Good Game_A Gamer Romance Read online

“Welcome to the twenty-first century, Violet.”

  “The cars are nicer here.” And the guys were smarter. And hotter. And seemingly less abusive.

  The drive seemed entirely too long, and also surprisingly short. She had paid no attention to where he was going, not even the neighborhood. Probably not wise. But she couldn’t muster enough distrust to care. She didn’t even realize they’d arrived anywhere until he was pulling into a two-car garage.

  As the garage doors shut, she jumped out of the car and headed for him. This was private enough, right?

  He watched her head for him, an amused but confused expression on his face. She shoved him against the car and made for the zipper of his jeans. She had waited quite long enough.

  “Vi—” he started, but she kissed him before he could finish. His arm swung around her waist and pulled her tight against him. His mouth teased hers as his sudden hard-on dug into her hip with its own aggressive urgency.

  She groped at his zipper, and he finished the job for her before she slid her hand into his pants. He was straining to get free. She could certainly oblige. “Vi,” he muttered as he explored her neck, her collarbone with his lips. “Whoa, do you want to at least go—”

  She dropped to her knees. The boots made that easier on the cement. Without hesitating, she leaned forward and took him into her mouth, relishing the taste of him, the way he instantly gasped. This particular activity had featured prominently in her dreams, and she’d had enough waiting.

  “Holy fuck, Vi—oh my God—”

  A tremor shook through him, and his hands tangled in her hair and gripped her shoulders, digging in fiercely. She ran her tongue along his length, then pulled him in further each time, taking him more completely. Nope, wasn’t going to entirely fit. She brought her fingers into the mix to help remedy that problem, twisting slightly as she went. Pleasure mixed with surprise played across his face.

  “Don’t you want to—wait, wait—how are you doing that—”

  Another shudder shook through him, stronger this time, and he weakened, the car bracing him now. Her victory was near.

  “Wait, wait, wait, I can’t—last much—”

  “I want to taste you,” she whispered, letting her breath play across his skin and earning a groan. She took him in again, and he clawed at her shoulders, claiming her, desperate. His hands slid up her neck, fisting in her hair, until he reached the pinnacle with a shout, and the taste of him flooded her.

  The pure ecstasy of his release was everything—more than a dream could detail, more than she’d expected. Her core burned hot at his head thrown back, at the strange salt taste. She was already aching for him, and he’d barely touched more than her shoulders.

  She stood, then caught him as he slumped against her. Clung to her, even. His gaze lingered on her lips, and she flashed a shy smile as she swallowed. He trembled against her, closed his eyes, and nuzzled her shoulder. He was still for a moment, breathing deeply. And then he was back, nipping at her mouth, teasing, almost like— Did he really want to kiss her? Max would never do that after—

  His tongue probed at her, and his hands came up to hold both sides of her face. She let him in, their mouths melting together with the taste of bourbon, sweet tea, and him. Oh, God. How was he such a good kisser? The passion of it stole her breath away.

  He broke away for a moment, his eyes still closed, their foreheads pressed together. His breath was rough, and he ran a hand over her hair. “You are so much more than I expected,” he whispered. The words sent a rush of heat through her.

  Then his eyes flicked open, an odd set of determination to them, like he’d set himself some goal, as he zipped up his jeans. “My turn. But—let’s go inside first. You’re going to need to lie down.”

  She let out a bit of a giggle and let him lead her by the hand.

  A well-appointed house awaited her, although that was not particularly shocking now. Most of the house was dark. Gleaming, dark-wood floors and navy paint absorbed what little ambient light there was. A white marble island stood ghostly and empty in the kitchen off to the right. What she could see was unexpectedly neat. A dramatic staircase loomed in the center of the house, everything beyond it shrouded in shadow.

  “Bedroom, living room, or… somewhere else?” he murmured.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to make you lose your mind. We’ll see what’s necessary.”

  “Well then. I suppose I’d like to see your real bedroom. I thought I’d seen it already.”

