Chapter 18
Asher
“Oh, you’re going down, Doc,” I say as I collect the wooden pieces. “You’re looking at the reigning Jenga champ.”
“What?” Claire huffs a laugh. “Is that a thing?”
“No, it’s not. But I am excellent at Jenga. I have very steady hands.” I wiggle my fingers between us, but her attention lingers on my face for several seconds, her eyes heated.
The way she’s staring at me makes me think that came out way more sexual than intended.
“You sound very competitive, Greer,” she goes on. “You’re not going to throw a temper tantrum when you lose, are you?”
“Oh, I’m very competitive. It’s in my blood. You do not want Millie and me on the same team. I’m warning you now.” I wink.
I construct the Jenga tower quickly, trying not to read the phrases as I go, but when I accidentally zero in on “restrain me and do what you want” written on the side of one, I fear I’ve bitten off more than I can chew.
Claire’s suspiciously quiet, sipping her wine to my right, her attention lazily drifting around the room.
What’s going on in that gorgeous brain of yours?
I clear my throat. “Ready? You go first.”
She positions her glass on the table. “Wait.”
That single word causes a pang of disappointment in my chest, Shit. Has she changed her mind?
Before I can stress about it too much, she says, “I know the rules of Jenga: You remove a piece and place it on top and try not to let it topple over. But what happens when you lose?”
“You mean when you lose?” I smirk.
She only glowers at me.
“In regular Jenga, nothing happens, really. If the tower falls over during your turn, you lose and that’s the end. But since this isn’t regular Jenga…”
“Care to make it more interesting?”
“Whatcha got?” I ask. I’m not sure what could be more interesting than “restrain me and do what you want,” but I’m all ears.
“Hmm. If I win, I get to take a bath in your tub every night for a week.”
I’m about to tell her that she can soak in my tub any time she damn well pleases, but instead I ask, “And what do I get when I win?”
“Cocky, much?”
“Not cocky. Just confident.”
“Okay, what do you want?”
To fuck you bare flies to my mind, and the intrusive thought shocks me to my core. That’s way too much, too soon, though my dick doesn’t agree, with the way he’s pressing against my pants.
Rather than letting that thought leave my head, I say, “You get to bathe in my tub every night for a week, but… I get to watch.”
She captures her bottom lip between her teeth, and I’m desperate to tug it free.
“Deal.” She holds out her hand, and we shake on it.
We’re wedged between the couch and coffee table, Claire’s legs tucked under her while my elbow rests against the cushion.
“You go first,” I say.
She gathers her dark hair into a topknot like she means business, then rubs her hands together. When she plucks a block near the bottom, the stack wobbles, so I slide our wineglasses to the opposite end of the table, just in case.
I watch keenly. “What’s it say?”
“Kiss me,” she whispers, but when I lean in, she holds a hand up. “Not on the lips,” she adds, turning the block around to show me the entire instruction.
“Oh,” I gulp.
How did we go from playing Uno with a cheating five-year-old to a scandalous game of Jenga?
Scooting in closer, I survey her body. Where to kiss Claire? I take in her sun-kissed shoulder, then trace the delicate bone at her sternum with one finger. Who knew a clavicle could be so sexy?
“Can I kiss you here?”
The heady way her throat bobs when she swallows is giving me second thoughts. Maybe I’ll kiss her there instead.
She nods, and I lick my lips in return.
I brush my nose along the skin at her neck, inhaling her vanilla scent. Her breath hitches when I skate my lips across her collarbone. I could stay here all night and be a happy man.
But we’ve only just started, and I’m here for the win.
I drag my lips back and forth and trace her clavicle with my tongue, then nip at her skin, milking the moment for all it’s worth. Goose bumps break free when I pull back, and her chest flushes the most enticing shade of pink.
Her fingertips ghost across her collarbone, where my lips wish they could return, and she clears her throat. “Your turn.”
I selfishly get off on how hot and bothered she is after only one play.
With one finger, I tap a block wedged in the middle until I can pull it out from the other side.
“What’s it say?” she asks, craning her neck to see for herself.
“Take your top off.”
She rolls her eyes. “You got off easy on that one.”
I reach behind my head and tug my shirt free. “Your turn.”
