Lovegame(23)

Desperate, devastated, determined not to let them in, I thread my hands through Ian’s hair and tug him closer. I lean back on my arms, arch my hips, even bring a hand up to toy with my nipples. I do everything—anything—I can to stay right here with him.

But seconds turn into minutes that drag by and I give up. I can’t do it this. I just can’t.

This time when I tug at Ian’s hair, it’s to pull him away instead of to press him closer.

He doesn’t fight me. Instead, he sits back on his haunches right away. Licks his lips. And stares up at me with dark, desire-filled eyes. With his shirt unbuttoned and his hair messed up and his mouth gleaming with the remnants of my need, he looks debauched, devastating.

But he’s still the same Ian when he asks, “What’s wrong?” while his fingers gently stroke my inner thigh. “Where’d you go?”

“I just…Do you have a condom?”

“Of course.” He reaches into the back pocket of his jeans, pulls out his wallet and drops it on the table next to me. “I didn’t think we were there yet.”

“Well, we are.” I give him my most seductive smile, the one guaranteed to short-circuit a man’s brain in ten seconds flat—or so I’ve been told. Then I reach for him, tugging at his shoulders until he finally gets the hint and climbs slowly to his feet.

“Fuck me,” I tell him, as I unbutton his jeans and pull the zipper down. I make my voice breathless and broken, aroused and just a little erotic. “Please. I need—” I break off on a moan, let my body go loose against his.

I figure that’s all it will take and I wait for him to strip off his jeans, to reach for his wallet and take me up on what I’m offering. But Ian doesn’t move. Instead, he just watches me, like I’m some particularly interesting social experiment.

“Ian, please.” I sound desperate now, but I don’t give a shit. I am desperate. Desperate to get him inside of me. Desperate to put on a good show.

Desperate to get this over with.

I lean forward, grab on to his belt loops and tug him forward until he’s standing right between my thighs, his cock hard and ready and so, so close. If I shove his jeans down his ass, if I scoot forward just a little more, he’ll be inside me.

I start to do just that, but he stops me with a hand around my wrist. “Hey,” he murmurs, as his other hand continues to stroke my hip, my thigh, my sex. “It’s okay.”

It’s not okay. It will never be okay.

“It’s not yet,” I tell him, injecting a teasing note into my voice. “But it will be once you’re inside of me.”

His brows shoot up. “You’re seriously saying you want me inside of you? Right now?”

“Of course I do.” Once again I reach for his cock and once again he stops me. “What’s wrong?” I demand. This is not how this is supposed to go.

He narrows his eyes. “I’m pretty sure I’m the one who should be asking you that question.”

“I already told you. I want you to—”

“Fuck you? Yeah, I got that much.” He strokes his thumb along my labia, and I moan. Then spread my legs wider to give him better access.

He takes what I’m offering, his thumb coming up to circle my clit.

I moan again, bite my lip. His hand twitches against me and his eyes darken to pure, pitch black. I’ve got him. Thank God, I’ve got him. With another moan for effect, I lean back on my elbows. Arch my back. Offer myself to him.

He takes the offer—of course he does—leaning over me and trailing soft, hot kisses up the center of my body from my navel to my collarbone. It feels surprisingly good—he feels surprisingly good—and I slide my hands around to cup his ass. He’s brought me a lot of pleasure tonight and I want this to be good for him. I want—

“So,” he says again, his voice deep and rumbly and sexy, so sexy. “Just to be clear. This is what you want?”

Something inside me breaks wide open at the question. The fact that he still makes sure to ask, after everything I’ve said and done, means more than I can explain. More than he’ll ever know. “Yes. Please.” I tangle my fingers in his hair, pull him down until his lips are scant centimeters from my own. “I need you to f*ck me.” Before I lose my nerve. Before I fall apart. Before this whole charade is for nothing.

He searches my eyes for several long seconds. I do my best to show him only desire—only what he wants to see, and it must work because the next thing I know he’s leaning forward, closing the distance between us. Finally—finally—his body is covering mine, his lips pressed against my own. I open my mouth to him, but he doesn’t kiss me any more fully than he already is. Instead, he grabs my wrists in one hand and stretches them over my head while he flattens his other hand over my stomach, pinning me in place.

Then, with his mouth still resting against my own, he whispers, “Liar.”





Chapter 7


Veronica’s eyes fly open at the accusation and for long seconds she does nothing but stare at me, face pale and body trembling as I hold her in place.

“What are you doing?” she demands, her voice getting higher with each word that is ripped out of her. “Why aren’t you…”

“Fucking you?” I nip sharply at her mouth. “Because, baby, I don’t f*ck women who don’t want me.”