  “My teenage bedroom, you did.” He led her toward the staircase.

  “I figured that out. You never stay there?”

  “No. I stay away from them all as much as possible. But it was delightful to finally have a girl sit with me on that bed.”

  She snorted. “Not a lot of Mortal Kombat partners when you were a kid?”

  He laughed. “No. Even fewer female ones. Come. Up here.”

  “Did you ever think about just cutting them off? Why not just quit talking to them?”

  “I have been thinking about it. Seemed like it was a shitty thing to do around their wedding. But maybe that’s just another excuse.”

  “Wait—fuck them. Sorry I brought it up. Let’s forget them.”

  “Not the Mortal Kombat, though. We can play that later if you want.”

  She let out a bark of laughter. “I think we’ll be busy in combat with each other.”

  “Yes, please. Maybe both?”

  “It’s not a competitive game, so I suppose we could spare a few losses if we get distracted. Wouldn’t want to risk our rankings.”

  “Eh, fuck ranking.”

  He was full of surprises tonight. They reached the bedroom at the end of the hall at the top of the stairs. Navy-blue walls and carpet. A fucking huge four-poster bed that begged for someone to be tied to it. Like the house below, the room was heavy with darkness, but one corner held an array of computer equipment. Of course. He flicked something on his phone, and techno pounded out of one of the machines as blue LEDs on three different computer towers sprang to life and filled the room with topaz light.

  Oh, sexy shit.

  He surprised her with a thank-you. Crap, had she said that out loud?

  He came up close to her as she leaned against his desk, his lips coaxing hers more gently now. She attacked the buttons of his shirt, and as soon as she could, she slid her hands across his skin, his sides, up his back. He finished shrugging out of the shirt, and she caught her breath at the way the blue light played over his shoulders. She’d expected soft and pudgy under there with all the computer time, and there was nothing wrong with that. She was fairly soft and pudgy too. But the muscles of his shoulders were chiseled, rippling under her fingers. Looked like he had to work out his aggression on that punching bag more than once in a while. Or maybe he watched too much of his friend’s MMA channel.

  His features, his shoulders, the button on his jeans—everything was bathed in azure. Her heart raced faster, knowing they were going to fuck by the light of the computers behind her. Not candles, not a dumb lamp, not the same old bullshit. Something that really mattered to both of them.

  He bent down to his knees now and slid his hands up her thighs, over the boots and across her warm, shivering skin. “Can we leave these on?” he whispered.

  “Sure.” Nice—the boots were getting the appreciation they deserved. Excellent. Of course she wore them to feel sexy, not just because of how they looked. But his pleasure in them didn’t hurt anything.

  His fingers slowly inched under her dress, up and up until he found the edge of her black panties, running his finger down the arc toward her center and slipping inside. He shuddered with pleasure. He was probably ready again, if she just reached down and… But she forgot all that as a second finger slipped past her walls, pushing her panties aside, filling her in just the spot where she desperately needed to be filled.

  He withdrew his fingers, and she muttered a soft objection, but he slid h
er panties off instead, over the boots. She stepped out of them.

  “Lay down?” he whispered, still on his knees.

  “What? On the desk?” She glanced at it. It was surprisingly huge and empty of anything but headphones and a few odds and ends on a far corner. Maybe the desk had actually been a table in another life.

  “On the desk,” he ordered.

  Oh. Oh. She complied and realized what he intended only seconds before he slid her dress up, leaving her strangely clothed and exposed at the same time. His mouth covered her core, stunning in its wickedly gentle teasing. She propped her feet on his thighs and hoped the boots weren’t going to cause any injuries.

  The desk was hard against her back, and the clear plexiglass cover on the nearest tower rose up beside her now. The rest of the room and his hair were shrouded in vague darkness, but a city of circuits and fans and resistors and chips filled her view to her right. Glowing, pulsing, spinning. Sort of like what his tongue was doing to her most secret places. Secret no longer, at least to him.

