“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.
I lose my sense of perception, how much time is passing, the breeze in the trees, the hardness of the car, the silky feel of his jacket as pleasure buzzes and builds and sharpens until it rushes at me and pulls me under. I call out his name, a tsunami feathering down my spine to my core. My body clenches around him, my entire body undulating as I ride the wave.
“Do you want me as much as I want you?” He stares deep into my eyes, and my heart flip-flops. It feels like a deeper question, layered with more meaning, nuanced with significance.
My reply is smothered as I kiss him, my hands already working the buckle on his belt, the button on his slacks, the zipper. I can’t believe he isn’t naked yet. With trembling fingers I shove his pants and tight underwear down, his length jutting out at me, long, hard, and thick. The rose-gold crown has a bead of come, and I brush my finger over it, unsure if this is going to work. It’s supposed to; that’s how we were designed, but . . .
“Tell me.” He stops my hand, his self-control vacillating when his lashes flutter.
“Yes, yes, yes, I want you. More than I’ve ever wanted anyone or anything. Please.” My eyes lock with his. “Make me yours.”
“Mine,” he breathes, a shudder racking his body as he cups my face. “Giselle . . . fuck . . .” He groans as I grasp his hip and map out the topography of his cock. My eyes can’t stop devouring all of him—the disheveled hair, the jerking muscles of his abdomen, the tip of him, mushroom shaped and veiny.
“I don’t have a condom,” he rasps out.
“I’m on the pill. I’m assuming you get tested regularly for physicals.”
“I do. You are? Why?”
“I’ve had irregular periods for years, painful . . .” I stop, not wanting to explain my menstrual cycle now.
“I’ve never had sex without condoms, but it’s you, baby, it’s you, and I’ll do whatever you want.” A laugh comes from him. “You make me say crazy shit.” His lips graze my neck, and I hold his head there.
“We can wait,” he drags out. “We can drive back to the penthouse and do this in my bed.”
My leg hooks around his hip, pulling him toward me. “Just put the tip in.”
“Like we’re in high school, huh?”
A slow smile curls my lips. “I’ve fantasized about the moment when the guy slides it in, the first bite of pain, then bliss—or I think. You’re big.”
“It will fit.”
“I wouldn’t be opposed to video.”
“We are not making a sex tape.”
“Yet.” My hands curl around his shoulders. “I do want to watch it go in.”
“You are insane.”
“Mildly. Runs in the family.”
“I don’t know what this is,” he says. “I don’t know where it’s gonna end up.”
Regardless of his obvious hesitation, this is right, and I want it all, the ugly with the good. He said he wouldn’t walk away, and I believe him. “We’ll figure it out together.” I flick my tongue over his nipple, making him shudder.
“Come here,” he murmurs, adjusting my legs, bending my knees so that I’m halfway sitting up, my palms pressed to the hood of the car. He scoots the jacket closer to him. He steps back and stares, his chest heaving, his eyes dilated and low. I feel sexy and beautiful, bare and ready for him.
“Watch us, baby.” Backing up, he lines himself up with my center and puts the crown in, then stops and slants his mouth over mine and kisses me. I dip my head to see through the space between us. His abdominal muscles shudder as he moves his hips back and forth slowly. My body has a primitive reaction, clenching around him. Trembling, I look up at him, seeing the glazed look on his face. He sets up a steady pace, rhythm sure and careful, never pushing hard. Sweat mists his skin, down his throat, through the trail of hair on his chest. In the distance, the sun is setting, the sky turning a vivid orange pink through the trees.
“More . . . ,” I whisper.
“Not yet, beautiful.”
His thumb caresses my clit, rotating in sync with his shallow thrusts. He looks at me, and our eyes cling. His green depths shimmer, and I read the nervousness in that gaze, underneath the desire, the hope that he’s making this everything I’ve ever wanted. Oh, Devon. You beautiful man.
“Baby . . .”
