Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
SAVVY
I don’t think either of us truly thought about the repercussions of this game. I know I didn’t.
My muscles ache as I hold a twisted version of a lunge.
My left foot is on a red circle on the middle of the mat, while my right foot is on a green circle at the bottom.
My left arm is pressed against Grey’s cock so my hand can be on a blue circle, and I’ve got my right arm over the top of him for a yellow circle.
And the asshole is sprawled out underneath me like he’s doing a crab walk without breaking a freaking sweat.
“Aren’t we supposed to have another person here to spin the wheel?” My hair drops into my face and sticks there because I’m sweating more than when I go to hot yoga. I swear Grey is a human sauna.
“We’ve only been playing for thirty minutes, Monroe. Are you giving up already?”
Never.
Ignoring him, I tighten my thigh muscles to hold me steady as I spin the wheel. Right arm green. Damn it, this is going to hurt.
Grey grins up at me. Not a single muscle on him is shaking.
The pasta has long since gone cold, but he insists it’s the rules, so I stab as much of it as I can get and bring it to his mouth. He wraps his lips around the fork with a grin.
He probably got lip injections. If he didn’t, God definitely plays favorites because women everywhere would kill for his lips.
“Right arm green, Monroe.”
Shit. My gaze snaps to his, and I want to scream. He caught me staring at his lips. Again.
I toss the fork to the plate, but it releases none of the tension that’s coiled around us, then I spread out over the top of him even more. Now I’m in a strange version of a plank, our bodies are pressed together from shoulder to knee with my left arm crushed between me and his cock.
My left foot slips, pressing my weight more firmly into his. His cock throbs against my arm and he groans. We’re so close, his breath warms my cheek.
“Ready to give up?” He doesn’t whisper, but his words are low and husky. If I didn’t know better, I might think he was hanging on by a thread. But when I scan his face, all I see is stupidly aggressive determination.
“Grey, if you think I’m about to beg you to fuck me, now or in this lifetime, you’re dumber than I thought.”
He grins, the smile blazing across his face like an out-of-control brush fire prepared to jump streets if that’s what it takes to feed its thirst for destruction.
Somehow, he manages to lift his hips, pressing more tightly into mine, sealing us together. A slight thrust tells me he knows exactly what he’s doing. With his lips hovering near my cheek, he leans toward the wheel and spins. Right foot blue.
The fork clinks against the plate that’s finally nearly empty, and then he’s dropping his neck to give him room to offer me the pasta.
If I’d known being fed by Greyson Reyes would create an erotic scene that will forever play in my fantasies, I probably wouldn’t have agreed to this game of his.
We’re so close that his stare sears into my soul as he studies my face. Each time he feeds me, the muscles in his jaw tick as he draws circles around my face with his eyes.
I swallow, and he follows the movement.
“Do you have any idea how sexy you are?” he growls.
Swallowing again removes the remnants of pasta but also takes all the moisture in my mouth with it.
“Right foot blue.” I remind him.
He moves on autopilot, never once breaking eye contact with me. The new position gives him even more leverage, and he uses it to his advantage, pressing himself more tightly into my body.
“Pasta’s gone.” His words are rough against my ear, and my breaths expel in short, harsh pants. “Maybe it’s time to up the stakes.”
Dear God, I don’t think I can handle more stakes with this man.
“What are your terms?” Oh, Lord. Was that my voice? What is he doing to me?
“Getting naked.”
I scoff, but he grinds his hips against my center, and the sound dies in my throat.
“Y—you’re serious?”
“Desperately.” His whispered word against my ear sends a rush of lust straight to my core.
“How does that even work? You’re not thinking with the right head.”
His lips move against my cheek, and I know without looking that he’s smiling again. I need to start choosing circles that get my face away from his.
“You spin the wheel. Whatever body part you land on is the article of clothing you have to remove from the other person. So, if you get left leg, then you have to get my left leg out of my shorts.”
I quickly scan our positions. There is no way we make it through enough rounds stripping each other to wind up completely naked without someone falling. I’ll give it two rounds, tops.
“One article of clothing at a time. You can’t remove shorts and underwear at the same time. You have to go layer by layer,” I counter.
“You say that as though it’ll be a deterrent.”
“Just making sure we’re on the same page.”
“Your turn, Monroe.” He thrusts his hips, and I swear the only part of him I’ve never hated just keeps growing.
The arm of the wheel goes around and around after I flick it, finally landing on left arm red.
