Ex Games

by Stella Rhys

  “Sorry. Just fixing myself,” he laughed, sheepish.

  “What, running out of room in there?” Oops. Again, it just came out. My pulse quickened as Max’s brows shot up. The tantalizing grin that spread his lips prompted a sudden throbbing between my legs.

  “Honestly, yes. Space has been limited since you made yourself…” He eyed my chest. “Bounce around like that.”

  “Since I what?” I played coy.

  “Since you shook those perfect tits in my face.”

  Shit. I pressed my knees together, the pulsing in my thighs spreading through my body, unfurling hot in my stomach. Max watched me squirm in my seat, his unblinking gaze merciless.

  “Why are you doing that?” he asked, his voice both smooth and wicked. Despite being hot already, I prolonged our game.

  “I’ll tell you after you tell me why I’m torturing you.”

  “Right,” Max laughed, his gaze on my legs as I continued to writhe. My body prickled with such heat that I could feel every shift in my dress, every stroke of the fabric against my tingling skin. “Well, for starters,” his stare trailed up my thighs, my stomach, between my breasts. It landed finally upon my swollen lips, willing them to softly part. “You’re gorgeous. Unbelievably. You’re the kind of beautiful that made me feel like I needed to act fast because I knew every other set of eyes in the room was already on you. On these lips. This little dress. Those legs. I knew I wasn’t the only one who’d taken one look at you and started fantasizing.”

  “Fantasizing,” I repeated, swallowing. “About?”

  “The uncensored version?”

  “The exact words you were thinking.”

  With a smirk, he leaned forward, his shoulders broadening. “Alright. I thought about what you’d look pressed up against this bar naked. How it’d feel to put my hands all over your body.”

  “Those were the exact words you used in your head?” I asked dubiously.

  Max’s green eyes hardened. “Fine.” A ravenous look glazed over them as his gaze traveled across my chest. “I thought about ripping your clothes off and squeezing those perfect tits. I thought about licking your skin. Sucking on those nipples that I can already see through your dress since you clearly aren’t wearing a bra.” Jaw clenched, I could see Max getting turned on. “And I thought about how fucking wet I knew I could get you.”

  “Is that it?” I teased.

  “No.”

  “Then go on.”

  Max’s eyes followed my movements as I gathered my hair off my hot neck. “I think we should stop it here.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s getting literally too hard for me to talk about this. And the way you keep squirming in your seat is only making it worse.”

  Chewing on my lip, I dropped my gaze to Max’s zipper. Holy. Shit. My eyes traced the thick outline of his erection, which snaked down the left leg of his jeans. Fingers curling around the edge of my seat, I tried to resist the urge to wrap my hands around his girth – to stroke till I could feel just how many inches it took to reach his helmet.

  “Really though. I think it’s time for you to tell me why you keep doing that,” Max said, that devious expression returning.

  I looked back up. “Doing what?”

  “Squirming.”

  I could feel my blood rushing as I murmured so no one else could hear. Did I really want to say this in public? “I’m turned on,” I mumbled.

  “What was that?”

  “I’m turned. On,” I enunciated with attitude. “The same way you’re getting hard as a rock under your jeans.” Sucking on my naked cherry skewer, I let my eyes linger on Max’s jeans. I could actually see the denim fighting against his pulsing arousal. It made every inch of me ache to feel it – in my hands, between my legs, anywhere. I drew in a deep breath. I can’t be in public another second, I realized.

  To my incredible relief, Max read my mind. “Do you want to get out of here?”

  “Yes,” I answered truthfully. “So fucking badly.”

  Chapter Twelve

  I awoke in the morning to a stiff cock pressed against my back. A sleepy grin tugged at my lips as I reached behind me to fill my hands with its pulsing warmth.

  It wasn’t till I opened my eyes that I remembered where I was.

  “Baby,” Jackson murmured, his smile audible in his half-sleep. I froze. It was at that moment that I flashed back to last night – to Max. To being bent over a staircase because we couldn’t make it to his bedroom.

  Oh God.