The endearment sets me off. Tension builds and explodes. I can’t breathe as lights burst, fireworks releasing in a kaleidoscope of color. I soar over the edge of bliss, shaken and torn, writhing as I cry out. He captures my words with his lips, his hips thrusting all the way home. A bite of pain hits as his chest rumbles with soft, comforting words. Not able to hold the position I’m in, I fall back on the car, my arms weights. He grasps my hips and adjusts, swiveling deeper as he pants.
“Giselle, fuck, so tight. Are you okay?”
“Yes, please, Dev, more.”
His jacket works its way to the edge of the car and falls to the ground as he thrusts, the cool metal of the car under me as he owns me, his hands lacing with mine as he leans down and kisses me.
My body arches up to his, my legs around his hips, my pelvis dragging out every long, perfect stroke. Kicking up his tempo as he mumbles my name, he hitches my leg to his shoulder, grabs my hips, and finds a new angle. He shouts into the darkening night and releases inside me, the spill of him hot and sticky.
He leans his elbows on either side of my face and stares at me. My hands rub his back, tracing the line of taut muscles, the ridge of his spine. “Devon . . .” I don’t know what I’m going to say. Thank you for being you. Kind. Possessive. Unsure. Even the part of him that’s been holding back from me, I want to cherish. He’s a little broken from the past, but if he wasn’t, then we might never have happened. Fate. I swallow down those words. Too soon, too fast.
“Yeah?” His hands play with my hair.
I settle with . . . “Well, it fit.”
“Was it good?” I feel the grin in his voice.
I pop him on the arm.
“Just the tip,” he teases, his wicked lips curling.
I mock growl at him, which only makes him chuckle more, the softness of his breath against my lips as he kisses me. I sigh into him. This day, this place, this moment—I want to capture it forever.
Chapter 22
DEVON
My alarm goes off at six, and I turn over, reaching for Giselle, but she isn’t there. Disappointment hits, but hearing the distant sound of water, I decide she’s in her shower. Checking my phone, I see I don’t have any calls, and I plop back on the pillows, my head wondering about Dad, hoping he’s okay. Before long, my mind drifts to last night with Giselle, snippets of us replaying in my head. I’ve never been with a virgin before, and unbidden, a smile crosses my face, and I laugh into my pillow. God, I’m such a weirdo when it comes to her . . . I don’t know, shit . . . but knowing that I was her first, that I’m the only man she’s shared her body with—that feeling, it’s fucking heady.
We drove home with her music blaring, my hand in hers the entire drive back to the penthouse. We made out in the elevator, kissed down the hall to the door, laughing as I tried to get the key in the lock. She wrapped herself around me, and I carried her to my shower and cleaned us up, then placed her on my bed and let her take the reins. Girl checked me out like I was the most fascinating science experiment she’d ever seen. I laugh up at the skylight. We didn’t go to sleep until one in the morning.
Jack pops up in my head, and I kick him down. I’m not going to hurt her. Every bone in my body rebels at the idea.
I stare up at the ceiling, the peek of the sunrise shining. I have no clue. I’m operating on instinct and going with the flow. She hasn’t made me promises, and neither did I. It’s possible she’s just exploring her sexuality with me; it’s possible this won’t last.
Later I come out of my shower with a towel around my waist and head to my closet, anxious to get dressed and talk to Giselle before I head out. My closet is huge, about the size of a bedroom, suits on one side, jeans and casual shirts on the other, clothes for the gym folded in cubbies in the back. Loafers, sneakers, and a myriad of other shoes are in boxes, neat and organized, but I can’t see anything because the light doesn’t come on when I flick it up and down. The bulb must be blown. A sound scrapes, like nails down a chalkboard, from the vicinity of the darkest part of the room, a spot near my tailored shirts. Maybe I’m hyperaware since the Cindy episode, but it makes me hesitate, picturing a giant spider with babies ready to pounce on my chest. I’m not scared of bugs, not really, but I don’t want an infestation in my house. Better tell Quinn to call the pest guy.
