Wicked Games: The Complete Wicked Games Series Box Set

by J. T. Geissinger

  I mull over this ludicrous pronouncement.

  Is he a professional stalker? Does he have a screw—or ten—loose? This can’t possibly be how he lives his whole life, just making one rash decision after another, with no more forethought than you’d give what pair of socks you were going to wear.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I know,” he says warmly, pulling my hoodie over my head. “But you will.”

  “How can you just decide like that?” I ask, sounding petulant as he discards my hoodie. I stare at my bare feet. They appear startlingly vulnerable, naked and pale, a visual metaphor for my heart. I insist, “We don’t even know each other.”

  When I see that dimple appear in his cheek, I mutter, “Biblically doesn’t count.”

  The dimple turns into a pit you could fall into and disappear. “So says you. Lie down.”

  I’m gently pushed onto my back. Swimming in confusion, I stare at the ceiling but find no answers there, because ceilings generally aren’t good for that sort of thing.

  Ryan unbuttons my jeans and drags them down my legs in a no-nonsense, businesslike way, as if I’m an uncooperative patient and he’s my long-suffering nurse.

  “People make things way more complicated than they need to be,” he says, flinging my jeans over his shoulder. I notice he isn’t nearly as fastidious with my clothing as he is with his own. “If you’d just listen to your gut, nine times out of ten you’ll make the right decision without havin’ to do any hand wringin’ or hair pullin’. Your instincts will tell you what you should do.”

  “Except for that pesky tenth time.” I yawn as he pulls the covers up to my chin. My eyelids are so heavy. “Then you’re fucked.”

  He leans over and kisses me on the forehead. Then he makes a face and wipes his lips. “Stay there,” he commands, as if I have a choice in anything.

  He leaves. I let my eyes drift shut and listen to the sound of running water. Then his footsteps return, along with him, bearing a wet washcloth.

  He begins to clean my face.

  “This is too much,” I protest, but only half-heartedly, because the warm, wet cloth feels delicious on my dirt-caked skin. “Ryan. I don’t think I can handle this…whatever this is. Us. You’re giving me a mental breakdown.”

  “Nah, you’re doin’ that all on your own, darlin’. Just go with it. I promise it’ll all work out. Jesus, what is this, like, industrial-strength dirt?” He scrubs harder.

  I mumble, “Had to make sure…you know…disguise.”

  “Yeah, well, you get a gold star for effort. When you wake up, I’m gonna have to throw you in the shower to get the rest of this shit off.”

  “Throw?” I say, drifting off to sleep. “Sounds a little aggressive, cowboy.”

  He sighs, stirring my hair. “Always focusin’ on the wrong things,” he mutters to himself.

  I fall asleep to the sound of his breathing and his hands gently caressing my face.

  I dream of burning buildings and firetrucks with ladders too short to rescue people hanging from windows on upper floors. When I wake, I bolt upright, sweating, heart thundering, with no idea where I am.

  Then I see the polished bulk of the ridiculous grand piano, the all-black everything else, and realize there’s only one place on earth besides Dracula’s castle that I could possibly be.

  I rub the sleep from my eyes, throw off the covers, and pad into the adjoining bathroom. My bladder isn’t so much full as it is ready to burst. I use the toilet, then wash my hands and face and brush my teeth because my breath is poisonous. When I realize I’ve used Ryan’s toothbrush without a second thought, I have a lot of second thoughts, and stand there staring at it in my hand.

  From the doorway comes his amused voice. “I can see the smoke pourin’ from your ears, Angel. Don’t pop a blood vessel over there.”

  I glance at him. He’s shirtless and barefoot, wearing only a pair of faded jeans, leaning against the doorframe with his arms folded over his chest and a wry smile on his lips.

  As always, he’s beautiful. A big, muscular, tattooed, golden beauty of a man who claims I’m his.

  My heart feels like it might explode.

  I say quietly, “I’ve never used anyone else’s toothbrush before.”

  “I’ve never let anyone else sleep in my bed before.”

  That gives me a start. He sees my surprise and drawls, “Nope, not even the vampiresses. I kick ’em out right after I play Rachmaninoff. Come here.”

