Wicked Games. Alison Kent
enough to give him the room.
He slid a finger through her wet folds to her clit, fingering the tight knot, testing her response, whether she liked soft and slow or hard and persistent or teasing butterfly flicks.
She liked all of it, judging by the way she pushed against him, ground against him, covered his hand with one of hers and pressed hard.
She cried out, softly at first, then with more volume as her contractions hit. She tightened around him, shuddering as she came, and then he couldn’t wait another single second. He unloaded hard and fast, thrusting upward and spilling himself until he was totally empty and spent.
He sank back into the sofa; Kinsey settled on to his lap, turning to face him without ever springing him free. How she managed, he had no idea. But he was glad that she still held him inside.
For a few more seconds, he needed this connection. He needed it more than he’d thought he could need anything from a woman. No. Anything from Kinsey.
And it was his Kinsey-specific need that made it hard to let her go.
Made it hard to admit that he wasn’t ready to go.
Made it hard to know if he ever would be.
KINSEY PULLED her bathrobe back up on to her shoulder and jabbed her fork into her salad. She was famished; earlier, she’d been too edgy to eat. Dessert first was a policy she’d have to adopt. At least when dining on Doug.
Dining on Doug.
She liked the sound of that, and she had certainly enjoyed the reality. “Mmm,” she moaned around a bite of chicken. “I don’t know why I was so worried. This is actually pretty good.”
One of Doug’s brows winged up as he looked at her over his glass of wine. “I thought you said you weren’t worried.”
“Did I?” she asked in all innocence.
“Yes. You did.”
“Hmm,” she hedged, ignoring his laugh at her lie. “Well, maybe I was a bit. But now I’m thinking I’d like to do this more often.” She reached for another slice of chicken breast. “You can be my guinea pig. At least for as long as you’re here.”
She hated adding that last part, but she had to face that one round of sexual Olympics was not going to convince him to continue calling Houston home. One round hadn’t even convinced her that she wanted him to stay.
Or so she deluded herself into thinking.
“I’m definitely game.” Doug reached over to drizzle papaya glaze onto her chicken. “On one condition.”
“What’s that?”
He paused, waited until she looked up from cutting her chicken before dropping his bomb. “That you’ll serve dessert first every time.”
He was so incredibly cute when he teased her. She loved that they were so comfortable together already that neither one of them hesitated to speak their mind.
After they’d showered and dressed and reheated the food, he’d made sure that his chair and hers were as close to the same corner of the square table as possible.
The result had been a lot of bumped knees and a very crowded table, but Kinsey adored him for wanting to keep her near. “Sex does rather stir up the appetite, doesn’t it?” She suppressed a grin while cutting her food. “I kinda like the idea of dessert first.”
“Kinsey.” Doug’s eyes flashed as he pulled his chair even closer. “Don’t tease me like that unless you mean it, darlin’.”
“Why, Doug Storey.” She swirled a bite of chicken through the puddle of glaze. “When have you ever known me to say something I didn’t mean?”
“Sixteen months ago on the veranda of Coconut Caye.”
Whoa! A blast from the past out of nowhere. If she’d had anything in her mouth, she would likely have choked. “During the group’s vacation? What did I say?”
He sat back in his chair, his knees spread wide, his unbuttoned shirt hanging open. She wanted to crawl into his lap and bury her nose in his skin, but decided this was not the right time.
No matter that he looked terribly dejected.
Strange. Why would he be dejected over something said so long ago in the heat of the moment and under the influence of rum?
“Then you don’t remember.”
She finished with the bite of her chicken, then moved to toy with what was left of her salad. “I remember…several things.”
“Like what?” He laced his hands over his flat abs and stretched out his legs even farther, hooking a foot around her chair leg and dragging her practically into his lap.
Two could play his game, she mused, abandoning her plate and propping her legs, ankles crossed, over his thighs. “Like the fact that we don’t fit well together standing up. Your legs are too long.”
He shook his head. “Your legs are too short.”
“My legs are not short.” She angled them this way and that until Doug did as she wanted and touched her, running his palm from her ankle to her knee.
“Not too short if you’re standing over my lap, but for normal vertical sex?” His mouth curled into a deliciously wicked grin. “Definitely too short.”
Kinsey tossed her open robe back over her legs, which he’d bared. “Then I suppose we were lucky the veranda had such a sturdy railing.”
“Then you do remember.”
“I told you I did. Would you like any more chicken?” she asked, not quite ready to give everything away.
But Doug wasn’t ready to let it go. “Do you know that I still have that pair of your bikini bottoms? String ties are truly a man’s best friend.”
She was not going to let him get to her. She was not, was not, was not. She had to let him know he’d met his match if a match was what she was looking to explore. Calm, cool and collected.
Ohhmmm. “Personally, I’m a big fan of those little tiny mesh pockets in swim trunks. The perfect size for stashing a condom.”
“Be Prepared, that’s my motto.”
“Stealing from the Boy Scouts these days?”
“Why not? Thousands of kids can’t be wrong.”
“Maybe not.” She went back to innocently moving lettuce and carrots around on her plate. “I just would’ve thought you might have more originality about you.”
She waited for one beat, two beats, three beats, four, and then she looked up. But the teasing Doug of seconds ago was gone. In his place brooded the Doug from earlier in the evening, the one who’d been fairly hard on himself for missing the meeting with Media West.
Her phone rang again. She ignored it. She wanted to know what was going on behind those intensely focused green eyes. Sure, they could banter and bed their way through a relationship, but she was certain, she knew, he had so much more to offer than a sexual good time.
And if she discovered that all this time she’d been wrong, well, then—
“Aren’t you going to get that?” he asked before the phone rang one last time.
She shook her head. “That’s what voice mail is for. I’m more curious to hear the voices in your head.”
“The ones telling me to haul you back to the sofa?”
That one she wouldn’t mind listening to herself. “No, the one that shut you down the second I questioned your originality.”
Doug snorted, glancing toward the living room, ignored her question the way guys usually did when they haven’t yet worked out the best possible reply in their minds. She