Ex Games

“No?”

“Not when you’re as goddamned gorgeous as you are,” he said, leaning in and reaching behind me for a bottle of scotch. He grinned as his chest brushed against mine – just enough to cause the slightest bounce. “Oh, fuckin-a,” Sawyer took one look before squeezing his eyes shut and gritting his teeth. He’d always been a charming terror when drunk. “That one I actually didn’t mean to do. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, silly.”

“You know you were always my dream girl, right?”

I giggled. “Sawyer, Jackson’s gonna kill you. You know that right?”

The mention of Jackson’s name plucked the smile from his lips. I frowned, unaccustomed to seeing Sawyer anything but jovial. “Yeah,” he murmured, swaying slightly in his drunkenness. He looked down blankly at the bottle of scotch. “I know,” he said, suddenly somber. “I know a lot of things.”

“Yeah?” I tried to entertain him. “What kind of things do you know, Sawyer?”

His gaze returned to me. “Things that you’d wanna know,” he replied.

My eyebrows pinched. He was serious for once so I set my drink down. “Babe, what’s going on with you today? Is there something you want to tell me?” I asked.

But before he could answer, Sloane burst in from the tanning deck.

“Lara, Jackson’s about to do a back flip off the end of the yacht! Can you please stop him before he splits his frickin’ scar open?” she asked breathlessly before running back out.

Oh God, Jackson, damn you. Squeezing past Sawyer, I ran out as well, mentally cursing Jackson as I did so.

Something in him had changed since the invasion at our duplex five weeks ago. I would have predicted the opposite but he’d grown suddenly fonder of taking risks. Perhaps it was the fact that he’d been stabbed by a strange man who’d broken into our home. Or the fact that he’d grabbed the man’s arm before his blade could sink deeper than two inches. While the man escaped, he’d saved both his own life and mine. And since then, he’d been every kind of unpredictable. A week after the invasion, he booked a vacation for ten to Ibiza. A few days later, he got into a random bar brawl. The week after that, he purchased a four-story townhouse in Greenwich Village for twenty million dollars.

And now, on the deck of a yacht, in front of all our friends, he was on one knee.

“Oh my God.” The voice I heard was not my own. It was girly and breathless and muffled by my hands flying to my mouth as I watched Jackson. Surrounded by his boys, he opened a little, black velvet box. I burst into tears when I saw the actual ring – a single, enormous square-cut diamond on a fine platinum band.

I wish I could have frozen time and gathered myself enough to truly absorb the moment, because through my friends’ cheering and my own tears, I could barely hear Jackson’s beautiful speech about wanting to spend the rest of his life with me. But the most important part, I did hear.

“I will love you no matter what happens. No matter what dramas, highs, lows, trials or tribulations, I’ll be at your side through it all. Proudly. I know these guys tell you all the time but you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Lara. And the only thing you can do to make me even happier is agree to be my wife.”

Through tears, I gazed down at the hopeful smile on Jackson’s impossibly handsome face.

“Lara, will you marry me?”

~

I hated the phrase but making love was what we’d done right after I’d said “yes.” Our gaze hadn’t broken once while he rocked into me. He’d come shortly after I had and as he held me, catching his breath, had murmured my name and his last. Lara Kinsley. He listed every way he loved me as I drifted off into sleep – a bride-to-be’s lullaby. It was the definition of making love.

But this – this couldn’t be considered anything but down and dirty sex.

Naked, I leaned over the railing of our balcony, my head cocked back and my waves gathered tight in Jackson’s fist. Another hand groping my breasts, he thrust into me, his lips grunting, muttering filth in my ear. Our friends were down the hall but I couldn’t help my shameless moaning as he sunk into me, occasionally torturing me by withdrawing his hot, hard cock and rubbing its pulsing head against the length of my wetness.

“Jackson, please,” I whimpered as he stroked my clit with his dick.

Lusty amusement curled in his voice. “What’s wrong, baby?”

“Put it back in,” I breathed, moving my hips, desperately trying to fill the void his thick shaft leaves every time he pulls out of my pussy.

Jackson wrapped a strong arm around my waist, holding me still enough to continue teasing me with his smooth helmet. “No. I’m enjoying your squirming.”

“Jackson, fuck me, please…”

“No.”

Moaning with torment, I twisted out of his grip and threw my naked body onto the white chaise. Fine, Mr. Kinsley. Two can play this game. Lying back, I closed my eyes and spread my legs for my fingers, immediately relieving the mounting need he so deftly built up. Biting my lip, I sighed, one hand circling the sensitized pearl between my thighs with one hand, the other roughly fondling my breasts the way I knew Jackson liked. My back arched, I writhed with pleasure at my own touch.