Game For Love: Game for You (Kindle Worlds Novella)

by Jami Davenport

  He wanted her. Fucking badly wanted her.

  And she deserved to hear it from his own lips.

  * * * *

  Dinner passed too quickly yet not quickly enough, which pretty much summed up the confusion banging around in Sarah’s brain. She wanted Branson, and he telegraphed pretty clearly that he wanted her. She hadn’t been with a man in a year, hadn’t wanted a man. Sex with Mike had been all about dominance and pain. Pretty much all the men she’d slept with, not that there had been a lot, had been all about themselves and their pleasure and to hell with hers.

  Would Branson be like that? Or would he be the man she wrote about in her journals, who’d take her softly and gently, soaring her to heights beyond her imagination. Then he’d take her hard and rough, and she’d want it as badly as he did. They’d get to know each other’s bodies late into the night until they both fell into a contented sleep in each other’s arms.

  Branson slid his chair next to hers just as the waiter delivered their chocolate decadent brownie delight. His strong, muscled thigh, almost as big around as her waist, rubbed against her leg. He rested a large hand on her bare knee, stroking the skin on the inside of her knee in slow, sensual circles.

  She brought a forkful of warm brownie to her mouth, savoring it while she savored his touch on her leg.

  “This is awesome.” She smiled at him, her heart lighter than air, because tonight she was a fairy princess and her fantasy didn’t have to end at midnight.

  “You’re awesome, honey.” His breath tickled her ear, and he smelled of rich chocolate and virile man. “Fucking awesome, and I bet you taste better than this dessert.”

  Not certain whether he referred to tasting her lips or another very aroused spot on her body, she decided to be a glutton and order one of each, please. She turned slightly so that their noses bumped, and his lips brushed across hers sending delicious shivers through her.

  “You do,” he whispered.

  “I do what?” she muttered dreamily, her eyes drifting shut.

  “Taste better than this dessert. I want to sample every square inch of your sweet skin. I want to kiss you senseless. I want to slide my tongue along your slit and lap up your juices.”

  Sarah gasped.

  “Don’t sound so shocked, honey. You want me, too. Admit it.” He growled the pure growl of an alpha male claiming his woman.

  His woman.

  For the night at least. And she’d take that, even if it was all she had, because one night with him justified years of heartbreak. Not that he’d knowingly break her heart, but he’d move on. They all did, one way or another, at least with the few she’d actually wanted to stay.

  “I want you, too,” she replied in a breathy whisper that so did not sound like her, but some movie starlet from the classics.

  “Are you going to eat that? If not, let’s get to hell out of here.”

  She nodded. The only thing she was hungry for was him, and he made her ravenous.

  Minutes later, they parked in front of a marina filled with yachts bigger than her apartment complex. She stepped onto the dock and stared in awe at this obscene display of wealth. Any other time, she’d resent it, but tonight, she’d play her part and pretend as if she belonged here with the yacht club set.

  Branson took her hand and squeezed it, grinning down at her. “Ready?”

  “You’d better believe it, buster.” She grinned back, feeling confidence surge through her. Nothing would ruin this night, least of all her insecurities. Tonight she wasn’t Sarah Largo, housekeeper to the rich and infamous. She was Princess Sarah, on the arm of an insanely handsome prince and about to board a yacht for an evening cruise.

  They approached one of the biggest yachts in the harbor, and Sarah gasped. Good freaking lord, it was humongous, with three decks and a full uniformed crew standing on the dock waiting for them.

  Branson approached the captain. “Permission to come aboard the Barbara Jean, sir?”

  “Permission granted.” Formalities dispensed with, the captain smiled at them with kind eyes. “Good to see you again, Branson. Tough luck about the concussion.”

  Branson flinched ever so slightly and squeezed Sarah’s hand a little harder. “Yeah, shit happens.” He turned to Sarah. “Captain Drake, this is my friend, Sarah.”

