Not My Romeo (The Game Changers 1)

“Jack Hawke, give me my panties.” She looks up at me, little puffs of air coming from her chest.

“Give me a kiss first.”

Her arms fall at her sides, pretty eyes wide. “Why?”

“Because I can’t stop thinking about your lips.”

“You want them around your cock?”

I groan when that dirty word leaves her lips, then laugh at the surprised look on her face, as if she never expected herself to say that. “Maybe. We didn’t do that. But I’d also like a long, breathy, make-out kiss, the kind you give me when you haven’t had several gin and tonics.”

“Oh.” She looks confused, and I suck in a sharp breath at what I’ve said.

Make-out kiss?

Too soon, too fast.

My mouth still won’t stop.

“I want you, Elena,” I say softly.

She sways a little, as if she’s dancing, and I move in closer until I can see the white flecks in those big eyes, the way her lashes are thick and curled, the way her skin is so perfect, creamy and—

She yanks the panties from my hands. “Aha! Mine, thank you very much.” She laughs up at me, red lips curving up, and my heart skips a beat.

“You tricked me.” I wrap my hand around her nape, tugging her hair down from her updo until it spills down her back. I arrange it until it falls over her shoulders, the strands silky and soft, the red and gold colors blending together.

“What are you doing?” she says, frozen, her voice hushed, laughter gone. “We’re in church.”

“You said cock in church, so this is nothing.”

“I could have been referring to a rooster.”

“You weren’t.”

She blushes.

“I’m going to kiss you, Elena. Right here in the nursing mothers’ room.”

“I don’t think you should.”

“Right now in this instance, I am. I don’t think I paid nearly enough attention to your lips on Friday night.” My lips hover over hers, and I tilt her head up. “If you want to run, now’s your chance.”

Her breath comes out in little pants. “You better not kiss me.”

“Then move away from me.”

“I shouldn’t have to.”

“You really should, or it’s going to happen.”

“No, it isn’t!”

Her breath hitches. But she doesn’t move a muscle.

“Last chance,” I say softly, tugging on a piece of her hair.

“Stop that.”

I laugh. “You’re like an angry kitten. But you aren’t moving. I’m not holding you, Elena.”

“I can’t move!”

“Same.”

She takes a breath. “But it’s church, and we shouldn’t.”

“People kiss when they get married here.”

“You’re infuriating.” Her eyes are on my mouth as her tongue comes out and dabs at her lips.

“I want to show you so many things, Elena.”

“You mean like sex things? Because I may be a little inexperienced, but I assure you I can keep up quite well—”

“I know.” I laugh and press my lips against hers.

Chapter 15

ELENA

I forgot how beautifully he kisses, his lips soft at first as they meet mine, parting my mouth, widening it slowly with little nips, his tongue delving deep, sliding against mine. His hand lands on my hip before sliding around to cup my ass. “Elena,” he murmurs against my cheek and takes my mouth again, sure and fast, his tongue tangling with mine. He tastes divine, sweet and dark mixed together, and we go from zero to a thousand in five seconds, starved and ravenous, our hands all over each other. Mine slide up his chest, stroking the expensive fabric, the rustle of my touch against him more erotic than it should be. My nipples bead inside my bra, erect and aching, and I grab his hair, sinking into him and letting go of all the misgivings I have. Why not? Kissing him is like holding an exploding star, hot and vibrant and lethal—and I want it. Just one little peck, I tell myself. Besides, it’s the kind of kiss you write in your diary; it’s the one you’ll remember when you’re old and gray.

He groans and presses me closer against him, letting me feel the hard length inside his jeans. I sigh into his mouth, my hands digging into his shoulders. He doesn’t do anything shyly or slow when it comes to this; no, he gets right to the heart of what he wants.

Somehow in the craziness of kissing, I’m pressed against the wall, and he’s raised my hands above my head, his mouth moving down my neck, sucking hard, then pressing small kisses there. He says my name. God, I really like when he says my name like he wants to eat me up. My skirt has hitched up, and he’s ever so slightly grinding his hips against—

A man’s voice, Patrick’s, booms through the speaker, and we break apart as Patrick begins his sermon.

We are going to hell.

Jack’s chest rises. “Elena, this is so good between us—”

Before he can finish, he grimaces and stumbles back and sits on the couch next to a group of rocking chairs. “Dammit,” he mutters and rotates his left shoulder, his fingers digging into his skin. He’s gone white, his face drawn and tight.