“I want to come. I want you to come. And I want to go home tonight. I won’t pull up to the office tomorrow in your car like the whore people already think I am.” He tries to argue that, but I stop him. “Focus on now. Can you do that? Because I am.”
“How many times? For you, for me?” he clarifies, letting me know his focus is right where it should be.
I smile, knowing I’ve got him but also that it’s going to be to both of our benefits. “Well, you’re one up already,” I tease. “Let’s go with two for me and one for you. Make it even.”
Colton nods. “Counter. At least two.”
“Feeling pretty good about your own talents, are you?” But I smile my agreement. And the deal is struck.
“Hold still,” Colton murmurs in my ear as he steps a slow circle around me, his eyes drinking in my figure through my dress. “I want to see you.”
“I . . . I want to see you too,” I tell him. “I’ve been undressing you with my eyes for ages.”
“You will.” Colton’s voice is thick with want and hidden humor. I still can’t believe he had no idea I was crushing on him as he strutted through the lobby. The clueless, hyper-focused man needed to be clubbed over the head—or flashed my naked ass, apparently—to get his attention. “For now . . . just hold still.”
I do as he says, not moving as his fingers trail over my shoulders and down my arms, goosebumps pricking my skin right behind his touch. Coming back up my arms, he explores my back and neck with just his fingers but still setting my body on fire by the time he starts lowering my zipper.
My dress slithers down my body, leaving me in just my lingerie, stockings, and heels. “My God, you’re stunning.”
His bald admiration makes me flush with pride, and I lift my chest a little bit, preening for him under his gaze. Colton steps around me, looking me up and down as he slips his suit jacket off and undoes his tie. “I want to undress you.”
Colton surprises me by shaking his head, grinning as he hands me his tie. “I have a different idea. Cover your eyes with my tie,” Colton dares, leaning in again until I can feel the heat from his body though we’re not touching . . . yet. “Then we’re going to play X marks the spot.”
A game? He’s learning . . . fast, and I like it.
“I think you mean G spot? I’ve never heard of an X-spot, though if you want to find mine, I wouldn’t mind a bit of a wild goose chase.”
“Goose chase?” he echoes like a parrot.
I smile. “It’s an expression. It means running after something that isn’t there . . . like an X-spot.”
He smiles, getting it. “Not a goose chase.” The phrase still sounds like a foreign shaping of his tongue, like the expression amuses him. “X marks the spot. You will think of a spot but not tell me. I’ll test to find out where the spot is, with my fingers, my lips, my tongue, touching you wherever I think it might be, with whatever I want. We play until I find the X.”
“Or the G?” I barter.
“You're not a very good listener, are you?” he teases. “You’re not supposed to tell me the place you’re thinking of or it ruins the game.”
“Just to be clear here, finding my G-spot is never, ever going to ruin a game. It’s basically a touchdown, field goal, score, hole in one every time.”
His lips do that twitchy thing again, like he’s barely holding back from laughing at me.
I trace the tip of his tie over my skin and along the edges of my bra. “Okay, so other than the obvious worship and G-spot discovery—that’s a hint, by the way—what do I get if I win?”
“Damn near anything you wish,” Colton promises me. “Well? Are you up for it?”
Oh, it’s on. Biting my lip, I place Colt’s tie around my eyes, cutting off all light. At the last minute, I pull it back down, lifting one sculpted brow his way. “No feet. No shame, but that’s definitely not my kink, and your feet have been in dirty socks all day. Not to mention whatever hazards were on that putt-putt course. Gross.” I shudder exaggeratedly and curl my own toes, breaking the tension of the moment when Colton laughs out loud.
Sex, or not quite sex, doesn’t have to be the Serious Thing people make it out to be. It can be fun, filled with heat and humor. Or at least that’s my experience.
Having said my piece, I lift the fancy silk tie back up over my eyes, shutting out the light once again. I hear a shuffling of sound and I realize that he’s shucked his clothes. I’m naked . . . well, nearly naked in my lingerie and stockings, with a nude Colton Wolfe, his tie blindfolding me as we prepare to play what I think might become my new favorite game.
He starts easy, his fingertips tracing my ears and his tongue licking a line along my collarbone. It relaxes me, and soon, I’m having fun, any trepidation forgotten.
But then Colt starts really playing. His fingers work at the clasp of my bra, sliding it down my arms before his mouth engulfs my right nipple and I surge upward in surprised need. He lets go too soon, driving me crazy. I can feel the air around me, heated but empty, and I try to figure out where he’s standing.
To my left. No . . . to my right. I don’t sense him there, either.
I feel a nudge along my hip, something blunter than a finger.
“Oh, my God, is that your toe? Did you stick your big toe on my hip?” I laugh as I say it, hearing how crazy it sounds a second after it leaves my lips.
His answering laugh only makes me blush beneath the blindfold. “If you think I can get my big toe up to your hip from here, you might be sorely disappointed in my lack of flexibility, Elle. I’m not exactly yoga-bendy.”
I giggle. “You said bendy. That doesn’t seem like a Colton Wolfe word.”
“Touché.”
“Yeah, that’s more like it. Fancy and French.”
This game is weird and silly, and I love that he came up with it. The serious and staid Colton Wolfe playing putt-putt and not just seducing me but being playful as he does so. I like it. A lot.
I take matters into my own hands, reaching out to find something long, thick, and incredibly hard lined up against my belly.
Colton hisses.
“So, not your big toe then?” I say coyly.
“You’re forgetting the rules,” he says gruffly as I stroke him from base to tip. “I’m the one finding the X.”
I lick my lips, knowing he probably sees the flirtatious movement. My God, he’s huge. I can feel the head of his cock pressing against my inner wrist even as I push down to his base, and as I jack him slowly, he hums in pleasure. “You didn’t say anything about distracting you from your hunt, though. I play dirty. I’ll provide the distraction, and you . . . you keep searching.”
“Play dirty? I’ll show you playing dirty.”
It’s the only warning I get before I’m swooped up into his arms and flung through the air. I have a split-second shock of freefall before I bounce on his tennis-court-sized bed. A second later, my legs are resting on his bare, broad shoulders and he’s running his fingertips along my inner thighs.
“Oh, shit,” I say huskily. I’m not even going to pretend he isn’t rocking my world just by being between my thighs, and he hasn’t even really touched me yet. “Do you want a clue about the X?” I ask, but there’s a begging plea in my tone for him to get on with this.