Game On Box Set: Time OutHer Man AdvantageFace-OffBody Check

by Jill Shalvis

  “What are you thinking about?”

  She was certain her embarrassment was written all over her face. And yet the pang of embarrassment was accompanied by a jolt of excitement, because for the first time in her life she was thinking about making that particular fantasy come true.

  “Hayden?”

  He stopped stroking and she almost cried out in disappointment. “No, keep doing that,” she murmured, meeting his eyes again.

  “Not until you tell me what’s on your mind.”

  “I…you’ll probably think it’s silly.”

  “Try me.”

  She couldn’t believe she was considering confessing her deepest, darkest fantasy to a man she’d known less than a week when she’d never raised the subject around guys she’d dated for months. That in itself said a lot.

  Try him.

  She swallowed and got to her feet. Eyeing her expectantly, Brody let go of his shaft and leaned his head against both hands, waiting. “Well?” he prompted.

  “Promise not to laugh?”

  “I won’t laugh. Scout’s honor.” He held up his fingers in a sign that she was fairly certain did not belong to the Boy Scouts, but, hell, at least he’d promised.

  She took a breath, held it, then released it at the same time she blurted out the words. “I’ve always wanted to tie a man to my bed.”

  He laughed softly.

  “Hey!” Heat seared her cheeks. “You promised.”

  “I’m not laughing at the request,” he said quickly. “You just took me by surprise.”

  Relief washed over her, dimming her humiliation. “You’re not freaked?”

  “Nope. I’m too turned-on to be freaked.”

  Her focus dropped to his groin, which confirmed his admission. He was thick and hard, a sight that caused every last drop of hesitation and embarrassment to drain from her body like water from a tub. That spot between her legs began to ache, pushing her to action.

  “Keep your arms just like that,” she ordered, drifting toward the walk-in closet. She grabbed what she needed from the top drawer of the built-in dresser and sauntered over to the bed.

  Brody looked at the sheer panty hose in her hands and he grinned. “No fuzzy pink handcuffs?”

  “Sorry, I left them in California.”

  “Pity.”

  Laughing, she looped the panty hose around his wrists, brushing her fingers over the calluses on his palm. His hands were so strong, fingers long and tapered. A thrill shot through her as she tied those sturdy hands to the headboard. That he let her do it, without moving, without complaining, only deepened the thrill.

  She liked it, this feeling of control, something she’d never really felt in the bedroom before. She was all about control when it came to her life, her job, her goals. But sex? Not so much.

  With Brody, she was discovering a part of herself she’d denied for a long time. That first night when she’d propositioned him, then letting him touch her in a public bar, now tying him up to her bed—how on earth had he managed to unleash this passionate side of her?

  “So what now?” he said hoarsely. “How does this bondage fantasy of yours play out?”

  “Well, the fantasy includes some payback actually.” She made sure his hands were secure, then straddled him, still fully clothed. “You tortured me last night, Brody.”

  “You seemed to enjoy it,” he teased.

  “But you enjoyed it, too, didn’t you? You loved having that control over me, driving me wild with your fingers and knowing I wasn’t going to fight it.” She arched one slim eyebrow. “It’s my turn.”

  He tested the bindings. The headboard shook. “I could easily get out of this position, you know.”

  “But you won’t.”

  “You sound sure of that.”

  She bent down and pressed a kiss to his jaw, then licked her way to his earlobe and bit it. He shuddered, his cock jutting against her pelvis. “You’re dying for it,” she mocked.

  A crooked smile stretched across his mouth. “Do people out on the West Coast know how deliciously evil you are, Hayden?”

  “They don’t have a clue,” she said with a self-deprecating sigh.

  He threw his head back and laughed. The desire and awe dancing in his eyes sent a wave of confidence rushing through her. Brody made her feel that she could do anything she wanted, be anyone she wanted, confess to any naughty longing she wanted, and he wouldn’t judge her.

