Not My Romeo (The Game Changers 1)

“When I’m nervous, I spell words.” I blush.

“I make you nervous. Filing that away. What else?” he growls.

“I’ve never had an orgasm with a man.”

His eyes go to half mast. “Sweet Elena, I’m gonna take care of that first thing.”

A long exhalation leaves my chest, part exhilaration, part excitement that licks over me at the way he’s looking at me, as if he’s going to devour me bit by bit. That feeling of confidence roars. With a skilled motion, he slides my blouse off, and it falls to the floor.

He swallows, his throat bobbing as his eyes burn over every inch of me. He takes a step back, his eyes hot flames.

I might be a librarian, but my lingerie screams sex kitten.

I unzip my skirt and step out of it, kicking it to the side. It lands near the kitchen table.

And I know exactly what he sees—a three-piece pink sequin set, a bra and panties with garters featuring handmade Italian lace on the straps.

His chest rises. “Fuck me.”

Oh, I will.

I cup my full C cups, sliding my hands over the material, showing him how the sequins change from pink to silver. “There are little unicorns on my breasts when you move the fabric.” I drift my fingers over the waistband of the panties, feeling brave, oh so brave, by what I see on his face. I touch the top of my mound. “And here, when I move the sequins”—I slide the fabric resting on my small bundle of nerves—“is a little heart.” It’s funny how easy this is with him when I was never able to model for Preston any of my designs. He took one look at the mannequins and dress forms in my sewing room and left the room, chagrined, his face livid. He yelled at me and said I was going to ruin my entire family with my proclivities. I should have seen then that we weren’t the same. That he wasn’t the one.

Because the one is supposed to get you, accept you.

But the man in front of me is not looking at me with distaste at all. He rubs at the scruff on his jawline, a flush on his cheekbones. “Elena, you are not what I expected. Or maybe you are. I don’t know.” He shakes his head. “Can’t really think straight right now.”

I dance my fingers down to my thighs, to the scraps of lace there, unsnapping the clasp and letting the garter fall.

“More,” he pushes out, palming his slacks.

I unclasp the tiny triangle bra, twirl it for a moment before letting it fall from my fingers and drift to the kitchen tile.

He bites his lip, eyes skating over me before coming back to my face.

I shimmy, and my panties fall to the floor.

Who am I right now? Who is this crazy girl? I don’t know, but I like it.

“Elena.” He says my name with a groan and drops to his knees right there in the kitchen. His hands encircle my waist as he presses an openmouthed kiss to my hip bone, sucking and nipping at my skin as he works his way down to my apex. A finger brushes my nipple, skating from one to the other as his tongue paints me with ownership, with scalding heat and dark promises. My body ripples with desire, clenching, nerves quivering as I shudder and arch into him.

All coherent thought vanishes.

A delicious frenzy spirals inside me, wet and slick, passion wrapped in the feel of his lips and tongue. Every groan he makes, every touch of his hands, every lick is amplified, expanding into an unrestrained ache until I’m lost in this reckless universe that is me and him. He flicks his tongue and moves his fingers in a wicked way inside me, and a star explodes in a bright light somewhere overhead, drenching me with the fallout, glowing sparks and embers bursting around me. Throwing back my head, I cry out, gasping as my entire body undulates, surging and swelling, my skin reveling in this beautiful release.

Moments pass as I grapple with the aftereffects. The room spins as he sweeps me into his arms, then carries me away from the kitchen and down the hall to his bedroom. We don’t speak, or maybe he does, but I’m not tracking, limp and loose in his warm embrace. The wolf has caught me, and I couldn’t be happier.

I may not recognize this daring part of myself, but he is what I want right now. This moment. This bliss. This one night.

I’ll worry about tomorrow later.

Chapter 6

JACK

Hours later, I snap awake and stand straight up from the bed, fists raised, heart hammering like a freight train. Fuck. The nightmare again. Slowly I rub at my left shoulder, where my scar is, easing the ache there. I sigh and sit back on the bed with my head in my hands. Deep inhale, long exhale. I close my eyes, hoping to banish the dream from my thoughts, but it doesn’t work . . .