Chapter 17
Strip Scrabble.
And I’d said yes.
Oh. My. God.
Sitting on the rug across from Chaz, the flames at my back are nothing compared to the heat of anticipation simmering between us. I take another sip of wine—more like a gulp—for good measure.
“You sure about this, Blue?” He eyes the glass in my hand. “We can call it off. No pressure.”
“Chickening out?” I taunt, rejecting his gallant offer now that I’ve decided to take the leap.
“Not a chance.” He sets up the Scrabble board on the coffee table and shakes the bag of letters. “Simple rules, whenever you score under ten points or can’t play, you lose an article of clothing. Agreed?”
“Deal,” I say, under the protective layer of my hoodie. “This is my game so . . .”
“We’ll see.” His wicked grin flips my stomach. “I’m very motivated.”
The first few rounds fly by, and the competitive energy is fun and playful. I snag several high scores, including twenty-nine points for Quiz, which earns a groan from Chaz. He holds his own, staying above the threshold. On his next turn, he plays Fit on a double letter score for ten points.
“Ooh, just squeaked by there,” I tease, feeling the buzz of wine in my veins.
“Hoping to get me naked, Blue?”
“That’s the object of the game,” I toss back with an angelic smile as if I’m not eager to discover where all that ink on his forearms leads.
I put down Jot on a double word for a score of twenty. But my luck doesn’t hold. Too many vowels. Too few options. After a desperate play of Gee, his grin stretches wide.
“You know what this means,” he says, leaning back to watch me.
“Here goes,” I say, slowly peeling off one sock.
“A sock?” he frowns.
“It counts.” I rebut with a knowing grin. He pays me back in the next round when he scores eight points with Hem and kicks off a sock too.
The game escalates after that. There are fewer opportunities. A bad draw forces me to shed my second sock, then my pants. The hoodie covers the tops of my thighs, but the rest is still bare.
“Damn, Blue,” he murmurs, his gaze tracking down the length of me.
“Those legs.”
My cheeks flush, liking his reaction—a lot. “Eyes on the board, Delgado. It’s your turn.”
He reluctantly drags his attention back to the game, and we both manage to stay above ten for two more rounds before he plays Hot for only six points.
“How poetic,” I say, leaning forward. “Off with it.”
Chuckling at my eagerness, he grabs the hem of his shirt and tugs it over his head in one fluid motion.
I don’t gasp, but I want to. Of course, I had a vague idea of what he might look like, though the reality is so much better.
Tattoos cover his thick arms and curve over his broad shoulders and chest, like a storyboard of his life.
I long to trace the intricate designs with my fingertips down his torso to his stomach—softly rounded with squeezable love handles on the sides.
Sexy, real, and approachable. His nipples are brown discs, slightly protruding, and there’s a small silver barbell through the left one.
It catches the firelight and snags my breath.
“Keep eye-fucking me like that, and this game’s gonna be over.”
I lift my eyes, meeting his hot gaze.
Caught, I own it, mustering up my confidence. “I like what I see.”
“Consider it your personal playground. Do with it whatever you want.”
“Um . . . I’ll keep that in mind.” In fact, it’s the only thing on my mind as I barely register my next play, wondering if the metal nipple ring is cool to the touch.
When I lose another round, Chaz looks pointedly at my top.
But with a combination of wanting to torment him and stay covered for as long as possible, I reach under my hoodie and maneuver my bra off. Then, with a ta-da flourish, I pull it through the neck of my top and drop it on the table.
Cursing beneath his breath, his gaze toggles between the cotton garment with tiny blue flowers and my offending hoodie. “That’s quite a party trick.”
“Just playing the game,” I say, batting my lashes. “Your turn.”
Scraping by with ten points, he manages to keep his pants on—unfortunately—but I only have It to play.
“Lex,” he drawls, thick with warning. “If you pull another article of clothing out of your top, I’m going to lose it.”
I laugh to cover my nerves. I’ve filled out since being the tall, gangly girl, but I’m still not very curvy. Richard, who expressed very little interest in me sexually, said I had the type of body that was best displayed in designer clothes. He thought it was a compliment. It wasn’t.
I’m fine with how I look. But getting naked in front of a virile man I really like creates a breeding ground for anxiety to feed on.
If I told Chaz I changed my mind, he would never make me feel bad about it. But I don’t want to change my mind. I need to stop overthinking and just do it.
