Scoring with the Wrong Twin (WAGS)

by Naima Simone

  But tonight… Tonight, she was the beautiful twin. The twin who incited that heat in Zephirin’s eyes. Yes, he believed she was Giovanna, but it was her who had this gorgeous man’s body strung tight with tension.

  It probably made her a selfish bitch, but she couldn’t push him away. She wanted this night. This memory.

  “No,” she finally answered, lifting her lashes. “I just have a…condition.” Exhaling a breath, she didn’t wait for him to reply, but rushed ahead. “One night. This”—she waved a hand in the scant space between their chests—“can only last for tonight.”

  He remained silent for so long, she feared he would call it off, walk away. A muscle ticked along his clenched jaw, his body a living wall emanating enough heat to battle the June night.

  “Where do you live?” he growled.

  “Alaska Junction.”

  “My apartment’s downtown. Quicker. Let’s go.” In spite of the harshness of his voice, his grip when he folded his fingers around her upper arm was gentle. But firm. And both stole her breath, kindled a ball of heat deep inside her. Because in that moment, she had a flash of foresight about how he would take her. Tender. In control. Soft, but with a power, intensity, and fierceness that would render her his to do whatever he wished.

  She shivered.

  Game on.

  Chapter Five

  Apartment.

  He’d called this high-rise condo with unobstructed views of the Elliott Bay waterfront, Mt. Rainier, and the glittering, alive Seattle skyline at exclusive One Pacific Tower an apartment.

  Sophia gaped at the cathedral ceiling with its mural of mosaic tiles and exotic stone that soared over a huge living and dining area. Freestanding walls sectioned off rooms, but she could easily peek into the cavernous spaces with their marble fireplaces, furniture straight out of Harper’s Bazaar Interiors, and floor-to-ceiling windows of immaculately clean glass.

  Christ on the Cross, so this was how the other half lived.

  She didn’t think anything could eclipse the desire that had been riding her for the ten-minute drive and the elevator ride here. But shock at his obvious wealth had definitely quieted some of it.

  “Nice place,” she complimented, striving for nonchalance instead of astonishment. A model, even of Giovanna’s up-and-coming status, would be used to such displays of affluence. She’d shared about the parties of clients she’d attended with Sophia countless times.

  A hard chest pressed against her back, and the arousal she’d believed banked to embers flared to roaring life as if he’d flicked a Bic lighter inside her. And when the heavy thickness of an erection nudged her ass and lower back, her knees almost buckled under the flood of need that swamped her.

  Up until now, Zephirin had kept a small but definite distance between them. But, with the door to his home closed to all prying eyes, he’d obviously decided he no longer had to maintain that space. He palmed her hips just like the football he was paid millions to catch and carry. Why that thought should send another blast of heat spiraling through her, she couldn’t explain. Hell, at this moment she couldn’t have told someone her name. Not when he’d lowered his head, his lush, carnal mouth grazing her cheekbone.

  “I can give you a tour,” he murmured, his fingers opening over her lower belly. “Or I can take you to the bedroom and bury my face between your legs. Your choice.”

  A whimper of pure, grade-A lust clawed its way free of her throat.

  “Bedroom,” she breathed. “Definitely the bedroom.”

  She felt, not saw, that quirk of his lips against her skin. “One thing first.”

  Before she could lodge a complaint, his hand closed around her throat in an embrace that thrilled her with its dominance. In no way did it restrict her breathing—quite the opposite. The sexual hold caused the air to burst from her lungs in rapid-fire succession. His thumb nudged her chin, tilting her head back. And then, she didn’t have a need for breath. Because he gave her his own.

  His mouth covered hers, claiming it. Taking it. Helpless to the onslaught of desire that surged within her, she parted her lips on the edge of a hungry moan. She was powerless to hold any response back from him—she wouldn’t have even if she could. Tonight was for freedom from inhibition. To indulge in every sinful, not-good-for-you thing that her mind had ever conjured in the darkest hours of night. And his touch, his mouth—this man—was all that and then some.

