Wicked Sexy (Wicked Games Series Book 2)

by J. T. Geissinger

  Slow it down.

  I lift her, wrapping my arms around her back, and carry her over to the bed.

  She moans as our bodies briefly disengage, then again, louder, as I lower her to the mattress, spread her legs, and gently push back inside her. She flings her arms and legs around me, turns her face to my neck, and shudders.

  “Deeper,” she pleads, sounding desperate. “Harder. More, Connor. More!”

  “I don’t want to come yet, sweetheart,” I murmur. Sheathed deep inside her, my cock throbs.

  “He does.” She wriggles her hips.

  I growl and then kiss her deeply, still not moving my pelvis.

  She starts to rock underneath me, flexing her hips so my cock slides in and out as she moves. I hiss in a breath at the feeling, my balls tightening, sweat breaking out on my chest.

  Tabby digs her fingers into my ass and bites me on the neck.

  I can’t help myself. I thrust into her, hard, a groan torn from my throat.

  She makes an encouraging sound. Her bite gentles to a suck, her hands glide up my back. Her nipples skim my chest, twin points of pebbled flesh that need my mouth, and so I give it to them.

  Tabby moans, bucking. “Yes,” she breathes, eyes squeezed shut. “Oh God, Connor, yes.”

  Hot, concentrated pleasure coils at the base of my cock, an ache that pulses through my entire lower body. My thrusts become deeper, less controlled. My breathing turns to grunts and broken groans. She’s so wet I feel it on my thighs, and something about that drives me insane with lust.

  I release her nipple, grab her by the hair, and thrust my tongue into her mouth. I hold her head in place as I fuck her pussy and her mouth, driving deep, feeling the last of my control begin to unwind, only vaguely aware of the hollow echo of the headboard slamming against the wall.

  “No—you can’t—in my mouth,” she pants, breaking free.

  Dazed as I am, I don’t understand for a moment, but then with a push she rolls out from under me, flips around, shoves me to my back, straddles my face, and swallows my cock.

  I lose myself. Thought ceases. My body strains up against her mouth. The sound of pleasure that breaks from my chest is loud and raw.

  She draws up, sucking, and then furls her tongue around the head. Making a humming sound in her throat as if she’s pleased with me, how I taste and feel in her mouth, she lowers her head again and opens her throat so my entire cock is bathed in wet heat, all the way down to the base.

  When she gently squeezes my balls, I bury my face into her pussy and unleash my tongue.

  She squeals and shudders. I hold her tight against me with my forearms locked at her waist, my hands spread over her ass, and suckle her swollen clit. She starts a breathtaking assault on my cock, up and down, sucking relentlessly, falling into rhythm with my desperate upward thrusts.

  I hold on with sheer force of will. The impulse to release pounds through me, growing with every stroke of her clever tongue, but I won’t let go until she does. I can tell by the trembling in her body, her noises and breathing, that she’s close.

  I slide a hand down the curve of her ass and slip a finger into her wetness. She moans around my cock, an incredible sensation I’ll remember for the rest of my life. I let her ride my tongue and finger for a moment longer, feeling the tension in her cresting, almost ready to break, and then wet the thumb of my other hand.

  I press it against the tight pink calyx between the cleft in her cheeks and push.

  She comes almost instantly, shuddering and mewing, bucking against my mouth, completely abandoned to her pleasure. Her fist tightens around the base of my cock, stroking now in tandem with her tongue, and finally I can’t hold on anymore.

  My orgasm is an explosion, ripping through me, tearing me apart. Wave after wave after wave and I’m convulsing, moaning into her spread legs, fucking her mouth and eating her gorgeous pussy, knowing in some abandoned part of my soul there will never be anything as perfectly perfect as—

  Her.

  Us.

  This.

  Afterward, we lie in each other’s arms, stunned and silent, staring at the ceiling.

  Finally, Tabby whispers, “Wow.”

  I turn my head on the pillow and look at her. A grin spreads over my face. “You’re speechless, right?”