With a deep breath, I cross my arms in front of me and reach for the bottom of my hoodie.
I see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows, and his eyes track the slide of the soft fabric up my torso and over my head.
Despite the heat from the fireplace, tiny goosebumps prickle my arms, and my nipples bead to hard points.
“Christ,” he hisses. His large chest moves in and out with quickened breaths. “Even better than I imagined.”
“You’re not disappointed then.”
“I’m nowhere near disappointed. Screw the game. I can’t fucking think.” He tosses his letters on the table. “Come here, Blue.”
Flutters swarm my stomach. The anticipation feels like the chaotic flap of butterfly wings.
This is not a man who thinks I look best in designer clothes or any clothes at all.
I rise in nothing but my cotton panties, the matching bra already on the table, and walk toward him.
My steps grow steadier, along with my confidence.
His gaze follows my every motion, the twist of my hips, the sway of my breasts.
“You’re exquisite.”
“So are you.” I reach out, taking him up on his open invitation, and run my fingers over his shoulders, tracing the inked lines. I marvel at the warmth radiating off his smooth skin, wanting to bathe in it.
“Do I get to touch too?”
“Yes,” I murmur, tingles skittering down my spine when his hands cup the backs of my thighs.
He pulls me into the V of his parted legs and then strokes upward to splay his palms over my panty-clad behind.
He stares at me beneath heavy eyelids as his thumbs tease along the cotton edge to the apex of my thighs.
“You’re already wet.” He groans, pressing his lips against my lower belly.
“Chaz?” My heart pounds.
“Hm?” His fingers pause, and he looks up, searching my face. “What is it, baby?”
“I just…I’m not ready to go all the way tonight.”
“No problem with that, Blue. You tell me how far.”
Trusting him the way I do makes it easier to express myself. “Upper body only.” I’d rather not face the will-I-won’t-I orgasm so soon after the last time. “Is that okay?”
“Mm-hm. I love second base,” he hums happily, moving his hands to my ribs. “It means I get to play with everything north of here.” He licks an imaginary line above the waistband of my underwear. “Suck on your nipples and drench your panties.”
I clutch his shoulders to steady myself. “God, Chaz.”
“Every time you moan my name like that,” he murmurs, pulling back with a sinful grin, “I want you even more.”
“I want you too,” I say, staring into his lust-dark eyes. “Can I touch you first?”
“I’m all yours, baby.”
Feeling the strength of our desire pulsing all around us, I urge him onto his back. He goes willingly, his breath as shallow as my own. I take off my glasses and slide over him, unable to stifle the moan that escapes at the skin-to-skin contact. He’s furnace-hot and pumping with virility.
He slides his hands to my lower back, bringing me flush with the hard length of his erection, giving me fanny flutters and making me leak.
I press my mouth to his, loving the play of our tongues—teasing, and tangling.
I could kiss him for hours, and it still wouldn’t be enough.
But with him laid out for me, I want the other tastes of him too.
I run my hands over his chest and feel the tremor deep within him.
I slide my mouth along his jaw, his chin, to the hollow of his throat.
I inhale the warm-spiced scent on his skin, now muskier with desire.
I drag my hands and lips down his body, desperate to discover what makes him moan the loudest or curse and tremble.
It’s a study on what sets him on fire, and I’m an avid student.
He mentioned playing with his nipple last night, so I flick my tongue over the barbell.
The metal’s not cool; it’s warm like him.
He groans and dislodges my bun with the spread of his fingers.
Gaging that this spot is ultrasensitive, I curl my tongue all around the piercing and lick the protruding tip.
His hold tightens, and his groan rumbles low in his chest. I stay there a while, loving the response I get, before kissing down the center of his body. My hands gently squeeze his fluffy sides as my mouth slides over his soft paunch.
“Lex,” he grits. “Your mouth—fuck.”
My blood fires from his praise. I never learned how to give pleasure. I never knew touching and kissing could be this addictive.
When I loosen the drawstring of his pants and slide my tongue into the gap, Chaz mutters a curse. In one swift move, he flips us over, pinning me beneath him.
“We need to even things up,” he breathes heavily.
“Why?” I protest. “I was having a good time.”
“So was I. But you were bringing me too close to an unceremonious end.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. Oh.” He grins.
“If we’re evening things up,” I point out, “shouldn’t your pants be off?”
“You don’t have to ask me twice.” He stands, stripping down to tight boxer briefs in the blink of an eye.