Game Saver (5 page)

“I’d be like the mother buffer, then?” she asks, her voice sounding breathy as I drag my mouth up her chest to her neck and in turn, move my body over hers and nestle my cock in the warm wet apex of her thighs.

“Let’s file any talk about my mother for a time when we’re
not
naked.”

“Will you think about it?” I ask, bracing my elbows on either side of her head.

“I don’t really have time for a relationship, Cade. Fake or otherwise.” Her words aren’t derisive, they’re matter-of-fact.

“Think of it as helping out a friend in his time of need,” I reply, giving her a dose of my puppy-dog eyes.

“So you want to pretend to date and reward me with lots of orgasms?” A wry smile plays on her lips.

I shake my head and pull myself up, taking Abi with me until I’m sitting up against the headboard, her body plastered to mine.

Running my hand through my hair, I contemplate how to explain that I don’t
want
it to just be fake. “I want to get to know you, Abi. Don’t mistake this as me wanting benefits without anything else.”

Her fingers toying with my chest hair freeze. “You don’t like the benefits?” she asks, rolling her hips against my hard-on.

My eyes go half-mast, a groan rumbling in my chest. “Did the three times I buried myself inside you last night give the impression I didn’t like it?”

“Well no, but guys like anything with a pussy and a pulse. I have both, so you’re in luck.”

With a growl, I move her onto her back, my body pressing into her and my cock nestled right on target. “Some guys like that. Real men—like me—want personality, conversation, attitude,
and
the promise of a hot, hard, mind-blowing fuck if she lets you in there.”

“No pulse necessary?” she breathes, her pupils dilated.

“Oh we definitely need that . . .” I reply, lowering my mouth to her neck and licking over her pulse point before sucking the sensitive skin between my lips.

She moves her hands to my shoulders and pushes me back slightly. “Did you just give me a hickey?”

“Marking your pulse so men know you’re taken,” I say with a grin.

“I’m not taken!” She slaps me playfully.

“Well, we can’t
pretend
to date and then see other people. It wouldn’t be right,” I explain, my smile growing wider.

“Bastard.”

I thrust my hips against hers, running my cock long and hard against her clit.

“Total bastard,” she moans, wrapping her arms around my shoulders and pulling me down for a deep, wet, hungry kiss, and initiating round four.

Cade walks out of the bedroom and into the living area, wearing his clothes from the night before, his unbuttoned shirt showing off his delicious chest that just twenty minutes ago I was licking, sucking, and biting as he fucked me speechless—again.

“Coffee?” I ask, my voice rougher than it should be.

He takes a seat on a bar stool on the other side of my kitchen island, leaning forward on an elbow. “Sounds good, Spitfire.”

I turn my back to him to hide my grin.

I pour two cups of coffee and move to the fridge to pull out my Vanilla Half and Half. “How do you have it?” I ask, looking over my shoulder at him and holding out the creamer.

“I’ll have some of that and two sugars, please.”

Turning fully toward him, I tilt my head. “You like it sweet?”

His eyes darken as he licks his lips and does a slow top-to-toe of my body, my spaghetti-strap camisole and sleeping shorts not hiding much. “Definitely.”

I clear my throat, and his gaze snaps up to meet mine as I slide his mug in front of him. “Nuh-uh, buddy. None of that sexy, smoldering gig.”

“Sexy, smoldering gig? Didn’t hear you objecting last night. Or this morning . . .”

“Oh believe me,” I reply, taking a long, satisfying sip from my cup. “I’ve got
nothing
to complain about. You’re hot, you’re talented, and you can do a lot more things with your mouth, fingers, and cock than most men. And now that you’re my
boyfriend,
I’ll get to enjoy those skills of yours at least for the foreseeable future.”

His brows furrow before he schools his features. “Are you working today?” he asks in an unexpected subject change.

Shit, he must know where I work. Why am I suddenly feeling nervous? “How much do you know about
me?
”

He chuckles then shoots me a guilty look. “It’s gonna make me sound like a creeper, but I may have asked Dani a few questions about you.”

My eyebrows rise so high they feel as if they’re about to launch off my face. “You
asked
about me?”

One corner of his mouth twitches. “Our first time ended quicker than I wanted. And I didn’t know if you’d be receptive to me turning up on your doorstep unannounced, and with my hours for the past year, definitely wasn’t in a place to start anything.”

“You didn’t think to ask Dani for my number? Or maybe talk to me the few times we’ve been at the same group things?”

“Again, I think my creeper quotient was already high enough.”

Fair call.
“And now?”

“Now, I’m an attending, I no longer have to prove myself in the hope of getting a permanent position. I’ve done that; I’m set. My hours aren’t crazy but still aren’t nine to five. I’ve seen you once in the past year and I had to fight not to reach out to you then, so I don’t care if you think I’m a creeper anymore.” He flashes me that wicked grin of his. “But last night, seeing you deal with that douchebag, I knew I wanted you and—more than that—wanted to get to know the woman behind the sassy attitude and sexy strut.”