A light crawling sensation dances over my foot, and I skitter back. A beam of light flashes in my face, making me blink; then the light bounces down to a pointy-headed monster with a wide mouth and bloody, sharp teeth. It growls, and I yell and jump two feet back.
Laughter spills from Giselle as she whips off the shark mask and rolls on the floor. A flashlight falls from her hands. “Dev, oh my God, your face . . . dying . . .”
“You took out the light bulb?” My voice sounds incredulous.
“While you showered.” She giggles and throws the Jaws mask at me, and I catch it, holding it out with a disdainful finger. It’s hideous, and I throw it behind me. Will burn it later.
“Where did that thing come from?”
She bites her lip. “Ordered it the first time we watched Shark Week. Amazon Prime delivery.” Another fit of laughter. “I told you I’d get you.” Her eyes narrow. “Why are you smiling?”
“Oh, I’m just picturing fake spiders in your bed, on your laptop, in your panties.”
She rolls over to her back, her fingers playing over the edge of my shirt she’s wearing as she looks up at me with innocent blue eyes. “Try it. Give me all you got.”
I’m on her in a heartbeat, tickling her as she cries out and tries to scoot away from me, but there’s no escaping. She twists and turns under me as I run my hands under her shirt and dance my fingers over her ribs. Squealing, she begs me to stop, promising she’ll never scare me again, and I laugh, putting my face in her neck and inhaling the smell of her, soft and all Giselle. I’ve got her. I’ve got her. Here in my arms, with me. Fear spears me, snaking around, making my heart jump in my chest. I shove it away.
I’ve stilled, and she pulls my jaw up. “Whatever you’re thinking, I don’t like it.”
My eyes shut briefly. “In one of your universes, in the future, what am I doing? Where are you?”
Time stands still as we look at each other.
She swallows thickly. “You just scored the winning touchdown, a sweet pass from Jack where you ran seventy yards. There’s already a Super Bowl championship ring on your finger, and your heart is light. Your dad is clean and sober. Your girl is crazy about you. She travels with you when she can. She always knew you’d win. She’s special, a little quirky, not like anyone you’ve ever met, and before each game you look up, see her, and send her a kiss with your fingers. That’s your signal that she’s the one.”
My breath hitches. “What’s she like?”
“Smart. She has a serious career, but nothing would exist if you weren’t there.”
I press my forehead to hers. “What if we’re too different?”
“You aren’t different—not underneath, where it counts. Life doesn’t decide who you fall for. Love knows no rules at all, and your girl, she’s never boring, and you’re constantly wondering what she’s going to do next. She brings out your soft side, and no one makes you laugh like her. One day, you take her hand and beg her to be yours. You make a home with her, a wild little family of boys who play football in the yard and girls who grow into intelligent women. You can’t believe how lucky you are. You guard them with your life. The first time daughter number one has a date, you follow them to the movies until she confronts you, and you back down and hope she chooses a good man like you. Your wife kisses you when you get home, and you make another baby that night. Five kids total. Maybe more.”
The world spins, and I gasp to keep up, the air in my chest frozen. “I always thought I’d never have kids.”
“My universe.”
“Where are you?”
Her lashes flutter as her fingers skate down my back. “You tell me.”
I suck in a breath. “You’re happy. You got your doctorate. You’re famous for your research and your books. You travel the world, speaking at conferences to authors about incorporating science in their novels. You go to CERN and give them a few lessons about dark matter.”
Her mouth curves up. “What a dream.”
I brush a soft kiss over her lips. “My universe.”
“Do I have a guy?”
I nod. “He’s a handsome devil with a high-profile career. You crushed on him years ago, but he didn’t know you then. He’s never met anyone like you, and he has a past he’s working on. He tries to go slow and keep his distance, but once he sees how smart and talented and beautiful you are, he can’t let you go. He’s afraid he’ll never be enough, but he puts his heart in your hands and takes a chance.”