  He took her hand and shook it warmly. “Welcome aboard, Sarah. Enjoy your cruise.” Tipping his hat to them both, he and his crew busied themselves as they prepared to cast off—or whatever you called it when a ship sets sail, and this thing was big enough to be a ship.

  Branson put a hand at the small of her back and guided her toward the forward deck, to a pair of chaise lounges. A second later a deck hand placed tropical drinks in their hands.

  Sarah took it all in with wide eyes. “Is this yours?”

  “Oh, hell, no. I couldn’t afford this. It belongs to a buddy of mine who’s a billionaire. I’ve cruised a lot with him, but never borrowed it for myself, even though I’ve had an open invitation to do so. Never wanted to, until you looked up at me with those big brown eyes and captured my soul.”

  “You’re a smooth talker.” Sarah swatted at his chest, and he caught her hand and held it to his beating heart.

  “Will my smooth-talking get me in your pants later?”

  She smiled at him. “It just might.” If she had on pants, he’d be getting in them. She covered her mouth with her free hand in surprise. “Oh, my God, this boat has a hot tub.”

  “Sure does, sweetheart.”

  She frowned. “I didn’t bring a suit.”

  “You won’t need one.”

  “But the crew—”

  “—will mind their own business unless we ring for them.”

  “O-oh,” she stuttered.

  Branson chuckled. “You look good on a yacht.” His bright blue eyes roamed up and down her body.

  “You’d look good in my stateroom.” She tossed him a sassy smile because that’s what a self-confident princess would do.

  Branson choked on his drink. “I—uh—” Now it was his turn to stutter, and she loved him like this, a little vulnerable and posturing like a good alpha, trying to hide his soft, gooey center. Branson didn’t fool her. She’d watched him from the wings for too long. His soft side drew her to him even more than his hard body and his blatant sexuality. Once a month, he hosted a huge pizza party for underprivileged kids, and she handled the planning. He was great with those kids and could bring a smile to the most sullen face. The man possessed a gift with children.

  Obviously, he did with women, too.

  Not that she was complaining when she was the focus. If only she could have the entire fairy tale. All of it. The castle, the Golden Retriever, the two kids. The fairy tale ending. But she did have tonight, and that alone was freaking awesome.

  Sarah walked to the railing, holding onto the top rail and leaning down to watch the water pass by in gentle waves making a swishing sound against the hull. The Barbara Jean motored slowly as the sun set on a windless summer night. She squeezed her eyes shut. Tonight was her night. No expectations for a repeat performance. She’d just savor this one night and take it to bed with her for the rest of her life.

  Branson stepped forward, placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her toward him. He tucked a finger under her chin and lifted her head. “What are you thinking? If you want to back out, now’s the time to tell me.”

  Sarah shook her head adamantly. “No. Not at all. It’s so beautiful.”

  “You’re the one who’s beautiful,” he whispered as he bent his head.

  “I bet you say that to all the girls.” Sarah stopped breathing. He was going to kiss her. Right here. Right now. He snaked an arm around her back and pulled her close, still holding her chin steady and her face tipped up to his with his other hand.

  “Maybe I did once. But to you, I honestly mean it.” His mouth grazed hers, and her knees buckled, but Branson held her tight to him with one strong arm. “You taste so fucking good.” He ran his
tongue across her lips from one side to the other, as if relishing a glass of fine wine. Imagine that. Her, Sarah Largo, a glass of fine wine about to be consumed, cork and all, by a fine man.

  Chapter 4

  God, she tasted good, better than the best hot fudge sundae—his personal favorite when it came to dessert. Until now. Until Sarah replaced ice cream and fudge with her own brand of hotness.

  He pulled her compact, soft body to his hard, muscular one, running his hands gently down her curves, molding her body to his. He bided his time, forcing himself to take it slow and easy. She hadn’t had an easy time of it, and he desperately wanted to be her exception, that one guy who made up for all the assholes in her past.

  He wanted to give her the gift of passion and pleasure, and in turn he wanted the same from her.