  Moving at the speed of refrigerated molasses, I return his toothbrush to its small glass tumbler and walk toward him. He holds a hand out, wiggling his fingers.

  “Any slower and I’ll be an old man by the time you get here.”

  “Give me a sec. I’m trying to control my freak-out.”

  “Over how spectacular I look without a shirt?”

  I step into his arms and hide my face in his chest. “Over how spectacular you are in general.”

  He wraps his arms around me and pulls me in tight. I’m engulfed in warmth and the scent of a male in his prime, clean skin and warm musk and a delicious, indefinable something that’s so damn sexy I make a little noise deep in my throat.

  Ryan nuzzles my ear. “You’ve got it bad for me, don’t you, Angel?” he teases, a chuckle rumbling through his chest.

  That sound coming from my chest is a whimper.

  In one smooth motion, he bends and picks me up in his arms. He heads toward the glassed-in shower on the opposite side of the room.

  “Is this going to be a thing?” I ask, my arms wound around his broad shoulders. “You carrying me around like a sack of potatoes?”

  “It makes me feel macho bein’ able to lift all this weight—ow!”

  “Serves you right,” I grumble, releasing his earlobe from my front teeth. Then I feel guilty and kiss the spot I’ve just bitten, making him chuckle again.

  “So she has a conscience after all,” he muses. “Who knew?”

  “Shut up.”

  “Put somethin’ in my mouth and make me.”

  I roll my eyes at his suggestive wink. “It’s like you’re twelve.”

  “You’re not the first person to tell me that.”

  He’s not insulted, just matter-of-fact. We arrive at the shower door. He sets me on my feet and, with no further ado, pulls my T-shirt over my head.

  “Matching bra and panties,” he says, hungrily eying my underwear. “Lacy. Nice. Take ’em off.”

  “You’re an incredibly pushy man, you know that?” I’m grousing but obeying at the same time, reaching around to unsnap my bra. When the straps fall down my arms and my breasts spring free, Ryan bites his lower lip.

  “Yes,” he says, his voice husky. “Now get those fuckin’ panties off and let me look at you.”

  I let my bra dangle from my fingertips for a moment because I love the way the delay makes his eyes burn. Then I let the bra drop to the floor, and slip my thumbs under the top of my panties, just over my hips.

  “These panties?” I say, teasing. I do a little shimmy. Ryan narrows his eyes.

  “Tyrant,” I say, and edge the panties down an inch.

  His gaze flashes up to mine. It’s a look that could ignite a forest fire.

  I slide the panties down another inch. “You’re not the boss of me, you know that, right?”

  He growls, “As soon as you get those goddamn panties off, I’m gonna prove you wrong, darlin’.”

  How I’m beginning to adore that sleepy, slow Southern drawl. I never guessed a dropped g at the end of a word could be so sexy.

  I push the panties past my hips. They slither down my legs and pool around my ankles. Ryan takes one long, silent look at me—head to toe, his gaze blistering—then drops to his knees, grabs my ass, pulls me into his face, and bites me right between my legs.

  It’s not a hard bite. It’s just like…mine. This is mine, and I’m gonna bite it because I can, and I want to.

  My entire body shudders. I’ve never been this arou
sed—this quickly—in my life.

  Then he slips his tongue between my folds, and my arousal sprouts wings and launches into outer space. I dig my fingers into his hair and rock against his hot, wet mouth. My nipples tighten and tingle with every swipe of his tongue.

  “That feels so good,” I whisper.

  He opens his eyes and looks up at me. It’s almost painfully intimate, watching him suckle me on his knees as I struggle to remain standing. The sound of my ragged gasps echoes off the bathroom walls. When his teeth scrape over my clit, I moan.

  He reaches down between his legs, yanks open his fly, grabs his erection in his fist and starts to stroke it as he eats me, looking up at me the entire time with hooded, heated eyes.

  I love it that he likes to taste me. That the first thing he wants to do is put his mouth between my legs. It’s carnal, a little animal, and makes me feel sexy and dirty and gloriously desired.