I open my mouth but nothing comes out. What does a woman say to that? Straight-talking, hot-as-hell Doctor Hottie, just laid it all out for me with no prompting necessary.

“You could’ve knocked on my door,” I mumble against my coffee mug.

In the blink of an eye, his stool scrapes against the floor, he rounds the counter, and he eases the cup out of my hand. He puts it down and wraps his hand around the back of my head. He bends me back onto the counter, his chest pressing into mine and his eyes full of heat. Then his mouth is on mine and he’s kissing me hard, fast and dirty—just how I like it.

“Next time,” he says, running his tongue along my bottom lip before dipping inside and retreating again, “I’ll knock on your door.”

My lips curve up into a smile against his, my brown eyes looking deep into his sapphire ones. “Next time you won’t need to knock, because you’ll have my number because I’m your fake girlfriend.”

He pulls back and stares down at me. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

I laugh. “I am, Cade. Just as long as you realize I’m not the type of girl to go to political events and high-society functions.”

Now he takes a step back and leans his back against the opposite counter, his eyes narrowed. “What does that mean?”

“I work as a hotel manager.”

His brows lift up. “I know. I’m still not getting why you don’t think you’ll fit in—not that you’d have to.”

“I’m also a stripper . . .” I study his expression for any sign that he’s put off by my admission, but he doesn’t give anything away.

His lips quirk, and he crosses his arms over his chest. “Is that so?”

I throw my hands up. “See? Totally not worthy of being a mother buffer. They’ll take one look at me and know I’m not worthy.”

Two strides and he presses into me again, his hands lifting to rest on either side of my neck. “Don’t
ever
say that you’re not worthy. If you’re trying to shock me, it’s not going to work.”

What does one say to
that?

“Okaaay . . .” I reply, and he just smirks at me.

“How about this?” he says, pulling me up straight but not loosening his hold around me. “You let me take you out for dinner this week and we get to know each other when we’re both clothed and
not
able to do anything other than talk and enjoy each other’s company.”

He’s asking me out on a
date?

Looking at him now, he seems genuine. He’s a nice guy who just happens to have a dirty mouth, a commanding nature, and is talented at using
every
part of his body. This isn’t some hotshot wanting to slum it, or a guy who just wants to get his rocks off and walk away—although weirdly, I never got that impression from him.

He’s seems serious about this and honestly what have I got to lose?

“Okay.”

“Okay?” he repeats.

“Yeah, okay. I’ll do it. I’ll be your mother buffer at the event. If I’m working, I’ll swap with someone, and then we’ll . . . you know . . .” I wave my hand in the air.

His eyes go soft as he leans in for another soft brush of the lips. “Just promise me one thing.”

“Shoot.”

“Whoever you meet and whatever you see, don’t ever think I’m like them.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m my own man—I just happened to be born into a world where my name has a legacy attached to it.”

“Okay . . .” I reply, now totally confused as to why he feels the need to tell me that.

So much so that it’s got me wondering what the hell I’ve just agreed to.

I’m in the bathroom putting on a pair of diamond stud earrings when there’s a knock at my front door. I add two final dabs of my Sensual by Johan B. perfume below my ears and between my breasts. .

Knowing we were going to one of the trendiest restaurants in the city, I’d chosen a dress that was flashy but not trashy. I’m going for a combination of intriguing and seductive while also screaming class.

I am a lover of clothes and especially dressing up. I work hard because I’m ambitious and want to be proud of my achievements when I’m old, gray, and wrinkly in all the wrong places, but also so that I can afford nice things—my apartment, good clothes, and even sexier heels, because we know it’s always
all
about the shoes.

Happy with how I look, I make my way into the living room. With my purse hooked over my arm, I swing open my front door and stop dead at the sight of Cade standing there looking like sex on a stick that has been rolled in chocolate then dipped in sprinkles of ‘jump me now.’

Charcoal tailored shirt? Check. Black slacks that look like they were made just for him? Check. The barest hint of stubble on his jaw that makes me shiver in anticipation of the feel of it against my thigh—and other places? Check.

He meets my eyes, and a rumbling chuckle escapes his lips. His gaze does a slow—
thorough
—scan of my body, pausing at the low
V
of my cleavage, then my hips, my clenched thighs, and freezing when he reaches my shoes, the same four-inch black Louboutins I was wearing when I met him.

I’m forced to clear my throat when he remains transfixed by my feet, so long my brain starts to consider the possibility that Doctor Hottie might have a foot fetish.

He moves, walking forward one step for every one I take until my legs hit the back of my couch. Holding me in place with his hips, his hands move with purpose and intent, one cupping the back of my head, the other one gliding down over my ass and dipping beneath the hem of my dress.