Game Saver

by BJ Harvey

  “Fuck,” I spit out against her skin when she grazes the tip of my cock with her teeth on her upward glide.

  “Mmm-hmm,” she hums against the base of my shaft, one hand cupping and rolling my balls before her index finger dips lower to massage my perineum.

  I’m lost to the feel of her wet mouth enveloping me, her breasts pressed hard into my stomach, and her taste on my lips, taking over my senses and needing a change of pace, I take one last lick before hooking my hands underneath her shoulders and pulling her off my cock before I come like a teenage boy.

  I push her up until she’s straddles my head, grinding down against me, riding my face until I rake my teeth against her swollen clit and she screams out her climax. I languidly stroke her with my tongue, drawing out the last waves of her orgasm until the jerks of her body cease. She collapses sideways on the bed until she’s lying flat on her back.

  I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and roll on top of her, loving the way she spreads her legs and wraps her ankles behind my thighs to cradle my hips.

  Gliding my cock through her slick heat, I brace my forearms on the bed on either side of her head and dip my chin to brush my lips against hers. Her hands grip my shoulders as her hooded eyes meet mine, a promising smirk playing on her lips.

  “What happened to multi-tasking?” I ask, continuing to torture myself with continual thrusts of my hips against hers and her little mews when the tip of my cock grinds against her sensitive nub.

  “The sixty-nine is the epitome of multi-tasking. Taking while giving—the ultimate battle of wills.”

  I pull my hips back and slowly inch my cock inside of her, watching the amusement in her features soften, morphing into bliss.

  “We need to talk,” I say on a smooth inward thrust, planting myself deep.

  “About . . . what?” she replies breathlessly.

  “This . . . what’s happening between us.”

  “You mean . . . this?” she says, tilting her hips, taking everything I’ve got inside of her. “I like this. We can keep doing this as long . . . as . . . you . . . like.”

  “Jesus,” I spit out as she clenches her Kegels like a pro. “Quit . . . doing . . . that . . .” She does it again, and I almost come on the spot.

  “Said no man ever,” she breathes, lifting her hips and clenching me tight over and over again.

  “Can’t . . . talk . . . too . . . busy . . . fucking . . . your . . . brains . . . out.”

  She smiles and closes her eyes, her cheeks flushed, her breaths coming out in quick desperate pants. Screw talking—I want to kiss her. I need to kiss her.

  I crash my lips onto hers. Our tongues meet in a slow dance that gets faster and faster as my thrusts inside of her become more rushed and erratic. My climax barrels down my spine at lightning—okay not that fast, hold up—speed as Abi’s body bucks and writhes against mine, her pussy grabbing hold of my cock in its much-appreciated iron-clad grip as she cries out into my mouth. At the same time, I groan deep and low into her lips as I bury myself to the hilt inside of her.

  I tear my lips from hers, nuzzling my face in her neck as I come back down to earth. When my head doesn’t feel as if it’s just exploded, I roll to the side and pull her with me so she’s leans into my chest.

  “You still alive there, Spitfire?”

  “If I’m not, I’ve surely gone to heaven,” she replies hoarsely, making me chuckle.

  “You must be alive, because you’re far too wicked to end up there.”

  “Only because you’re the devil who has lured me over to the dark side. But if this is the underworld, then I’ll give myself over to it willingly if that’s what I’m treated to.” She leans up on an elbow and looks down at me with a knowing gleam in her eye. “So what did you want to talk about?”

  I turn my body towards her, lifting my hand to her arm, needing to touch her in a way I hadn’t realized until tonight I did—and often—something she reciprocates. We don’t say anything—we just lie there, looking into each other’s eyes.

  “What’s happening here, Cade?” she says quietly.

  “What do you mean?”

  “This is more than mother buffering, isn’t it?”

  I move my head forward and softly kiss her lips, languidly sweeping my tongue in her mouth. Her hand moves around my neck and up into my hair, holding on when I deepen the contact.

  I roll her over to lie on top of me, cupping her cheeks in both of my hands and holding her face inches away from mine. “Fuck you look good on top of me.”

