The Next Move

by Lauren Gallagher

  "I’d love to hear it anyway." His fingers moved on her wrist, sending a shiver down her spine to a place that was anything but intellectually stimulated.

  It wasn’t sharing her off-the-wall take on chess that made her uncomfortable. Kat was usually a shameless flirt, and was never embarrassed about double entendres and sexual undertones in conversations, but with Blake, every suggestion, no matter how subtle seemed to be an implicit nod, a step towards accepting…something. Something that hovered just beyond the edges of her awareness and seemed to get a little closer each time she let herself flirt with him.

  What the hell is wrong with me? Why am I trying to keep this guy, of all guys, at arm’s length?

  "Come on," he said, gently squeezing her wrist. "I want to hear this." He cocked his head and smiled, the warmth of his expression creating all kinds of warmth he didn’t need to know about just then.

  You’re already committed, just say it. "Okay, but don’t say I didn’t warn you about how ridiculous it is." She took a breath, kept her eyes on their hands, and explained her admittedly strange theory about chess, the thrill of the hunt, and its subtle way of teasing the fight-or-flight instinct. When she’d finished, she looked up at him, expecting a puzzled expression or laughter.

  Instead, he took a sip of wine and slowly rolled it around on his tongue. The motion of his jaw made her chin tingle at the memory of his stubble brushing against her skin.

  Dropping her gaze, she shifted in her seat and cleared her throat. "Anyway, there’s my ridiculous theory about chess."

  "I think you’re onto something," he said.

  She looked up. "Really?"

  He nodded. "Absolutely. And think about it, which games are more exciting?" His fingertips ran up and down the back of her wrist. "The games that are just a few quick moves followed by an anticlimactic checkmate?" His smile turned into a devilish, spine-melting grin. "Or the games that go on for a while?"

  Kat swallowed. "The longer the game, the better."

  "Exactly," he said.

  His thumb slid under her wrist, gently grasping it. "A fast game with a quick payoff is fun," he said, leaning a little closer. When their eyes met, before he even continued speaking, she knew the conversation had long since stopped being about chess. "But the longer the hunt…" He turned her hand over and covered her palm with his. "The greater the thrill."

  ~ * ~

  In the parking lot, neither made any effort to leave, and neither approached the question of whether they were leaving in one car or two. Long, gentle kisses punctuated the flirty conversation that had spilled out of the lounge and into the cool evening air.

  "I’m glad you called me tonight," he said, resting both hands on the small of her back.

  "Me too," she said. "I had a good time."

  He smiled. "Maybe one of these nights, you’ll have to show me a few of your chess strategies."

  She swallowed hard, forcing herself to keep smiling in spite of her nerves. "One of these nights, I think I will."

  His hands moved to her hips, not releasing her completely but loosening the embrace enough to let her know he’d caught the underlying message in 'one of these nights'. He ran his fingers through her hair. "So when can I see you again?"

  "The sooner the better," she said, and she meant it. The more she saw him, the sooner she’d get over this inexplicable resistance.

  "I’m traveling again this week," he said. "But I’ll be back on Thursday."

  "Maybe Friday night, then?"

  "Sounds good to me," he said. "I’ll give you a call when I get back in town, and we can make better plans then."

  "Sounds good," she said with a smile.

  They were both silent for a moment. Then he leaned a little closer and said, "I should let you go." He kissed her again, parting her lips gently with his tongue and slowly exploring her mouth. It was the kind of long, sensual kiss that suggested he wanted his last taste of her for the night to last as long as possible.

  And it was, as she suspected, the last kiss of the evening. Moments after they separated, she was in her car and he was walking towards his, casting one final glance over his shoulder and smiling at her before he got into his own car.

  As she watched the silver Jaguar pull out of the parking lot, she cursed under her breath. He probably would have agreed in a heartbeat if she’d suggested going back to her place. He was certainly aroused—and dear God, the man isn’t lacking below the belt—when he’d kissed her, but he was following her lead.

