Night Games (The Storm Inside #6) Page 7
And for two, she had some conflicting feelings about being taken care of. That was my mission now. Why was Carrie Ann Walker afraid of being taken care of?
“I can see that.” Then I stepped closer. “I miss you.”
She stumbled backward. “We should talk, but not here. Not now.”
I stepped toward her again, liking the way her cheeks brightened every time I got closer. “We should most definitely talk and if you think mentioning divorce at a wedding reception is a bad idea then we won’t.”
Her gorgeous eyes pinched at the corners as they made their way up, up, up to mine. Fuck, how I loved being tall—the dramatic way it forced my woman to look up at me. I liked it because it always told me more than any woman would care to know. How long it took, whether she lingered on my chest or shoulders, if her eyes softened or focused . . . each one was a clue into what was going on at a million miles an hour in her brain.
And right now, Carrie was conflicted. She wanted to run but she also wanted me to kiss the crap out of her.
So I did.
Who was I to turn away from such an obvious need? I took her face carefully in my hands as I stepped all the way against her. Soft enough that she could push away easily, but firmly enough to hold her lips right where I wanted them.
She gasped as my fingers made contact with her skin, then moaned when my lips took hers. It was like fire and lightning every time.
Every. Fucking. Time.
It never got easier on my senses to kiss Carrie and I could tell by the way she fell against me, let me hold her, that it was just as overwhelming to her.
“Why?” she murmured between kisses she was taking as much as giving. “Why are you kissing me?”
“Why wouldn’t I?” Oh, god. Her tongue. Warm and soft. Needy. My cock twitched in my pants and I commanded it to behave just this once.
“I’ve ignored you all week. I . . . we . . . ” Her words kept getting swallowed up by more kisses. “We made a mistake.”
“We didn’t make a mistake.” I said it a little more forcefully than I meant to, but it pissed me off that she kept calling our marriage a mistake. Rushed? Yes. A mistake? Not even a little bit. “And I really like kissing you.”
She moaned again, her hands sliding down my back to my hips, latching on as she began to grind against me.
Fuck. There was no stopping it now. My damn dick grew long and thick, responding to the friction from her body. It demanded to be let loose.
“Wes,” she hissed as I spun her around and pressed her body up against the house. “You’re talking about being a husband.”
Why did everyone keep repeating these same words? As if I didn’t understand their definitions. I hitched her higher, pressed my thigh between her legs to give her something to ride. “I know what I’m talking about, babe.”
She ground harder, higher. Her fingers threaded through my hair and tugged. “I don’t understand.” Her head fell back, giving me full access to that sweet column of her throat to suck and lick.
“What don’t you understand? I want to be with you. For however long you’ll let me.”
She shuddered.
My dick throbbed. It wanted out of my pants and into her heat. The pulse rocketed all the way down my length and my hips jerked toward her. Here. I want to be here, it seemed to be demanding over and over again. And not just any pussy. Carrie’s. Hers was the only one that made me twitch like this. It was so hot and wet and always so sweet. She soaked me up and held me tight up inside her in a way I’d never known before. I’d call it perfection if I had to name it. Being inside her was as close to perfection as I’d ever known.
“I need you, Wes. I need you now.”
Those were the magic words. I hit the key fob in my pocket. “My car?”
She nodded furiously.
It wasn’t what I wanted but our options were limited given the house full of people. What I wanted was to lay her out naked. Take my time devouring her, reminding her that I could blow her fucking mind. Maybe if I gave her the orgasm of her life she’d need me as much as I needed her. Maybe she wouldn’t leave me.
The backseat of my Mustang was too small to fit us so I didn’t even bother. I went right to the passenger side and dropped the seat back. “Lay down.”
She shot me a look. “How is that possibly going to work? Me on top. It’s the only way.”
“Lay down,” I growled this time. My fucking cock was about to explode out of my pants and it only wanted Carrie one way.