  “Well, it’s your turn, as you said,” Brody told her. “Let’s see what you’ve got. I warn you, I don’t lose control easily.”

  “We’ll see about that.”

  She pressed both palms to his chest, relishing the hard feel of him, running her fingers through the light sprinkling of hair covering his golden skin. Dipping her head, she traced his collarbone with her tongue.

  Brody chuckled. “You can do better than that.”

  She narrowed her eyes. Was he really convinced he could stay in control? Arrogant man! She’d just have to show him, wouldn’t she?

  Not rising to his bait, she bent down and covered one flat nipple with her mouth.

  He drew in a breath.

  She ran her tongue down his chest, scraping her nails along his skin. He tasted like heaven—salty, spicy, masculine—and the hair leading to his groin tickled her lips as she kissed her way south. Her mouth finally reached his erection, but she made no move to wrap her lips around it. Instead she gently flicked her tongue against his tip then blew a stream of air over the moisture she’d left there.

  Brody jerked and let out a soft curse.

  “Everything okay?” she asked politely, lifting her head just in time to see the arousal creasing his rugged features.

  “Is that all you’ve got?” he groaned.

  “On the contrary.” She licked her lips and sent him a heavy-lidded look. “I’m just getting started.”

  Oh, boy, there was nothing more empowering than driving a man as manly as Brody Croft into sheer and total orgasmic oblivion. Flames of arousal and satisfaction licked through Hayden’s body as she circled the tip of Brody’s cock with her tongue, savoring the taste of him.

  Curling her fingers around his shaft, she licked him again, then sucked him into her mouth, trying not to smile when he released a low moan of pleasure. God, why hadn’t she done this before? She wanted to berate herself for everything she’d been missing.

  In the back of her mind a little voice suggested that perhaps she’d never admitted this fantasy because she hadn’t found the right man to admit it to, but she forced the voice and its unsettling implications out of her brain. No more thinking. She didn’t want to analyze anything about this.

  She moved her mouth up and down his shaft, and when she reached one hand down to cup his balls, he shuddered and grew even harder. Her mind was spinning from the incredible feel of him against her lips.

  Lightly stroking his rock-hard thigh, she kissed his sensitive underside, then pumped him with her hand while she took him deep in her mouth again.

  “You’re evil,” he wheezed out.

  She lifted her head. “What happened to the master of control?”

  “He didn’t stand a chance.”

  She laughed. With one final kiss to his tip, she moved up to straddle him. She could feel the heat of his naked body searing through her clothing, making her pants feel like a tight, hot nuisance. But she didn’t undress. Not yet.

  Leaning forward, she pressed her lips to his and deepened the kiss. He made a frustrated sound and yet again tugged at the bindings constricting his hands. He was right—one forceful tug and the knots would come apart—but he continued lying there at her mercy. His biceps flexed as he tested the knots again. He let out a soft curse.

  “Damn it, Hayden, I need to touch you.”

  “Touch? Nope, sorry.”

  She lifted her tank top over her head and threw it aside, baring her breasts. “But I’ll let you taste.” Bending closer, she offered him a sampling, and drew in a breath when he captu
red one nipple in his mouth and began feasting. He sucked on the rigid bud, hard, biting it gently until she cried out with pleasure that teetered toward pain.

  “More,” he rasped, pulling away and staring at her pleadingly.

  She laughed. “Define more.”

  His gaze lowered to her thighs, a clear message of what he desired, and her sex instantly throbbed in response. If she gave him what he wanted, what she wanted, then the domination game would be shot to hell…but did she really care at this point? Could she last one more second without having this man’s hands all over her?

  The moisture between her legs provided the answer to that question—a big fat no.

  As he inched down a little, so that his head was flat on the pillow, she quickly slipped out of her pants, tore off her panties and knelt over him.

  His tongue darted out and flicked over her clit.

  “Oh,” she moaned, nearly falling backward at the jolt of excitement that ran through her. She was closer than she’d thought. The rippling wave of pleasure swelling inside her confirmed that she was on the brink, her orgasm about to crash to the surface.

