Not My Romeo (The Game Changers 1)

“I will, Jack. Don’t test me.”

“Elena, you can’t get me out of your head.”

“Someone needs to teach you a lesson in humility.”

“Please do.”

She touches my chest, and I groan. “Fuck, Elena. Kiss me. Because I’m dying here. I’m barely able to stand up—thank God for lockers—and all it took was your fucking wrist to get me hard—”

She stands on her tiptoes and takes my mouth, and I rumble out my victory, my hands landing on her ass like they were made for that spot, picking her up and switching us around until she’s against the lockers. Her legs curl around my hips, her lips pressed against mine, her tongue battling mine without reserve, all fire and heat. Her hands knead my shoulders, digging and caressing, pulling, tugging, wanting.

“All it took was your stupid forearms in Milano’s,” she mutters in between kissing.

“Good goddamn thing you sat down,” I mutter back, sucking on her neck.

“Good thing c-l-i-t-s are your specialty.”

“Elena,” I breathe. “So many tricks up my sleeve . . .” My lips trail along her cheek. “I want to show them all to you.”

I kiss her again, deeply, paying attention to the fullness of her upper lip, nipping at it, loving that sweet spot near her ear that makes her shiver.

“What are we doing?” she breathes.

“Making out.” I shove a hand in her hair, holding her head to the side, slanting my lips across her for a hard kiss, sucking on her tongue in a decadent, rhythmic way, like I’m fucking her.

“I’m not signing that stupid NDA,” she says.

“I haven’t brought it up.” I kiss her again, my hips swiveling into her pelvis. She arches closer, her hands pulling on my shoulders.

“Are you wet for me, baby?” I murmur, my hand easing between us, brushing against her apex.

“Damn you.”

I laugh, rubbing my thumb across her leggings, rotating against her mound.

She shudders, her hands in my hair now, tugging me closer for another kiss.

Voices and people walking out of the gym reach my ears, and I press my forehead against her. “We’re out in the hall for anyone to see. Not a good idea.”

She wiggles out of my arms, chest rising rapidly, and takes my hand. “Come on. I know every room in this place.”

She takes off, dashing down the hall, and I jog after her. I don’t know what I’m doing, because I swore to myself I’d leave her alone, that I’d stick to her decision, but . . .

She stops at the door on the right, letting out a gleeful sound when it’s unlocked. She pulls me inside a darkened room, the only light the glow from the moon coming in from a window. I take in a big desk and a wall of mirrors with a long bar along the middle.

“Ballet room?” I ask as she turns to face me, hair everywhere where my hands were. Her mouth is swollen, red, and lush.

Fuck, fuck, fuck . . . what is she doing to me?

“Yep, but we aren’t dancing. Welcome to my second-grade classroom. Take off your clothes, Jack. Let’s make this quick.”

Heat pierces me, sweet and excruciating at the need in her voice. With Sophia, sex was never like this. Consuming and fast, as in I-can’t-wait-to-have-you kind of feeling. Football kept most of my attention; I never thought about Sophia unless she was right in front of me. Elena . . . I can’t get her out of my mind . . .

“This will not be quick,” I say.

She pulls her sweatshirt over her head, her red lace bra making me groan. She toes her shoes off and shoves them out of the way. Leggings disappear until I see the tiny red thong, the contrast of the color against her pale skin intoxicating.

I groan, my gaze all over her. “Are you sure?”

“I’m not thinking clearly, and I don’t want to. And you being Romeo is driving me crazy! Maybe this is the only way to work you out of my system.”

I frown, not liking that statement. But her wariness is my fault. Since the moment I walked in, we’ve been sparring, and I know it’s my distrust that makes her scared.

She said she’s team boyfriend.

And I am not a boyfriend. Not like she needs. I just . . . can’t go there. My mother loved Harvey, and look what it got her. I thought I cared about Sophia and—

“Snap out of it, and stop staring at me. We have to hurry,” she says, dashing to the door and checking the lock. She moves swiftly, uninhibited in her near nakedness, her curves lush and creamy.

I sweep paper, pencils, and books off the desk in one movement, my body in full-on let’s-do-this mode. So what if I’m in public? So what if she hasn’t signed the NDA? Take this and run with it—and right now. I don’t care about anything but getting inside her.