I Like Games, Too
Adrian
“Shoot the fucking puck!”
I roar at the TV, but my focus isn’t on the game. My eyes flick to my watch, needing to squint to see it in the apartment’s dark. The first and only thing I did upon moving in was hang blackout curtains. The only light comes from the TV, making the space feel like a tomb. She’s nearly 15 hours late. A growl builds in my chest as I shift my attention back to the TV, continuing to take my frustration out on the game unfolding in front of me. I thought we had an understanding. After Friday night, things felt different. They felt like…
Like I’m a fool.
My blood boils as the seconds tick by, my hands fist, and I could punch a hole through this fucking TV. I check the cam app. Her apartment is still empty, and the only movement is her freaky cat as it wanders around the countertops. I’m about to throw my phone across the goddamn room when a message notification pops up—Cally.
When I click the notification, my hand squeezes my phone so tightly that I’m impressed it doesn’t fold in half. The edges bite into my palm, and the muscles in my jaw lock. It’s a photo of Lex. She’s smiling, laughing, in a way she’s never done with me.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen her smile at me.
She’s sitting at a booth in that fucking coffee shop with Greg the fucking Grizz, who’s also laughing. He leans into her, leaning on his elbows. They look so happy. The blood in my veins turns molten. I don’t even register that I’m moving until wood splinters, the coffee table shattering against the wall with a deafening crack. My vision tunnels. My pulse pounds in my skull, drowning out everything but the roaring in my ears. My hand lands on my chest, squeezing at the pain that’s blossoming inside of it: it’s unbearable, and I fall back onto the couch, struggling to catch my breath.
I can’t fucking breathe.
I lean forward, elbows on my knees, dropping my head slightly and forcing myself to take deep breaths. I pick my phone up from the floor in front of me, look at the photo again before closing it, and hammer out a message to Cally.
“When the fuck was this taken?”
The bubbles pop up and then disappear three times, and I’m ready to lose my mind when he finally replies, “This morning. 20 minutes ago.”
She came back.
When did she come back?
Did she come back when she was told and then sleep at his fucking house?
Has she been fucking with me this whole time?
I realize I must have stood because now I am pacing back and forth, deciding whether to go to her to find Greg. Looking for Greg will probably end with me in jail, with Cally pulling strings to get me out. Again.
Decision made. I’m going to find her.
I open the cam app on my phone again, and she’s there. She moves around her condo, feeds that damn cat, tidies up, and then collapses onto the couch, pulling out her phone. The sight of her makes me seethe. I zoom in as much as I can, searching for some sign, any sign, that he has put his hands on her.
It’s all been a fucking game.
I reach for my hoodie draped over the kitchen counter. I look around; the apartment is almost empty. There’s a small cluster of boxes I haven’t bothered to unpack, a shitty sofa. There used to be a coffee table, but now it’s in pieces against the wall. Aside from the chaos of the broken wood pile, the space feels sterile and cold. I step out the door, slamming it behind me without bothering to lock it. Nothing inside matters anyway.
I take the stairs, stomping on each step, hoping it will calm my rage, but to no avail. I exit through the fire escape and take a deep, ragged breath. The late morning sun blinds me temporarily, and the sounds of the city assault my senses—horns blare, brakes screech, and two delivery drivers argue over parking. Kingsport was much quieter, but it’s also a fraction of the size. I don’t bother with my truck; I could use the walk, and it would take me longer to reach the parking garage than to get to her condo. Minutes later, I stand in front of her building. The in-and-out traffic is light at this time—most people are at work for the day. I approach the door and press the intercom button. A head pops up from behind the desk. The kid looks about twenty years old and seems like he might have been asleep. He buzzes me in, and I make my way over to him.
Calm. Stay calm.
“Hi, I’m Captain Liberty, and I am here to do a routine check on some of your systems.” I force a smile and flash my badge.
The kid barely looks at it before waving me in.
Building security really is a goddamn farce.
I shake my head as I walk toward the elevators. He didn’t even have me sign in. There’s no chance he remembers my name and no record of me being here. I keep my head down and my cap low. At this point, I’m very aware of the security cameras high in every corner of this building.
I advance with deadly purpose. I don’t hesitate when I reach her door, pulling out my keys and sliding the one for her door into the lock. I push it open, then slam and lock it behind me. She screams and jumps up from the couch, sending that light pink cat scrambling into the bedroom. I spot the coffee cup on the counter, cold and empty. Her place is nothing like mine; it feels like a home—warm, comfortable, and lived-in. It smells like her, like vanilla, sugar, and nostalgia. That scent, which usually makes me smile, smells vile today.
“Adrian, what the fuck!” Her tone is panicked, and she’s already backing away.
I close the gap between us, my hand landing on her throat and pushing her back to the wall. She stumbles, but my grip is so tight that she doesn’t fall. My heart jackhammers, and if I were a worse man, I’d…
Is this really better?
I push that thought out of my head as soon as it enters. Reaching into my pocket for my phone, I open the photo and hold it a few inches from her face. She looks from me to the screen, squinting to focus her eyes on the close-up device. I see her register and know that she’s been caught.
“You’re scaring me.” Her tone holds no fear.
Liar.
I drop my phone, which clatters on the floor beside us. I push into her more, my grip on her neck forcing her to look at me. I observe the array of emotions crossing her face—anger, fear, desire, rage, and defiance.
What are you doing, man?
“Let. Me. Go.” She demands.
“Go where Lex?” I press into her harder. “Back to Greg?”
Her eyes shift, burning with intensity. She stays silent for several beats as if weighing her next move, and then the corner of her lip curls into a sneer as she presses herself against me.
“Yeah, maybe. Maybe I will go back to Greg.”
