I kneel behind her, cover her cheeks with my hands, and spread her apart.

  She trembles.

  I blow a soft stream of air against her wetness, like a promise of all the wild sensations to come. “I have one request, sweetheart,” I say.

  “What’s that?”

  “Don’t want your neighbors to hear what’s mine. Be fucking quiet. Or I’ll spank you.”

  “Oh!” She wiggles her rear. “But I like spanking.”

  Best. Words. Ever.

  But still. She’s so damn impudent.

  I dip my face, bite her ass. She yelps. “I said be quiet,” I warn.

  “But I like biting too.”

  “Then, if you’re noisy, I won’t spank you. I won’t bite you,” I command, and she whimpers. “Can you be quiet now?”

  “I’ll try.”

  “Good girl,” I say, then I bury my face between her legs and kiss her wetness. Her salty, sweet taste floods my tongue and overwhelms my senses.

  As I lick and kiss, she gasps. As I experience the forbidden thrill of eating Ellie Snow, I roam my hands across the landscape of her fantastic ass. “Want to own this ass,” I mutter, then I trace a long line along her pussy, lapping her up before I return to the rise of her clit, sucking on her right there.

  “Oh god,” she groans.

  I raise a hand and smack her rear.

  She gasps quietly, then sucks in her sounds.

  I smile against her. “Good.”

  I swat her other cheek.

  She stifles a moan. So obedient.

  I lick her again, smack her again. We become a feedback loop of smacks and swallowed groans, swats and strangled gasps, until Ellie white-knuckles the arms of the chair and whispers, “Gabe,” in a plaintive warning.

  She’s on the cusp of coming, and that won’t do. Can’t let her lose her mind outside. I stop, stand, and toss her over my shoulder, still only half-dressed. I carry her inside, set her on the couch, and crawl between her thighs, my hands sliding up and spreading her nice and wide.

  No idea where her dog is. Don’t care either.

  I tap her right leg. “Put this one over the side of the couch. Want to admire this pretty pussy before I fuck you with my tongue,” I tell her.

  With a shudder, she drapes her right leg over the cushion, letting her left leg fall to the floor. “Is this good, Gabe?”

  I rumble in approval, gazing at her slippery pink lips. God, no wonder I love pink so fucking much.

  Then, I French kiss her sweet cunt, worshiping her with my lips and my mouth, my hands pushing her legs open wider. She moans and writhes. But that’s not enough for me. I want screams and shouts. I stretch my right arm up, push under her shirt and bra, and grab her tit.

  “Yessss,” she moans.

  I roll her nipple between my thumb and forefinger, ruthlessly, right as I suck on her clit.

  “Oh god, Gabe. Yes. Yes. Yes.”

  I slide up my other arm. As I eat her pussy like a starving man, I squeeze her generous tits, and she arches her back.

  In seconds, my Ellie is losing her mind.

  Shouting my name. No. Screaming it. My mind goes haywire, lights flashing, electricity crackling as she comes hard on my lips.

  She tastes incredible, her scent filling my nostrils. I slow my pace, a soft, gentle lick as she comes down, panting, murmuring. When she laughs, that’s a sign to stop. I lift my face, smiling wickedly at my woman. She’s a blissed-out mess, hair wild, shirt rucked up, bra askew.

  And we’ve only just begun. “Got a full-length mirror?”

  Ellie smiles woozily. “Bedroom,” she says in a sex-drenched voice.

  “Take off your shirt. Get on the bed. If you’re not on your hands and knees in ten seconds, waiting for my cock like a good girl, you’ll have to wait for it while I jerk off on your face,” I tell her.

  She blinks, then swallows roughly. “Yes, Gabe.”

  She pops up and races to her bedroom, stripping on the way, dropping her tank top and bra on the floor.

  I rise, tugging off my shirt. When I toss it on the couch, it lands next to…a dog.

  Whoa. Was Gigi there the whole time? No clue, but this dog has excellent sex manners. “You’re a good girl too,” I tell the pup, then I head to the bedroom, grabbing a condom from my wallet as I reach the doorway.

  Where I just stop. Awed.