  I felt Jackson hardening in my grip as images of last night flashed through my mind. I couldn’t remember the car ride to Max’s apartment but I did remember that it was short. He lived only blocks away, but walking would’ve been impossible for us.

  I whipped my dress off the second I got into his duplex. I had been halfway up the staircase when he grabbed me from behind, his hands all over my body as he crushed a hot kiss against the back of my neck. I gasped for breath, buckling to my knees. My fingers gripped the ledge of the step above me and my heartbeat pulsed in my ears, joined by the sound of Max’s clanking belt buckle. I stared at my scarlet manicure as I heard the crinkling of a condom behind me. From his pocket. It didn’t surprise me. I thanked God for it as he slid it on, his tongue drawing a wet, torrid line on my skin as his free hand reached around to cup my pussy.

  “Good girl,” he panted in my ear as I grinded my hips against his palm, every nerve ending in my body on fire as I pleasured myself with his touch.

  I’d already come by the time he yanked my panties down to my knees. The screaming pleasure was instant when he drove every inch of himself inside me, his thrusts immediately long, deep, so powerful that I felt myself unraveling. The pleasure that seared through me was unreal and somehow, it intensified by the second. I didn’t recognize the sounds that hurtled from my lips as he drilled into me. All I could do was hold on for dear life, my hands grasping for the stair up. I dug my nails into the wooden floor, my arms taut as Max plunged in and out of my soaking pussy, holding my body against his torso with two strong hands wrapped around my breasts.

  The second orgasm ripped through my body so forcefully that I’d gone instantly limp. I moaned endlessly, delirious as Max came, his body jerking with every long, hot pump inside me.

  It had been some of the best sex I’d ever had in my life. And I hated myself for dreaming about it all night while sleeping next to Jackson.

  “Baby, you’re so wet,” Jackson murmured into my hair as he easily slid a finger inside me. A breathy whimper seeped from my lips. I held my breath when I felt his free hand form over mine. He slid my palm up and down, guiding it in slow strokes against his shaft until it felt like I was rubbing hot stone. “I need to put it in, Lara,” Jackson exhaled, wrapping an arm around my waist and bending me at the middle. But just as I felt the head of his cock at my opening, I tore away.

  “Wait.” A pang of guilt flashed in my chest as I crawled hastily out of bed. Standing on my side of the mattress, I stared breathlessly at Jackson, who stared back with confusion until his morning grogginess faded. His blue eyes blinked twice before hardening into a glare. I assumed that he was recalling the fact that he’d gone to bed alone, that I hadn’t joined him until sometime past two in the morning.

  “Right. Was it good?” he asked, stone-faced.

  I was silent as I stood before him, trying to identify my feelings. Why did I feel such overwhelming shame? I had done exactly what Jackson had told me to do so we could resume some sort of functioning relationship. But a heavy guilt remained. Because you enjoyed it way too much, I told myself. Because you haven’t stopped thinking about him since you left Brooklyn. Not even in your sleep.

  Shit.

  Jackson broke the silence. “Are you going to answer my question?”

  “No.”

  With steely eyes, he stared for another second before ripping the sheets off his body and getting out of bed. “I have an important meeting at noon.”

 
I was thankful for the topic change. “With the other Monarch investors?”

  “Someone else,” Jackson answered, his voice hard. “You need to meet him so get showered and dressed. We’re running late.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  I stared in disbelief at Jackson but he looked decidedly out the window as we turned onto Nineteenth Street. I couldn’t believe what he had just told me so casually, as if it weren’t extraordinary news. “Babe, how can you be so nonchalant about this? You do realize that I’ve never even met him before, right?”

  We were on our way to meet Jacob, Jackson’s younger brother, who had flown into New York that morning – for the first time in five years.

  The first night I’d met Jackson, he had been changing into one of Jacob’s tuxes. His new home gym had paid off in new muscle but had cost him money by rendering his wardrobe useless, too narrow for his new form. Luckily, he had, at his mother’s request, kept all of Jacob’s old tuxes.

  “He doesn’t need them where he is,” Jackson had explained to me with a laugh.

  “And where is he?”