  She sends me a sideways warning glance. “If you say ‘I have that effect on all the ladies,’ I’ll be forced to do something violent.” She pauses. “I can’t think of what exactly because my brain is taking a nice oxytocin and dopamine bath at the moment. But it will be bad, believe me.”

  I roll to my side, gather her against me, and nuzzle my face into her hair, inhaling her sweet scent. “I’ll die happy, though.” My voice comes out thick, and for a second, I’m worried I’ve ruined this incredible moment by being a dumb, sappy fuck.

  Her legs tangle between mine. When she settles into my embrace, sighing contentedly, my worry eases.

  After another moment, her voice drowsy and sated, she asks, “You have kind of a butt thing, don’t you?”

  I burst out laughing. She raises her head and looks at me, a brow quirked.

  I roll her to her back and throw my leg over her, relishing the simple fact that I can. “I have a thing for your butt, to be specific, yes,” I answer, grinning down at her.

  Her cheeks flush. She turns her head and lowers her eyes, but I can see she’s pleased.

  A thought occurs to me. “Would you want me to—”

  “Fuck me in the ass?” she asks innocently.

  I almost choke. “Jesus!” I say, racked with laughter. “Give a guy a second to make his point, would you?”

  She rolls her eyes. “Oh please, don’t tell me you’re shocked Mr. ‘I’m gonna get you naked and eat your pussy like it’s the last supper.’ That’s practically sacrilegious.”

  It’s my turn to pretend innocence. “I’d never say a thing like that to a delicate flower such as yourself.”

  Tabby smiles, curling her toes around the back of my calf. “Oh, but you would. And worse. And I love every second of it, by the way.”

  Love. It hangs in the air for a moment. We look at each other, breathless, and then Tabby looks away.

  She stammers, “I-I…um, we should probably get going—”

  “Look at me.” When she doesn’t, I take her face in my hand. “Tabby. Look at me.”

  The old tension in her has returned with a cold snap. I know she’s hating herself for that slip, hating that we both noticed it, the elephant that’s appeared like magic in the room.

  She wants to push the elephant out the window. I want to invite it to stay for a drink.

  Or forever.

  I run my thumb over her lips. She closes her eyes. “Why do I get the feeling you’re not going to let me pretend I didn’t say that?”

  I gently kiss her jaw, her cheek, the curve of her eyebrow. “Because I’m not.”

  “It was just a figure of speech. A random choice of words.”

  I whisper, “You’d like to think it was, wouldn’t you?”

  She’s getting frustrated, fidgeting underneath me like she wants to bolt and run. “Let me up.”

  “No.”

  “Connor—”

  Into her ear, I say very deliberately, “You can love how I talk to you without having to commit the rest of your life to me, princess.”

  She stills. The color is high in her cheeks. Her heart is pounding.

  My heart is melting like a fucking ice cube in the sun.

  “It doesn’t have to be a four-letter word between us. Okay?”

  Her lips twist. “Except it is a four-letter word.”

  “Hmm. You’re right. Maybe we should add a letter to get us out of the danger zone if you feel the need to use the word again.”

  She glances at me warily, her cheeks still red.

  “To describe how you feel about my sexual prowess, of course.”

  She groans. “God. I’ve created a monster.”

  Ignoring
that, I muse, “How about…slove. ‘I slove the way you talk to me.’” Then I make a face. “No. That’s weird.”

  Tabby covers her face with a hand. “This is all weird!”

  For whatever bizarre reason, this conversation is making me hard again. I guess my dick is as excited about Tabby’s Freudian slip as I am. “What about this: ‘glove.’ That’s an actual word so it’s not as weird. ‘Connor, I absolutely glove that enormous cock of yours! Will you please let me lick it again?’”

  In spite of herself, Tabby laughs. She tries to smother it, keep her lips pressed together, but her body shakes with the effort.

  “Too obvious? You’re right. It should be something no one else would recognize. Our little code word, don’t you think? Something that won’t give it away if you accidentally slip and say it in front of anyone else.” I think for a moment, and then pronounce, “Loathe!”

  Tabby looks at me like I’m a nut job. “What?”