  When he thrust his tongue between her lips, she opened wider for him, twisting hers around his, dueling, dancing, giving. He tipped her head back farther until she rested on his solid shoulder, and tilting his, slanted his mouth over hers. Taking a deeper kiss, licking, sucking, leaving no area of her undiscovered. If a kiss could be deemed sex, she considered herself well and truly fucked.

  And yet, she still needed more.

  Breaking his erotic hold on her neck with some regret, she turned, balling her fingers in his shirt and arching up on her tiptoes to deepen the kiss. To taste more of him, all he had to give—and then demand more. What she couldn’t put into words, she voiced with her tongue, her lips, her moans, the restless, almost frantic clench and release of her fingers.

  With a growl that rumbled in his chest and over her breasts, he cupped her face, taking what she freely offered, until all she could do was gasp and tremble. When those big hands slid down over her shoulders, her knees buckled as if his hold had been the only thing keeping her up. But he was right there, catching her. In a show of casual strength that left her even more breathless, he hiked her up, palming her ass and bracing her until she locked her legs around his waist.

  God. Lust rippled through her, and she tucked her head beneath his jaw, as if she could hide from the power of it. From the rock-hard length of him notched against that empty, aching, wet part of her. Of course, a man his size would have a cock equally large. But…damn. A faint voice in the back of her head whispered a panicky, “How in the hell is that supposed to fit?” But a more vociferous one drowned it out, yelling, “Who cares? As long as it gets inside.” The rest of her body, and her apparent whore of a vagina, agreed.

  Tightening her arms around his neck, she opened her mouth over his neck, sampled the salted caramel skin, hummed as his sweet musk melted on her tongue like the candy his skin reminded her of. And her hips—with a mind of their own—ground against that awe-inspiring erection like her sex was trying to give it a stamp of approval.

  “Fuck,” he muttered, his head falling back, granting her lips and tongue easier access, his fingers flexing over her ass.

  Taking that as a sign of appreciation, she rolled her hips again, using him as leverage. Once more, she bucked against that delicious length, a half cry, half whimper catching in her throat with each grind over her clit and folds, the thin material of her skirt a laughable barrier. She shuddered, a wicked heat sliding through her, settling on the quivering flesh between her thighs.

  “Jesus,” she gasped, tilting her head back and rubbing over him in complete abandon. And he stood there, supporting her with his strength, allowing her to use his body to get off. And that craved for, but often elusive, release glimmered on the horizon behind her closed lids. So near, but… A whimper escaped her, and she dug her nails into the nape of his neck, clutching him as she tried to get closer. Tried to push herself over that edge…

  “You need help getting there, baby?” he asked, already striding from the room, but not going far. In seconds, her back met a wall in a corridor, his body pressed between her spread legs keeping her in place.

  He flattened a palm above her head, the other sliding up her calf, knee, and thigh, dragging her skirt with it. Air brushed over her exposed skin, grazing the damp panel of her panties. A part of her acknowledged that she should be at least a little embarrassed over the state of her underwear, and having his gaze pinned there. But that part disintegrated under the sweep of his thumb over the tender, sensitive flesh bordering the drenched cotton. That part gave way like a soaked paper bag under the graze of his nail o
ver her swollen folds.

  “You need me to take the edge off?” he offered, lifting his head.

  What did he see there? Desperation? Frustration? A need that twisted her up in so many knots on the inside she must resemble a snarled ball of thread.

  “Do it,” she begged. “I want…” She arched her back, unable to string the words together detailing what she desired, that embarrassment rearing its ugly head in spite of the arousal careening through her veins like a wild thing.

  “I know what you want,” he assured her with that deep, sexy drawl that contained the sultry South. “This isn’t going to take long, is it?” Once more, his stare shifted down to her sex.

  She didn’t think he required an answer, but she gave him one anyway. “No,” she whispered with a shake of her head. She hungered for him with a passion that should’ve had alarms blaring in her head, but nothing mattered except his touch. Except release.

