Not My Match (The Game Changers 2)

His mouth works down, brushing over my throat, his scruff mingling with the pleasure. His carnal, demanding lips cling to mine as he works my panties down with one hand. I don’t know where they go. I don’t know where anything is, just his lips and hands and tongue.

He bends to his haunches, eases me down, parts my thighs, and kisses me there, and my breath escapes in a whimper, spirals of lust curling.

“Devon . . .”

He consumes me like I’m a rich, dark chocolate and he’s a connoisseur, his tongue skating over my clit.

“Everything about you, all your secrets . . . right here . . . on the tip of my tongue,” he says gruffly, meeting my eyes, the effect of the intensity in his gaze enough to cause a quake inside me, a true miniorgasm rolling over me. But it’s not enough, and I chase it, my heels digging into the bumper. His gaze goes molten as he slides a finger inside me, lazy and slow. “Has anyone ever gone down on you?”

“No.”

“I’m the first,” he purrs. “And I’m writing my name on you. Devon . . .” More tantalizing licks. “Kennedy . . . now that’s a long name . . .” He sucks the center of me in his mouth and nibbles. “Walsh.” He pauses to breathe me in, his fingers tugging on my curls as his palm presses on my mound. “I want you so slow, savor every little place, no rush, until you come hard and long.” His fingers rub at the top of my entrance, teasing, in and out, never enough.

I lose my sense of perception, how much time is passing, the breeze in the trees, the hardness of the car, the silky feel of his jacket as pleasure buzzes and builds and sharpens until it rushes at me and pulls me under. I call out his name, a tsunami feathering down my spine to my core. My body clenches around him, my entire body undulating as I ride the wave.

“Do you want me as much as I want you?” He stares deep into my eyes, and my heart flip-flops. It feels like a deeper question, layered with more meaning, nuanced with significance.

My reply is smothered as I kiss him, my hands already working the buckle on his belt, the button on his slacks, the zipper. I can’t believe he isn’t naked yet. With trembling fingers I shove his pants and tight underwear down, his length jutting out at me, long, hard, and thick. The rose-gold crown has a bead of come, and I brush my finger over it, unsure if this is going to work. It’s supposed to; that’s how we were designed, but . . .

“Tell me.” He stops my hand, his self-control vacillating when his lashes flutter.

“Yes, yes, yes, I want you. More than I’ve ever wanted anyone or anything. Please.” My eyes lock with his. “Make me yours.”

“Mine,” he breathes, a shudder racking his body as he cups my face. “Giselle . . . fuck . . .” He groans as I grasp his hip and map out the topography of his cock. My eyes can’t stop devouring all of him—the disheveled hair, the jerking muscles of his abdomen, the tip of him, mushroom shaped and veiny.

“I don’t have a condom,” he rasps out.

“I’m on the pill. I’m assuming you get tested regularly for physicals.”

“I do. You are? Why?”

“I’ve had irregular periods for years, painful . . .” I stop, not wanting to explain my menstrual cycle now.

“I’ve never had sex without condoms, but it’s you, baby, it’s you, and I’ll do whatever you want.” A laugh comes from him. “You make me say crazy shit.” His lips graze my neck, and I hold his head there.

“We can wait,” he drags out. “We can drive back to the penthouse and do this in my bed.”

My leg hooks around his hip, pulling him toward me. “Just put the tip in.”

“Like we’re in high school, huh?”

A slow smile curls my lips. “I’ve fantasized about the moment when the guy slides it in, the first bite of pain, then bliss—or I think. You’re big.”

“It will fit.”

“I wouldn’t be opposed to video.”

“We are not making a sex tape.”

“Yet.” My hands curl around his shoulders. “I do want to watch it go in.”

“You are insane.”

“Mildly. Runs in the family.”

“I don’t know what this is,” he says. “I don’t know where it’s gonna end up.”

Regardless of his obvious hesitation, this is right, and I want it all, the ugly with the good. He said he wouldn’t walk away, and I believe him. “We’ll figure it out together.” I flick my tongue over his nipple, making him shudder.

“Come here,” he murmurs, adjusting my legs, bending my knees so that I’m halfway sitting up, my palms pressed to the hood of the car. He scoots the jacket closer to him. He steps back and stares, his chest heaving, his eyes dilated and low. I feel sexy and beautiful, bare and ready for him.