  Shivering, she debated calling and asking him to come back and follow her to her apartment. As horny as she was, why the hell couldn’t she convince herself to sleep with him?

  Chris isn’t here. I’m too stupid to fuck Blake even though I want him so bad it hurts.

  She started the car and put it in reverse.

  Looks like I’m on my own tonight.

  Twenty Eight

  Chris sipped his beer and kept his eyes trained on the big screen TV on the other side of the pool tables. He didn’t care about the game that was on, didn’t even know who was playing, but it gave him something to focus on rather than staring into his beer bottle.

  After two long, long weeks, the trip was finally over. Just one more night and he could go home.

  Kat. God, I need Kat. He took a long swallow of beer to cool himself down as thoughts of her—of everything he intended to do to her as soon as he had her in his arms— sent his body temperature soaring.

  His other co-workers didn’t seem content to wait one last night before they relieved some tension even though, of the ten guys the company had sent on this trip, Chris was the only total bachelor. Six were married, one was engaged, and two had serious girlfriends. Yet he was one of only four that wasn't out on the prowl right now.

  Randy was in the corner getting close enough to a blonde to put his third (or was it fourth?) marriage in jeopardy. Bruce and a brunette were wrapped around each other over a pool cue as he gave the kind of lesson that his fiancée probably wouldn’t be thrilled about. He thought he saw Kyle meandering towards the parking lot with a redhead on one arm and a blonde on the other. God only knew where the other guys were.

  By all rights, Chris could be sampling the local cuisine and finding someone to help him spend his last night in town tangling the sheets of his hotel bed. The only woman in his life right now was Kat, and they were hardly exclusive. The whole point of their arrangement was to take the edge off of the frustration of dating.

  And it worked. Chris had barely dated at all since they started sleeping together. The more he was with Kat, the more he wanted her, and the less he wanted other women. Ever since the night she cuffed him to the chair, when he found himself surrendering to her without hesitation, no other women even registered on his radar.

  Oh, sweet irony. The rules allowed him to sleep with any woman he wanted, but forbade him from telling Kat that he wanted her for more than just sex.

  Get a grip, Bailey. Most guys would kill for this kind of arrangement, don’t piss it away. Draining his beer, he looked around the bar, studying each woman in turn.

  Pretty. Nice breasts. Looks like… Oh, wedding ring.

  This one’s hot. Not much of an ass, though. More fun if I can grab onto her hips. Just like Kat’s.

  He shook his head, cursing under his breath. Kat isn’t here. Get over it. He continued surveying the bar patrons.

  She looks feisty. I’ll bet she’s a screamer. Wonder if she swears like Kat when she comes.

  That one’s sexy, but… Oh, look at those nails. She could leave a roadmap on my back just…

  He rubbed his eyes, letting out an exasperated breath. Why did he bother? Though he was free, more so than any of his co-workers, to fuck any woman in this bar that would have him, he couldn’t do it.

  What can I say, Kat? You’re just too damned good in bed.

  Just twenty-four hours and he could be with her again.

  Twenty-four long, long hours.

  He glanced arou
nd the room one last time, looking for that one elusive woman that stood a chance of keeping his attention off of Kat’s absence for a few hours, but every woman in the room registered the same: Not Kat.

  Sighing, he paid the bartender and headed back to the hotel.

  Looks like I’m on my own tonight.

  Twenty Nine

  Kat reclined alone on Chris’s couch and tapped her foot on the coffee table. She tried to ignore the clock above the television, but that was about as easy as ignoring the maddening ache inside her. Every nerve ending in her body tingled, as if they all knew he would be there soon and were rehearsing their responses to his touch.

  Chewing her lip, she glanced at the clock for the thousandth time. He’d texted her as soon as his plane was on the ground, which was over an hour ago. Any minute now, he’d be there.

  Kat shifted impatiently. She’d offered to pick him up at the airport, but he’d insisted on getting a cab.

  "I’d take you up on it," he’d said over the phone the night before. "But we’d never make it out of the airport parking lot."

