Love of the Game (23 page)

F
ifteen minutes later, they were sitting naked in the middle of the bed, staring at each other, both of them trying not to show their disappointment to the other.

How could the sex have fizzled when the chemistry between them was so sizzling? When the kiss at the lake had been off-the-charts fantastic? When their foreplay stirred goose bumps.

“You were wrong,” she said.

“About what?”

“I did disappoint. Epic fail,” she muttered.

“Not epic,” he comforted. “And certainly not a fail. More like a mulligan. Think of it as a mulligan. We need a do-over.”

“It's not your fault,” she mumbled. “Sometimes I can't get there. We put too much pressure on ourselves. Unrealistic expectations.”

“You're giving up so soon, Sphinx.”

“It's okay. No big deal—”

“It is not okay.”

She couldn't meet his gaze. She was in the medical field. Normally sex talk didn't embarrass her, but she was feeling inadequate and just wanted out of here. “Maybe the kiss was so great because it was taboo. I was your therapist then, but now that I'm not, and the thrill of rule breaking is gone—”

“That's not it.”

She lifted her eyes and briefly looked at him.
“Maybe it is. Maybe that's the only reason we were so hot before. The forbidden fruit.”

“That's not it,” he repeated with such certainty that she had no choice but to take him seriously.

“Honestly, Axel, it's not you, it's me.”

“Stop,” he commanded. “It's no one's fault. We just quit too soon.”

“Well, you came—”

“And you didn't. That means the party is not over.”

“You have no obligation to satisfy me.”

“The hell I don't.”

“Check your ego, champ. I'm in charge of my own sexuality.”

“All right, so let's go again and this time you fully let go. You're relaxed everywhere but in bed. Your self-control is amazing, but in the sack, that's not such a good thing.”

“Look, I've got things to do.” She pushed her bracelet down on her wrist, eager to just end it.

“You're not leaving until we make this happen.”

“You don't owe me an orgasm. You don't owe me anything. Let's just chalk this one up to things that should never have happened and—”

He kissed her. “Shh.”

“Your ego is getting in the way,” she mumbled around his lips. “You don't have to prove yourself to me. All those groupies can't be wrong. I'm sure you're normally fantastic in bed and it's simply because we just don't mesh . . .”

When she paused to take a breath, he slipped his tongue between her teeth and made a thrilling little maneuver over the roof of her mouth. The trick—whatever it was—lit up nerve endings from her mouth straight to her womb. Wow, okay, she liked that.

He leaned forward, pushing her back against the pillow, her body burrowing deeper into the memory foam mattress. She readjusted her legs, spreading them apart so he could sink between them. They were face-to-face, his eyes peering into hers as if she was the most interesting thing he'd ever come across.

“You're sweating,” he said.

“I know.” She ran a palm across her brow, shivered.

“It was an observation, not a criticism.” He kissed her skin where she'd just rubbed away the perspiration. “Just wanted you to know there's no reason to break out in a cold sweat. I wasn't serious about holding you hostage until you came. You can leave anytime you want.”

“I know.”

“Are you staying?”

“Depends on what you intend on doing with that tongue.”

“Ah,” he said. “At last we're getting somewhere.”

“You know this might not end up the way you want it to, no matter how hard you try.”

“Seems to be the theme of my life lately.”

“You'll get your pitching arm back.”

“You sound so certain.”

“I am.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because you're not the kind of guy who gives up.”

“I'm glad you're starting to realize that.” He kissed the indentation between her nose and her lip, his body heavy against her.

Kasha sucked in a ragged breath. She could feel his erection growing bigger, stronger.

He moved to nibble her earlobe and she shuddered. “You like that.” It was a statement, not a question.

Helplessly, she nodded.

“Mmm,” he murmured against her ear. “Salty. I like salty.”

“Too much salt isn't good for you.”

“Are you trying to kill the mood? Roll with it, babe.”

“Okay.” She gasped because he was doing amazing things with his tongue.

“Now here's the way I see it. For some reason, you're afraid to let yourself go with me.”

“Maybe,” she admitted.

“The challenge”—he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers gentle against her skin—“is to figure out how to loosen you up.”

“I don't see how I could get any looser,” she said. “My body is so loose it feels like liquid nitrogen.”

“I'm not talking about your body.” His voice dropped lower, deeper. “I'm talking about that razor-sharp mind of yours. You think too much, Sphinx. That's what's tripping you up.”

“Is that right?”

“Yep. And it's my job to find a way to turn off your inner critic long enough to get there.”

“Good luck with that,” she mumbled.

“You're waving a red flag at a horny bull, you realize that, right?” He kissed the tip of her nose. “I can't resist a thrown gauntlet.”

“I wasn't making a dare.”

“No?”

“No.”

“So you don't want me to do this?” He slipped his hands between her thighs, touched her lightly in just the right place with just the right amount of pressure.

“I do not.”

“You sure?” He tickled lightly, making her squirm and swallow back a moan of pleasure.

“Stop it,” she whimpered weakly.

“This?” he asked, doing something that lit up every nerve ending in her pelvis. “Or this?”

She tingled and burned. “I think . . . I think . . .”

“Yes?”

“I can't think while you're doing that.”

“Good. Thinking gets you in trouble.”

“I think . . .” She sucked in a gallon of oxygen, did her best to ignore the zings and zaps his fingers stirred up. “I think we should just call it a day. We gave it a shot. The chemistry is a bust. Now we can move on.”

“Nope,” he said. “You don't get to do that.”

“Do what?”

He manacled her wrists to the mattress with his hands. “Withdraw.”

“That's not what I'm doing.”

“No?” One skeptical eyebrow shot up on his forehead. “Smells like running away to me.”

“It's not running away,” she said. “I have things to do—”

“Oh yeah? Like what?”