Thank God. I don’t think I could handle another moment of feeling his thickness and not being able to do anything about it. Reaching over the top of him, I smirk.
“Try not to fall over,” I say.
He shifts his weight to his right arm, then lifts his left as though he hasn’t been using every muscle he possesses for the last half an hour.
It takes me a moment, but I finally wrestle his arm out of his shirt sleeve, then place my arm on a red circle above his head.
He has the face of a hunter as he stares at me, so I’m thankful when he drops his gaze and spins the wheel. Left foot green.
He looks down at the mat, then to where my legs are spread on red and green circles. “Now we get to see just how flexible you really are, Monroe.”
I gasp when his hand slips below his boxers that I’m using as sleep shorts. His palm skims my ass, my hip, down to my outer thigh. The thin cotton stretches as far as it will go, but he continues to drag his palm down to my shin, then lifts it, causing me to lose my balance.
He catches me with his hips and chest, holding me steady until I regain my posture. “Slip your knee out of the shorts.”
“Who said I’m supposed to help you?”
His pale blue eyes darken, and his entire body seems to vibrate.
“Have it your way.”
I’m about to ask him what he means when there’s a sharp pinch to the skin on my hip when he tugs the boxers I’m wearing past their breaking point. In the same breath, the silence in the room is shredded by the distinct sound of fabric ripping.
Craning my neck, I find his thumb sticking through a hole in his underwear. Motherfucker. “Don’t you—”
He jerks his thumb down, and I watch in horror as he rips the material straight through the leg hole, leaving the fabric to flop open on either side, revealing my black lace G-string.
“Are you kidding me?” I pin him with a look, but all he does is shrug. “If you rip my panties, I will knee you in the balls. They’re the only ones I have.”
“It’s not my fault you’re not a team player. Spin the wheel, Monroe.”
“I’m serious. If you rip anything else, this game is over.”
“Negotiations ended when you spun the wheel. Rules are rules. If you quit, you lose.” He lifts his head so his mouth is pressed to the corner of my lips. “In fact, I hope you quit because I can’t wait to hear you beg.”
Tearing my face away from his is harder than I want to admit, and it takes me longer than it should to locate the wheel. Right foot yellow.
Without making eye contact, I reach into his shorts and instantly pause. “You’re not wearing any underwear.”
“Never said I was.” He presses his hips up, so his cock pulses against my belly. “You can quit at any time.”
“I’m not ever going to quit,” I grumble under my breath. But of course he hears it. His booming laughter grates on my nerves as I tug and pull on his shorts.
He gracefully lifts his foot, then bends his knee to accommodate me removing his clothing. Freaking pervert.
As soon as they’re off, we replace our respective limbs onto the colored circles.
This game is lasting way longer than I’d hoped.
Left arm blue.
Left foot yellow.
Right foot yellow.
Left arm green.
Left foot red.
Right arm blue.
With each turn, more skin emerges until a thin sheen of sweat covers both of our naked bodies. Every time Grey moves his hand, he finds a way to graze my nipples, my clit, my ass.
I’m primed for whatever he’ll give me, but neither of us is willing to lose.
Left foot green has me straddling his face.
“Sixty-nine is my new favorite number.” His breath skates across my clit, and I can’t hold back a moan.
“Give up, Monroe. You know you want me to tug this needy little clit into my mouth and suck until you see stars.”
Yes. Yes, I do want that. But I’m also more stubborn than a professional athlete on a winning streak.
“Asshole.” My eyes widen when his cock bounces in front of my face. Hmm, turnabout’s fair play.
Pressing up onto my toes, I lean forward so every exhale lands on his dick.
“Careful, Monroe. You don’t want to play this game with me.” He shocks the hell out of me when his tongue darts out to taste me in one quick lick from my opening to my clit.
We both moan with an overload of sensations.
“It’s your turn to spin, Grey.” As soon as the words leave my mouth, I fill it with the tip of him. His salty, earthy flavor hits my tongue, and my lips clamp shut around him.
“Fucking hell, Sav.” His words are as tortured as I feel. “This is how you want to play? We always seem to be bending the rules. That’s fine, though. I’m prepared to win.”
The sound of the spinner urges me to move faster on his cock before he’s forced to move into a new position. His groan is all the encouragement I need.
I’ve never cared for giving head before, but with Greyson, it’s different. Watching this control freak lose control is an aphrodisiac I’m quickly becoming addicted to.