Not My Match (The Game Changers, #2)(71)

“Go faster,” I murmur. My eyes drift over his shoulders, the peek of a butterfly on his wrist.

His hand shifts as he speeds up, and I squeal and let the ride and bluesy song sink in.

“I have to touch you,” he says and slides a hand up my leg, a groan coming from him when I hitch my dress to my waist and flash my black lace underwear.

“Are you over Preston?” His hand tightens around my thigh.

“Yes,” I rasp. “He wasn’t even worthy of revenge.”

“And Mike?”

“Hopefully banging Cami right now.”

“Jealous?”

“Not even a little,” I sing.

A purr of satisfaction comes from him. “You’re with me, Giselle.”

“Yes,” I breathe.

We hit a straight stretch, with no cars anywhere, the lush trees on either side of the road thick and dense. Downshifting to a slower speed, he reaches over, cups my nape, and fuses his lips with mine, angling his head to go deep, his taste rich and heady, his scent teasing my senses as he takes and takes, marking me as his. Every stroke of his tongue sends bolts of pleasure to my body. “How much farther?”

“Five miles,” I murmur as his teeth tug on my bottom lip. The car swerves to the right. He’s using his knee to help him drive.

He straightens the wheel. “Scared?”

“No.” I kiss his jaw, nibbling at the rough shadow. “But at twenty miles an hour, it’s going to take us fifteen minutes, and I don’t know if I can wait that long . . .”

“Any man who can drive safely while kissing a pretty girl is simply not giving the kiss the attention it deserves.”

“You’re quoting Einstein. Miniorgasm happening.” I kiss him, twining our tongues as my hands dig into his scalp.

“Just trying to keep up with you. Lie across me in my lap, and maybe I can watch the road.”

After maneuvering under his arms, I position my back on his door, parting my legs to give him room to shift. It’s a tight fit and not easy—heck, the car itself can barely hold his powerful frame. His chest presses into my right side, and I start undoing his buttons, easing my hand inside to touch his hot skin. Looking down at me, he bites his lip, his free hand tracing my neck, the wing of my clavicle, down to my legs, where he toys with the waistband of my panties, teasing.

“How much traffic is on this road?”

“Barn,” I mumble as I tug his shirt out of the front of his pants. “Speed up.”

“Kiss me,” he demands.

I take his jaw and mesh my mouth with his, liquid fire searing me as we get lost in each other. He’s possessive and hard, then soft and slow and languid, licking at every secret place in my mouth, tasting the roof of my mouth, the bottom, his teeth nipping.

“Beautiful girl.”

My insides quake, my legs scissoring as he lets me go to make the turn onto the road to the barn. He speeds to the side of the building, and I ease back to my seat. He parks, and before I can blink, the ignition is off, and he’s out of the car and at my door. He sweeps me up in his arms, eyes burning with lust, and heads to the barn.

“On top of the car.” I glance back at Red.

In two seconds he’s set me down in front of the vehicle and is tearing off his jacket and spreading it out on the hood. Moving fast, he sets me on the car as he stands between my legs, takes my face, and kisses me, rough and hard and deep. Deft fingers find the hem of my dress, and it disappears somewhere behind me. His eyes burn as he takes me in, growly sounds coming from his throat. “Giselle, you are . . .” His fingers caress from my cheek down to the center of my black bra to my waist. “Perfect.”

He removes my bra and throws it over his head, his mouth tugging at my nipple. He cups the weight and suckles one, then the other. My hands slide into his hair, running the mink strands through my fingers, arching my chest into his. I yank on his shirt, and he unbuttons it and shakes it off viciously, his lips attached to mine. His thumbs graze over my sensitized breasts, plucking the erect nipples. I gasp, need ratcheting over my body.

His mouth works down, brushing over my throat, his scruff mingling with the pleasure. His carnal, demanding lips cling to mine as he works my panties down with one hand. I don’t know where they go. I don’t know where anything is, just his lips and hands and tongue.

He bends to his haunches, eases me down, parts my thighs, and kisses me there, and my breath escapes in a whimper, spirals of lust curling.

“Devon . . .”

He consumes me like I’m a rich, dark chocolate and he’s a connoisseur, his tongue skating over my clit.

“Everything about you, all your secrets . . . right here . . . on the tip of my tongue,” he says gruffly, meeting my eyes, the effect of the intensity in his gaze enough to cause a quake inside me, a true miniorgasm rolling over me. But it’s not enough, and I chase it, my heels digging into the bumper. His gaze goes molten as he slides a finger inside me, lazy and slow. “Has anyone ever gone down on you?”

“No.”

“I’m the first,” he purrs. “And I’m writing my name on you. Devon . . .” More tantalizing licks. “Kennedy . . . now that’s a long name . . .” He sucks the center of me in his mouth and nibbles. “Walsh.” He pauses to breathe me in, his fingers tugging on my curls as his palm presses on my mound. “I want you so slow, savor every little place, no rush, until you come hard and long.” His fingers rub at the top of my entrance, teasing, in and out, never enough.