  Instantly, he releases his grip on my throat. His eyes search mine.

  “Don’t restrain me,” I say, my voice shaking. “I can’t stand that.”

  A furrow appears between his eyebrows. He considers me in silence, then says gently, “Thank you for tellin’ me. Do you want to stop?”

  A spike of pain pierces my heart.

  Passion, I can handle. Though it’s unexpected, it’s welcome. This gentleness, though, this tender attention to my emotional state… What the hell is this? I’m not familiar with this from a man. I have no idea what to do with it. It’s terrifying.

  Finally, I say, “No. Just don’t hold me down.”

  I’m rewarded with a string of the sweetest kisses all over my chest, just above where my heart is frantically beating. His voice both soft and rough, Ryan says, “Anything you don’t like, just tell me, sweetheart. I only wanna make you feel good.”

  I’m dreaming. This can’t be happening. Obviously, I took a bad fall somewhere and am lying in a hospital bed in a medically induced coma.

  This man is a mercenary. He was trained by his government to hunt, maim, and kill. His paranoia is such that he carries a concealed weapon even on vacation and rigs his hotel room with spy gear like something out of a Bond movie. He obviously knows I’m not being truthful about a lot of things, yet he’s handling me like a fragile piece of expensive china. Like a treasure.

  Like a gift.

  Desperate to get my pulse under control, I exhale raggedly. Against my skin, Ryan makes a husky coo of support. He knows I’m struggling. If he keeps this up, I’ll crack wide open.

  He presses kiss after kiss to my chest, shoulders, and neck. His hair tickles my cheek. He’s heavy and hot on top of me, but I like the way he feels. I like the way he smells, clean male and soft musk. I like the way he tastes, and the way he tastes me.

  I like everything about him.

  Mierde! What the hell is wrong with me?

  “Open your eyes,” he commands.

  I look at him. He stares back at me with piercing intensity, like nothing else exists in the world except us. Enunciating every syllable, he says, “You can trust me. You have my word.”

  The promise hangs there between us, dangerous as a lit stick of dynamite.

  I want him to take it back. Promises are even more dangerous than explosives.

  I say, “That’s not going to happen.”

  But I’ve forgotten something crucial about him. Challenges—the more difficult, the better—are exactly what make him tick.

  He says, “Maybe not tonight.” Then he smiles. It carries a promise, too.

  Before I can snarl and shove him off, he buries his face in my cleavage and nips one of my nipples with his teeth.

  “Ow!” I slap him on the shoulder.

  Chuckling, he strokes the stinging nipple with his tongue, looking up at me from under his lashes like he’s daring me to stop him. I consider it until he pinches my other nipple, making me gasp.

  “You like that,” he whispers, intently watching my face. “What about this?”

  He firmly pinches both nipples at the same time. A hot pulse of pleasure throbs between my legs. An involuntary moan breaks from my lips. It’s followed by the dark, satisfied sound of his laugh.

  “Less teeth, more tongue and fingers,” he says. “Got it.”

  “Ryan—”

  “Hush.”

  I glare at him. He’s too focused on my breasts to appreciate my withering look. When he abruptly rises to his knees and tears off his shirt, I’m distracted, too.

  His body is sculpture. Muscles ripple and flex with every movement. I think the temperature in the room has just shot up twenty degrees.

  He lowers himself back into the cradle of my spread thighs. My hands automatically start to paw him, filthy addict that I am. He’s so hard. Everywhere. Except his skin, which is inexplicably petal soft. It’s like being embraced by a steel column covered in velvet.

  He gets between my legs with some kind of Ninja move that’s so fast, it’s a blur. Then he shifts to slow-mo again. He nuzzles me right there, breathing me in with an audible sigh.

  “These hardly even count as underwear.” He tugs at my tiny thong. It’s basically a two-inch piece of fabric held together by a few threads.

  I breathe, “No panty lines.”

  He chuckles. “God forbid.”

  The next sound is my sharp inhalation as he slides his tongue under my panties and lazily licks my clit. “Oh!” I gasp, arching against the couch.

  “Sweet,” he mutters to himself.

  A yank, the rip of tearing fabric, and my panties are disposed of, tossed over his shoulder to land in a small, shredded pile on the floor.

  He slings my knees over his shoulders, grips my ass in both hands, and sucks my clit into the wet heat of his mouth. I sink my fingers into his hair and moan. Loudly. As I rock against his face. Trying to maintain consciousness.

  The first raindrops hiss against the balcony tile.

  “Yes,” I whisper. “Oh God. That’s good. That’s so—oh—”

  Without breaking the rhythm of his tongue, he slides a finger inside me. He reaches up with his other hand and thumbs over my hard nipple. Sounds are coming out of me that I don’t recognize as my own. They don’t even sound human.

  When I stiffen and make a low whine in the back of my throat, he warns, “Don’t you dare hold back on me!”

  The words burst out of me in a desperate, breathless rush. “I’m too close. It’s too fast. It’s been too long, I’m already—oh God—”

  He stops listening to me before I get three words out of my mouth. He simply goes back to his glorious torture, only now he’s squeezing both my breasts in his hands, pinching and tweaking my nipples as he swirls his tongue between my legs. My hips rock in tandem with his tongue.

  Sweat blooms over my chest. My heart goes arrhythmic. I groan, squeezi
ng my eyes shut, the entire world narrowed to what’s happening between my legs.

  “Come for me, Angel. You know you need to.” His voice is coaxing, wickedly soft.

  I wish he’d stop calling me Angel.

  Somewhere off in the night, a rooster starts crowing. They’re all over the island, stupid, wild roosters who crow just as often at midnight as they do at dawn. It’s to the sound of falling rain and a faint cock-a-doodle-doo that I come in a stranger’s mouth, crying out his name.

  Ryan groans into me as I writhe. Along with deep shock at finding myself here, the noise vibrates all the way through me. Then thought ceases, and everything is reduced to sensation.

  The rough scrape of his jaw on the tender flesh of my thighs. His calloused fingers on my breast. The leather of the sofa, cool and smooth against my shoulders. The heady scent of flowers and sex in the air.

  His mouth, owning me. Driving me. Forcing my surrender.

  My fingers twist in his hair. I’m scratching his scalp, but I can’t stop myself. I’m too far past restraint. I’ve jumped off an insanely tall cliff and am plummeting toward annihilation.

  “Fuck yeah,” Ryan whispers harshly. “Give it to me.”

  I do. I shudder and thrash and wring myself out against his clever tongue until I’ve got nothing left to give and I’m a mass of jelly limbs and random twitches, panting, sweating, laughing weakly with an arm flung over my eyes.

  I get a tender kiss on the inside of each of my thighs and hear a low, satisfied chuckle. I look down to see Ryan with a pirate’s jaunty grin, blue eyes shining.

  “You can catch your breath on the way to the bed.” He stands and picks me up.

  I cling to his strong shoulders as he carries me to the large, four-poster bed. He sets me on my feet, steadies me, then peels off my dress like he’s opening a present. He kisses my throat, strokes my skin, murmurs words I only hear as gentle sounds, soft as the evening air.

  “Ryan,” I whisper, trembling. My legs shake so hard, I think I might fall.

  He takes my face in his hands. “I know. Me, too.”

  His kiss is like a mark of ownership. A firm and permanent seal.