  It’s like discovering a precious work of art. I’m overwhelmed, and I shake my head in appreciation.

  She’s naked and glorious on all fours. There’s a mirror in front of her.

  I stride over to her and drag a hand through her lush hair. “Look at me,” I command.

  She raises her face. “Yes?”

  “You like this? You like the way I fuck you?”

  She nods, whip fast. “You haven’t fucked me yet.”

  I yank, punitively, on her hair. “Everything I do to you is fucking, sweetheart. Got that? When I eat your pussy, I’m fucking you with my tongue. When I finger you, I fuck you with my fingers. Every way we touch, we fuck.”

  She trembles, a long, luxurious shudder that moves down her beautiful back. “I love the way you fuck me.”

  “Are you dripping for me?”

  “Yes,” she says.

  “Prove it. Now,” I order.

  She slips a hand between her thighs. When she shows me her wet fingers, I rub my free hand over my cock. “Put it on your lips, so I can taste you again,” I say.

  She runs her fingertip over her lower lip, like she’s applying lip gloss. I bend and lick off the tang of her. My brain nearly short-circuits with lust.

  I break the kiss and focus on brass tacks.

  “Pick a safe word,” I tell her.

  Her lips curve in a grin of filthy delight. “Scooter.”

  I smile too. “Perfect, sweetheart,” I tell her, then I strip off my jeans and boxer briefs, move to the other side of the bed, and climb behind her, kneeling between her spread thighs again.

  “Now watch in the mirror. Don’t want you to have any doubts about whether I’d give you vanilla sex or not,” I instruct, then roll a condom down my length and notch the head of my cock against her slick heat.

  And I sink inside.

  Then go still.

  I need a moment as her body hugs my cock. She’s tight and hot and fits me like a glove. “This pussy belongs to me,” I growl as I push all the way inside her.

  “I know,” she pants, her head falling forward.

  My disobedient Ellie. No, no, no. I grab her shoulder. “Watch us,” I warn. “Or I’ll stop.”

  She blinks like she’s orienting herself, remembering her orders. “Yes, Gabe,” she says as she raises her face and gazes at us in the mirror.

  Then I curl my hand tighter around her shoulder, my fingers digging in possessively. I ease out almost, almost all the way.

  She moans. Her back bows and she lifts her ass, inviting me to slam into her.

  I heed her wishes. Thrusting deep inside her. Gripping her harder. Listening to her cues, reading her body language, I find our rhythm, a punishing pace that makes her groan and grunt too. We’re both animals, fucking wildly.

  I shove a hand into her hair again. Twist her strands around my fist. Jerk hard.

  The sound she makes is feral. “Ohhhh,” she moans.

  And it’s still not enough for me. “You want me to smack this pretty ass?”

  “Hard, please,” she begs.

  I lift a hand, then smack.

  Smack, tug, fuck.

  I leave handprints, and still she’s begging me, more, more, more.

  She cries out again, like she’s closer, and I let go of her hair. Sliding my hand between her thighs, I stroke her diamond of a clit and I smack her ass ruthlessly with my other hand until she’s shouting my name and coming on my cock.

  My vision blurs.

  My brain goes offline as my climax seizes my cells. Pleasure obliterates everything but white-hot bliss with this woman who wants the same kind of wild, dirty, kinky, uninhibited sex I do.

  I’ve never been so glad to be wrong about someone.

  Sated, for now, I lie next to her and give her the sweet, tender kiss she deserves.

  “You took that fucking so well,” I tell her, then brush a gentle kiss to her lips.

  “You fucked me so well,” she whispers.

  I wrap her in my arms, hold her close, and stroke her hair. “Can I stay the night?”

  She smiles against me. “You better.”

  We lie together in satisfied silence, and I lazily take in the details of her bedroom. On the nightstand is a stack of books—romance novels with titles like Sweet Spot, Top-Notch Boyfriend, and Come Lately.

  I point to the books. “Those look good,” I say, then I read the spine of another one. Role Play.

  “They’re unputdownable.” She nods to the last one. “And they sometimes give me great ideas.”

  Milo was right. There is something sexy about a reader. But when her hand brushes mine as she reaches for the book, there’s something…surprisingly nice about it too.

