Play With Me (11 page)

She almost told him before she remembered. The game. She cast him a militant look and pushed back against his hands. “Thought you were cleaning me up.” 

He gave a chuckle and released her, before kneeling in the tub. His knees brushed against hers, the hair on his thighs scraping her legs. “I couldn’t resist. You looked so hungry.” 

“We both know you need me more than I need you.” 

As soon as she said the words, uttered out of rashness and possibly jest, Tatiana wished she could recall them. They meant something. She wasn’t entirely sure what, but they meant something. He froze, his face wiped clean of humor. Her muscles locked as well. Tension vibrated between them, becoming as thick as the steam in the bathroom. 

“I…I didn’t mean…”

“Shh.” He placed his fingers over her lips. His face was set, hard.

She spoke around his hand. “I was just playing, you know. Trash-talking.”

“Yeah. Me too.” He moved his hand down over her throat to her breasts. He massaged them roughly. “You’re still so dirty, Tatiana.” 

“My hands are tied,” she pointed out, breathless. She felt like a ping-pong ball, the way she kept bouncing up to the height of desire. Her unnecessarily intimate faux pas took a seat on the back burner. 

He lifted one breast up, leaned down, and bit at it. She squealed.

“Beg me.” 

Do it. Finish this.
“No,” she heard herself say. 

A growl sounded in his chest. He pushed her back until she was sprawled in the tub and he was straddling her. He shut off the water, the cessation of sound leaving only their panting breaths in the room. 

He swept over her belly and down her legs, paying lip service to cleaning her off, his real intent to arouse her nerve endings with his calloused touch. He stroked back up to her pussy, using the heel of his hand to grind down on her clitoris. With his other hand, he shoved two fingers deep inside her. 

She cried out, her head tipping back against the dark marble. 

He leaned in close, his hot breath fanning her ear. “My fingers are bigger than yours. But they still aren’t thick enough, are they?”

They weren’t. She needed…

“They aren’t long enough.” He thrust lazily a few times. “They can’t reach deep enough. They can’t hit that spot that makes you squeal when I’m fucking you.” 

No, they weren’t nearly long enough.

“You need my cock. Say it.”

Tatiana wasn’t sure how she managed it, but she kept stubbornly silent. 

He gave a humorless laugh and reached over her head. With a whir of noise, the jets in the tub started. She expected the ones placed around the side of the tub. It was the rush of water below her that really startled her, streams blasting against her legs, another right below her ass, the water hitting her sensitive skin. 

Wyatt arranged her like a doll, forcing her to sit right on top of one of the forceful jets, so it tunneled between her legs. “Jesus Christ, Wyatt!” 

“I’ve never used these before. Tell me if I’m doing it wrong.”

Bastard. They both knew he was doing everything exactly right. His gaze was locked on her face, two fingers moving by touch alone as they opened up her pussy lips, giving her no place to run from the directed water. She squirmed against the bonds he’d tied, trying to free herself so she could…she didn’t know what. Grab him and force him to fuck her? 

He thrust three fingers inside of her this time and combined with the jet, she nearly climaxed. Ten years ago, it had taken the two of them three books and a weekend of fingering before Wyatt had figured out how to stimulate her G-spot. Now, he hooked those fingers inside of her and rubbed, finding her G-spot as easily as if he had never forgotten it. “Well, hello, old friend,” he murmured as she writhed. 

“Wyatt,” she sobbed, straining to get away, or get closer, she wasn’t sure which. 

“Just say it.” He stroked harder. 

“Please,” she bit out.

He kissed her hard, sucking on her tongue as if he would consume her. His fingers never relented their torture below. “Say it. Say you want my cock.” 

“I want your cock. Please.” She gasped when he twisted his hand on the downward thrust and adjusted her so the water hit her clit directly.

“Say you need my cock.”

“I need it. I need your cock so bad.”

His teeth closed on her earlobe and he whispered, “Say you need
me
.” 

Her breath caught. “I need you. I need you.” 

“Why? Why do you need me?”

The words slipped past her lips, unable to be contained. “Because I’ve never had anyone as good as you.” 

There. She couldn’t regret the words. The fact that she’d said them in the throes of sexual bliss didn’t make them any less true. 

