Not My Match (The Game Changers 2)

I’ve made so many stupid mistakes over the past eighteen months—picking a terrible advisor, choosing Preston over my sister—and I can’t make another wrong move, not when it involves my future. I have to be sensible and pick what matters the most without involving my feelings. I don’t know where Devon and I are going. How can I? He doesn’t tell me—and it’s too soon to ask.

But you know the words he doesn’t say, a voice reminds me.

I have to tell him.

But I don’t, and desperation is a thorny vine around me as he drives the Maserati to the door of the Breton. My chest is cracking open as we walk into the lobby and get on the elevator, my insecurities bubbling to the surface, exposing themselves in capital letters in my head, doubts about our status as a long-term couple, misgivings about his abandonment issues, worries about a virile man who’s faced with sexual advances from beautiful women every day. They chase Devon, give unwanted kisses and hotel keys. If I’m not here one day, one night, maybe he’d give in. And our red thread would be irreparable.

Stop it, Giselle. Stop.

I don’t tell him while he looks for a movie. I don’t tell him when he changes out of his slacks into plaid pajama pants and walks around shirtless and puts freezer cookies in the oven and sends me long questioning glances. An hour later, when my phone pings with a text, I dash to the hall bathroom and read it.

It’s official. You’re in.

My fingers cling to the counter, and I gasp for air. It’s real; it’s happening, right there in Susan’s words. I splash cold water on my face, then hunker over the sink as emotions I can’t name, terror and dread mixing in a toxic concoction, make me dizzy. Seeing a dream manifested shouldn’t make me so unhappy; it shouldn’t. It’s because you haven’t told him; just do it, and he’ll understand, and he’ll hold you and tell you everything’s going to be okay. It’s such a lie.

He’s lying back on one of the leather loungers when I come out of the bathroom. His eyes darken, and his voice is thick. “You’re naked.”

“I know.” On legs that don’t feel stable, I walk over to him and bend down, stroking the tent in his pants. He arches up, a long groan rising from his chest. After shoving down his underwear, I take him in my mouth with desperate eagerness and ferocity, laving his tip with my tongue, licking down his skin, my hands stroking him with feverish devotion. He pumps into me with careful motions, his hands tangling in my hair, his fingers clasping on the ends, the sharp pain welcome, igniting my arousal, my core soaked and primed.

“Giselle, baby, you’re off . . . something isn’t right . . .” He jerks me up until I’m lying on him, and his eyes search mine, and I feel tears building, gaining momentum in my throat. I close my lids and kiss him with vengeance before he can ask, before he insists I tell him what’s tearing me up inside. Our mouths collide over and over, finding new angles, darker than the other times we’ve kissed, my tongue searching out for his, sucking and pulling and taking, until I get the essence of him. Desire has me in her grip, from the top of my head to the soles of my feet, as he picks me up, and my legs wrap around his hips.

“Don’t stop kissing me. Ever,” I breathe against his mouth. “I want you so much. My body aches. My mind is consumed with you. I can’t get enough, never enough,” I say, and my voice is broken and ragged, my mouth peppering his cheeks, his nose, the corner of his lips. “Please, please make love to me . . .”

The air thickens around us, knotting and twisting, his fingers digging into my ass so hard I’ll have bruises, his eyes mirroring mine, acknowledging what I crave. He pants and tries to speak, a question on the tip of his tongue, but instead he kisses me with electrifying clarity, sensing my need, feeding off the intensity of my emotions as he shoves me against the wall. His cock does not wait, slamming into my slick entrance with a full thrust, his fit tight and deep, all the way in and back out in a furious pace as I cling to his shoulders. He ravishes me, plunders me, crawling in and making me his. He drowns me with his rough possession. My cries are loud, my hands deep in his hair, latching my mouth to his, never letting go, begging him to take all of me, forever, no matter if I’m going away. When I come, my body clamps around him. Tears pour down my face, and he kisses them hungrily, lapping them with his tongue as we end up on the floor, and he drives inside me. He takes me with greed and lust, his eyes on mine, that questioning look gone, replaced with a frantic need to make whatever is wrong right. Driving, grinding, lunging, he uses me until I fall apart again and scream his name, only to want more. He flips me over and puts me on my knees, his tongue tasting me as he groans, his fingers kneading my ass. I gasp when he fills me back up, pushing hard and wild, no gentleness, just hard and dirty, undeniable need to crest. We spiral into grunts and groans, our skin slapping against each other’s, wetness running down my legs. He roars his release, still pumping inside me, the spill of him coating my entrance, and still, I want more.