  And so she waited, going out of her mind each time a car passed by outside. His street was normally quiet, but today, there must have been a car passing by every other minute, taunting her senses with the promise of him.

  Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and reminded herself that looking at the clock would only make the time go by slower. She’d waited two weeks, a few minutes wouldn’t kill her.

  A car slowed down outside. Kat sat up straight. The muffled squeak of brakes put every one of her senses on high alert.

  A car door opened. Her heart raced.

  A trunk lid slammed. Her head spun.

  Muffled voices exchanged a few brief words she

  couldn’t understand, but the words themselves didn’t matter as much as the message they conveyed.

  He’s here.

  Footsteps scuffed on the porch steps and Kat flew to her feet. When the front door opened and she met his eyes, the ache inside her intensified and her clit pulsed with anticipation.

  Neither said a word as Chris kicked the door shut and let his suitcase and garment bag tumble haphazardly to the floor, and a second later, she was in his arms, tasting his kiss and just breathing him.

  "God, I missed you," he said before kissing her again.

  "I missed you," she murmured against his lips as she pushed his jacket off and fumbled with the first couple of buttons on his shirt.

  "Let’s get upstairs," he said.

  "I don’t think we’re going to make it that far," she said, her voice as unsteady as the fingers that struggled with the buttons of his shirt.

  "Yes, we will," he whispered. "And we should, because wherever we are when we finally go down…" He kissed the side of her neck, making her gasp when his hand slipped under the back of her shirt. "…and I fuck you like I’ve been dying to…" He pressed his cock against her hip. "I promise you, we won’t be moving anytime soon."

  "Then we’d better get up there," she moaned, grasping his shirt. "Because I’m about two seconds away from pulling you down right here."

  He raised his head and grinned as he gestured towards the stairs. "After you."

  They hurried up the stairs. Just those few seconds of separation were too much for her, and as soon as they made it to the bedroom, they came together in a frantic, desperate kiss.

  They struggled with clothes, trying to unfasten, unbutton, and undress with hands that wanted to hold, stroke, and feel. Fabric tore and they both froze.

  Chris pulled back, furrowing his brow as he looked down. Then his eyes widened in horror. "Shit, I ripped your shirt."

  She grabbed his shirt with both hands and pulled it

  apart, sending buttons ricocheting off the nightstand and headboard. "There," she said. "That makes us even." Before he could respond, she tightened her grasp on his shirt and pulled him down onto the bed with her.

  "Oh my God, I love it when you’re like this," he growled.

  "Then I hope you’re not going to leave me like this," she said, panting against his lips.

  "Jesus, no," he said. "I’m going to take full advantage of it and fuck the hell out of you."

  His desperate promise sent a violent shiver through her, lifting her spine off the bed as she clawed at his shirt.

  "Condom," she said. "Now."

  "Let’s get these clothes off first," he said. She lifted her hips and he made quick work of getting her jeans out of the way. He nudged her thighs apart with his knee and she thought he was going to take care of his own jeans or reach for a condom, but instead, he moved down and kissed her hipbone. As his fingers slipped inside her, he growled. "I have been dying to taste your pussy again."

  She wanted to protest, to beg him to fuck her right now, but the second his lips closed around her clit, the bedspread bunched in her hands and the violent tremors rippling through her almost levitated her off the bed. Her clit and G-spot responded to his touch as if they hadn’t been touched in months, as if she hadn’t made repeated efforts to take the edge off over the last few nights; it didn’t matter how many orgasms she’d given herself thinking about the things he did to her. None of it held a candle to the intensity that Chris, and only Chris, so effortlessly created.

  "Oh God, Chris, oh God…" She sucked in a breath as every nerve exploded with pulsing cold fire. "Oh God, I’m coming…"

  He kept her orgasm going with his fingers on her G-spot even as he sat up and reached for a condom. "Fuck, I’ve been waiting two weeks to taste you like—"

  Sitting up, she seized his shirt with one hand and kissed him, desperately seeking her own taste on his tongue as her orgasm kept thrumming at his fingertips. When he withdrew his fingers, she gasped and collapsed back on the bed.

