Well Played (Well Met #2)(62)

“I wish I had.” I rocked against him, the friction of my panties and his pants between us both delicious and frustrating. “I wish I’d known it was you, all that time.” That was the one regret I had in all of this. Not so much that he’d lied: we were past that now. But that I hadn’t known the truth. A fine line there—but now that I knew the man behind the words, I wished I’d always known. I wished I could have fantasized about the right man all this time. Because the man in my arms right now was better than Dex had ever been. Better than anyone I could have ever imagined.

“I’m sorry.” He cradled my face in his hands, pressing his forehead to mine. I was drowning in the ocean of his green eyes searching mine. “I’m so sorry. I should have . . .”

“No, it’s okay.” I punctuated the words with another kiss. “I know why you did.”

“No, but . . .” He sighed, his breath ghosting across my lips. “It’s so stupid. All of it. But . . . I’m not my cousin. I don’t know what kind of moves that guy has, but he obviously knows what he’s doing with women. And I didn’t know how to break it to you that I wasn’t . . .”

“Shhhh.” It was my turn to cradle his face in my hands. I let my thumbs trace over his cheekbones, trying to soothe whatever ache inside him made him feel he wasn’t good enough.

“I knew you’d be disappointed, and I kept telling myself that I needed to come clean. I just didn’t know how to . . .”

“I know.” I dropped a kiss on his cheek, his mouth, his chin. The past was behind us. All I wanted to do now was look forward. “I don’t care about his moves. He’s not here. You’re the only one I see.”

“Yeah?” But his hand was back in my hair, his other stroking down my back, urging me closer with a gentle pull. I scooted a little closer in his lap, and we both drew in a breath at the contact.

“Do that again.” He moaned the words into my mouth, tilting his hips up in a slow grind against me, and why were we still wearing so many clothes? We had to do something about that.

“I think it’s time you show me your moves,” I said.

“You think so, huh?” His hand tightened in my hair, holding my head just where he wanted to kiss me more thoroughly. His tongue glided against mine, drinking me in, and I gave as good as I got. I let my hands wander up his chest, learning the planes of his body, the sprinkling of coarse, dark red hair against my palms, and the heat of his skin. His other hand smoothed around the dip of my waist before sliding into the back of my panties, cupping my behind and pulling me more firmly into his lap. A lap that was . . . well, firm. Extremely so.

Before long he lay back in the bed, taking me with him. My breasts were crushed against his chest, and I wanted us to be that close everywhere. He was easing my underwear over my hips, and my hands slid down between us, returning to his open pants. I eased up onto my knees, straddling his hips, alternately rocking over him and wrestling his pants down. Finally. Time to . . .

He broke off our kiss with another quiet laugh. “Seriously. What is wrong with your bed?”

“Nothing!” But he wasn’t wrong. The springs let out a little squeak of protest every time we moved, and the more into it we got, the more . . . rhythmic the squeaking became.

He looked up at me, laughter in his eyes and his hand still down the back of my underwear. “You’ve never noticed how noisy your bed is?”

“Well, no.” He was still hard beneath me and I squirmed on him, making him catch his breath. “I guess Benedick and I don’t move around much when we’re sleeping.”

“Well, I’m planning to move around with you quite a bit.”

“So you keep promising. Will you shut up about my bed already?”

“Hold on.” He slid an arm around my back, and took a firmer grip on my hip.

“What are you—oooh!”

Without warning, he sat up, taking me with him, and from there got to his feet, wrapping my legs around his hips. I locked my arms around his neck to help hoist myself up his body while he took me . . . where?

“What are you doing?” I couldn’t keep the giggle out of my voice. I wanted to protest that I was too heavy to be carried, but he didn’t seem to have any trouble. The blanket from my bed was still tangled between us and he took it with him, dragging it behind us like the train of a wedding gown.

“Getting away from that bed before your mother comes storming up here.”

“Oh my God!” My giggle blossomed into a full-on laugh. I would have smacked him on the shoulder but I also didn’t want him to drop me. “Will you stop worrying about my mother already? My parents can’t hear anything that goes on up here.”

He didn’t look convinced, although humor danced in his eyes. “Promise?” He dipped me back, lowering me to my couch.

“Promise,” I said. But I couldn’t resist. “I mean, unless you’re doing laundry or something. We’re right above the garage.”

He looked alarmed. “What if she decides to do laundry?”

“This late at night?” I shook my head. “Now, shush.” I reached for him, and he sank to his knees in front of the couch. He didn’t kiss me, though, not yet. Instead he pushed gently on my shoulders, laying me back against the couch cushions before tugging my panties down my legs and off. He pulled the blanket away gently, as if he were unwrapping a Christmas present.