  “Cade . . .” she whispers, sounding far more vulnerable than I’ve ever heard her “What is this?”

  “This is good.”

  “It is. This doesn’t feel like a normal fuck buddy scenario, though . . .”

  “Why?” I ask, knowing that this is definitely not a sex-only situation, and I don’t think I ever wanted it to be. But something in me needs to hear it in her words.

  “Because we do things that isn’t sex stuff, and fuck buddy arrangements don’t work like that.”

  “You’ve had a lot of fuck buddies?” I ask, quirking a brow.

  “No. I mean, I have had a couple, but who hasn’t in this day and age? What I’m saying is, we’ve blurred the lines here.”

  “I like it,” I answer. “I like that we text, we talk, we spend time together just hanging out. We work on so many levels that aren’t sexual that the fact we go off like an atomic bomb in the sack is just the icing on the cake.” I don’t look away from her, hoping like hell she can see that I mean every single word I’m saying.

  Her breath hitches and her lips part, her tongue darting out to touch them. I flex my fingers and pull her down for a hard, hungry, mind-shattering kiss.

  When I let her up for air, she asks what I’ve been waiting for her to bring up. “So your dad . . .”

  “Storytime?” I ask.

  She giggles and relaxes into me, her body melting into mine, her fingers drawing lazy circles on my chest, something she does often and something I like a fuck of a lot.

  “Dad came to see me on Friday at work.”

  “That’s not normal?”

  “Not particularly. He was there for a board meeting, and some public schmoozing, it seems. He asked to speak to me privately, I obliged, and he told me he didn’t want me dating you.”

  “That’s it?” she asks, her voice rising.

  “Sorry to say, sweetheart, and please don’t go all incredible Hulk again like in the backyard—”

  “That wasn’t like the Hulk. More like a crazy woman losing her mind, but continue,” she replies with a grin.

  “Right . . .” I can’t—and don’t—hide the disbelief in my voice. If that wasn’t a crazy rant of epic proportions, remind me never to piss her off.

  She narrows her eyes, but I don’t let her sass distract me. Running my hands down her sides and over her hips, I hook them behind her knees and jerk her up until she straddles my waist, her bare pussy cradling my hardening cock.

  “I was just being honest,” she replies.

  “I know, Spitfire, and that’s why it meant so much to me.”

  “What?” she whispers, her fingers flexing against my chest.

  “You get there hasn’t been a hell of a lot of sincerity when it comes to my parents, so I’ve made a point of surrounding myself with people who are exactly what my parents are not.”

  “You’ve got a great group of friends. They’re all awesome.”

  “They are. They’ve kept me sane over the years.”

  “Yet no girlfriend? No wife?”

  “There have been women.”

  She grins down at me. “Oh, do tell me about all of these women.”

  “What?” I splutter, choking on a laugh.

  “All of these women that you’ve slept with. You must’ve slept with most of Chicago to be as good as you are.”

  “You think I’m good?” I ask with a smirk.

  “You’re good. Some might say you’re a magician, not
only with your hands, but also your mouth, and your gloriously small cock.” Her wide grin gives away just how full of shit she is because I know I’m far from fucking small.

  My eyes bug out, and a garbled snort escapes my mouth before I narrow my eyes and grab hold of her thighs, holding her down and pushing my very large and hard cock against her. “If my cock is small, you must’ve been with some badly endowed men.”

  “Meh. I’ve seen bigger,” she goads, looking up at the ceiling and feigning a yawn.

  Flipping her over, I cover her body and press my full weight into her, not missing the hitch in her breathing. “I think you need to be shown exactly what my big cock can do to you.”

  “I need to tell you something too,” she says, her expression turning serious.

  “You can tell me anything.”

  “Your mom . . .” She hesitates, her eyes locked with mine. I try to get a read on her but she gives nothing away.

  “You really want to talk about my mom while you’re naked in my bed?”

  “She cornered me at the shelter.”

  That gets my attention. “She what?” I roll off her and onto my back beside her.

  Abi shifts onto her side, resting her palm on my jaw and turning my head towards her. “It was nothing. I just figured I should tell you since you told me about your dad.”