  “Loathe. It’s got three of the same letters as love but it’s the opposite, so it’ll make you feel really happy when you’re saying it since you can’t stand me and everything. For instance, ‘Connor, I loathe your sense of humor as much as I loathe your face!’ It’s genius, right?”

  Beaming, I look at her for confirmation. She’s doing this adorable thing where she’s laughing and groaning and shaking her head, all at once. “You’re crazy!”

  I give her a soft bite on her neck. “I was fine before I met you, princess. Now look at me. I need a straitjacket.”

  She freezes.

  “What is it?”

  She blinks rapidly, swallowing, the color draining from her face. “What? Nothing.”

  “Yeah,” I say drily, “I’m calling bullshit on that, sweetheart. Spill.”

  With sudden vehemence, Tabby snaps, “We don’t have to talk about everything!”

  She shoves me in the chest, hard, and leaps from the bed, leaving me stunned by the sudden change in her mood.

  I watch her stalk around the room, snatching up the clothes she’d left hanging over the arm of the sofa and the back of the chair, muttering something under her breath.

  “You’re giving me whiplash here, princess.”

  “Well, deal with it,” she says, dragging her T-shirt over her head. She stops and looks down at herself, mutters, “Fuck,” and tears the T-shirt off. She storms over to her suitcase lying open on a folding luggage rack against the wall. She rummages through it, tossing clothes aside, and then pulls out a pair of black leather pants I recognize.

  I sit up in bed and drag a hand through my hair. “Not the armor again,” I say wearily, watching her get dressed.

  She barely glances at me. In less time than I’ve seen some bullets hit a target, she’s dressed and pulling on her combat boots.

  And I know our little oasis of happiness has vanished like the mirage it was.

  I rise, and dress quickly and silently. Then I hear a small electronic alarm chirping somewhere in the room and cock an ear toward the sound. “What’s that?”

  Tabby pulls up short. “It’s my phone.” She bolts over to the dresser, snatches up her cell, and stares down at it. When she looks at me, there’s something wild in her eyes. “The traceback program,” she whispers. “It’s compiled its report.”

  “Well then,” I say, a brick inside my stomach. “I guess it’s time to go.”

  We stare at each other silently across the room, until Tabby nods.

  “Yeah. I guess so.”

  She turns to leave. I have no choice but to follow.

  Twenty-One

  Tabby

  After a tense elevator ride during which we both said nothing and tried to pretend nothing had happened, we come downstairs to find Ryan doing pushups in the middle of the lobby floor.

  Connor stops several feet away and crosses his arms over his chest. “Working off some steam, brother?”

  “Fifty,” Ryan grunts. He’s breathing a little harder than normal but doesn’t look as if he’s exerting himself all that much. I’d bet good money he could easily do another fifty more without breaking a sweat. With a pointed look at Connor, he says, “I could ask you the same question, brother.”

  He glances at me and then goes back to his pushups.

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake!” I say, aggravated because we’re so obvious. I set my hands on my hips and huff out a breath.

  Ryan stops at the top of a pushup and gives me some major side-eye. “Exactly,” he drawls.

  I throw my hands in the air. “That’s it. He’s your problem,” I say to Connor, and storm off.

  Yes, I’m acting nuts. You would be too, if you’d just had the best sex of your life and accidentally said the “L” word to your enemy/fuck buddy in the middle of an FBI investigation into the man who wrecked your trust in humanity and murdered your last living relative.

  I really need to rethink this whole no-drinking thing.

  I go outside to the valet stand and bark orders at the poor guy on duty to get our Escalade from the garage. When he asks me for my ticket, I snap at him just to bring whichever black Cadillac he finds first.

  Then, from behind me, Ryan patiently says, “Here you go.” He presents his parking ticket to the valet guy, who scurries off in search of saner people.

  Connor isn’t with Ryan. “Where is he?” I jerk my chin toward the sliding doors.

  “Dunno.” Ryan folds his arms over his chest and looks down his nose at me. “Probably in there breakin’ a few heads to make himself feel better about whatever happened between you two upstairs over the last few hours.”