As if he’d been spurred, Wyatt removed his fingers and surged up, the displaced water splashing both of them. He slammed the jets off and hoisted her to her feet.

“Please,” she said, unable to stop begging now. “Please fuck me, Wyatt.” 

“I want you in my bed.” He helped her out of the tub and spun her around, cursing as his fingers slipped over the wet knot tied at her wrists. There was barely a second for her to shake out her arms before he picked her up off her feet, carrying her out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. 

She didn’t even notice the cold air on her wet body—the fire in her pussy warmed her all over. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed frantic kisses on his neck and chest. “Please. Please, sir. Please fuck me.”  

“Shh.”

Contrary as always, she couldn’t shut up now that he allowed her to. “I want your big, thick cock so badly. You can tie me to your bed and stay inside of me. All day and all night, just fucking me, coming in me.” She bit his neck, tonguing the area to soothe it. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard such a tempting idea.” He forced her to stand on her wobbly legs, facing the huge king-sized bed. His palm slid up her spine until he grasped the back of her neck. 

He exerted pressure, forcing her down until her cheek pressed against the mattress. She was arched over the side of the bed, her ass high in the air. She flattened her hands on either side of her body. A wet chunk of hair slid over her face, tickling her nose.

“Stay,” he said, his voice cold and a little mean.

He left her like that, and she heard the rustle of foil that told her he was donning a condom. She jumped when his hands coasted over her ass cheeks, petting, shaping her flesh. “I love your ass. Your skin is so white.” One hand drew away, and then it was back in a stinging slap. He gave a dark laugh when she cried out. “I think I’d like it even more all pink and hot.” He gave another spank. “Too bad I can’t wait.”

With a grunt, he spun her around. His body came over hers. In the dark, he looked demonic, almost possessed, a marauder, his face a mask of selfishness. He pushed her thighs wide and sank inside her. “Make yourself come if you like,” he said, almost coldly. “This fuck is for me. That’s your punishment for being so difficult.”  

And it was for him, she realized, as he began a driving rhythm, his face frozen in a determined expression. But the deep thrusts were perfect for her, detonating a chain reaction in her body. She opened her legs wider, giving him more room. He made a savage sound, grasping her legs beneath her knees and using the grip to open her completely, until her ankles were in the vicinity of her ears. Each stroke rubbed the base of his cock against her clitoris. She whimpered and pinched her nipples. Cursing, he leaned down and bit at the hard buds. The rough nip was just what she needed. She arched her back and came, keening.  

“Fuck, yeah. I love the way you milk me,” he growled, his teeth clenched. His words triggered another small climax. The heavy bed moved as he thrust harder, shoving himself in so deep, she wondered how she’d ever dislodge him. He panted into her ear and ground against her, holding her tight as he came. “No one but you, Tatiana. No one.” 

No one. 

For long minutes there was only silence and the sound of their breathing, exhaustion hanging heavy between them. Finally, he hefted himself up and cursed softly, lowering her legs so they weren’t pressed up in a gymnast’s pose. He rubbed feeling back into her limbs, looking everywhere but her eyes. 

She opened her mouth, her natural sassiness struggling to assert itself in the face of the serious mood. “Told you…” Her voice broke. She cleared her throat. “Told you I was flexible.” 

His lips quirked, a mockery of his usual smile. “Yeah. You weren’t lying.”

“Yoga,” she rasped. 

“Hm. God bless yoga.” 

Her grin was shaky. It faded as they stared at each other. 

No one.

He pushed himself off the bed. “I’m going to… I’ll be right back.” He staggered to the bathroom, his legs looking about as steady as hers felt.  

She lay there, still breathing hard, their combined sweat all over her body. The room wasn’t that warm, the desert night naturally cooling the apartment. She shivered and realized her limbs were splayed wide. 

She flushed and sat up, closing her legs and curling them underneath her. The sink ran in the bathroom for a long time, and the door opened, silhouetting Wyatt. He switched off the light, and his large shadow came toward the bed. He sat next to her. A towel dropped over her head, and he patted briskly, drying her still-wet hair. 

