The Game Plan (Game On 3)

I just might.

“Dex—”

“Ethan,” he says. “When I have my mouth on you, it’s Ethan.”

Then he puts his mouth on mine, claims it like he already owns it. I shiver, lick my way across his upper lip before kissing him long, deep. He shivers then too.

“Ethan,” I say, just to give him what he wants. “Ethan.”

He kisses me, a rhythmic undulation, his tongue slowly thrusting in and out of my mouth, his fingers worrying my nipple, plucking at it, flicking it in a way that’s almost crude.

It’s too much.

“Touch my pussy,” I demand against his lips. I’m almost halfway to coming as it is. “Touch it.”

I feel his smile.

“Is it wet?” His hand slides down my bare stomach.

“Fucking dripping,” I pant, kissing his cheek, the corner of his eye, his mouth again.

He slips beneath my panties, and I’m so worked up, so hot, that I arch off the bed, a strangled groan tearing from me as his blunt fingers ease over my slick flesh.

The world tilts on its axis. Dizzy, I grab onto his rock-hard shoulders.

His breath fans my face, his lips just grazing mine as he watches me. I stare back, unable to move—to fucking breathe—as his fingers slip-slide and circle my sex. His touch is messy. No finesse, just pure, methodical greed.

“I think you’re a closet sadist,” I say through gritted teeth, my hips jerking against his hand.

Though he’s shaking, sweat dotting his brow, his eyes smile at me. “Why?”

“You’re enjoying this. Driving me crazy—” A strangled moan tears out of me and his thick, long finger plunges in deep. “Oh, fuck.”

With an answering groan, he drags that finger out, pushes in again. I strain into his palm, my arms stretching overhead to claw at the pillows.

“Ethan…” I want to fuck him. I need to. My teeth grind with impatience.

He pushes another finger into me. So thick. So good.

“Cherry,” he whispers, licking my breast. “Give it to me, Cherry.”

My orgasm rides through me so hard, I come back to myself in stages—the warmth of his hard body, the sheets wrinkled beneath my sweaty skin, my breath slowly leveling out.

Slightly dazed, I blink up at him. He looks slightly dazed as well, his eyes wide, his lips parted.

“You’re beautiful,” he says.

“So are you.” I mean it. I want to strip him bare, lick my way over every inch of his big body. But he’s moving away, pressing a soft kiss on my belly before standing.

He’s fully dressed, and here I am, shirt off, nipples wet and tight, my pants halfway down my ass. I’m not one to be shy about my body, but I sit up and tug my shirt on. Because he’s clearly not getting undressed, even though the bulge in jeans is enough to stretch them tight.

“I’ll go toast the bagels,” he says. Right before he bolts.

Chapter Nine

Dex

There’s a slight tremor in my hand as I saw the knife through a sesame bagel. I grip the handle tighter when really I want to chuck it, bagel and all, across the kitchen. Because I left Fi—gorgeous, delicious Fi—alone in the bedroom.

Jesus Christ, I’m an idiot. She’d been lying there, flushed and panting, the rosy tips of her nipples glistening from my mouth. And I left her like that.

The sweet sounds of her coming, those breathy whimpers, ring through my head.

The bagel splits in two, and I set the knife down, take a slow breath. I made Fiona Mackenzie come. Hard.

She doesn’t know hers is the first pussy I’ve fingered. I had no idea she’d be so slick and warm, so tight. My teeth grind at the memory.

I want to fuck her so bad it hurts. My dick fucking aches. And though I’m familiar with repressed need, this is a new level. I’m so jacked up now, my hips push against the edge of the counter like they have a mind of their own.

“Fuck.”

But that’s the problem, isn’t it? She was ready for me to fuck her, practically panting for it. And so was I. Only I can’t do it. So I left her like a coward.

I don’t expect Fi to come down. She’s probably pissed. Maybe even disgusted with me. And for good reason.

My eyes squeeze shut, and I draw another slow breath through my clenched teeth. Such a fuck up.

“So what kind of bagels did you get?”

I nearly jump out of my skin at the sound of her cheerful voice. She breezes into the kitchen, her hips swaying. She’s dressed in tight black jeans and a fitted gray sweater that reaches mid-thigh and looks soft, touchable.

It’s all I can do not to stare at her pink, kiss-swollen lips. Because I’ve completely lost my voice.

Fi stops at my side and picks up the halved bagel before moving away to pop it into the toaster. “You get any good cream cheese?”

She looks up at me with wide eyes the color of new leaves. No judgment, no anger. Waiting, it seems, for me to hand her cream cheese.

“Fi…” My voice cracks, and I swallow hard. “I…uh….”

The front door opens. Gray and Ivy are home.

“Hey,” Ivy calls as she sets the baby car seat down on the kitchen table. “Did you get bagels? Thank God. I’m starving.” She leans down to unhook Leo. “A certain evil husband thinks it’s cool to hike at freaking 7 a.m.”

Gray ambles in looking better-rested than I’ve seen him since before the baby. “We were up anyway, and I was going stir crazy in this house. Ooh…is that poppy seed?”

I try to catch Fi’s eye over Gray’s head, but she’s already taking her nephew from Ivy’s hands and kissing the top of his fuzzy little head.