  “Australia, Morocco. He’s somewhere new every year but wherever he is, it’s definitely not New York, and he’s definitely not wearing a tux.”

  Jackson was decidedly quiet about Jacob, so my knowledge of him was paltry. But over the years, I’d picked up more bits and pieces of information. He was in architecture and real estate, or something like that. I knew early on that Jacob had taken their father’s death particularly hard. He disliked the fact that his mother remarried so quickly and clashed instantly with their troubled stepsister, Audra. Jackson had also implied on a few occasions that Jacob had left at a disastrous time – a time when he had needed him most. But whenever I inquired about what he had needed him for, darkness clouded Jackson’s face and he reverted to the same reply every time: “He was my best friend for twenty years. I just wanted him around.”

  It was too simple of an answer and I knew that there was much more to the story. But since meeting Jackson, neither Jacob nor Audra were very present in his life, so I didn’t ask. It was an obvious sore subject that reminded me of how I’d grown up hating my neighbors’ questions about where on Earth my sister had gone, so I kept my mouth shut. I was just happy to know that every once in awhile, Jackson went to visit Jacob in whichever exotic city he was living in, and that he always came back on a high, rambling on and on about Jacob’s boat and whatever water sports they’d done.

  But every time, he’d go back to being quiet about him within days. “Please just drop it, Lara. It’s not going to happen,” he’d say whenever I asked if Jacob might visit New York next time around. It broke my heart. In our four years together, I started regarding Jacob Kinsley as a myth. A legend. Something I’d never live to see.

  So it was a miracle for me to get into the car and hear the words, “We’re meeting Jacob for lunch. He flew into LaGuardia this morning.”

  I smacked Jackson playfully on the arm. “Are you looking out the window to hide your excitement, you nerd?” I asked. I didn’t care that we’d been fighting just this morning. Jacob’s return called for all-around forgiveness so we could sooner celebrate the occasion. “Jackson! Stop pretending that you aren’t happy right now.”

  “Lara,” his voice came back at me sternly. But when I leaned forward to look at him, I caught his smile. “Stop it,” he laughed when I gasped and cupped his jaw, facing him to me.

  “Oh my God. You are so excited, Jackson Kinsley.”

  He rolled his eyes, trying but failing to bite back a grin. “Yes, I’m very excited, Lara. Will you let go of my face now?”

  I planted a big kiss on Jackson’s lips before letting him go. But I couldn’t help the big, dork grin on my face. We’d had a rough start on the morning but now I couldn’t be happier. Jacob’s arrival had given us reason to cheer about something. Together. It was a brief return to normalcy and I loved it. I was so ecstatic I actually bounced in my seat.

  If only I knew that my joy would quickly come crashing down – harder than anything I’d ever felt in my life.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Mr. Kinsley, we’ve already seated your guest at your table,” the bow-tied host at Broome Street Kitchen presented a dazzling smile before whisking us to our usual booth overlooking West Broadway.

  The blood drained from my face when I saw who was already seated there.

  Please, God, be kidding.

  It was Max.

  Greek god Max. Max from the bar in DUMBO. The apartment in DUMBO. I froze behind Jackson, my stomach turning so violently that I almost buckled over. I gripped the edge of an empty table as I tried to compose myself. But I was reeling. Seated where my fiancé’s brother was supposed to be was the man who had fucked me on his floor less than twelve hours ago.

  I white-knuckled the polished wood when his green eyes found me. I thanked God for the manager who swooped in to greet Jackson as his brother nearly dropped his Manhattan into his lap. Mouth parted, the other Kinsley brother stared at me.

  I wanted to run. How was this possible? I had seen pictures of Jacob Kinsley before. They were from his college days but wouldn’t I have recognized him still? He resembled Jackson. Their coloring was different – Jackson’s eyes were blue, not green and his hair blonde, not brown. But they did look like brothers.

  “Babe,” Jackson called to me once he was done chatting with the manager. “What are you doing?”

  “I – I tripped on a,” I looked down at my clear path, “thing.”

  “Well, stop tripping on things and come here.”