  Like reading could be another thing to do in bed.

  I try to knock away the thought of other bedroom activities. But as she starts chapter one, the idea stays.

  11

  GABE COCKTAIL

  Ellie

  We lounge around until hunger drives us out of bed and in search of sustenance. Feeling famished, I pop the cork on a Riesling while Gabe answers the door for the food delivery.

  I pulled on a comfy T-shirt and shorts post-sex. Gabe is shirtless, and the view from the kitchen counter is quite nice.

  What is it about the whole jeans, bare feet, and nothing else look that does it for me?

  Silly question, Ellie.

  Gabe could be wearing pantaloons and I’d salivate. I don’t take my eyes off him as I pour a glass, watching him reach for the bag of Thai food with his ink-covered arm.

  “Thanks for the delivery,” he says to the Ding and Dine driver. “Appreciate everything you do.”

  “Anytime. And, hey, have a good training camp. Glad they traded you here,” the guy says.

  “Me too. Especially lately,” he replies.

  Lately, huh? Is that lately, as in the last few hours? I hope so.

  “What do you think about the team’s chances this year?” the driver asks.

  “I always play like we’re going to the Super Bowl.” Gabe’s friendly answer is positive but not overconfident.

  “Have you got your hacky sacks?” the driver asks and Gabe nods.

  I smile. Definitely a fan if he knows Gabe’s game rituals, like how when the Mercenaries are on a winning streak, he plays hacky sack on the sidelines.

  “Here’s hoping you’ll be playing hacky sack a lot,” the driver says.

  “I hope so too.” With his free hand, Gabe knocks fists with the guy then shuts the door and joins me in the kitchen, unpacking our food at the counter.

  “You’re quite the charmer with bartenders and delivery guys,” I remark as I waggle the Riesling bottle in question. “Wine? Or are you a bourbon-or-bust guy?”

  “I’m not picky about food, liquor, or music,” he says, then drops his voice. “Only sex.”

  A shiver runs over my shoulders. “Good answer,” I say, then pour and slide him a glass.

  “And why wouldn’t I be nice to delivery guys and bartenders? Or anyone else, for that matter?”

  I shrug as I open the carton of papaya salad. “I agree, but I’ve known guys who were jerks to servers and such.”

  Gabe scowls as he parks himself on the stool next to mine. “What’s up with people who are dicks to service workers?”

  I take a sip. “I’m just glad you’re a friendly guy,” I say, then grab my chopsticks and dig in.

  “I don’t know any other way to be. My parents are like that. Guess it rubbed off on me.”

  “Your parents are the cutest. They were adorable at their anniversary party. Forty years and still in love,” I say, a little warm and fuzzy from the memory.

  “Yeah, they’re goals for sure. They always have been,” he says.

  A guy who truly likes his parents? Who admires their marriage? I cannot get hooked on Gabe. Luckily this is just a sex thing.

  I snag a forkful of the salad. “Want some? Since you’re not picky.”

  He moves closer, parts his lips, and waits. I feed him some papaya, and yes, Gabe eats it sensually.

  That’s just his way.

  “Mmm. That’s tasty. Not the best thing I’ve eaten tonight, but close,” he says with a sly smile.

  “Glad to hear it’s your second favorite.”

  As he twirls some of his drunken noodles around his chopsticks, he tips his forehead to my carton and asks, “Are you vegetarian?”

  “I am, and I’m heading down the Vegan Brick Road now too,” I say.

  He laughs. “That’s cool. Why’d you make that decision?”

  “Gigi.”

  His brow knits. “Is she vegan?”

  “Oh god, no. But I just love animals so much I can’t eat them. It’s not a hardship either. Confession: I love salad madly. I swear it’s not the actress stereotype. I just seriously love salad so much I could marry it.”

  He tips his wine glass to mine. “To the future Mrs. Arugula,” he says.

  “You should know I’m going into a polyamorous relationship with kale, arugula, and spinach. Not radicchio, though. A gal’s got to have standards.”

  “I’ll revise my earlier statement to exclude radicchio. I like everything but radicchio. That’s an unforgivable leaf.”