  He lowered his head and took her mouth, thrusting his tongue between her lips.

  Just as he drove his fingers into her body.

  She screamed.

  Splintered.

  Into pieces.

  Tearing her mouth from his, she loosed another cry as he crooked his fingers, rubbing at a patch high up in her sex. Even before the world realigned, it was cracking apart again.

  “That’s it. That’s it, baby,” he growled the dark encouragement into her ear, his molasses drawl changing the word to bae-beh. God, it was sexy. As hot as his teeth scraping the curve of her ear. “All yours.”

  Trembling, she clung to his shoulders, her hips still riding his hand, chasing the aftershocks that continued to ripple through her.

  “Goddamn, you’re beautiful,” he praised, claiming another kiss from her. Still weak from the best orgasm of her life, she didn’t utter a word as he whirled around, cradling her against his chest, and moved farther down the corridor.

  Seconds later, he lowered her to the floor, and mere moments after that, she stood before him stripped naked, shivering. But not from the cool air circulating in the bedroom. No, from the hooded golden gaze that seemed to gleam bright in the dim room. She forcibly kept her arms by her side, even clenching her fingers into tight fists to fight the impulse to shield herself from his intense scrutiny. A model would be used to baring her body. Still…even though his fingers had been inside her just seconds earlier, heat streamed up her chest, neck, and singed her face. She wasn’t a model—she just played one.

  “Don’t,” he said into the tense silence.

  “Don’t what?” she asked, glancing at the wall of glass that invited Seattle into the room, the sitting area with oversized furniture, the large painting over the huge bed of a marsh with thick trees and foliage at dawn… Anywhere but him.

  “You were about to cover yourself. Don’t.”

  Shocked, she jerked her head toward him. “How did you…?”

  He didn’t answer, instead freed the first three buttons of his shirt and, reaching behind himself, dragged the clothing off in a manner that shouted of his masculinity.

  “Watch me,” he ordered as his hands dropped to the waist of his pants.

  As if she could do anything else.

  With economic movements that were nonetheless sexy for their confidence and lack of pretense, he shoved his pants and boxers to the floor and stood before her in nothing but what he came into this world with and a mural of tattoos covering his arms, shoulders, and chest.

  Earlier, she’d seen him clothed in only a pair of football pants, but somehow that one piece of nylon had managed to dampen the power of this man completely nude except for ink. He was…magnificent.

  The wide shoulders and chest she’d draped herself over during the photo shoot were the same. But accompanied with the tapered waist and hips, with its helpful and mouthwatering vee that pointed to the nest of dark, tight curls between his powerful thighs, and the thick, long part of him that made him a man, he was art come to life. Under her gaze, his cock thumped against his thigh, sending a shot of two parts excitement, one part feminine anxiety zigzagging through her.

  She understood what he was doing; placing them on equal footing. Making himself as vulnerable as she was with his nudity. The gesture calmed her, bolstered her, in a way no amount of pretty or encouraging words could have. That this beautiful giant of a man would do that for her…

  Swallowing past the lump of emotion that had no business in this bedroom, she reached for him. And he met her halfway, enfolding her hand in his, and tugging her forward until she pressed against him, shoulder to thigh.

  The heat. God. The man must have a furnace burning inside of him. Every bit of skin seared her. In the very best of ways.

  Desire pumped in her veins, pulsing in her heart, saturating every organ until she became desire. Unable to resist touching him one second longer, she traced the dime that hung from a chain and rested in the dip of his collarbone. She still wanted to know the story behind it. But first… She trailed her hand up the outside of his thigh, over his hip, and down between them, closing her fingers around his cock. The heavy, hot weight of him pulsed in her grasp, and she had the inane thought of holding life in her hand. Vulnerable but strong. Fragile, she mused, sliding her other hand lower to cup his balls, but potent.