Using her thumb and index finger, she effortlessly wiggles a block from the side. “Play with ice.” She frowns. “Does that mean I use the ice on you or you use the ice on me?”
“Hmm.” I head over to the freezer. “It wasn’t specific, so I’m gonna make the executive decision to use the ice on you.”
She quirks a brow. “Is that so?”
I snag a pillow off the sofa, then kneel on the other side of the table where there’s more room. “Lay down.”
When she obliges, I trace her lips with the cube, heat building inside me as she darts her tongue out for a taste.
With my free hand, I loop my fingers under the hem of her shirt and pull it up, exposing a sexy sliver of skin.
Claire’s abdominal muscles contract when I trail the ice along the waistband of her pajama pants and she tugs her shirt farther up her stomach, only stopping just below her breasts.
Circling her navel, round and round, I revel in the way her body convulses at the cold sensation.
She’s focused on my ministrations, watching as the ice melts and pools in the depression in the middle of her abdomen.
And suddenly, I’m very thirsty.
Dipping my head low, I lap the water from her navel.
It’s not enough to satiate me, so I do it again.
I roll the ice along her smooth skin, the heat of my touch melting it, then I suction my mouth to her body.
Over and over until the ice has completely melted.
Even when I’ve cleaned every last drop, I don’t stop sucking.
I’m desperate for the taste of her skin. For the taste of her pussy.
This close, I can smell her arousal.
But then she’s sitting up and reaching for her glass of wine. She takes a long swig before saying, “Your turn.”
I pretend to strategize my next move, but I really need the time to calm my nerves. When I tug a block free, I sigh. “Share a sexual fantasy.”
Swiping a hand down my face, I sigh again.
Claire pokes at my bare chest. “Tell me.”
“Okay, fine,” I say to the table in front of us. “I’ve always wanted to use one of those remote-controlled vibrators.” I turn to her. “In public.”
Her lashes flutter. “And are you wearing the vibrator or is your partner?”
A shot of excitement courses through me. “Okay so maybe I have two fantasies.”
“Mmm,” she hums, her expression unreadable.
“What’s yours?”
“Nope. That question was for you,” she says, disregarding my frown.
The stack sways when she removes her next piece. “Shit.”
My victory is premature, though. The tower steadies relatively quickly.
Turning the piece over in her hand, she smirks. “Tease your partner’s nipples.”
“Oh, hell no.” I cross my arms over my chest.
She shimmies closer and tugs them free. “Give them here.”
“Give what?”
“Your nipples,” she states matter-of-factly.
“No. I—you don’t—”
“Greer.” Her voice is stern. “We play by the rules or we don’t play at all.”
“Are you mocking me?” I hit her with a pointed glare.
We’re in a standoff, our eyes locked. But when she trails a finger up the side of my ribs, I break my concentration and follow the movement as she traces the underside of my right pec.
With that single digit, she lightly rubs my nipple, and I jolt upright at the unexpected sensation. She scoots in closer and lowers her head to my chest. With the tip of her tongue, she casually flicks my nipple back and forth. “Fuck,” I whisper.
She raises her head and regards me. “If you totally hate it, I can stop.”
“No.” I shake my head. “It’s—I, uh. No one’s ever done this to me before.”
“How does it feel?”
A tremor runs through me. “Not sure. I think you need to do it again so I can decide.”
With a mischievous grin, she dips back down, capturing my nipple between her teeth. She tugs gently, sending sparks straight to my groin and pulling a gasp from me. With one last lick, she drags her lips across my skin and gives the same attention to the other side.
A groan reverberates in my chest.
“So what did you decide?” she asks.
“Mm-hmm. Yup. Feels good.” My words are rough, my nerve endings firing.
“I thought you might like it.”
When she nips again, I have to adjust my hardening dick.
Fuck. This woman. She’s giving me a run for my money. Just as I’m about to suggest we call the game, she stops and straightens.
“Your turn,” she says evenly, as if she wasn’t just making me see stars. As if my nipple was not just wedged between her teeth like a midnight snack.
My chest is wet with her saliva, my breathing ragged, yet her sole focus is set on the wooden blocks.
The stack has seen better days, but I manage to snag a piece free, and when I read the directions, I scoff. “Of course.”