“Kids?” she asks.
“Five. Maybe more. He builds you a dream house right next to your barn, a three-story craftsman with a big front porch and rocking chairs. Your mama cooks for your family on Sunday. Your man spends his free time playing with the little Giselles while you sit in your office and write. At night, he carries you to bed and worships you.”
My chest twists as nerves swamp me.
Where are we going with this?
I dip my head and trail my lips down her neck. My voice has grown husky, my mouth trailing down to her shoulders. I push her shirt up and brush my fingers over her breasts. “Are you sore?”
Her response is a moan as I latch on to her, suckling the erect nipple, then trailing down to her stomach. “I’ve got to be at the stadium soon, but if you want to try that reverse cowgirl you mentioned . . .”
“Can I wear the shark mask?” she says, reaching out into the closet, snatching it, and taunting me with it.
I kick it back and pull her up, sweeping her into my arms, then stalking to my room and placing her on the bed. My breath stutters as I take her in—tousled hair, ruby lips, heated eyes. “Baby, if you want to be a shark, be my guest. I won’t be looking at your face.”
She throws a pillow at me, and I tackle her, caging her in under me as I kiss her. “How about a cowboy hat?”
“You have one?” Her eyes gleam, and I burst out laughing.
“Everyone in Nashville has one. I’ve never worn it. It’s in the closet on the left top shelf. Let me get it—if I can see in the dark!” I call back as I rise up, drop my towel, and stalk off.
“Nice ass,” she breathes.
“I know.”
When I swagger back wearing the Stetson and a hard-on to rival last night’s, she scrambles to her feet and jumps up and down on the bed, then snatches the hat off my head and slams it on hers.
Fuckkkkkkk.
I can’t believe she’s mine.
For now, a dark voice reminds me. How long will she stay?
“I’ve created a monster.”
“Yeehaw. I’m ready for a ride. Get ready, little pony!” she yells, waving her arms in a lasso motion.
“Nothing little here,” I grouse as I pull her into my arms.
“I’ll bring dinner home at seven?” I ask her later as we walk out of the Breton together. She’s heading to Vandy, me to the stadium. The valets pull up with the Hummer and R
ed, and I relish the slow blush that starts at Giselle’s throat and moves up to her face as she stares at the car. She’s wearing her hair in braids again, and I keep flicking at them, winding them around my fingers, itching to take them out and run my hands through her strands. In dressy slacks and a silk blouse, she looks classy and good enough to eat. I’m going to be worth shit at training camp. I take her hand, following her eyes to the hood of Red as I lean over and whisper, “I came down and cleaned the hood while you were on your laptop. There’s a dent on the top, but don’t feel bad. Quinn will take care of getting it to the shop soon.”
“Your jacket. I can get it dry-cleaned.”
I threw it in the trash this morning, but she pulled it out, hugged it to her chest, and swore she wanted to keep it. “You’re funny, baby. I can get a new jacket.”
“It’s a memory. I’m going to put it in a shadow box with a miniature Maserati inside.”
“Shadow box?”
“A display case for treasured keepsakes. Don’t you have some with sports memorabilia in it?”
No. My dad didn’t do those things. Whatever I have is kept packed away.
I grin. “I kept your underwear. Never did find your bra. Too dark, and I was afraid an owl might get me.”
“Poor Bobby Ray. I meant to introduce you to him yesterday, but it didn’t feel right.”
“Hmm, don’t want to meet the guy who almost got what I have.” I kiss her lips, and she sighs into me, her arms wrapping around my shoulders. “I can’t wait to see you later.”
“Same,” she murmurs.
“Mr. Walsh?” comes a scratchy male voice on my right, and I pivot, putting Giselle behind me.
“What?” I growl.
It’s not the guy who was here last time, but he fits the description of the man from Walmart—and I know exactly what he wants. He shuffles his feet, and I narrow my eyes, body tense and ready to take him down if he so much as moves a muscle.
Not My Match Page 22