“Thanks,” she murmured when he pulled the towel away and stroked it over her body, drying off the remnants of water and perspiration. 

“No problem.” 

So polite. The formal note in his voice was sharply at odds with their nudity. Worry wiggled through her. She didn’t know what the protocol was. It was late. Was she supposed to leave? Were they done with each other? Was sleeping together part of their deal?

He dropped the towel carelessly on the ground and gave a sigh that came from the bottom of his soul. Wyatt reached past her to lift the comforter. “Get in.” 

Okay. “So I should stay?” 

He looked at her. In the darkness of the room, his eyes were unreadable. “Yeah. You should stay.” 

Tatiana swallowed and scrambled over the bed to crawl under the blanket. He slid in next to her. Immediately, his body heat warmed her, and she sought it out, curling into his side. Chilliness plagued her. What she wouldn’t give to have a heater like Wyatt in her bed every night. “The comforter on that side is wet,” she whispered. The mattress too, possibly. 

“It’s fine.” 

Unable to resist, she rubbed her nose against his pec. He grunted and moved so her legs and arms were tangled up with his, her cold feet and hands finding a natural resting place against his limbs. She breathed in his scent. Drugstore shampoo mixed with boutique bubble bath. So familiar and foreign. Exhaustion tugged at her. “Wyatt?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m…” Happy? Content? Glad?

His large hand passed over her head, pressing her closer to his chest. “Hush.” 

Yes. There was no point in talking, not when she wasn’t sure what words she’d say. What words needed to be said. 

She fell asleep with the touch of his lips on her forehead. 

Wyatt knew she was gone within minutes of waking. 

God damn it. She’d worn him out so much he hadn’t even stirred when she slipped away. He hadn’t felt so rested in years, but that was cold comfort. He stared up at the ceiling and listened carefully, straining to hear noises in the kitchen or bathroom that proved him wrong. Nothing. 

You set the parameters. You can’t complain now. 

Back when they’d broken up as kids, he’d gone on a two-week-long bender. But he was older and wiser, and this wasn’t a seven-year-long relationship that was ending, just a one-night stand that had run its course. 

Calling himself a sentimental fool, he swept a hand over the empty space in his bed where she had snuggled next to him, frowning and sitting up when his hands met paper.

An unassuming file folder rested next to him. He picked it up and read the scrawled writing on the front. 

There’s no one like you, either. I’m amazed at who you grew up to be. Thank you. 

Thank you? Thank you for what? He cleared his throat, trying to dislodge the sudden lump there and opened the folder.  At first he didn’t understand what he was looking at, until he spotted his own signature at the bottom of the worn paper. 

Letters. Letters he’d written Tatiana a decade ago. Though she’d been the academic, she preferred the phone. He’d always been the one to write her when or if they had to be apart, something about the method of communication appealing to him. Tatiana had called him a closet romantic, and he’d scoffed.  

She had kept these? All these years?  Why? What did that mean? 

No one like you.

He
wasn’t
a romantic. Pragmatism was his middle name.

But…maybe there was a tiny kernel of hope blooming in his chest. Bemused, he leaned back against his pillows and began to read the words he’d written long ago. 

Chapter Ten

Every minute dragged by as if it had been dipped in molasses. It had only been three hours since Tatiana had left Wyatt sleeping in his bed, and not a second had passed without her trying to come up with a reason to go see him again, and just as many reasons why that was a horrible idea.
 

He’s not looking for a relationship. 

They were so good in bed together.

You came here to help your brother. Even if that’s resolved, that little issue of theft might make family get-togethers weird. 

It wasn’t only the sex. There was still something emotional between them. Something that should be teased out. 

One night doesn’t mean you know him at all. Not who he is now. 

Damn it, she wasn’t a moron.

Even if she did feel like one. Groaning, Tatiana laid her head on the steering wheel. That note. Why had she left that note? And his letters? What had she been hoping to accomplish there, some sort of closure?

A soft curse left her lips. They might have sat abandoned in her closet for years, with only an occasional glance, but she fiercely regretted losing those letters. She blamed their loss on the ooey-gooey sentimentality running through her system this morning. Which, indirectly, could be blamed on Wyatt and the orgasms he had given her. They had addled her mind. That bastard.