  Her thighs trembled as she tried to move away from his probing tongue, but he wouldn’t let her.

  “I want you to come in my mouth,” he murmured, the husky sound reverberating against her flesh.

  She reached for the headboard, gripped his bound hands and twined her fingers with his. Her heart thumped, her knees shook, and the moment she leaned into his warm lips again, the second he suckled her clit, she exploded.

  Her climax tore through her, fierce, reckless. She gasped, sucking in oxygen as shards of colorful light danced before her eyes and prickled her flushed skin. Still shaking, she sagged against the headboard, struggling to regain her sense of equilibrium while she fumbled with the knots on his hands.

  “I need you inside me. Now,” she squeezed out, finally untying him.

  With a grin, he rotated his wrists to get the blood flowing again, but made no move to flip her over and plunge into her as she’d requested. “It’s your show, remember?”

  He curled his fingers around her waist and pushed her down so she was straddling him again. From the end table, he swiped a condom she hadn’t even noticed him bring into the bedroom and handed it to her. “Do with me what you please.”

  Swallowing, she rolled the condom onto his erection and shifted her legs. She was wet and ready for him, more than ready, but she didn’t guide him inside her. Instead, she brushed her nipples over his chest, enjoying the way his eyes narrowed with pleasure.

  She ground her pelvis against him, teased him by pushing against his tip and then edging away from it. Feeling bold and wanton, she leaned forward, let her breasts graze his mouth, and murmured, “Tell me what you want, Brody.”

  His voice hoarse, he said, “You.”

  “Me what?”

  A wicked gleam flashed in his eyes. “What was it you said to me that first night? Oh, right. I want you to fuck me.”

  Oh, my.

  Without another word, she lowered herself onto him, taking him all the way in, and began to ride him. The pleasure cascading through her body was almost too much to bear. He felt so good inside, so right and perfect.

  She increased her pace, moving over him faster, harder, his husky groans urging her on.

  He lifted his lean hips and met her thrust for thrust. Then he grasped her ass and rolled her over, his powerful body covering hers as he drove into her. Yes. Her insides clenched, pleading with her for release.

  “Will you come for me?” he murmured, slowing his pace.

  She made an unintelligible sound.

  He chuckled. “What was that?”

  “Yes,” she choked out.

  With a satisfied nod, he plunged into her, hard, rough, stealing the breath right of her lungs. He reached down and stroked the place where they joined, continuing to pump inside her until she finally exploded again.

  She gave herself to the orgasm that raced through her body. In the heavenly haze she heard Brody’s deep groan, felt his fingers dig into her hips as he jerked inside her.

  Struggling to steady her breathing, she ran her hands up and down his sweat-soaked back, enjoying the hard planes and defined muscles under her fingertips. “God, that was…” She trailed off.

  He touched her chin, lightly dragging his thumbnail over her jaw. “That was what?”

  “Incredible.” A laugh flew out. “And to think I was going to spend the evening watching a documentary on a guy who cut his own ear off.”

  7

  “LET’S ORDER room service,” Brody said a few minutes later, slipping his boxers on.

  He watched as Hayden put on her tank top and then attempted to fix the ponytail that had seen better days. Wayward strands of hair fell into her eyes and he smiled at the knowledge that her disheveled state was the result of rolling around in bed with him. She looked rumpled and beautiful and so damn cute he marched over and planted a kiss on her lips. She tasted of toothpaste and popcorn and something uniquely Hayden.

  With a little whimper, she pulled his head closer and sank into the kiss, flicking her tongue against his in a tantalizing way that made him hard again.

  Just as he lowered his hands to her breasts, she pushed him back. “What happened to room service?” she teased.

  “Screw it.”

  “Knock yourself out. I, for one, am starved.” With a grin, she brushed past him and left the bedroom.

  He stared down at the erection poking against his boxers. Damn, how did this woman turn him on so fiercely? He felt like a horny teenager again.