  Her lips parted for him, petal soft and inviting, and he’d never turn down that invitation. Not from her. He slanted his mouth over hers, nibbling and licking her lips, sucking her lower lip between his teeth and running his tongue over it.

  She clung to him as if he were her lifeboat in a world in which she’d been cast adrift.

  He liked being her lifeboat. Liked it a lot.

  “God, you feel good.” He spoke against her lips. She opened for him, her pink tongue darting out to tease his tongue to come inside and play. He explored her moistness and tangled his tongue with hers, moving beyond gentle even as he fought for control. Branson buried his fingers in her hair, kissing the hell out of her, unable to stop the insanity swirling inside his body, overtaking what was left of his brain, and pushing him to his limits.

  He drew back and buried his face in the curve of her neck, inhaling her sweet scent and nuzzling her earlobe.

  “I have to have you now, baby. Right now,” he growled.

  “The crew?” she squeaked, though he suspected if the crew lined up on the deck and watched she was probably beyond caring. He knew he was.

  “They’re discreet. Probably playing cards in the galley. This is a gravy run for them. Great overtime, and not much actual work.” He panted, wondering why he was doing so much talking when there was so much action to be done.

  He lifted her up, and she wrapped her legs around his waist. Branson groaned. “Oh, honey, I could take you right here standing up.”

  “Then do it,” she dared wickedly.

  He narrowed his eyes at the challenge in her voice. You’re going to be sorry you pushed me.”

  “I doubt that.” Plunging her fingers in his messy hair, she smiled up at him, happier than he’d ever seen her. Her mouth ate at his hungrily, pushing him to his limits and beyond.

  Frantically, he looked around, his eyes focusing on a chaise lounge.

  Perfect. Absolutely effing perfect.

  Passion stormed through him, churning up long-buried emotions which transcended mere lust. Not that the lust wasn’t flipping great, but these other feelings, new to him, and oh-so-rare, flooded him with a weird combination of fear, hope, and longing.

  He had to have her. Now. Had to bury himself inside her and claim her, a primal need to brand her as his overrode any other thought in his muddled brain.

  He lay her gently on the lounge chair, and she reached for him. “Don’t leave me.” Panic shone in her eyes.

  “I won’t, honey. Trust me.” He meant every word. “I would never hurt you. Never.”

  “I know that.” She gently ran a finger along his stubbled jaw, and he shuddered.

  “That makes me feel good.”

  “I want to see you.” The husky whisper of her voice tightened his balls and sent more blood racing to his dick.

  “You will.” He clenched his jaw tight and unbuckled his belt, shucking his pants in one swift move. He kicked them off and almost sent them flying over the railing into the water below. Instead, they hung up on cleat and flapped in the breeze.

  A soft giggle pulled his attention back to the woman writhing on the chaise lounge, her shapely legs parted, with her skirt riding up her thighs to heaven. His heaven.

  She licked her lips and eyed his dick, as if it fascinated her. The poor thing jerked, fascinated by her, too.

  Kneeling down, Branson imprisoned her eyes with his gaze. He slid his hands up her creamy thighs, feeling his way under her thin skirt until he hit pay dirt. His gaze dropped to her crotch.

  Holy shit.

  He clenched his eyes shut and breathed in and out in an attempt to force calmness. All during dinner he’d forced himself to picture a nice chaste pair of white panties under that dress. But not this. He’d have never made it through the first course if he’d known she’d been wearing a scrap of black lace barely covering her crotch. His long fingers slipped under the thin material across her hips.

  “You like?”

  Where the hell did this tease come from and what had she done with Sarah?

  His groan reverberated off his ribcage. “You could go to jail for this.”

  “For what? Wearing a g-string?”

  “For murder by panties.” He looked into her eyes and loved what he saw—not just lust, but amusement and fondness, like she actually liked him for who he was, not just because he had money and fame.

  She cocked an eyebrow at him and laughed. He cocked an eyebrow back, chuckled, and before she could take another breath, ripped those damn enticing panties right off her body, then instantly regretted his caveman behavior.