Her eyes rounded and she scurried into my seat, just like I wanted.
Seeing her stretched out on my black leather, her hair splayed out over the seat? I memorized that moment. Dream. Come. True.
And then I knelt down on the sidewalk beside her, pulling the door as close as I could. The street was empty. It was normally a pretty quiet neighborhood, but with the cars lining every available curb, and the music pumping from the backyard, everyone else was keeping their distance. I’d also managed, by some miracle, to park between streetlights. We were in a dark patch.
I reached across the car to flick off the dome light. There. Nice and dark.
Then I slid my hand up her leg, thanking the gods for skirts.
“I want to hear you moan, Carrie.” I danced the pads of my fingers along the edge of her teeny tiny panties. She always wore these colorful, frilly, lacey things. “No one can see or hear you but me. I promise. I’ve got you.”
She relaxed, letting me in. My finger slid beneath the fabric, still dancing. Closer. Closer.
“Wes . . . ”
Damn. That was so deep and sultry. I had to use my other hand to finally adjust my dick, tucking it up and away from the woman it wanted. Patience.
“That’s right, baby. You want me, don’t you?”
She shuddered and rocked down toward my hand. “Yes. I want you.”
Carrie liked it a little dirty, but I didn’t think now was the time. Teasing and words would have to do what my hands, cock, and tools couldn’t. Not if we wanted to live to die another day.
I danced closer to her entrance where the skin was so soft and sensitive. Even out here I could feel just how hot and wet she was for me.
Me. That thought hit me hard. Hot and wet for me. This was a woman who bowed to no one. She took what she wanted and told everyone else to go to hell. But she let me in.
She wanted me.
And I think, when I really listened, put all the shit aside, I think she might even need me in the best way possible.
“You know you could have me all the time, right?”
She rocked her hips again, searching for what I refused to give her. “Please . . . ”
The blood in my veins pumped harder every time she begged. I stroked her. Just once. “This doesn’t have to end.” I stroked her again. “Why did you break up with me?”
She hissed when I finally sank a finger inside. “Because.”
Because? I pumped my finger in and out, then withdrew. “Tell me.” If she wanted an orgasm then she was going to give me information I could work with.
“Because we were done, Wes.”
“We don’t look done.” I plunged two fingers inside and pressed my thumb approximately where I thought her clit might be. “You’re tight around my fingers, babe. Tight and needy.” I pumped and stroked until I felt it. “That pulse? That was you wanting more. But instead of coming to me, you ran away and I want to know why.”
I pushed her right up to the edge. Pumping and running hard circles around her clit. And then all at once I stopped.
“No,” she whimpered, her eyes finding mine. “Don’t stop now.”
It hurt to. Really it did. “This is what you did to me. We were good together. So fucking good. And it was getting better. I was just starting to see how far we could go . . . and you took it all away. You stopped right when things were starting to get interesting.”
I got the response I wanted. Oh, she was confused as fuck, but underneath that? Yeah, she was
curious.
I didn’t stop there. I really wanted to drive the point home. “I want more than the blue balls of life from you, Carrie.” I reached up under her skirt and slid her panties down just enough. “I want the orgasm.” It was a risky move. Taking my example and driving it home with a real, somewhat forced, orgasm? She was splayed awkwardly but didn’t make the tiniest move to push me away. Instead she cocked her hips and gave me access as I found her clit with my mouth.
To taste her after all this was like getting water for the first time after a walk in the desert. I drank her up. Wanted more.
So much more.
But she came too soon. Her center squeezed my fingers. She gripped the back of my head and bucked up against my lips. “God, yes,” she moaned.
Then it was over.
I carefully met her gaze as I sat back on my heels. Didn’t break our connection while I helped her replace her panties. Fuck, how I wanted to keep them in my pocket as a trophy for the rest of the night. I made her come. Me. And I have the wet panties to prove it.
