Game for Marriage (Game for It 1)

Right. And they never presented a challenge. He could scratch his butt and burp and they’d throw themselves at him anyway.

“I know. You’re my wife, Sheridan.” He leaned in, as close as he could get to her, his lips brushing against the delicate skin of her ear. “And I’m ready to make a bet I could seduce you with words alone.”

A little shudder moved through her. “What’s in it for me?”

He smiled. A long night of pleasure, if she’d let him. Though they’d be breaking all the damn rules. Harvey would kill him if he knew about it. “What do you want?”

She leaned back, her gaze meeting his. “If I don’t react, if I can prove to you that your raunchy dirty talk doesn’t affect me, I want you to come in during one of my ladies’ night out classes and do a meet and greet.”

“Done.” He’d do it anyway. That sounded like fun. His pretty little wife working hard and showing him off to her students. Damn, he was turning into a sap. This marriage stuff warped his brain already.

Sheridan chewed on her lower lip. “What do you want if you win? And how are you going to prove it?”

“Oh, I’ll know.” She was halfway there already, though she didn’t even realize it. Damn, his wife was hot. “If I win, I get to do whatever I want to you tonight when we get home.” His seduction had already begun, with those particularly chosen words.

Her eyes widened the slightest bit. “But we’re not supposed to…”

“I can keep a secret if you can,” he murmured, reaching out to trace her lower lip with his thumb. “Game on, wife.”

Chapter Eight

Jared made her incredibly nervous. Sheridan had thrown down the gauntlet, presented the challenge, and Jared was now hell-bent on proving himself right.

And proving her all sorts of wrong.

She was out of her league, playing this wicked game with him. Four men. She’d been with four men these twenty-five years of her life, including Jared. That was far from impressive. Pitiful, actually, and certainly proving her point—she was not sexually adventurous. With the exception of her night with Jared. Only one of them had wanted to try the dirty talk thing with her and they’d been young. Nineteen and twenty-years-old and drunk, they’d laughed the entire time as he whispered all sorts of stupid things in her ear.

It just flat-out always made her uncomfortable. Or so she’d thought.

Until Jared had said to her, “If I win, I get to do whatever I want to you tonight when we get home.”

The promise in his deep voice, the heat in his gaze, had nearly sent her straight into giving in so she could find out exactly what he had in store for her. And once they’d made the bet, his single-minded pursuit seemed to be trying his best to drive her out of her ever-loving mind.

He hadn’t said a word. Hadn’t attempted to whisper one dirty thing in her ear yet, but he was plotting. And planning. Touching her the entire time he was doing so, too.

Her husband had magic hands. Fingers that could touch her in such a seemingly innocent way but drive her absolutely wild. Reminding her of their night together, the way he’d touched her. How easily he’d brought her to orgasm. That damn index finger of his was intent on caressing every bit of exposed skin she had, which was a lot. And that was her own fault.

But that finger. It traveled everywhere. Down her neck, tracing her ear, across her shoulders, hooking just beneath the front of her dress, and touching the top of her breast, for goodness sake. He’d touch her while having a conversation with God knows whom, his expression neutral, his presence utterly at ease.

All the while she felt like a volcano, all swirling heat and scalding lava flowing through her veins, ready to explode if he kept up this slow, exquisite torture.

Appetizers arrived at their table, everyone crowding around for a chance to sample the new menu. Jared leaned in to her instead, his mouth pressed against her ear.

“I’d rather have you as my appetizer,” he murmured.

She smiled. That was sorta weak. “Really?”

“Mmm, hmm.” He slid his hand over the top of her thigh, grasping her flesh. Oh, the man was bold, but hell, they were married. This sort of play was allowed publicly. “I know you’d taste infinitely better.”

“You’re such a flatterer.” His words were child’s play. If he thought that sort of talk would melt her like butter, he was sadly mistaken.

“Just speaking the truth.” His hand dived beneath the hem of her skirt, his fingers skittering along the inside of her thigh. “Tell me, Sheridan. Are your panties wet?”

Oh, God. They certainly were now. A giggle escaped her and she tried to compose herself. “You’re not playing fair, you know.”

“I never said anything about playing fair,” he murmured.

She tried to shove his hand away but he wouldn’t budge. “Are you unfair on the field, too, Jared?”