Not My Romeo (The Game Changers 1)

“Jack,” I cry out as he flicks his tongue against my core, still not where I want him, his fingers and mouth dancing over me, spreading me and drifting over every inch, even those secret places no man has ever tread. My legs scissor, arching into him, moving closer, desire making me dizzy as I clutch the back of the couch.

“I like you like this,” he murmurs. “Weak. I don’t want you to come until I’m inside you.”

“Jack,” I grind out, pushing my body back against him. “I need . . .”

“Shhh, just a minute.” He stands and grips my hip with one hand, the other on his hard length as he slides his swollen cock along my cleft, teasing me, not quite entering me. Over and over, he grinds against me. “Baby, I want to fuck you without a condom so bad. Never done that in my life. Not once.” He reaches around and barely touches my clit, just a soft flick. Heat flashes over me, that spiral of need tightening. “Can I, Elena? Please . . .” His cock teases my entrance, then disappears, making me shudder.

He’s begging me, and I can’t breathe. And it’s him, all him, driving me insane. He’s never done this without protection. I don’t have time to ponder it, but it feels like an important moment. My words are ragged. “On pill. Recent gyn. Clean—”

He doesn’t wait for me to finish and slides inside me all the way to the hilt and holds still for two seconds before letting out a primal growl, pulling all the way out and then back, his thrusts slow and deep, swiveling his hips when he reaches the end, grinding against my ass. “Fuck,” he says. “Your pussy is so tight. So wet, baby, so wet.”

I mumble nonsense, lost in this feeling, his silky hard length thrusting inside me. I lay my head on the couch, keeping my eyes on the reflection of us in the glass, the need on his face, the concentration as he looks down at us joined together.

I lose myself in watching us, my body pliant and soft against his hard one. It’s beautiful, the way he wants me. And the beauty of it is that it’s not just about the sex between us; it’s about him, his awkwardness, how he gets me, how he carried me in the rain. Emotion tugs at my heart; it’s more than sex for me, and maybe I knew it from that first time with him on his knees in the kitchen, which is crazy and insane, but there it is. This, this, this is worth any anguish later. It is. What if I never meet anyone like him again? What if I never feel this feeling again in my lifetime? I’ll take it. I’ll take it a million times to have him. A zillion.

His fingers circle my clit, in tune to his thrusts, his breathing ragged. “Elena, harder?” There’s a plea in his voice.

“Harder.”

He leans over me, his mouth on my neck, sucking hard, sharp prickles erupting, delicious ones that make me inhale. “More,” I beg. I want him to lose control with me, to think back on this and wish he had me forever.

He grunts, pulling on my hair, making my throat arch up, those fingers never stopping their dance, precise and intoxicating. He stops to hold my hips with wild hands, his grip slipping over the sweat on my body. He twists inside me, his fingers leaving bruises when they land, and I gasp out my encouragement. “More, more, more,” I moan.

“Fuck . . .”

“I haven’t come yet,” I remind him breathlessly.

He growls. “I’m gonna fuck you all night, I swear. You’ll get there.”

“Now.” My hand goes to my clit, and he brushes it back.

“Mine.” He thrusts faster, leaning over me again, his finger swirling, faster and faster, his mouth on my neck, sucking, and my body stiffens, tingles building at my spine, skating up my body, seeping into my soul. Us, him. The sound of his breathing, the sweat that drips down his face, the slap of our bodies. My mouth opens for a cry that never comes, reaching higher, higher . . .

“Mine, mine, mine. This little pussy belongs to me, Elena. I make you come—you got that? None of that vibrator shit.”

A muffled laugh comes from me at the ownership in his voice.

“Are you disagreeing?” He pulls out of me.

I throw a look back at him, tossing my hair. “Why are you stopping? Are you crazy? Do you know how hard it is for me to orgasm?”

He teases my entrance. “Not with me.”

“Jack Hawke, I was almost there.” I swallow thickly. “If you don’t—”

He laughs and drives all the way in, and I groan, wiggling against him.

“Faster.”

He complies, moving wilder, the slide of him perfection as our eyes cling. It makes my neck ache to look back at him, but he’s beautiful, the way he moves, that desire low and heavy in his eyes. His mouth parts as he tugs at the hair on my mound, grinding down as he brushes maddening circles over me. He shifts our angle, going deeper, thrusting, a harsh male sound escaping his throat. The universe that’s us explodes, sparks raining down around us.