  I try to hold back my rising anger. I’ve just come long and hard and I have Abi, naked and willing in my bed, ready for round two of what I hope will be a long night.

  I pull her body on top of mine, gliding my hands up the sides of her body, grazing her breasts and neck until I’m cup her face just inches away from mine.

  “Whatever she said, whatever she offered, I know you would’ve handled it. Doesn’t mean I’m not pissed that she did that to you.”

  Her concern morphs into surprise, a slow-growing smile playing on her lips. “It’s okay, Cade. She caught me off-guard, but considering she wouldn’t let me get a word in edgewise, I couldn’t exactly rip her a new one in the ladies.”

  “Would’ve been nothing less than she deserved,” I grind out, my body tense as hell. I can’t believe Mom had the balls to do that. Actually, yes I can.

  She braces herself on her hands and looks down at me, her brows furrowed. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” she says quietly. “I should’ve told you.”

  “Like I should’ve told you about my dad’s little chat?” I ask back. I take a deep breath and run my hands up to glide my fingers through her hair. “You’re fine, sweetheart. I should’ve known Mom would try something like that. Must’ve been wishful thinking.”

  We lie there for a while, just looking at each other, comfortable silence stretching between us.

  She clears her throat, biting her lip and drawing my attention straight to her mouth. “I may have said to her that we were . . . happy.”

  “We were then . . .” I pull her head down and kiss her forehead. “We are now . . .” I tilt her face up so I can do the same to the tip of her nose. “And we will continue to be . . .”

  She opens her mouth and my tongue delves inside. When we pull apart—only because breathing is an inconvenient necessity—her lids flutter open and her dazed eyes meet mine. “So we’re doing this? You and me, working towards something real?”

  “It’s always been real. We’ve just finally realized it,” I reply, looking deep into her eyes. “Promise me one thing though?” Her body tenses against mine, so I quickly continue, “Don’t take on board anything she said to you. I know what and who I want, and I’m looking at her right now.” And with that, she melts back into me. I smile. “I like the ‘you’ that you are now. I wouldn’t change a single thing.” I roll her over and pin her to the bed, swallowing her surprised shriek with my mouth hitting hers.

  With the need to bury myself inside her overtaking the need to talk, I set about doing that, and judging by the way she gingerly walked into my kitchen the next morning, I’d say it was job well done all around.

  Two months of ‘real’ Cade, and I never want fake again. It’s crazy that a woman like me who has been independent—and happily so—for many years is loving the ‘dating’ experience.

  Of course the man I’m dating has a lot to do with that. We work on what seems like every level. Opposing shifts? Not a problem—we have dinner together after his day is done and before I’m due at the hotel. Night at the Pink Monkey? I head home to whichever bed Cade is sleeping in, generally my place, because the lack of roommate is a definite bonus.

  Sunday mornings are different. Neither of us have anywhere to be or anything to do, so Cade has decreed that Naked Sundays become a tradition in the Abi-Cade bubble. For obvious reasons, we only carry through with this practice when we’re in my apartment. As much as he might enjoy seeing a naked woman in his house, I’m fairly confident that Thomas would not enjoy hanging around a naked Cade, or more so, what inevitably happens on Naked Sundays when Cade and I are . . . well . . . naked.

  Today, being Sunday, I’m standing in my kitchen, naked as the day I was born. Two arms wrap around my waist, and Cade’s hands roam my skin. He rests his chin on my shoulder, looking down at what I’m doing. “Coffee?”

  I tilt my face to lean my cheek against his. “Is my name Abi-Jane Cook?” I ask before snorting in a ‘pfft’ tone. “You’d think my manfriend would know that I’m not human until I’ve had at least one cup of joe. It’s my morning ritual.”

  He sucks my earlobe between his teeth, letting go to murmur, “I thought your manfriend eating you for breakfast was your morning ritual.”

  My breaths quicken as a mental reply of what we’d done just thirty minutes ago plays on a loop in my head. So freaking good. “Well, there is that one, too.”