  Letting need guide her, she squeezed his flesh then stroked up, up, up, the ruddy, flared head disappearing in her fist. His entire body went rigid. Except for his hands. They swept up her arms, over her shoulders, and tunneled into her hair. He grunted, pressing his forehead to hers, his hips jerking into her grip. A spasm of pleasure crossed his face when she twisted her wrist and slowly dragged her hand back, greased by the pre-cum pearling on the crown.

  She repeated the caress, tugging on his balls, encouraged by the raw sounds of pleasure rumbling from his throat. And with every stroke, every caress, every jerk of his flesh, she grew wetter, hotter, needier. She might’ve been in control at the moment, but she was quickly losing hers.

  “Enough,” he barked, closing a fist over hers. “This first time is going to be fast, rough. I can’t wait,” he admitted with a voice serrated by the same lust that clawed at her.

  “I don’t care,” she breathed, squeezing him again in spite of his restricting hold. “I just want you inside me.”

  His full mouth firmed into a hard, carnal, almost cruel line. Without warning, he hiked her up into his arms, similar to how he’d positioned her in the living room. But this time, he didn’t trap her against a wall. This time, in three long strides, her spine contacted the bed, his body immediately dropping down to cover her.

  She wasn’t a small woman—not at five-foot-eleven—but he was much bigger. And with his chest pressing her into the mattress, his shoulders blocking out everything but him, his hips spreading her wide, she felt almost delicate. Protected. Sheltered.

  Ensnared.

  He shifted, reaching for the bedside table and briefly rummaging in the top drawer before withdrawing a foil packet. In moments, he had the package opened, the condom rolled down his flesh, and the tip nudging her folds. One hand dented the pillow next to her head, and the other clamped the thick root of his cock.

  “You ready?” he rumbled, a hard edge to his tone. As if he teetered on the rim of control. Join the club.

  In response, she spread her thighs wider, skimmed her palms down the sweat-dampened slope of his back, and clutched his muscled ass. With a groan that seemed to start from his taut abdomen and roll up his chest and out of him, he pressed forward. Penetrating her.

  She sucked in a breath at the sense of fullness as he parted her, pushing his almost brutish length inside her. Deeper, deeper. Whimpering, she wiggled beneath him, tried to find a position where the…fullness…of his possession didn’t threaten to break her in half. The pressure… The discomfort flirted with pain, and she struggled to adjust, just as her sex fluttered and spasmed around his cock in the same attempt.

  “Shh,” he soothed, pausing, though the stark relief of tendons in h
is arms as well as the taut delineation of his abdomen telegraphed the cost of his restraint. “It’s okay, baby. Let me know when you’re ready.”

  Lust warred with the primitive need to escape this conquering. Forcing herself to relax, she breathed deep, but still clung to him, her purchase in this chaotic, sexual storm. The musky scent of his skin and sex filled her nose. The play of his straining muscles shifted under her fingers. The weight of his huge body pressed her into the mattress. The heavy width of his cock stretched her. But the pain and discomfort ebbed, slowly replaced by a simmering heat that grew with each moment that passed.

  “I’m ready,” she breathed. Testing that burgeoning heat, she lifted her hips, undulated them. And gasped. Pleasure streaked through her like a bolt of lightning. Surrendering to that seductive lure, she rolled against him again. “Please,” she pleaded. “Move.”

  With a low growl, he slid free of her body, and she dug her heels into the back of his thighs in protest. But with the cockhead lodged just inside her, he thrust forward, lighting up nerve endings she hadn’t known existed. She’d granted him permission; he didn’t hold back. Both of his hands bracketed her head now, bracing him as he used his whole pagan sex-god body to ride her, work her, drive her to the very edges of insanity. In. Out. In. Out. Grind. He fucked her until all she could do was hang on and take it. Take him. And damn it, did she. He didn’t leave one part of her untouched, unclaimed. Unbranded.

  Christ, she hadn’t known she could go up in flames and still exist. She was Joan of Arc burning at the stake of his erotic hunger, and like that woman, she willingly surrendered, down for the cause.