Not that I needed it. I’d be tasting her all night, too.
“I mean it, Carrie. We need to talk. We can’t let this drag out any longer.”
Her eyes unfocused as she withdrew back into her mind—away from me. “I know.” It came out as this sad little whisper.
It about killed me is what it did. So I took up her hand and brought it to my lips. “At least tell me why you’re so sad.”
She was quiet. Like, really, really quiet for a long time. It started to scare me but then she finally whispered, “I don’t like to fail.”
I turned her hand over and kissed the inside of her palm, then looked up at her. “I don’t either. And I don’t plan on doing any failing, by the way.” Then I kissed the inside of her wrist.
She shivered. “There are three things that are very important to me. I take care of myself. I don’t fail. And I believe marriage is sacred. Somehow I’ve managed to botch all three in one fell swoop.”
Now we were really getting somewhere. “We definitely have a lot to talk about, then. But before we go into that party and put on our fake smiles, I want you to know three things. One, it’s sexy as fuck that you take care of yourself. Two, you haven’t failed at anything yet. And three, the only thing I’ve wanted just as much as baseball is to be a husband. So before you go writing me off and dooming us to some shitty end, give me a chance to have a real conversation. You might just be surprised by what happens.”
8
Wes, present day
Some asshole was hammering my skull. Bang, bang, bang!
Nope. Wait. That asshole was Roman and he wasn’t actually touching me.
“Wake up. Wake up. Wake up,” he chanted, just like when we were roommates in college.
“Die.”
Bastard laughed. “It was my party. And yet it’s your drunk ass passed out on my couch.”
“I have more fun than you do. Always have.” Damn the fucking hammering wouldn’t stop.
And then it all came crashing back. After my little sit down with Carrie something happened. Our conversation unleashed some sort of beast. She came to play. What the game was, I still didn’t know. All I knew was that I lost, judging by the way my brain was rattling around.
“Orange juice or the cocktail?” Roman asked.
“Cocktail.” This hangover was brutal and no ordinary glass of OJ would be able to put a dent in it.
“Just remember you asked for this.” Then he set a glass of water on the floor beside my couch-bed.
In college I invented a drink we now refer to as “The Cocktail.” A disgusting hangover remedy consisting of Gatorade (or any sport drink equivalent), activated charcoal, and Alka-Seltzer. It’s disgusting but it had never once failed me in a tight situation.
Of which there were many.
Not recently, mind you. I had gotten pretty darn good at managing my alcohol consumption since becoming an adult. I considered myself a professional drinker and a lapse like this was going to bruise my ego as much as my liver.
My poor liver.
Except worrying about detoxing my internal organs was going to have to wait until after my head stopped exploding.
“Here. All we had was red. Sorry, man.”
As I sat up the world tilted. “Fuck red.” I used to love red Gatorade but then there was an incident that shall not be named in which red played a starring role. I avoided red ever since.
“Carrie’s asleep upstairs in Zoe’s bed.”
I almost spit out my cocktail halfway through the chugging. “She is?”
He nodded, looking all sober and smug in his jeans and t-shirt instead of last night’s suit. Suit pants, just for the record, were not comfortable pajamas.
“What’s going on between you two? I think June is getting suspicious.”
I asked Roman not to tell June about our Vegas trip. I figured she was Carrie’s best friend and if Carrie wanted her to know she should have the option to tell her.
“I’m not entirely sure anymore. She avoided me all week.” I gulped down the last quarter of the glass and belched. “Then we had a conversation at the beginning of the party.”
After which she became mischief personified. She dared me to do shots of bourbon then dragged me out on the dance floor. We danced but it wasn’t like a couple. It was more like two people trying to out dance each other, which the crowd thought was hilarious, but confused the hell out of me.
Then she insisted we do tequila shots.
I realize now that was where we really went wrong. It was right after the shots that she tried to drag me into the bathroom for some more fun-times. “Oh shit.” That. That was where the wheels came off the cart.
