A Match Made in Vegas Read Online Crystal Kaswell

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Chapter Thirty-Five

Daphne

"I'm not sure I've tried anything in the name of love." Jackson rests his back against the lounge chair. He spreads his legs enough to make space for me then he pulls me between his thighs.

I sink into his body, my back against his chest, my head in the crook of his neck. Like this, I'm at his mercy. He can strip me or touch me or move me exactly as he wants.

And that's what I want.

Less talk.

More touching.

A release from the thoughts circling through my head. I feel better, I do. But I'll feel a million times better with him inside me.

We're still playing this game of who breaks first.

I'm willing to lose. More than willing.

But first, I want to play. Because this is the best way out of my head and into the moment.

Maybe he's right. Maybe we need rules to release freely. Maybe that's why people who practice BDSM or polyamory are more satisfied with their sex lives. Because they're the ones who stop to outline their expectations. Who actually ask themselves what do I want, how do I want it, when do I want it?

So many people never ask or answer. They assume they—and everyone else—want the things they've seen in movies or read in books.

But that isn't reality. Reality is messy. That's what makes it beautiful.

This is a game.

I know the rules.

I can release my expectations of anything else.

We tease each other until one of us gives in.

"I've done a lot in the name of commitment and fairness," he says. "But never in the name of love." He brings one hand to the waist of my denim skirt. He runs his fingers over the rough fabric.

It feels good. Good enough, I'm almost willing to sacrifice victory. But like Grandpa says, "Almost only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades."

Now that's an unsexy thought. My grandparents. It's what I need to win. But I'm not committed enough to victory for that.

I'd rather think all my sexy thoughts and lose.

"Is it really that different?" I take his other hand and bring it to the hem of my crop top. I'm not playing defense here. I'm on offense. "If you're committed to someone, you want the best for them, you want things fair for them. Is that so different than love?"

"Maybe not." He brings both hands to my top. Slowly, he rolls the fabric over my chest. "Maybe, at the end of the day, enough commitment and care add up to love. Maybe I'm waiting for some feeling that doesn't exist. Some passion I've only heard in love songs." He rolls the shirt another inch up my chest. Another. "It's possible my expectations are too high."

I groan as he rolls the fabric to my collarbones, revealing my breasts.

He stays there for a moment, not touching me, just leaving me on display to anyone who can see.

I don't think anyone can see. They'd need a telescope. Or at least great distance vision and a tendency to stare out of a dark bedroom.

The possibility still makes my sex clench.

"But I don't think so," he says. "Women always saw it. I was lacking something they found with other men."

It's hard to imagine him lacking anything. "What was that?"

"If I'm honest with myself—" Finally, he cups my breasts with his palms. He does it gently. So I barely feel it. Then, just firm enough, I know he has me.

"We're talking about something?" My eyes flutter closed as he runs his thumb over my nipple.

"I'm not playing fair, I know." He teases me with his thumb again and again. He speaks with that same calm, even tone, as if he's kneading dough to make pizza, not toying with my nipples. "I never promised to play fair."

Right. And I'm on offense here. Not defense. But I want to hear this first.

I want—

Fuck, that feels good.

My eyes flutter closed as he draws another circle around my nipple.

He teases me slowly. With perfect strokes.

For a moment, I surrender to the bliss of it. I let warmth spread up to my shoulders and down to my stomach, then to my pelvis, and down my arms and legs, all the way to my fingers and toes.

My entire body hums with desire.

It's intoxicating. And stabilizing somehow, too. I know how to live in this feeling. How to savor it.

I find enough wit to reply. "If you're honest with yourself? What happened with your relationships then?" This isn't the right conversation for this game, but I don't care. I want to know his heart as much as I want his body.

Even though his hard cock is pressed against my ass, he keeps that same calm, even tone. He doesn't give away a shred of desire in his voice. "I never let myself be vulnerable with anyone. Not romantically. I tried to show up and do all the things a boyfriend did. I thought the feelings would come. But they didn't. Deep down, I picked women I wouldn't fall for. I told myself they made sense on paper, and they did, but it was more than that. There was always a wall between us. A wall I wanted to keep there." He brings his lips to my neck. "But I don't want that with you. And that terrifies me."

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