  I flex my hips in time to the strokes of his tongue and am rewarded by a low, guttural groan of approval deep from within his chest.

  I arch back. My shoulders hit the glass shower wall with a hollow noise. Bracing my weight against the wall, I cant my hips forward and spread my thighs open wider. Ryan takes advantage of the new angle and plunges his tongue deep inside me.

  My moan is loud and broken. My nipples are so hard, they ache. I’m panting, no longer simply flexing my hips but riding his face like a rodeo bull as he pumps his cock in his fist.

  I gasp as a wave of heat blasts through me. Deep inside my pelvis, there’s a throb and a hard, abrupt clench. I whisper, “Oh fuck. Ryan. Ryan.”

  He knows I’m there. He slides two fingers inside me, reaches up with his other hand and pinches my nipple, and gently bites down on my engorged clit.

  I come, screaming his name with my head thrown back, my eyes closed, and my whole body jerking. Wave after wave of pleasure pulses through me. It’s violent and soul-searing hot.

  He’s on his feet before it’s over, slinging one of my legs over his bent arm so I’m wide open for him. He plunges inside me with a groan. Then he starts to fuck me, his strokes short and fast, thrusting into me as my body clenches around him, holding us up against the shower door.

  I scream and come and cling to his shoulders, lost to all of it. To him. Us.

  This earthquake of emotion that’s splitting me open and shattering all my walls.

  He laughs a dark, satisfied laugh. “What were you sayin’ about me not bein’ the boss of you?” he says gruffly into my ear. When I sob brokenly, he whispers, “Yeah, baby. Who’s your daddy now?”

  He’s so hot and so hard and so fucking male, I’m absolutely wild for him. But oh shit, this is a complete disaster. What the hell am I doing?

  I must make another noise, because Ryan stills. Breathing heavily, he says, “Easy. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

  “I’ve got you.” Still trembling with aftershocks, I groan and bury my face in his neck.

  “Hush, Angel,” he whispers. “C’mon now. Shh.”

  “I can’t—I can’t—”

  “You can. You will. We will. I promise.”

  I start to cry, and can’t stop. I’m making ugly, raw noises, like an animal in pain. Hot tears stream down my face and drip onto his chest. I’m horrified at myself, at this awful show of weakness, but he takes it all in stride, as if dealing with emotional females is par for the course.

  “It’s okay. Get it out. Get it out, baby, you’ll feel better.”

  His arms are a cage, or a refuge, I don’t know which. I only know that suddenly I’m scared shitless. All I want to do is run and hide from the enormity of this thing unfurling between us—this dangerous, addictive, overpowering thing.

  He’s still inside me.

  After a while, when my sobs turn into muffled hiccups, he exhales a long breath and kisses my hair. “Well. I knew I was amazing in bed, but tears are unprecedented.”

  I sniffle and blow out a hard breath. “It’s just that I like you,” I grudgingly admit. “Like…a lot.”

  His laugh starts deep in his belly, a silent clenching and unclenching of his abs that leads to a chuckle burbling up into his chest and breaking free. He throws his head back and laughs, shaking us both. It goes on forever.

  I wipe my nose on the back of my hand. “You’re going to be insufferable now, aren’t you?”

  “Yes,” he says, full of enthusiasm. “Oh my God, I’m gonna be such a giant, chest-beatin’ pain in the ass, you have no idea!”

  I glance up at him. His smile could cause blindness. “I have a pretty good idea,” I mutter.

  He takes my face in his hands and gives me a deep, heartfelt kiss. I wonder if he’s getting covered in snot, but the kiss is too nice to spend much time worrying about that.

  “Whew! You’re a handful, darlin’,” he says when he finally breaks the kiss. “Lucky for you, I dig difficult women. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to fuck you in the shower. Try not to fall apart again until after I come. Blue balls make me ornery.”

  He opens the shower door, lifts me up with both hands under my bottom, and walks in.

  Still wearing his jeans.

  Still inside me.

  18

  Ryan

  “Take off your pants, you idiot!” Mariana says, laughing softly.

  Her laugh somewhat eases the big knot under my breastbone formed by her tears, but I’m still worried. Beneath that tough exterior, she’s as fragile as glass.