  Was the music rising, her pulse pounding harder, or was it just his attentions that made her forget the world, forget how crazy this was, forget everything but his tongue and fingers inside of her? His mouth tormented her center with long, slow licks that made her legs shake. His finger twisted and curled slightly toward the ceiling, and she cried out without intending to.

  She found his hair, gripping him hard to her surprise. Her yearning climbed, then soared, the deep ache she knew he could satisfy clamoring for more attention. For not just a finger, dexterous as it was. When had she ever wanted anyone like this? When had she ever known anyone like him?

  As she inched closer to the edge, she was panting, frenzied. “Jack—oh, God, Jack. I need you in me.” His tongue pressed her harder, and his finger drove farther inside her, earning a shout. But she tugged at him. “I’m going crazy here. Wait—wait. I want you in me. All of you in me.”

  “The bed, then.” He broke away and swung her up to standing. Drawing her with him, he kept them close until he reached for something in the end-table drawer. Oh, right, condoms. This was all feeling entirely too safe. She whipped off her dress over her head. The boots could stay—her bra too, slight as it was—but she was ready to be more naked. She threw herself onto the bed as his pants unzipped again.

  Barely moments later, his mouth was on hers, and he was crushing her into the bed with delicious force. He entered her in a rush, and she gasped at the sweet intrusion, the pressure inside her. “Jack,” she whispered, her body relaxing. His kisses sprinkled across her neck, her ears, her chest.

  His thrusts grew stronger, harder, and she quivered beneath him, her longing overpowering all sense and logic. Desire for him to climax surpassed even her own need for release. But his hand reached between them, exploring her, finding a rhythm in sync with the music. Their bodies were a single unit, a powerful engine picking up speed, pistons churning, energy building until the next thrust ignited a fire within her, her body blazing to life. She came with a cry, quakes of ecstasy running through her, clenching her body around him and pushing him over the edge. Their kinetic energy expended, they collapsed together in a heap on the bed, bodies slick with sweat.

  Another delicious dream, although he dreaded waking up alone again. He was underwater, golden fish swimming in circles around him, and Violet’s lips were caressing his skin. Kisses danced across him like a soft spring drizzle, invigorating, exciting, alive. He sighed and reached for her, knowing she wasn’t really there, that the thighs and hips he felt beneath his hands were just in his mind. Her kisses continued as sunlight haloed her from behind. His need for her grew.

  She trailed kisses down his jaw, his neck, his chest. She reached his nipple and paused. A pang of pain bit through him at a nibble.

  Whoa. His dreams didn’t usually do that. He opened his eyes.

  It was no dream.

  There were no fish, no sunlight. Music still thumped through the room just as it had when they’d fallen asleep, on and on and perfectly even, making the night feel endless. He recognized the track. “Discoteka.”

  But she was real. She straddled him, peppering his sleeping form with her kisses. He wrapped his arms around her, trapping her chest against him and pulling her close.

  “Violet,” he whispered softly.

  She smiled at him. “Ready for match number two?”

  He nodded lazily as she squirmed, her hips shifting, reminding him of that reawakened need. He released her, letting her take control, and her lips covered his again, such a sweet, gentle kiss.

  He had wondered if she’d be intense. He’d had no idea. Everything about her was intense, and he loved it that way.

  Smooth satin brushed against his chest, and he let out a small laugh. “Your bra is still on,” he said, sleepily fumbling with the clasp. Fortunately he got lucky, and it came free above him. The boots were gone too. It was just them now. He pulled the sheets over her, wrapping their warmth around her, delighting in her ministrations. He eyed the tattoo on her side, over her ribs, still not quite able to make it out, its black tendrils curling over delicate skin.

  Her lips and teeth grazed his shoulder, down his bicep, across his nipple, making him gasp and jerk away. She smiled up wickedly at him, then ran her tongue slowly along his chest over to the other nipple, swirling around it. Almost tickling, he twisted, but she held on this time, torturing him a moment longer before pressing kisses up his other arm, nipping at his shoulder, drawing his earlobe into her mouth and sucking hard. He ran his hands over her back and grabbed on tightly at her efforts, gasping, throbbing down below. He tried to record this in his mind so he could remember this forever if tomorrow greeted them with pain. He didn’t want to ever lose her, but especially not so soon.

