Not My Match (The Game Changers 2)

“Nice and slow,” I groan, knowing that’s going to be a lie in the next few minutes. I can’t get enough of her, I can’t think, I can’t . . .

“Please . . . ,” she begs, her shoulders bent to the bed as she presents her ass.

I set up an easy pace, muscles vibrating with tension. She clenches the blanket as I take her in a measured pace, barely hanging on to my sanity.

“Giselle . . . ,” I mumble as she clenches around me, and my control snaps. Speeding up, I fuck her hard, my pelvis grinding into her as my fingers find her clit. My heart pounds as the air around us intensifies, sharpens. I’m not aware of anything but her gasps of pleasure, the shape of her mouth as she gasps for air, the music in the den, the hard slap of our skin. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you today, baby. Dropped five passes at practice. Coach chewed me out, and I didn’t even care. I want you like this, want to make you beg me, make you cry when you can’t get me. You want that?”

“Yes . . .”

My fingers caress her. “I’m going to be the first thing you think about, the last man you fuck.” I can’t stop the torrent of insane words. “I want you”—thrust—“all those theories you got”—thrust—“and I got one for you: you’re in deep with me.” Thrust.

“Yes,” she moans.

I lick at the mist of sweat on her shoulder. “I’m gonna be needing this every time you walk in the room; every time you say my name, I’m gonna be right there, ready. I don’t give a fuck how different we are—no matter what happens, I don’t care as long as you’re here. I want you all the fucking time on your knees for me, and I’ll get on my knees for you, baby; just tell me, just tell me how to make it work . . .”

She screams out my name and tightens around me, spasming, her hips jerking as I come, the pull of her sizzling down my spine. Still thrusting, I ride out the wave, milking every tingle of pleasure that swallows me whole as she rocks against me. Sex with her feels different from anyone else, emotion in my chest clinging tight.

Shaking, I land on top of her, breathing hard, feeling uncertain and scared. I slip out, kiss her around her tattoo, and grab a towel and clean her up as she lies limp on the bed. Crooning to her softly, I scoot her to the head of the bed and hold her against my chest. My hands play with her hair as I try to get my own lungs back to normal. “You okay?”

She nods and looks at me, searching my face. She opens her mouth—then shuts it and licks her lips.

Yeah. That.

I kiss her, soft and slow, heart hammering, as I try to stay chill, when my head is a wreck. She’s so trusting, open, giving. “That was . . .” Best I ever had. “Intense.”

She lays her head on my chest, and we rest, my fingers idly tracing her shoulders. My head races, tumbling around with thoughts of how this relationship is supposed to work. She isn’t like anyone else. She’s not a girl I can let go. She’s shoved me over that cliff, and I’m lying at the bottom on the rocks, waiting for her to finish me off.

Just . . .

Please.

Stay.

The days fly by as the team prepares for our preseason game in Miami. Giselle and I stay up late at night talking or watching TV or playing video games. She begs for Shark Week, and I relent on Thursday and get grossed out while she giggles. I called her a bloodthirsty scientist, and she said I was a wittle scaredy-cat jock.

On Friday, she pulled out The Complete Illustrated Kama Sutra and showed me the Lotus position, where the man sits down with his legs crossed, and the woman straddles him, wrapping her legs around his waist . . . and she asked, Could you do it?

“Starting to think you just want me for my flexible body and stamina,” I teased her. She laughed and kissed me, and I forgot about everything else.

At night, we crawl in bed and talk with the stars over us. Not even tired, we get up early and eat together; then she walks me out in workout clothes. She’s getting back to her running before the semester starts.

She spends the rest of the day writing, and when I come home, tired and worn out from camp, I take one look at her, and exhilaration rushes over me. I’m barely paying attention to camp. I’m on a high. There’s a nagging voice in the back of my head that screams that I’m rushing, that I’m going to fuck it up, that she’s going to disappear, but I shove it down.