  All I want to do is make her feel safe. Make her smile. Banish forever those scared little whimpers she makes in her sleep.

  I’ve never felt more protective of anything. Or more sure of what I want.

  The only problem with what I want is that it comes with so much baggage, it could sink a Navy destroyer.

  But I’ve got a plan to fix that.

  “If it means puttin’ you down, the answer’s no.” I turn on the water, holding her up with one arm, and adjust the knobs until it’s nice and warm.

  She looks appreciatively at the muscles flexing in my biceps. “Now you’re just showing off.”

  They’re pretty impressive, if I do say so myself.

  I set her against the tile wall, brace my legs apart, and go in for another kiss. Her arms and legs are wrapped around me, and she’s holding on tight. The moment my tongue touches hers, she moans softly into my mouth.

  It makes my heart take off like a rocket, that sweet little sound. I love it the way I love football and barbecues and fireworks on the Fourth of July. The way I love Thanksgiving and Buzz Lightyear and guns with high-capacity magazines.

  I love it like it’s a religion.

  In a way, I suppose it is.

  “Goddamn, Angel. You’re so fuckin’ sweet.” My voice is as rough as my breathing. She looks up at me with those big brown eyes, and suddenly, it’s hard to breathe at all.

  “You are,” she whispers. “You’re the sweetest man I’ve ever met, and if you’re not careful, I’ll—”

  She breaks off and looks away, sharply inhaling.

  I’ve felt like this precisely once before, as a senior in high school. I scored the winning touchdown on a game a bunch of college recruiters had come to see me play. My team carried me off the field on their shoulders, chanting my name. My parents were in the stands, glowing with fucking pride. Everyone was jumping up and down and screaming. An entire stadium of fans was losing their minds.

  I was a king. I was a god. It was the best moment of my life.

  Until now.

  “You’ll what, baby?” I whisper. “Say it.”

  She swallows hard, blinking.

  I drop my head and nuzzle her neck, pressing my lips against the pulse throbbing near her ear. “Be brave.”

  “You already know.”

  “I want you to say it. Out loud.”

  Digging into my shoulders, her fingers tremble. She gazes up at me from beneath long, curving black lashes. “I’ll…fall in love with you.”

  You’d thi
nk the sound of your heart bursting would be like a wet, messy, booming thing, but really, it’s the gentlest little plink.

  I groan and kiss her, hard. She kisses me back with wild abandon, her heart pounding against my chest, her whole body shaking. When she flexes her hips, I instantly lose all control.

  I thrust deep into her, so deep she gasps into my mouth.

  Then I close my eyes, bury my face in her neck, and revel in the feel of her body and the sounds of her cries as I drive into her over and over again. I’m as helpless to slow down or hold back as I am to stop the tsunami of emotion breaking over me. I’m flying, or falling, or being flung through space at a million miles per hour.

  My voice breaks over her name.

  Her pussy clenches hard around my cock.

  My orgasm tears out of me like a ripcord tearing open a parachute.

  I grunt like an animal, my fingers dug into her ass, every muscle in my body flexed and straining, a little voice in the back of my head commenting casually, Well, this should be an interesting development—

  “I’m coming, Angel! Fuck!”

  She’s coming, too, throbbing hot around my pulsing dick, both of us hoarsely crying out and shuddering.

  It’s too late to pull out. I try anyway, but just end up staggering. Hot water cascades between us, spraying our faces and bodies and the walls. Mariana is arched back in my arms, her mouth open and her eyes closed, her skin slick with sweat and water. My biceps and thighs are burning, and I’m still coming, my pelvis jerking compulsively, my cock buried deep and spilling.

  Suddenly, Mariana realizes what’s happening. Her eyes fly open. Into my face she shouts, “Tell me you had a vasectomy!”

  Hand to God, I don’t know why, but I erupt in laughter. “Do I seem like the kind of man who’d let a scalpel anywhere near his balls?”

  Her horrified face tells me that isn’t the right answer.

  I give her my most winning smile. “This seems like a good time to discuss how many kids you think we should have.”