  “I slept!”

  Ryan snorts. “Yeah? Was that before or after you gutted him like a fish?”

  I stare at him, feeling the blood pounding in my cheeks, wishing I had it in me to poke his eyes out with my thumbs.

  But I don’t. I actually like the guy.

  So damn inconvenient.

  I cover my face with my hands and groan. Ryan slings his arm over my shoulders and gives me a little shake.

  “Eh, buck up, kiddo. It’s good you’re both this fucked up. If I thought it was only him, I’d have to shave your head while you were sleeping.” When I look up at him, he adds, “To start.”

  Somehow it isn’t only his lack of a smile that indicates he isn’t joking.

  “Normally I don’t like people who threaten me every time they see me, but for whatever reason, you’re the exception, Ryan T. McLean. He’s lucky to have you as a friend.”

  “I’d die for him,” Ryan says bluntly, with zero self-consciousness. “He’s saved my life more than once. Even if he hadn’t, he also happens to be the best man I’ve ever known.”

  I look away, my eyes prickly. “He basically said the same thing about you.” When my throat loosens enough for me to talk again, I murmur, “It must be something.”

  “What?”

  I quickly swat at my eyes. “To have someone who’d die for you. How many people can say that?”

  There’s a long silence. I feel Ryan inspecting my face, but don’t look over at him because I’m afraid what my expression might reveal. Finally, he leans in and says softly, “You can, you hardheaded woman.”

  My heart in my throat, I glance up at him. He looks both disappointed and angry, a combination that makes gazing into his baby-blue eyes almost unbearable.

  “That’s not…you’re being—”

  “Shut up,” he sighs, and gives me another shake. He drops his arm from around my shoulders and stretches his head back. Under his breath, he mutters, “Fuckin’ women.”

  At the same time the valet guy pulls the car around the corner and to a stop at the curb, Connor walks through the doors of the lobby and joins us. He nods at Ryan. He doesn’t look at me.

  It’s all I can do not to reach for his hand, because what Ryan said keeps echoing over and over inside my mind, a record stuck on repeat.

  You can.

  I don’t know whether that makes things better, or so much worse.


  When we get back to the COM center at the studio, I make a beeline for my computer. O’Doul’s agents are taking a meal break, milling around a table someone has set up with platters of food. They fall into silence when we walk in. Everyone turns to look at us except Rodriguez, who sneers in my direction and turns away.

  O’Doul quickly ends the phone call he was on. “Gentlemen.” He nods at Ryan and Connor, and then looks at me. “Miss West.”

  I cut right to the chase. “I’ve got something.” I sit down at my computer, enter the password, and hold my breath as I open the traceback program’s compilation report.

  Within seconds, I’ve got sixteen FBI agents and two ex-Special Ops badasses breathing down the back of my neck. Everyone watches in tense silence as numbers begin to stream across my screen.

  “What’re we lookin’ at?” asks Ryan from behind me.

  “Data points,” answers Special Agent Chan. He’s to the right of me, bent over my desk, staring in fascination at the display. “But this report is totally random—how can you tell what you’re looking at?”

  “I can’t. Not yet, anyway. This is raw data from Søren’s system. It has to be converted.”

  I sense the general disappointment from behind me. O’Doul asks, “I assume you have another program for that?”

  “You assume correctly.” With a few keystrokes, I’ve pulled up the remote access tool that allows me to log in to my home system. I upload the compilation report and hit Send.

  “What now?” asks Chan.

  I sit back in my chair and release a breath. “Now we wait.”

  “How long?”

  I shrug. “Depending upon how much data we were able to extract, anywhere from a few hours to—”

  I break off mid-sentence and jerk upright in my chair, gaping at the screen.

  Instantly, Connor is behind me, his presence calming though I’m in complete shock. He says, “What?”

  I point at the monitor. In the upper right-hand corner, the program displays a series of bar graphs, indicating how much time is left on various conversions.

  Two of ten bars have already turned from red to green. Then, in rapid succession, all the remaining bars turn green.