  "Oh my God," she moaned. "I missed that."

  "You and me both," he said, his voice shaking as he quickly got rid of his jeans and rolled the condom on. Lowering himself over her, he kissed her neck and collarbone as she wrapped her legs around him.

  He took her with one quick thrust, then stopped, closing his eyes and shivering. "Oh my God…"

  For a moment, neither breathed. Neither moved. Her pussy was still electrified from her orgasm, and that single stroke was almost enough to make her come again.

  Slowly, he withdrew, taking her breath with him. His arms quivered as he pulled almost all the way out, and then slid back in. He exhaled hard, his eyes screwed shut in an expression that bordered on being one of pain.

  "Oh God," he moaned when he was all the way inside her again. "You feel so good."

  She could only whimper in response, rolling her hips back to draw him deeper. She clawed at his shirt, desperate to touch him, to feel his skin, but what was left of his shirt was still in the way. "Too many clothes," she murmured, finally finding her voice. "Fuck, get this shirt off."

  "I’m not going to argue with that." Still inside her, he sat up, pulling the rest of his shirt apart. She followed him, kissing him hungrily as she pushed his shirt over his shoulders. They both struggled with the buttoned sleeves, getting one of his hands free, then the other. Once they were both free, he put his arms around her and they fell together.

  He slid his hands under her back and held her shoulders from beneath. She hooked her ankles in the small of his back, pulling him deeper as he kissed her breathlessly. They moved together, every stroke faster and harder than the last, their mouths still touching until they were both panting and moaning too much to keep kissing.

  "Faster," she pleaded, her building orgasm bringing tears to her eyes as she rocked her hips in time with his rapid, powerful thrusts.

  "Any faster and I’ll come," he groaned. "Jesus, baby, I can’t…" He exhaled hard.

  Her orgasm was a breath away. "Fuck me faster," she whispered.

  "I’ll come if I do," he said.

  "I know." She shivered, her own need for release reaching a fever pitch. "Fuck. Me. Faster."

  He got the message. With a thro
aty growl, he fucked her faster as she raked her nails across his back.

  Even though it had been steadily building, her orgasm still caught her by surprise. She thought she screamed his name, thought the room spun around her, but the only thing she knew for sure was that it was a tingle away from unbearably intense.

  "Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh…my…God…" Chris moaned, taking a few fast, uneven thrusts before shuddering against her. Then he collapsed on top of her, holding his weight up on his arms but letting his head rest on her shoulder.

  In the silence afterward, she ran her fingers through his sweaty hair, the sharp releases of breath against her shoulder making her feel more alive than her own heartbeat. With the desperate need for his body satisfied, she let herself simply get lost in being close to him again.

  I’m not supposed to be this relieved that you’re here.

  As the lingering aftershocks of her orgasm faded slowly, like footprints disappearing in the tide, she closed her eyes and held him. She was simultaneously unnerved and relieved.

  I wasn’t supposed to miss you this much.

  She wasn’t supposed to, but she did. Maybe this relationship, whatever it was, meant more to her than she thought. More than it should have. Right or wrong, being in his arms again was the sigh of relief she’d needed to breathe for two very long weeks.

  In that moment, it scared her to think how close they’d come to throwing this away, along with all or some of their friendship. She cringed inwardly at the thought of how she would have felt if this had all fallen apart.

  But it hadn’t. She was here. He was here. One impulsive mistake in the heat of the moment could have cost them dearly, but they’d managed to sort it out and stay on track as both friends and lovers. Bullet dodged, disaster avoided.

  Now all of that may as well have been a lifetime ago.

  Her eyes opened and icy panic nearly made her heart stop.

  A lifetime ago?

  She quickly calculated it in her head, trying to remember how many weeks had passed since her brother’s funeral.

  "Kat?" Chris lifted his head and ran his fingers through her hair. "What’s wrong?"