“Grocery shopping.”

“That can wait.”

“Not really. The grocery store closes at ten and I don't have a crumb of food in the house.”

“You're intentionally being difficult.”

“And you're doing what you always do. Push.”

“You keep saying that like pushing is a bad thing.”

“Sometimes it is.”

“When?”

Kasha blinked, unable to think of anything, and finally blurted, “When the door says pull.”

He laughed. “Are you telling me you honestly don't want to have headboard-bangingly great sex?”

“You're making promises you can't back up.”

“Not as long as you keep fighting me. But . . .” He raked his gaze over her naked body, so bold and appreciative that Kasha shuddered. “If you just let go and let loose, nothing could contain you.”

“I know.”

He canted his head, looked confused for a moment. “That's what you're afraid of? Being off the chain?”

“I like being contained.”

“Ah,” he said as if someone had turned a lightbulb on and he could see he was in a great vast library instead of a cubbyhole. “What do you think will happen if you let yourself go?”

She shook her head, tried to get out of the grip he held on her wrists, but he was too strong for her.

“You want up?”

“Yes,” she said, feeling petulant, but not wanting him to know he'd gotten to her. “Please.”

“Points for good manners,” he said. “But there's only one way you're getting up from here.”

“What's that?”

“Talk.”

She rolled her eyes. “C'mon.”

“Talk to me. Tell me why you're so closed off.”

“You are seriously annoying, you know that? Most guys would be happy if women didn't want to talk about their feelings. But you're at me with a pickaxe and shovel.”

“I'm not most guys,” he said.

No. No, he certainly was not. He ran his tongue along her collarbone, and instinctively she arched her hips, seeking to press against him. Damn him.

“Score.” He laughed raggedly against her neck.

“Look,” she said. “You don't have to keep trying. It's not your fault. It's not my fault. It's not anyone's fault. We just didn't click.”

“Bullshit,” he said softly, trailing his fingers over her breasts damp with perspiration. “We click like a Bic.”

“Could we just cuddle?”

“No,” he said. “It's time to get down to brass tacks. What gets you hot and bothered?”

“Nothing much,” she answered, which was perfectly true. She worked hard to make sure of it.

He pressed his hips against hers. “Role playing? Sex in public places? Feathers? Fur? Handcuffs?”

“It's not going to work. Accept it.”

“What turns you on, Kasha?” His husky voice brushed her ears.

You. You turn me on. That's the problem.
She closed her eyes. Fought for control.

“Blindfolds?” he whispered. “Tickling?”

“Tickle me and I might pee on you.”

“So is that a thing?”

“No! No tickling, no peeing.”

“Good, because I wasn't on board with that either.”

“We're compatible there anyway,” she mumbled.

“Spanking?” he said. “Do you like to be spanked?”

“Only if you let me spank you first.”

“That's definitely not happening.”

“You might just have to accept that we're not that great in the sack.”

“It's a romantic myth that sex is fantabulous the first time out of the gate. Anything worth doing well takes practice. Lots and lots of practice.”

“Hmm,” she said noncommittally.

“Kidnap fantasies?” he asked. “Bringing food to bed?”

“If you wash the sheets afterward.”

“That could be arranged. What else? Ménage à trois?”

“In your dreams, bucko. I'm the jealous type. I don't share my lover with anyone.” Kasha didn't even know that until she said it, but damn if it wasn't true. If he was her man, she wasn't about to share him.

And that scared her because it made her think of her mother who killed her father for being unfaithful. She pushed against his hands, wanting up. Wanting out of there. He was pushing her out of her comfort zone, and she didn't like that.

“Hold on,” he said. “We're starting to get somewhere. Do you like sex toys? What about having your toes sucked?”

She shivered.

“Oh ho. So that's it? The toe thing?”

Her toes were very sensitive, but she didn't want him going down there, doing that. It would unhinge her completely.

He chuckled like some black-hatted villain in a cowboy movie, let go of her wrists, and slid down the length of her body, his naked skin against hers. She could get away now, but she didn't.

“No,” she protested weakly. “Don't.”

His mouth was planting a hot kiss at her navel, but he didn't linger there, just kept going down and down and down, dropping a kiss at key points along the way.

“You can stop there,” she said when he reached the center of her womanhood. She ran her fingers through his hair, and twisting the strands to hold him in place.

“Not yet, babe. Not yet.” He pushed downward.

She clung to him.

“Ouch. You're pulling my hair.”

“I know. Leave my toes alone.”

“No way. I've got to see what happens when I give those little piggies some attention.”

“Please,” she whimpered, as he pulled free from her grip, his mouth kissing her upper thigh. “Don't.”

“Please?” he said. “Or don't? Those are two different things.”

“Don't . . .”

But he wasn't listening. His tongue skimmed over her knee. She fell back against the pillow, weightless, helpless. Waiting. Tingling. Buzzing. The farther south he went, the more her body tightened.

“Wait,” she said knowing if she didn't stop him now she never would. “At least let me go wash my feet.”

“The rest of you tastes delicious, I'm sure your feet do too.”

“Let me go. I'll come back. I promise.”

“I don't trust you,” he murmured, his mouth pressed against her shin, his hand stroking her ankle.

“I need a pedicure.”

“Your feet are beautiful just the way they are.”

“I would have gotten a pedicure if I'd have known you were going to be mucking around down there.”

“I'll give you one,” he vowed. “After.”

“I—”

His mouth touched the top of her foot, and his fingers slipped around to knead the arch. Her foot burst into flames, sent a rolling flash fire straight up her leg to lodge in her groin.

Every cell in her body throbbed with each beat of her pulse. Thump. Thump. Thump. A slow heat spread through her abdomen, oozed through her blood.

“This little piggy went to market,” he said, and his mouth closed over her big toe.