  He put on his jeans, used the washroom then drifted toward the living room.

  “How do cheeseburgers sound?” she called when she spotted him lingering in the hallway.

  His stomach growled with approval. “Great.”

  He joined her on the couch. As she dialed room service and placed their order, he noticed a stack of papers sitting on the table. Curious, he leaned forward and examined the first sheet. It looked like a biography on Rembrandt, neatly typed. The margins were full of handwritten notes.

  “What’s this?” he asked when she’d hung up the phone.

  “Ideas for the Color Theory class I’m teaching in the fall. I plan to focus on Rembrandt for a few lectures.”

  “Rembrandt, huh? I thought all of his paintings were pretty dark and foreboding.” The snippet of information stored in his brain came as a surprise to him. He hadn’t thought he’d paid any attention during art history class his senior year of high school.

  Hayden also looked surprised, but pleased. “Actually, that’s what I want to focus on, the misconceptions about certain artists and their use of color. Did you know that Rembrandt’s Night Watch is in fact a day scene?”

  A vague image of the painting surfaced in his mind. “I remember it being very dark.”

  “It was—until the painting was cleaned.” She grinned. “The canvas was coated with loads of varnish. When it was removed, it turned out to be daylight. A lot of his paintings ended up looking very different once they were cleaned or restored, proving that he definitely knew what he was doing when it came to color.”

  She grew more animated as she hurried on. “Same with Michelangelo. People didn’t view him as much of a colorist, but when the Sistine Chapel was cleaned, it was so vivid, the colors so vibrant, that everyone was shocked.”

  “I never knew that.”

  “It took longer to clean that ceiling than it did to paint it,” she added. “It was covered in so much soot and dirt that when they were removed the entire scene looked different. That’s one of the things I want to talk to my students about, how something as simple as cleaning or restoring can change your entire view of a piece of art.”

  He nodded. “Sort of like when the Zamboni cleans the ice during second period intermission. Changes the entire playing surface.”

  He saw her mouth quirk and suspected she was trying not to laugh. “Yeah. I guess there
’s a similarity there.”

  Setting down the papers, he said, “You’re really into art, huh?”

  “Of course. It’s my passion.”

  A smile reached his lips. He hadn’t spent much time with women who were passionate about anything outside the bedroom, and the light in Hayden’s green eyes tugged at something inside him. He realized this was the first time she’d opened up to him, engaged in a conversation that didn’t include ground rules, and he liked it.

  “So do you paint, or just lecture about painters?” he asked.

  “I used to draw and paint a lot when I was younger, but not so much anymore.”

  “How come?”

  She shrugged. “I was always more fascinated with other people’s work than with my own. My undergrad was mostly studio work, but I did my master’s in art history. I discovered I liked studying great artists better than trying to become one myself.” She drew her knees up into a cross-legged position and asked, “What did you study in college?”

  “Sports sciences,” he answered. “You know, kinesiology, sports medicine. And I minored in athletic coaching.”

  “Seriously?”

  He didn’t respond. Her expression revealed nothing, but he got the feeling she didn’t believe him, which made him feel like he was in high school all over again. The kid who’d been written off by his teachers as a big dumb oaf just because he happened to be good at sports. They’d stuck the jock label on him, and no matter how hard he’d tried to tear it off, the judgmental attitudes remained intact. One time he’d even been accused of cheating on an English test he’d spent hours studying for, all because his teacher had decided that a kid who spent all his time handling a puck couldn’t possibly finish a book like Crime and Punishment.

  Hayden must have sensed his irritation because she quickly added, “I believe you. It’s just…well, most of the athletes I knew growing up only went to college for the athletic scholarship and just skipped all the academic classes.”

  “My parents would have killed me if I’d skipped class,” he said, rolling his eyes. “They only allowed me to play hockey if I maintained an A average.”

  Hayden looked impressed. “What do your parents do for a living?”