She leans into me. “What’s it say?”
Dipping my head, I plant a quick kiss against her neck. Voice low, I breathe, “Restrain me and do what you want.”
Her thick swallow can be heard from here.
Claire has kept up thus far, but by the uncertainty in her expression, this might be too extreme for her.
Dropping the block to the table, I say, “I can pick another—”
“Where?”
“Where, what?” I ask.
“Where should I restrain you?” That uncertainty has morphed completely. Now her pupils are blown wide as she licks her lips.
Flying to my feet, I yank her up. “My bedroom. Now.”
She tosses back the last of her wine and follows me down the hall silently.
The moment my bedroom door is shut and locked, my lips are on hers. An instant later, my pants and underwear are on the ground. Did I remove them or did she? I don’t even fucking know. Or care.
Still connected by our kiss, I back up until I bump into the mattress, then break the connection.
“Strip for me,” I command, then draw the duvet and sheet down and situate myself in the middle of the mattress. By the time I’m settled, my cock is nearly fully hard and on proud display.
Claire stares at it, then swallows thickly. “That’s not what the block said.”
“I know. But strip for me anyway.” Stroking my aching cock, I add, “It’s lonely being the only one naked.”
“Oh, is it?” She covers her face with her hands and mumbles words I can’t make out.
“What’s that?”
Dropping her hands, she admits, “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”
For a second I’m back to being worried I’ve pushed her too far, but then she drops her hands, and the impish grin that spreads across her face reveals she’s up for the challenge.
The way she’s working her pants down her hips is another sign.
“Slow it down, Doc.”
She steps out of her leggings, then peels her shirt up her body, slowly unveiling her sun-kissed skin.
“Thatta girl,” I praise. “Look at you, being such a good listener for me.”
The shirt falls to the floor, and she’s left standing in a pair of lilac underwear and a matching bra.
“What should I use?” she asks, surveying the room.
“Use?”
“To restrain you.”
My hand goes still on my cock, the heat burning in me turned up another notch at the visual that hits me. “I think there are some old neckties in the back of my closet.”
She pads away, disappearing into the closet. The sound of metal hangers scraping against the rod is followed by a round of giggles. When she returns, she’s swinging four ties in various patterns around. “These are hideous.”
“Tell me about it. I don’t even know why I still have them. They’re from my frat days in college.”
“Oh.” She waggles her brows. “Mr. Pretty Boy was a frat boy, huh?”
“More like a nerd boy. My fraternity was not like the ones you see on TV. We were very…”
“Dorky?” She guesses at the same time I say, “Studious.”
We both laugh.
“C’mere,” I say.
Nearly naked, she crawls on top of me and straddles my hips.
I can’t get my hands on her fast enough, and when I squeeze her firm thighs and her stomach clenches, it’s a damn boost to my ego.
She drops the ties onto my abdomen, then picks the blue-and-gold plaid one to wrap around my wrists.
While I expect a simple knot, she surprises me with one fit for a skilled sailor.
“How—”
“Sailing camp in the Hamptons,” she cuts me off.
“You sail? Why haven’t I seen you out on the water here?”
“Because I hate sailing.” She says. “I capsized once when I was ten, and it scared the shit out of me. Thankfully, I’m only scared of sailing and not the actual water.” She tugs on the tie, searching my face. “Too tight?”
The pressure of the fabric is hotter than I imagined. “No. It’s fine.”
“Good.”
She lifts my arms above my head and loops a second tie through the first to secure my wrists to the wrought iron headboard, her tits hovering over my face.
In one quick move, I lift up and capture her nipple through her bra with my mouth.
Bulls-eye.
She yelps in surprise and loses her balance, catching herself on my chest. “Naughty boy,” she teases, then hops off my lap before I have a chance to do it again.
At the bottom of the bed, she ties each ankle to the footboard so my legs are spread.
I’m completely at her mercy, clothed in nothing but nerves and excitement.
“Are you comfortable?” Her question is genuine.
“Would you prop a pillow under my arms, please?”
“Always so polite,” she says as she does exactly that.
“Brat.” I wink.
She pinches my nipple in jest. “You watch it, or else I’ll find an extra tie for that smart mouth of yours.”
The glint in her eyes is wicked, and I’m so here for it.