The Game Plan (Game On 3)

Annoyed with myself, I close the distance between us.

Soft. His beard is soft. And springy. I didn’t expect that.

Gently I press my fingertips into all that springy-soft mass, stroke it a little. His nostrils flare on an indrawn breath.

I glance at him, search his eyes. He gives me nothing back. So I keep going, running my fingers up his jaw, against the grain. There’s the prickle I expected. Only it feels good, sending little tingles of awareness over my skin, up my thighs.

I swallow hard, press my legs together. Can he tell? I’m too chicken to check. I keep my focus on his face, on his lips, which look so smooth in comparison to his beard.

My own lips part, suddenly sensitive. Somehow I’ve moved closer. I can’t help myself. I trace the bottom edge of his lower lip with my thumb.

Sweet Mary Jane Watson, that was a mistake. The contrast between his soft yet firm mouth and the thick, crinkly beard sends a bolt of sheer, shocking want straight to my clit.

In a daze, I stroke his lips again, following the gentle upper curve, keeping contact with his beard while I do. Fuck, but I can’t stop imagining his mouth moving over my skin. Would I feel his beard when he sucked my nipples?

I’m throbbing now. Said nipples aching for relief. Dex’s warmth is a wall against my chest. I’ve moved onto my knees before him without realizing it, my free hand clutching his shoulder as if I’m afraid he’ll back away.

But he won’t. Not when his big, heavy hand has landed on my hip, bracing me, his fingers clutching in a way that’s a little possessive and a little protective.

I should stop. I tell myself this even as I keep tracing his mouth, the corners of it, his chin. Dex breathes lightly through his parted lips, and each exhale sends a little gust of soft warmth over me.

I want—no, I need—to feel more. And that need has a mind of its own. I feel his shocked intake of breath a second before my lips graze his. God. God, that’s good. Silky-firm, prickly-smooth. I do it again, touching the corner of his mouth, his beard tickling my lips.

A small whimper sounds between us. I don’t know if I made it or he did. Doesn’t matter. I’ve become obsessed with his mouth, taking kiss after kiss, just feeling it.

Jesus, there’s something downright dirty about beards. Fucking naughty. All I can think about now is sex. About other places with hair that’s both soft and wiry. My mind fills with images of this thick, full beard running over my clit and how it would tickle and tease. And it makes me frantic.

I lick into his mouth, greedy, needy, my thumbs bracketing the corners to feel him as I taste him.

Dex’s groan vibrates through his body. A heavy hand cradles the back of my head, his long fingers twisting into my hair. Then he’s angling his head, kissing me back, deeply and thoroughly, as if I’ve woken him from a long sleep, and he’s starving.

Lust rushes through me harder and faster than I’ve ever experienced. It takes my breath, my reason. I can only stroke the sides of his face, press my tender breasts against his chest, and give him what we both want.

He tastes of whisky and sweet vermouth, candied cherries and some mouthwatering flavor I can only assume is his own. I slide my tongue along his to get more of it.

Dex’s chest heaves on a breath, his mouth opening wider to let me in. His large hands cup my ass. Suddenly I’m weightless, dizzy. I land on his lap, straddling his hips. He’s big enough that it’s a stretch. I wrap my arms around his head, grind my center against a rock hard erection that’s truly impressive. Perfection.

He reacts with a grunt and squeezes my ass, spreading my cheeks apart in a way that’s downright lewd and so hot that I whimper, rock into him again.

That we’re basically dry-humping and fucking each other’s mouths is all I care about. Until I hear a catcall, loud and unmistakable.

“Fuck yeah, man. Give it to her.”

We freeze, our lips still touching. My heartbeat thunders in my ears.

Putting a protective hand at the nape of my neck, Dex turns his head and glares over my shoulder. I can’t help but look too, and find a table of three guys watching us with unabashed interest.

One loudmouth hoots again. “Fucking nice, honey.”

Shit. It isn’t really my style to give a public show.

Dex’s muscles bunch. God, but he’s solid. A veritable wall to lean on. His voice comes out deep and hard. “Enough.”

That’s it. One word. And the odd thing is, the guys listen. Immediately they turn away and busy themselves in their drinks.

I glance back at Dex to witness the tail end of his scary glare before it fades to his usual neutral expression.

Some guys are alpha dogs, snarling and snapping. Dex is more like a silverback gorilla, quietly going about his business until something pisses him off and he gives a warning.

I wonder what would happen if he truly lost his temper. He could easily pound the shit out of most people. Something those guys obviously understand.

But I no longer care about them. Now that we’re not mauling each other, I’m slightly mortified over the way I outright jumped Dex.

His expression isn’t smug, though. It’s thoughtful and a bit tender. “So, still not a fan of the beard?”

Sign me up and call me a convert. “Tell the truth. Did you do all this just to get me to kiss you?”

“No.” He gives my hair—now fisted in his hand—a tug, holding me a little away so he can study my lips. “I just wanted you to touch me.”

Then he takes my mouth again. One more time in a slow, exploring kiss before letting me go.

Breathless and more than a bit befuddled, it takes me a moment to gather my wits and climb off of him. I don’t even know what to do with myself. Don’t get me wrong, I love sex and am not ashamed to go after it. But I don’t do this. I don’t make out with guys who aren’t remotely my type. And I certainly don’t hit on a friend of my family; that’s just asking for awkward when things go south.