  Her tongue slipped into his ear, her breath tickling, and he pulsed against her. His hands tightened around her hips, unintentionally urging her down. Closer. She purred deep in her throat. “Somebody getting impatient?”

  He reached for the nearby dresser drawer for the box of condoms. Good thing he’d bothered to get them at the store that day. Maybe he’d give her the chocolate tomorrow. She took the foil from him and eased him back down with her other hand, the transfer of power between them unspoken but understood. He lost all sight and concentration as she stroked him. He shut his eyes and gave himself over to her.

  She centered him and gradually lowered herself, sliding him inside, and he gasped like it was the first time that night. He had wanted her for so long, it seemed. How had this finally happened? How had they worked everything out?

  His hands found her hips and strayed across her as she moved. He caressed everywhere he could reach, listening for her moans and her sighs, memorizing her reactions. She bent over him, and he ran his hands up her neck, through her hair as his mouth caught hers, tongues tangling. She rose up, and he moved his fingers between them to find her, but her own were already there. His eyes snapped open. He had to see her. Had to remember this sight of her over him, the way her body worked and swayed and swirled to tease them both.

  She crashed into him again, again, her body meeting his with energy and force. One hand ran up through his hair, then settled on his shoulder.

  And then she threw her head back with a cry, her body convulsing around him, her legs tightening around him, stealing any semblance of control he’d had left. With a roar, he released himself inside her again, lifting her off the mattress with the force of it.

  They clung to each other for a long moment, breathless. Then she collapsed by his side. He darted quickly to the bathroom to dispose of the condom, then dove back into the bed and pulled her close, cradling her against his chest. She was panting. She was beautiful. She was glorious. She was intelligence and intensity and strength and sweetness all in one.

  As they lay together, slick with sweat and the music soft in its persistent beats, their panting finally slowed. Her hands clung to him just as much as his clung to her.

  “Good game
,” he said softly.

  She chuckled. “Good game.” She patted his leg congenially and heaved a few more deep breaths. “God, what if I had never agreed to meet you at the coffee shop?”

  He snickered. “What if I had just dated the chef?”

  “What if I’d turned down your offer?”

  “What if my brother hadn’t been such a persistent asshole?”

  Her turn to laugh. “When did it stop being an act for you?”

  He pulled away to see her eyes, her smile. It was an easy, unguarded smile, new to him. “I’m not sure. Maybe when you kissed me. And I liked it. Maybe… when I accidentally showed up at Eden without intending to.”

  “Accidentally, huh?”

  He shrugged. “I couldn’t believe I did it either. My feet know better than my brain what’s good for me apparently. Or maybe it was seeing you and your ex.”

  She pressed her lips together. “A situation you handled brilliantly, by the way. What an ass.”

  “Did he berate you in DOTA too?”

  She gave him a funny, sidelong look. “No. He isn’t a gamer.”

  “I’m sorry I did that. I mean, I… didn’t mean it like that. I was trying to help.”

  She frowned at him, as if trying to read his face. “Why are you saying this now?”

  “I want you to know I regret it. Before we left the bar, Mouse told me you hated it. I should have realized sooner.”

  She smiled. “There goes Mouse, telling my secrets again.”

  “Forgive me?”

  “A lot has transpired since then.” She ran her hands over his hair, caressed his ear, as if to say, See how much? “You know this isn’t standard pillow talk, right?”

  “You’re not standard anything, Violet.”

  She gave a little shiver at that, then pulled even closer to him, nuzzling her head against his shoulder.

  “What about you? When did it stop being an act?”

  “Not sure. I didn’t want to admit it was happening. But I kept fantasizing about you when we were in your dad’s house.”

  “Before you kissed me?’