The heat of his body, his hard chest against her aching breasts, had her snarling. It was sheer excruciating pleasure, as sharp as a blade. His mouth swallowed her cry, answering back with a primal, animalistic sound. He moved, creating a friction between her nipples and his bare skin. She rose to meet his hips only to discover he’d moved away from her. She growled, conveying all her neediness in her kiss as she raked her nails down his back hard enough she had to have drawn blood.
He whispered against her mouth, “That’s it, mark me.”
“James, please, I need you so much.”
“I know.” He pulled several condoms out of his jeans, throwing them on the coffee table before moving to her zipper. With a patience that made her want to kill him, he slowly unzipped her jeans and pulled them down her legs, taking her panties along with them until she lay naked beneath him.
He stopped, stared, and shook his head. “You’re a fucking walking fantasy.”
She’d heard statements to that effect before, but with James it meant so much more. She went hot all over. “Thank you.”
He ran his hands down her body, skimming over her waist and hips before sweeping back up again. “In my head, we take this slow. But I’m not sure I can. I need to take you. To pound into you hard and fast.”
She arched off the couch. “Yes, please.”
He stroked over her skin, down her hipbones to her wet, engorged center. His fingers brushed her clit. She cried out, as almost immediately a climax swelled inside her. He moved away, leaned down and brushed her lips so gently she wanted to weep from it. “You’re so damn wet.”
“Yes.” A needy whisper. “For you.”
He groaned and met her gaze. Something intangible passed between them then. It shifted the air, changing her, changing them. She reached for him, running her hands over the hard plains of his chest, tracing the muscles and thrilling when they jumped under her hands. She curled her fingers around the waistband of his jeans, her thumb already on the button.
She lowered the zipper. Through the cotton of his underwear, his erection strained. She ran her palm down his shaft and he cursed, his grip clamping down on her thighs. She pushed the fabric away, pushing the jeans down his very fine ass. His cock sprang free. She wrapped her fingers around his steely flesh, running her thumb over the tip.
A low rumble vibrated deep in his throat.
Feminine power coursed through her and she wet her bottom lip as she fisted his shaft and squeezed. “I want to lick.”
He shook his head. “Later.”
“Now.”
“No.”
She tried to shimmy out from beneath him and he gripped her hip, holding her in place. In a raspy voice she’d never heard before, he said, “I need to be inside you. Later you can play all you want. But now, we do this my way.”
She settled and nodded, understanding that something inside him needed this, and she couldn’t deny him. Not when she needed the same thing just as bad. “Take me.”
He shook his head, already working himself the rest of the way out of his clothes. “You’re killing me here.”
“Good. I don’t want to be alone.”
“You’re not.” He grabbed a condom and tore open the package with his teeth, and covered his hard cock. When he was done he smiled, flashing that dimple at her, and Gracie’s heart melted into a big puddle. “We lost momentum.”
Only in franticness, because she’d never been more on fire.
He kissed her, covering her mouth in a hard, almost brutal kiss that had all the crazy, consuming passion rushing back. She gripped his naked hips, promising herself later she’d study every inch of this man’s body and the work of art it was.
He licked a path down her throat, scraping his teeth over the pulse pounding in her neck. His skin was the best thing she’d ever felt and she found she never wanted to let him go.
She’d expected him to enter her fast, but, of course, James never did anything she expected. Instead, he positioned the head of his erection at the entrance of her core and teased along her slick center. She gritted her teeth, digging her nails into his lower back to make him go deeper.
He refused.
She groaned in frustration. “I’m going to get you back for this.”
He laughed. “I look forward to it.”
Slowly. Oh. So. Slowly. He entered her, only to retreat.
“I mean it,” she gasped out.
Again he teased her. It was torment. “I hope you do.”
“James.” She arched, moaning.
And in his own damn time, he conceded and she was finally, blissfully full.
“Finally,” she said on a sigh.
Jaw a firm line, he held himself still above her, his arms tensed. He shook his head. “You’re so wet. And tight.”
She shifted beneath him. “Please.”
He answered with a powerful stroke that had her rearing off the couch.
“Yes.” In invitation, she arched.
He began to move in earnest and she rose to meet him.
Their mouths met, fused. Their tongues tangled, matching the rhythm of their straining bodies. Over and over.
It was like getting lost in a dream.
The air turned thick and hot. Steamy.
The world narrowed to the feel of his mouth and his hard cock thrusting into her.
Harder.
Faster.
Her orgasm coiled tight. Oh so tight. Hanging on the precipice, for so long it refused to tumble over, suspending her in a desire-filled haze.
She clawed at his back.
He pounded inside her.
She cried out, moaning his name.
He circled his hips, catching her clit on the upstroke and she shattered.
A powerful orgasm stole her breath, robbed her of speech as it stormed through her with the most brutal force. Wave after crashing wave swept over her. Swelling and cresting as he relentlessly moved inside her.
It was endless pleasure. Sheer torture. Mindless bliss.
He shifted, angling deeper, pumping harder.
He reached between them and swept his fingers over her clit, rubbing in a hard circular motion that matched the pounding of his hips.