  “Oh, crap. I’m sorry. I’m just so hot for you.” He cussed under his breath. He’d meant to take this slow, but the passion glazing her eyes assured him that she didn’t mind a bit.

  “You’re apologizing because you’re hot for me? Not going to win you points, stud muffin.” She winked at him.

  “You’re messing with fire.” He didn’t know where this bold woman came from but he adored her as much as he adored the shyer version, and she was going to pay for that little remark with some erotic torture, Bullock style.

  “Then burn me,” she shot back matching him taunt for taunt.

  “Those are fighting words, honey.” He knelt between her legs and grinned with mock menace

  She wasn’t menaced. In fact, she laughed.

  “You’re messing with my ego, baby. That’s not good.”

  Sarah arched her back and tantalized him with her naked lower half. He’d make her pay for that later with delicious torture they’d both enjoy.

  Right now, he had more pressing matters to attend to, such as his cock pressing into her wet, warm hotness. He leaned over and untied the back of her halter, pushing the top aside to get a fifty-yard-line view of her heart-stoppingly gorgeous breasts. Holy freaking crap, she would be arrested for murder. Kneeling beside her, he took a ripe nipple in his mouth and sucked it into an even harder peak. Hungrily, he worked his special brand of magic on the other side, needing to taste her, every last bit of her.

  She writhed and whimpered. A fine bead of perspiration broke out on her forehead, while he was sweating like a race horse who’d just run in the Kentucky Derby. He kissed circles around those glorious breasts, a generous handful even for a guy with big hands like him.

  Sitting back on his haunches and panting, he met her sexy gaze. “They’re the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen.”

  “I think that’s the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen.” She pointed to his groin.

  “It’s all for you, honey, ready and willing to fulfill your every desire.”

  “I’d like that.” She reached out a tentative hand, suddenly shy again, and stroked him.

  His dick jerked at the contact.

  Sarah almost smiled. “I think the poor baby is in dire straits.” She ran a fingernail over the tip.

  Branson sucked in a breath. “Keep that up, and nothing about this will be slow and easy.”

  “Maybe I don’t care. Maybe slow is overrated and easy is for sissies.”

  Branson swore under his breath. Despite her feigned boldness, a sixth sense warned him to take it gentle this first time and earn her trust
. She talked big, but he didn’t want to hurt her.

  Calling forth every ounce of discipline he possessed, he kissed her senseless, while his hands roamed her body, exploring every little hill and valley, especially one particular valley.

  She may not realize what she wanted, but he did, and she’d damn well get it.

  * * * *

  Sarah’s eyes fluttered shut as Branson’s hands caressed her body. His mouth slid down her cheeks to her neck, following his hands. She arched her back, wishing he’d suck on her breasts again. He did, while one long finger slipped inside her wet folds, and his thumb found her pleasure center and teased. He took his time, leading her where he wanted her to go, placing her needs ahead of his. No man had ever done that for her, and she adored him all the more for it. She pushed her crotch into his hand, craving how he felt inside her, wanting him deeper. His fingers thrust in and out of her, driving her insane as powerful emotions steamrolled over her.

  One touch of a calloused thumb on her clit, and she rocketed to oblivion in the most mind-altering orgasm of her life. The ground fell away beneath her as she soared on the wings of pleasure unfettered by mortal trappings, as if anything were possible if she only believed it to be so. Eventually, she fluttered back to reality like a feather in a soft breeze.

  It was holy, flipping epic.

  And Branson hadn’t been inside her yet, not that way.

  “I want to feel your cock inside me. Now.” She ordered, fully expecting him to balk at her bossiness.

  Instead he saluted her. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Branson pushed her legs apart with his big, strong hands, while she gnawed on her lower lip and fixed her gaze on him as he rolled a condom over his impressive erection. He was going to feel damn good sliding inside her. She stared into his smoldering blue eyes and saw so much that it overwhelmed her.

  She could tell the moment he misread her expression as fear. He hesitated. His strong arms on either side of her, holding his big body above hers. “Are you okay?”