  “Maybe I should add other things for you to do as part of this morning ritual of yours.”

  I spin in his hold and loop my arms around his neck, rising up on my toes to brush my lips gently against his. One of his hands drops to my ass, the heat of his palm shooting through me like a missile.

  A good thing about Naked Sundays? Nothing hindering me from Cade’s talented hands, mouth, and cock—which at this moment is rapidly rising back to life.

  Biting my lip, I lock my eyes with his as I drag my nails down his back, earning a low guttural growl for my efforts.

  “Couch. Now,” he grinds out before wrapping his hand around the back of my neck, tugging me forwards at the same time as his head drops and he kisses me, long, hard, deep, and wet—that’s me in multiple places obviously—taking me from zero to ‘fuck me now’ at the first touch of his lips.

  “Here,” I murmur against his lips, catching my breath before his tongue spears into my mouth once more, his legs walking us backwards until his back hits the kitchen counter with a jarring thud that reverberates through us. He grunts but doesn’t stop plundering my mouth or tightening the grip of his fingers in my hair, keeping me in place for his bidding.

  Nipping my bottom lip, he sucks it between his teeth, his eyes blazing as they bore into mine. “Knees . . .”

  “Thought you’d never ask,” I reply with a wicked smirk.

  He quirks a brow. “It wasn’t a question.”

  Woman down—literally in this case. I lower myself to kneel on the ground, framing his hips with my hands and running my tongue around the crown of his cock.

  His fingers grab hold of the countertop, holding on as I trail the vein running along his shaft down to the base, sucking the soft skin of his balls before retracing my steps back to the tip and swallowing him whole, fighting my gag reflex as I constrict my throat around him.

  “God I love your mouth,” he groans, his fingers sweeping my hair out of my face so I can watch him watching me. Just the look of heat in his eyes is enough to have me clenching my thighs together.

  The faint sound of my intercom chimes but I ignore it, too consumed by the task at hand.

  Pulling me off him, he hooks me under my arms and hauls me up. I’m forced to wrap my legs around his hip
s, and my nails bite into his shoulders as I hold on for dear life.

  Walking me into the living room, he drops me onto my back, falling down on top of me and pressing into me.

  “Cade, I need—” I’m shut up by his lips on mine, his tongue spiking into my mouth, and my hands desperately tug at his shoulders for him to come closer.

  It’s then that a key turns in the lock of the front door. Just as I realize we’re about to become the headliners at a live peep show, the door swings open and my mom walks in, followed by three out of my four favorite—until this moment—macho idiots, my brothers Jaxon, Bryant, and Cohen bringing up the rear.

  “Precious, we’re—”

  “Holy fuck! Get the hell off my sister!”

  “What the fuck?” Cade growls, lifting his head, his eyes growing as wide as Lake Michigan at the scene playing out in front of us.

  Scrambling up, I push Cade to the side and thank the Lord on high for the afghan blanket my mom gave me for Christmas as I flip it out and cover all of our important bits. I glare at my family who are standing stock-still in my foyer. The guys are scowling at Cade, and Mom’s trying not to bust a gut laughing, all the while checking Cade out because—hello—he’s a hot naked man lying on my couch, and I had to get my dirty girl personality from somewhere.

  “Um, hi,” I say cheerfully, the hilarity of the situation finally dawning on me. Cade pulls me into his lap and rests his chin on my shoulder, chuckling in my ear.

  “I take it it’s ‘meet the family for a naked breakfast’ day,” he muses.

  “We didn’t mean to interrupt,” Mom says, stifling a giggle.

  “We did,” Bryant states matter-of-factly.

  “Hell yeah, we did,” Jaxon adds.

  “Oh come on, guys. I’m a twenty-seven-year-old woman who has a boyfriend—”

  “Manfriend,” Cade says, correcting me.

  I turn my head to look at him and grin. “Sorry—manfriend—and I can do whatever the hell I want with him in my own home, considering it. Is. My. Own. Home. Sheesh, take a chill pill.”

  “He’s pawing at you, and we’ve never even met the guy,” Cohen, the baby at twenty-five, grinds out.