Impossibly another climax peaked, right on top of the first one, and she moaned as her core convulsed in violent, rhythmic contractions that had her bowing off the couch.
That seemed to be what he was waiting for because he followed her a second later, coming with a loud shout, his muscles straining as he worked the last tiny contractions of her orgasm.
He collapsed on top of her and for several long minutes they both lay panting for breath.
Wow. Holy hell. Wow.
James shifted to move off her, but she wrapped her arms tight around him and whispered, “No, not yet.”
She didn’t want it to be over. The desire so strong it scared her.
His mouth skimmed along her neck, sending cascading shivers over her skin, leaving gooseflesh in his wake. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You’re not, you’re the best thing I’ve felt in, well, about ever.”
James raised his head, propping his elbows on either side of her. His expression so tender she wanted to look away but didn’t. He flicked his tongue over her bottom lip. “That might be the sweetest thing you ever said to me.”
She grinned up at him. “I was wrong.”
“Hang on, I need to go mark this day down on my calendar.” His voice was filled with a light amusement that made her giggle.
She punched him in the arm. “Don’t ruin my afterglow.”
He pulled out, and squeezed next to her on the couch. Resting his head on his open palm, he traced a path over her collarbones, down the curve of her breasts, circling her nipple.
One time with James Donovan wasn’t going to be enough. But she’d think about that later. For now, she was content to revel in a bone deep satisfaction she hadn’t felt in forever.
Chapter Sixteen
For a whil
e they drifted, his fingers playing over her skin, while Gracie practically purred. She couldn’t remember ever being so completely satiated. Her lashes fluttered open and she found him watching her.
“What were you wrong about?” He traced a path over her ribs, in a slow, methodical pattern. As if he was trying to learn her by touch.
“You’re not a dud,” she said, grinning.
He laughed, shaking his head. “You’re the most impossible woman I’ve ever met.”
“I prefer the word challenging.”
He stroked the curve of her breast. “You are. At lunch as I watched you swoop in and charm your way into that table, I was thinking that a man had to have superhero self-confidence to deal with you.”
She sucked in a breath when he circled her nipple. “Everyone says I take after my daddy that way.”
She blinked. Why on earth had she brought him up? She’d meant to make some cute quip.
His fingers stilled. “What happened to him? I’ve never heard you mention him.”
She shrugged. “He left. Did the classic going out for cigarettes routine and never came back.”
He leaned down and brushed his mouth over hers. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m not. I was glad. Once he started drinking, all that charm disappeared. And he drank a lot.” She shuddered, remembering how he’d go out Saturday night, the life of the party, which would end with Sunday-morning bruises on her momma’s face.
“Was he mean?” James asked, his voice soft.
She nodded. “Yeah, he was. He used to hit my mom.”
His whole body stilled. “And you?”
“I think that’s the one thing she wouldn’t have allowed.” As she felt her muscles going tight at the memories, all her satisfaction evaporated. “Everyone loved him.”
“I didn’t know. That must have been hard growing up.” Once again, James began stroking her skin.
“Sam and I don’t talk about it much. And once he was gone, money got tight, but I didn’t care. At least it was peaceful.” Where was this coming from? They were supposed to be giggling and talking dirty, not dredging up the past. She rolled into him, giving him her most seductive smile. “I’m glad I was wrong.”
He cupped her chin, tilting her head to look deep into her eyes. He studied her for a long time, and when she felt the catch in her throat she looked away. He stroked her cheek. “I understand that, and I know what it’s like to lose someone suddenly.”
“That’s different. Your dad died. And from everything I know, he was a great man.” Bruce Roberts walking out on his family was the best thing that ever happened to them, although her mother mourned him until the day she died. He was like that. Knew just how to charm everyone and get what he wanted. And no matter how ugly he turned, he’d always been able to sweet-talk her momma into believing it would never happen again.
James’s gaze darkened, the corners of his mouth dipping. “It may not be the same, and yes, I had a good dad, but the shock of your life suddenly changing is the same.”
She shrugged. “In my case it was for the better.”
Expression serious, he nodded. “I can understand. Sometimes it feels like that for me too.”
She blinked, pushing back a little to look at him. “How do you mean?”
He sighed, and leaned back. “Hang on a second.”
He climbed over her, his body pressing deliciously against hers for a moment before he got up off the couch. She watched him as he made his way across the room, naked, the soft light glinting over his hard muscles as he made his way to a cabinet.
He opened a drawer and rifled through it, before turning back to her. In his hand he held what looked like a picture. A moment later he returned, handed the photo to her, and slid back in beside her. “This was me, a couple years before he died.”
She looked at the photo and sucked in a breath. Every piece of confusing information she’d ever received about him suddenly made perfect sense.
In the picture a young James stood next to his father. Gracie had seen photographs of Patrick Donovan and understood why everyone said Shane was the spitting image of him. But it was James who held her attention.
It was hard to reconcile the round, chubby face with the sharply drawn lines of the man next to her. She traced her finger over his image, feeling awful about all the disparaging remarks she’d made regarding his health food and exercise. His perfectly sculpted, lean frame clearly didn’t come naturally.
