The Game Plan (Game On 3)

“I just feel so…” She waves a hand as she struggles to find a word. “Angry. Hurt. Dejected. Yeah, that’s the prevalent emotion right now.”

With a sign, she presses her nose against my chest. Her warm breath seeps through my shirt. Still she plays with my nipple, twisting the little barbell I wear just enough to make me feel it in my balls.

My hips shift in reaction, but my mind is on trying to make this right. “Baby, I—”

She silences me with a look, her big green eyes luminous with unshed tears. “Ethan, I know you want to fix this.” She gives me a watery smile. “Don’t look so shocked. I know you better than you think.”

“I’m not shocked.” I kind of love how easily she reads me. “I admit it. I want to take your pain and make it better.”

Stretching up, Fi kisses my jaw. My beard makes it impossible for me to feel more than the pressure of her lips. I want more. I want to imprint her on my skin. I turn toward her and lower my head.

I kiss her softly, tenderly, wanting her to know how precious she is.

Fi smiles against my lips. “You want to make it better, Big Guy? When we get upstairs, make me forget the world for a little while.”

The cab pulls up in front of her apartment. I thread my fingers through her hair, holding it secure. “Cherry, that was always part of the plan.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

Fiona

Born of the desperate need to keep our hands off each other, Dex and I stand on opposite sides of the elevator going up to my apartment. The main deterrent to any shenanigans is the fact that Mrs. Flannery, my sixty-something widowed neighbor, stands between us.

She stares straight ahead, her crimson-painted lips twitching. It’s as if she knows exactly how much Dex and I are itching to touch each other, which wouldn’t surprise me since her sex life is far more active than mine has been until now. I’ve caught her in many an elevator embrace. Honestly, the woman is my sexcapade hero.

Over her head, Dex’s eyes meet mine. The heated look he sends makes my breath quicken. But then he pushes it over the edge; he makes a total goofball—crossed eyes, pointed tongue—face at me.

It’s gone in a flash, but so very un-Dex-like that I snort down a laugh. My eyes water as I try to contain it.

Mrs. Flannery glances at me. “You coming down with a cold, dear?”

Coughing over a snicker, I clear my throat and stand straight. “I might be.”

Her smile is serene. “I’m sure your young man here will take good care of you.”

Dex waggles his brows behind her back. Ass.

Mrs. Flannery leans toward me, her voice dropping into a pseudo-whisper. “It’s always the big, quiet ones, isn’t it?”

Ha. Solemnly, I nod. “Yes, ma’am, it is.”

The elevator reaches her floor. As soon as the doors close behind her, I launch myself at Dex, poking his ribs as he laughs and tries to get away from my marauding finger.

“She totally knows we’re going to have sex,” I tell him, laughing but trying to be outraged.

His arms circle me, bands of steel that lean me onto his hard chest. “Of course she does.” He kisses my temple. “Considering that she groped my ass right before we got on the elevator, I’d say she approves of your choice.”

“What? That little sneak.”

He grins wide. “You actually look pissed.”

“Of course I am.” I’m not really, but still. My hand drifts down to his awesome ass. Seriously, his butt is like warm granite. “Your ass is mine, Ethan Dexter.”

“I promise you can play with it later.”

Because I want “later” to happen sooner, I all but push him down the hall when the elevator doors open on my floor.

When we reach my apartment door, Dex presses against me from behind, his forearms braced on either side of my head. “Tell me you live alone.”

A smile tugs at my lips. “I live alone.”

He lets out a gusty breath, and his lips trail along the sensitive skin of my neck, his beard tickling. “Good.” The hard length of his cock nudges my ass. “Open the door, Cherry.”

My hands fumble with the key, and then I’m stumbling into my apartment—oh, so graceful of me. Laughing a bit, I turn, expecting Dex to grab me, give me the kiss I know we both want.

But he doesn’t.

He stalks me instead, his steps steady, his gaze hot. And it sets my pulse racing as I walk backwards, keeping my eyes on him.

A slow, evil smile spreads across his lips. “Keep going.”

The low, drawling command works like a band around my middle, constricting my breath, clenching my belly. I edge away until my butt hits the dining table. Trapped.

My inner thighs draw up in anticipation. My clit is so swollen I feel it there, this hot button of need that craves his touch.

He stops in front of me, so tall it’s almost overwhelming, and yet comforting because I know he’ll use his size and strength to protect me. Without saying a word, he sinks to his knees, then sits back on his heels. But his gaze never leaves mine. His voice turns deep. “Show me where it hurts, Cherry.”

A breath puffs out of me, my nipples going tight. Oh, holy hell. His words make the aching emptiness between my legs clench with sweet pain. Never looking away from him, I find the flaring edge of my wool skirt and raise it high, bunching it around my hips.

His attention flicks to my panties, and his entire body seems to sway. With utter care, he grasps the sides and slowly lowers them. I watch them go, watch his rapt expression as he exposes me. His nostrils flare, as if he’s breathing me in.