  I did as I was told, willing my heeled feet to move. My heart thumped when I caught Max – no, Jacob – looking down at my bare legs for a second before angrily ripping his eyes away, instead digging his stare into the table and pressing the end of his fist to his mouth. He looked angry and suddenly, so was I. If you had just told me your real name and shaved your beard before today, I would’ve known it was you, I decided as I approached the table.

  “Alright, well since this moment is long past due,” Jackson started. True excitement stretched his lips as he gestured at the man who still had my panties from last night. “Lara, this is my brother, Jake. Jake, this is my fiancé, Lara.”

  My gaze turned stiffly to Jake and I watched in slow motion as his expression went from contained fury to something passably cordial. He held out his hand – the hand that had brought me to orgasm last night on his stairs. “So nice to finally meet you, Lara,” Jake said, his cold eyes discordant with the friendly tone of his voice. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

  I turned on my gala charm. “All good things I hope,” I flashed a winning smile as I shook his hand. The sensation of our skin on skin made my knees feel weak.

  “Babe,” Jackson laughed, watching my legs shake in my short Pucci dress. He put a hand on the small of my back and turned to Jake with a laugh. “Weights. We have a gym in the apartment and she likes to do kettlebells at night when she can’t sleep.”

  That was true but obviously not for last night. My cheeks were on fire as Jake watched me slide into the booth.

  “Strenuous exercise puts me to sleep too,” he said as he fixed his stare on me. “In fact, it’s the reason I slept so well last night.”

  A flash of heat surged through my body. “Yeah… I love kettlebells,” I said lamely.

  His emerald eyes seared into mine. “I’m more a fan of the stairs.”

  Please don’t. Fear prickled up my thighs and I glared at Jake as our server came tableside. I shook my head, silently pleading that he not. Please do not reference the fact that we had filthy, sweaty sex last night when I’m sitting right next to your brother, my fiancé. Please.

  As Jackson ordered our usual drinks, I dared to mouth the word “stop” across the table. Jake sneered and shook his head at me. What the fuck? I may or may not have mouthed that to him as well. Thankfully, before he could respond, Jackson turned to him.

  “What are you having, man?
A Manhattan? Since when do you drink anything but beer?” he asked. When he put an arm around my shoulder, I joined him in smiling placidly at Jake, waiting for an answer. But my heart was pounding like a hammer.

  “I don’t know. I met a girl who drank them and it kind of stuck.”

  Jackson grinned. “She must’ve been pretty smoking hot to stand out to you. Remind me – how many girls do you take home a week? Anywhere between ten and twenty, right?”

  My cheeks burned as Jake laughed that low, sexy laugh. “Ballpark. But yes, she was smoking hot. Definitely way too hot to be single.” His accusing gaze slid back to me. “But who knows. Maybe she lied about that.”

  Jackson snorted. “Yeah, well. That’s not your problem.”

  I saw Jake’s cheek flex before he offered a laugh. “Guess not.”

  “I’d ask you for more details but you know,” Jackson smirked and nodded at me, “don’t want to offend Princess here. And you know, hot chicks hate hearing about other hot chicks.”

  Anger flared in my nostrils as I cast Jackson a look. “That’s not true. I’m a grown woman so by all means,” I turned to Jake, “tell us all about the girl you met.”

  Jake glared at me. I knew I was veering into dangerous territory but I was angry, resentful of the way he was looking at me. As if I were a monster. As if I were solely to blame for what happened between us. Oblivious, Jackson grinned.

  “She’s pretending to be cool with it, so go for it before she changes her mind,” he said. “What’d this girl look like? Was she good?”

  Jake laughed. I could see fury twitching in his lip, his nostrils, but he kept it well masked as he took a drink. “She was beautiful,” he finally said. “And she was easily the best I’ve ever had.”

  “Shut the fuck up,” Jackson laughed. “Then she must’ve had the tightest pussy on planet Earth. I mean if she was the best out of all the women you’ve had in your life, then fuck, marry that girl and ask questions later.”

  Jake looked at me. “Something tells me that wouldn’t be able to happen.”