The young guy who stared back at her, his evergreen eyes still recognizable behind his glasses, was heavy. In the picture, James pushed the large end of chubby. His brown hair fell in his eyes, and his cheeks were overly round with none of his finely chiseled features of adulthood. His plaid button-down shirt stretched over his round belly, the buttons gaping, and his jeans pulled tight across his thighs. If he hadn’t told her the photo was of him she wouldn’t have believed it. She had to look closely to reconcile the man he’d become with the boy.
Everything made sense now. His dedication to fitness and health. The comments Maddie had made off and on about being worried about his need for control. The statements about how he’d been different before. It all added up, and she wondered why she’d never put two and two together.
She looked up to find him watching her expectantly. Waiting for some sort of reaction. She blinked, running her finger along the picture’s edge. “Things certainly make a lot more sense.”
After seeing the haunted look in Gracie’s eyes when she spoke of her father, James decided to confess about his obese childhood, even though he rarely spoke about it. They were painful memories, filled with embarrassment and shame, when he’d felt powerless and hopeless.
It had been a long time, but he recalled every awkward, acutely painful emotion he’d felt on a daily basis, living in that body. Could still recall walking down the hallway at school and praying to God no one would bother him, wishing he could disappear into the woodwork. He remembered how powerless he’d felt as he waited for someone to call attention to him. To laugh. He remembered the bullies. Getting his ass kicked in the alley. The pain and humiliation of each blow. A person could put the past behind them, they could overcome it and triumph, but it was impossible to forget.
And he never had.
Gracie licked her lips and studied the picture again. “I don’t understand. How it’s related.”
“We all changed after my dad died. This was how I changed.” He issued the words with little emotion.
“What happened?” she asked, her expression filled with something he assigned to pity.
He hated that. It’s why he rarely told anyone.
He cleared his suddenly too dry throat. “After he died it was like something fundamental changed inside me. Like I couldn’t stand one more second of feeling powerless. My whole life I’d felt like a victim, and after the accident, my weight seemed like the one thing I could control.”
It was his darkest hour. Depression had hit him hard, as it had all of them. He’d been nineteen and in his first year of college, but he’d lived at home, going to and from classes and never interacting with anyone. The day his dad died and his sister lay in a coma, it struck him how fragile life was. That he only had control over one thing in this world: himself. From that day forward, he’d started to change. He’d changed his eating habits, started exercising every day, and worked to create an identity for himself outside of Shane and Evan’s fat brother. It took him eleven months to lose the weight, but far longer for the scars to fade.
Gracie ran a finger over the edge of the old photo. “And this is why you’re so disciplined?”
He nodded. “It helped me focus. Gave me a place to direct my grief. And I liked it. Liked how it transformed me from someone who was afraid all the time into someone I could respect. I liked how people stopped viewing me as the genetically impaired Donovan.”
She bit her lip, looking back at the picture. “Thank you for showing me. For trusting me. It explains a lot.”
He ran his hand over her soft stomach, marveling that he could finally touch her. “I doubt I would have transformed my life like that if he hadn’t died.” He smiled, remembering his dad and all the bittersweet memories that came with it. “I think he felt bad that it was so easy for Shane and Evan and so hard for me. I can’t deny he enabled me.”
Gracie’s expression darkened again. “Maybe sometimes we can’t help enabling the ones we love. My mom, after my dad left, she cried for him. I never understood why. He was awful, but she still loved him and never stopped. If he had walked in that door five years later, she would have taken him back in a heartbeat. I was so mad at her for that.”
It was hard for James to imagine. His parents had been deeply in love and made no bones about it. They all had scars, some more lasting than others. He met her gaze. “That explains some things about you too.”
Her brows slammed together. “Like what?”
It was a risk, saying it, but since they were sharing secrets it seemed relevant. “It makes sense why you’d pick men who don’t threaten you emotionally.”
Her head snapped back as though he’d slapped her. “That’s not true.”
“Isn’t it?”
“No,” she said with an emphatic shake of her head.
Pushing wasn’t the smartest move, but fuck it. With Gracie he was far past acting smart. “I think you pick men you can control.”
“You think Charlie’s easy to control?” She let out a snort, looking past him. “I won’t tell him you said so.”
Lying naked after sex, James couldn’t control the stab of irrational possessiveness that shot through him at the mention of Revival’s sheriff, but he ignored it. Logically, he understood Charlie wasn’t a threat and her relationship with him was long over. He smoothed a hand down the curve of her hip, both to calm her and remind himself she was here with him. “Charlie might be a badass, but he didn’t threaten you emotionally. Your relationship was safe, for both of you, I’d guess. If it wasn’t, you guys wouldn’t still be such close friends.”
A chagrined expression filled her face and the defensiveness fell away. She sighed. “Yeah, he was safe. You have me at an unfair disadvantage since you know more about my love life than I know about yours. Until I met that Lindsey Lord woman, I thought you were celibate.”
The Name of the Game Page 17
