Not My Romeo (The Game Changers #1)(44)

“So? You’re watching a budding romance between two college kids like it’s crack!”

“It is crack! They haven’t even kissed yet, and it’s killing me! What’s wrong with them? Why doesn’t he just grab her and lay one on her?”

“Because then there wouldn’t be a show!”

“True that.” He throws back his head and laughs, then straightens, his gaze on my lips. “Elena. Speaking of kisses . . .” His hand tugs on me until I’m closer to his face, his skin like fire when I place my palm on his chest. To stop him or— “Jack. We shouldn’t get frisky.”

“Frisky, you say?” He laughs. “And I disagree,” he murmurs. “FYI, you have a hickey on your neck from church.”

My eyes flare, and I press my skin where he kissed me. “Jack Hawke, you jerk. That’s why Gideon kept looking at me. Now I’ll have to cover it up.” I sigh, no heat in my voice. I enjoyed it just as much as he did.

“Maybe you need another one on the other side. A matching set.” His hand slides around my nape, massaging the skin there, drifting down to my shirt. He toys with the buttons. “I want to undo these real slow.”

“Too bad you’re injured,” I murmur.

“Hmm.” He tilts my head up to his. My heart jumps at the desire in his irises, the dilated pupils. “I’m dying to kiss you again. You gonna let me?”

I love that he asks me first. Waiting for me to accept. Underneath that tough exterior is a man who doesn’t hurt women.

“Elena?”

From the moment I saw him in church, no matter my declarations that he’s dangerous to my heart, my gut knew I wanted to be in his arms again.

“Kiss me.”

He does, almost hesitantly, as if giving me a chance to move. But I can’t. I sigh in his mouth, nipping at his lips with my teeth.

He increases the pressure, his lips slanting over mine harder, insistent. Time stands still as we kiss. His chest is silky under my fingers, soft from the oils. Moving up, I touch his face, scraping my nails against that scruff on his jaw, and he opens his mouth wider, devouring me, arching closer. He smells delicious, all male and primal. His tongue battles with mine, sucking, then letting it go, exploring me, flicking against mine. They go on for a while, these deep kisses, rocking me, making my skin flame as I brush against his chest.

I feel weightless and heavy at the same time, my legs scissoring, wanting . . .

His chest rises as he pulls back and presses his forehead against mine. “I can’t move much . . . my shoulder . . . will you . . .”

I’ve gone and lost my mind, because he doesn’t have to tell me what he wants. I move and straddle him as he pushes my skirt to my upper thighs, caressing my bare thighs.

“What is this?” He’s looking at my soft beige thong, the brown fringe at the top.

I press a kiss to his neck. “Barbarian Princess set made with chamois, a soft leather imported from Spain.”

“You made them?”

I nod, feeling shy as I plant my face deeper in his neck, my hands toying with the hair there, twining my fingers through it.

“They’re pretty, but . . . can you take them off? I don’t think I can.”

“I’m not taking my panties off again.”

“Then how will I fuck you?”

My entire body clenches at the image his words paint. “Who says we’re gonna f-u-c-k?”

His hand tangles in my hair, tugging until my scalp tingles, sending a bolt of lightning straight to my core. He kisses me hard then, his mouth demanding and rough, before skating across my cheek to my ear. “I do,” he whispers in my ear. “But if you don’t want to . . . I can still make you come, Elena.”

“Hmm,” I breathe as my hips swivel against the tent in his shorts, sliding against him, feeling the hard ridge of him against my skin through the thin crotch of my thong.

“Is that a yes?” He groans, dark lashes fluttering against his cheeks.

“Yes,” I say, moving against his shorts.

He bites his lip. “Don’t stop doing that. Please.”

I gasp when his finger eases under my panties and meets my slick flesh. His thumb circles, rotating on my favorite pressure point.

“Jack . . .” My voice is uncertain, wavering, as I second-guess. This desire is so fast with us, and I’m not used to it, not used to feeling this out of control with a man. I dated Preston for three months before we got to the good stuff, but with Jack, that’s all I can think about. I’ve never been too adventuresome with sex—part shyness, the other part never having the right partner who took the lead and showed me what I wanted.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“I’ll die if you do.”

“Can’t have that,” he rumbles against my neck.

His fingers are skilled, slick with my wetness as he parts my folds and delves inside, dipping in with a fast stroke before circling my bud, his thigh muscles tightening under me as he strains for better access. “Undo your blouse.” His tone is gruff, and I can’t get the buttons free fast enough, my hands shaking as I slide the buttons through the slits and tug the end of the shirt free from the waistband of my skirt. He never stops that maddening touch, fingering me one heart-stopping second, then back to circling. Sharp prickles of pleasure build at the base of my spine, pushing me higher until I’m gasping for breath. Orgasms are rare and precious to me, requiring work and effort that my past lovers never took the time for.