The Lover’s Game (No Exceptions #2)(23)
Author: J.C. Reed

Banish it. Forget him. Don’t linger.

It was too much. Too painful.

I had to prove to myself that I was strong enough to move on from him, or else I would always compare every man to him, and no one would ever be good enough for me. I had to stop feeling and seeing Jett in every breath I took and in every stranger’s face.

It was no longer about love. It was about releasing the physical pain inside me. It was about freeing myself from my addiction so I could feel alive again.

“You’re pretty,” he whispered, his hand touching my face. I didn’t look up at the stranger, not even when he spread my legs and lifted them until they were almost up to my chin. As he lay down, his hard erection brushed my entry, and his hand rested inches from my face. I shuddered and turned away. The knowledge that he was about to enter me choked me to silence, and yet I still didn’t see it coming.

As he dived in, I gasped.

Holy crap!

He was big and hard. My muscles instantly cramped around his thick, pulsing length, eager to both let him in and push him away.

“Oh God.” I winced and squirmed as I tried to wriggle out from under him, but his hand stopped me.

“Don’t.” It was just a word, but there was something sexy about his tone.

I fidgeted to accommodate his size, and then forced out the breath I had been holding. Slowly, he eased into me, filling me, stretching me, burying himself until I could feel him pulsating deep within my core. I whimpered in protest when he pulled back, only to dive in again, repeating the friction while sending equal jolts of pleasure and pain through me.

“Does it hurt?” His voice was strained with desire and concern.

“Not anymore,” I lied.

“Good.” He wrapped my legs around his hips and eased into me carefully, as if he was afraid he might break me. I doubted he could do more damage when everything was already broken.

His movements of withdrawing and thrusting, each time going a little deeper, sent a jolt of heat through me. Something began to pulsate, strong and hard. I lifted up on my elbows, my mouth finding his in the darkness.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, the thought registered that my body belonged to another man, but I didn’t pursue it. I didn’t think about the implications or the fact that, in spite of my physical lust for him, every fiber of my heart screamed in protest, because the stranger wasn’t the man I wanted—not for the night and not even in that dream. He was simply someone who filled the emptiness within me.

Without my permission, a tear trickled down my cheek. Even though it was dark enough, I turned my head away so he wouldn’t glimpse it. At least Check wasn’t a psycho, and he had been kind enough to ask if I was okay. How often do you find that kind of attitude? He wasn’t that bad.

“I want to reach every inch of you,” Check whispered as he plunged into my sheath, hard and fast, again and again until my skin was entrenched in sweat. My body began to tremble from lust—not because of him, but from the image that kept flashing before my eyes: Jett’s face, his sinfully green eyes, his full lips, his sexy, tan body. They were past memories of Jett, but even in that moment, with another man inside me, my mind wouldn’t stop wishing it was him taking me, spreading the moisture deep inside me. Come to think of it, the way Check touched me, the way he moved, the way he moaned, even the way he was holding and kissing me reminded me too much of Jett. I wanted to scream with frustration.

Just sick. Even now, you keep thinking about Jett.

What was wrong with me? Why was I so turned on by the images in my head?

It was too much to bear. I pressed my eyes tightly shut until white spots appeared in my vision.

“Fuck me harder,” I demanded.

Do anything that will dissolve this image; take me away from this craziness.

“As you wish.”

Pinning my wrists above my head, he thrust in and out, stretching me, entering me deeper and faster, until the tiny movements became as hot as fire. He was so raw, so primitive, that I could feel my insides quivering in both fear and delight. He cupped my ass and lifted my hips, inviting me to meet his thrusts, and I did so willingly, surrendering to the wildfire spreading inside me and the new sensations washing through me.

At least, I felt like I was still alive.

The way he filled me and circled his hips was intense and powerful. Lifting my legs higher, he entered a new level of depth, all while the image of Jett continued to haunt me, turning me on. As Check slammed into my willing body one more time, a moan fled my mouth, and I could feel myself tightening around his erection. A cry escaped my lips seconds before I came, falling apart around him.

“Fuck, Brooke.” He groaned seconds before he found his own climax, releasing my wrists and letting me go as he moved aside, freeing me from his weight.

My heart skipped a beat.

Brooke?

Wait. How did he know?

I froze.

What a stupid, crappy dream! What a load of shit! But what if it wasn’t just a dream at all?

My brain struggled to fit the pieces of the puzzle, and as it did, I realized something more awful, something that hadn’t crossed my blurry mind until then. How did he know where I lived? I had mentioned Brooklyn—that much I remembered—but I never told him the exact address. I was sure of that. So how did he know where my apartment was situated? How did he know my real name?

My heart spluttered in my chest. I opened my eyes, clutching at the floor for support. But before I could ask any of the questions burning inside my mind, the sickening spinning started again, amplified by the blood rushing from my orgasm. As I rose to my knees, everything faded to black, and I could feel myself falling, welcoming the darkness with a last fleeting thought: Who was the blue-eyed stranger I had brought home?

Chapter 13

The next morning, I awoke to a throbbing sensation inside my head. The soft light of the early-morning sun illuminated the bedroom, sending jolts of pain through my body. Everything was hurting: my legs, my head, even my eyes, which felt heavy, as if they were glued together. Blinded by the glaring brightness, I closed my lids again. In spite of the sunny weather, a cold breeze crept up my naked legs, and the aroma of rain invaded my nostrils. I shuddered and pulled the covers over my head. Did someone open the window on a cold New York autumn day?

In that instant, the faint memories of a dream in which I had slept with a stranger came to me with full force. My stomach made a nervous flip.

What a stupid dream!

The mere possibility of sleeping with someone I didn’t know made me wince. I’d never do that. Not in reality. It had to be a dream, because I wasn’t the one-night-stand type.