Roman’s eyebrows shot up. “What happened?”
“She’s still playing me.” I dragged my hand down my face and scrubbed, trying to wake the rest of the way up so I could think faster. Smarter. “Not in a bad way. She—”
Roman gave me a sign and I immediately shut the hell up. Then I heard the sound of footsteps on the stairs behind me.
“Good morning, Carrie. Can I get you something to eat?” Roman was so smooth.
Did I keep my back to her? Turn around? None of it felt natural, so I took a chance and turned. Instead of the sexy dress she’d been wearing at the party she wore an old t-shirt and jeans. Probably both Zoe’s. Her hair was rumpled but sexy and her face was fresh and clean.
I love you.
I just wanted to be able to say it out loud and not have her shrink away like I was a cockroach.
“No thank you,” she said. “I just want to get home.”
“You know you’re always welcome here.”
She smiled tightly, completely ignoring me. “I do. Thank you.”
“Were you able to get some sleep?”
“More than I expected,” she said, then finally turned to look at me. Her eyes clear and confident. A nice change from sad and scared. “You need to be back in Jacksonville tonight?”
Fuck baseball.
Except not really. “Yes.”
“My place at two? Will that give you enough time to drive back?” No agenda. No doubts.
“That’ll work.” I didn’t want to go home alone to my empty condo. I didn’t want to practice tomorrow or play two games. Not without her.
“I’ll see you then.” She turned and left before I could say anything else.
And when I stood up to follow her out my head started hammering again like someone was actually stabbing me with an ice pick, so she escaped.
“You better sit before you hurt yourself.”
Fuck sitting. “I need coffee and I need a breakfast sandwich.”
“Tell me what’s going on and I’ll make it.”
Bribery at its finest. “Fine,” I said, sitting. “She was testing me last night. She got me drunk.” I knew it. Down in the fiber of my being. That was what that mischievous streak was all about. “Then she tried to jump me in your bathroom.”
Exactly how we started. I tapped the tip of my nose. “Bingo. She wanted to prove I was still that horny guy ready to bang the pretty girl at the drop of a hat.” And she almost had me. Those last two shots had put me into a really good spin and the way she unzipped me, dug into my pants and made me hard . . . fuck even thinking about it now made my dick sit up and take notice. “But I resisted. I told her I wanted her when she was ready to talk sense and not a moment before.”
“You said this? While drunk?”
I would resent his tone if I hadn’t earned it. “But that’s not the best part. She tried to hook me up with that lady you work with.”
“Sierra?”
I nodded. Long dark hair, wicked pretty eyes. “Yeah her.”
“Why?”
“Are you not listening?” I stood up even though it hurt like hell. “Don’t you get it? Last night was one huge fucking test and I passed!” I fist-pumped the air and immediately regretted it. “I don’t want anyone but her and she finally gets it.”
“Or she was trying to let you off easy.”
Nope. I was not falling for that. I saw the way she looked at me a minute ago. She knew. She knew it all now.
“I need coffee, a breakfast sandwich, and a five mile run.” And after a shower and a shave I would be able to conquer the woman I loved.
WHEN I WAS a kid it was my job to track down my cousin Adelaide’s cat every fucking time it escaped. And man, that squirmy little fluff ball was a pain in the ass to catch. He really liked tiny spaces. High branches. Fences. I never appreciated just how much that training in creative tracking was going to save my ass as an adult.
Carrie’s door swung open. The picture perfect view of the Gulf of Mexico as clear as day from her door, but I didn’t see it. My eyes were trained on the woman in front of me.
“Hey babe.”
She didn’t react at all. No smile. No frown. Just a nod and a wave to enter. “You’re looking better.”
And feeling better too. The food helped but it was really the run and the shower that pushed me over the edge. It flushed out my system and allowed me to reset. “Thanks. Someone got me rip roaring drunk last night.”