  “I couldn’t agree more.”

  As he takes another bite, he tilts his head, a thoughtful look in his eyes. “Do you want me to eat vegan when we’re together?”

  Wow. No one has ever asked me that before. “That’s very considerate to ask, but it’s a personal choice. Thank you, though.”

  “Just let me know if you change your mind, Ellie,” he says.

  Gabe’s an interesting mix of gentlemanly consideration outside the bedroom and caveman in it.

  I do like this cocktail of Gabe.

  “I’ll let you know.” I take another bite of the salad before I go fishing. “So, you told the driver you’re liking LA?”

  He grins. “Even more in the last few hours,” he says.

  I smile and happily tuck that compliment in my pocket. “Me too.”

  We take a few more bites, then he says, “Tell me more about your show. When I looked you up, I read a little about The Dating Games. Two best friends, a man and a woman. The guy’s gay, the woman’s straight. And they give each other dating challenges? How’d you come up with that concept?”

  This is new. A guy who asks questions and wants to know the me behind the face he might have seen on-screen. “The thing I loved most about acting was inventing the backstories for characters, so while I was working on Unfinished Business, I started playing around with the concept for The Dating Games. It comes from situations I saw around me—things my friends and I experienced. Dating these days is such a minefield,” I say.

  “Sure is,” he seconds.

  “I wanted to tell a fun, fresh, sometimes poignant story that reflected the highs and lows for these two friends. Both are coming off breakups and getting back into the dating world by giving each other bets and challenges.”

  “It’s as much about friendship as it is about romance?”

  “Yes! Exactly. At its heart, it’s about how we lean on our friends as we seek romance,” I say. “I know I wouldn’t be able to get through the crazy world of dating without my friends.”

  “Will you miss them while you’re in LA?”

  “So much.” I set a hand on my heart, feeling that pang of missing Veronica and Hazel even though they’re still here this week. “But I plan on making great new friendships in Los Angeles. It’s my top goal after work.”

  He smiles. “Love that plan.” Then he clears his expression and takes another bite. When he’s done chewing, his gaze is intense and so is his tone. “No interest in dating?”

  Well, I didn’t plan on it, but tonight was fun.

  I don’t say that, though, since I can’t quite read why he’s asking with such…passion?

  He clearly cares about the answer, so I mull over his question for a few seconds. Originally, I thought I might date when I first arrived. But I’ll be working relentless hours starting next week, building a new name for myself in the entertainment business.

  Even though dating a sexy beast like Gabe might be fun, I’m here for one reason only, and I need to focus on my new work opportunity. “I wasn’t planning on it,” I say at last, feeling solid about that answer. “Work is going to be intense, and it’s a big change. So is setting up my life here. Making new friends,” I add with a knowing smile, bumping my shoulder to his. He’s been a friend of sorts. He could surely stay one beyond whatever tonight is.

  “New friends,” he says, like he’s taking everything in. He blows out a long, relaxed breath. “Makes perfect sense. I’m all about football. That should be intense too. Always is but especially since this is my last season.”

  I nod slowly as I shift through what he’s telling me. “And you want to give it your all,” I venture.

  “Absolutely,” he says crisply. “I don’t want distractions. Just like you with your new gig.”

  I feel tentatively for the boundary of what we could be. Gabe is decisive. That must be why he asked the any interest in dating question with such intensity—because he wanted to be certain I wasn’t interested in a relationship. And decisive is a good thing when laying out rules for…whatever we seem to be setting limits on.

  Whether we’re a one-night thing. Or maybe two nights? How many would I even want?

  But when I stare down at my schedule, the answer seems pretty easy—the next few nights until I start the new job. Plus, I don’t want to take any more chances. “And honestly, I’ve had some bad relationships,” I admit.

  “Same here, Ellie.” He knocks back some wine as he studies my face. “That’s why you took the good guy challenge? Because you’ve had some bad dates?”

  “I did.” It’s so much easier to talk to him now than it was at the start of the date. When I met him at the bar, I wasn’t completely honest. Now we’ve revealed our desires, so maybe that’s why it’s easier to share. “I’m trying to be more careful. Read the situation better and all.”