My mind is a hurricane. My heart thunders against my ribs; pain erupts, and without thinking, I reach for the spot, rubbing against the sting. Her eyes shift from mine to my hand as it moves up and down above my heart. She pushes forward a little more.
“Maybe I’ll let Greg show me how a real man treats—”
I slam my fist into the wall next to her head, making her jump.
“Shut the fuck up, Lex.” The words should crush her, silence her, but they don’t land like they should. Instead, they crack something open inside of me.
Please.
I shouldn’t be doing this. I should walk away and leave her with Greg if that’s what she really wants. But I can’t.
I never could.
Silence stretches between us, yet I hear a deafening roar in my head. A thousand possibilities claw at me, demanding action. I haven’t felt this out of control since the night my dad died. Her lips are tight, forming a straight line. The spiteful look in her eyes threatens to eviscerate me. I push away from the wall, creating distance between us. I open and close my hands while shaking my head, pacing back and forth. I’m on the other side of the room when I finally turn back to her. She hasn’t moved; her back remains flush against the wall. Now, however, she’s breathing hard, and her lips have parted— fuck. Her pretty pink tongue flicks out, tracing her upper lip, and my cock throbs against my pants. Neither of us speaks, but the sound of her breathing and my heart pounding echoes like thunder.
I close the distance in three decisive steps, capturing her with my mouth, staking a claim that I thought I already had. I groan into her mouth as our teeth clash. She shoves me back and slaps me hard across the face. I grip her wrist, but even as the sting radiates through my cheek, she leans in and crashes into me again. The tenderness that was present the other night has vanished; all that remains is rage and hatred. I lift her, and she wraps her legs around my waist. My hand tangles in her long dark hair, pulling her in, trying to consume her. Spinning around, I let us both tumble, landing hard on the couch. Everything feels too fast and rough.
Slow down.
You can’t undo this.
That fucking voice in the back of my head screams, but I push it down, as far down as I can, and reach for her shirt, ripping it off. She gasps at the sound of ripping cotton, and her skin is flushed and burning beneath me. I move to her pants, and she bucks wildly, scratching at my shoulders. I yank hard, dragging the denim down her legs in one brutal motion, and she momentarily stills. Her thighs tighten around me. I grasp her hands, pushing them above her head and grinding into her. I know this is too rough, but I. Don’t. Fucking. Care. Her breathing is ragged as I reach down, shoving her panties aside and slipping two fingers into her, finding her soaking fucking wet. She sucks her bottom lip into her mouth as I lean in close.
“You’re such a fucking slut for this, aren’t you?” I growl out.
She glares, unwilling to confirm what her body screams. She writhes against my fingers. I fumble for my belt, freeing my cock and stroking it for a moment. It’s never been this hard. There’s no warm-up, no prep, and I slam it into her in one brutal thrust. A strangled scream fills the air as her back comes up off the couch. There’s a brief moment of stillness, feeling how deep inside of her I am. Our stares are locked; she doesn’t so much as fucking blink. It takes her pushing herself against me to break the spell, and I slowly withdraw before setting an unrelenting, punishing rhythm.
I bite her lip hard enough to taste blood.
She curses me and moans that she hates me.
At this moment, I hate me too.
Her pussy strangles my cock, a ruthless, pulsing grip as she comes, screaming out. She pulls me under, fuck, it feels like my heart is being ripped apart. She’s still staring into my eyes as if she can see my damn soul when I feel my orgasm crest. With a snarled curse, I slam into her one last time, spilling deep inside her. We’re both breathing heavily. She pulses around me, and I really want to kiss her when she squirms out from beneath me. She stares down at me, her chest rises and falls, and I spot my cum dripping down her thighs. My body instinctively softens, and there’s nothing I want more than to pull her into me and hold her.
Without warning, she spins and storms to the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.
The voice inside my head is silent.
I roll my jaw, the sting of her slap still there. Shifting my eyes to my dick, it’s still hard and twitching—I can’t get enough of her. I tuck it away and stand to zip my jeans. The bathroom door stays closed, and that rage starts to return.
All a fucking game.
I approach the bathroom and yank on the handle. It doesn’t budge. I let my forehead fall against it. My breathing is still uneven, and my mind is spinning.
“Lex.” My voice is low, deadly.
There’s nothing but silence in response.
“You think you can hide from me?”
Nothing.
I take a step back, then another.
I like games too.
Lifting my foot, I slam it into the door, and it explodes inwards.
She sits on the edge of the tub, a towel wrapped around her body, and she jumps and screams. I move so quickly that she doesn’t have time to react before I grab her face, my fingers pressing into her cheeks, forcing her to meet my gaze. Another version of her flickers through my mind. A version where she’s soft, trusting, and looks at me with something other than the devastation she currently wears on her face. It has my stomach roiling. I don’t get to see that version of her.
For a moment, I consider telling her to run. Run far and fast, away from me. I think about warning her that I’ll ruin her, and she’s so perfect that I can’t bear the thought of it. But…
“You wanted to make me jealous?” My lips nearly touch hers as I speak. “Wanted to make me angry?” My grip tightens. “Well fucking done, baby. You win.”
“Let me go.” Her eyes look like the ocean during a storm.
Releasing her, I rise to my full height.
Then, I smile.
I see her surprise, her confusion, so I lean back in and run my thumb over her swollen lower lip. The movement is gentler. Deceptively so.
“Get dressed,” I say softly.
Her brows furrow. “What?”
Dropping my hand to her neck, I pull her up from the edge of the tub and into me, letting her feel how hard I still am.
“We’re going to show Greg and all of his buddies who the fuck you belong to.”
Her breath catches in her throat, but she doesn’t argue or pull away.
Leaning close to her ear, I pull the lobe into my mouth, biting it softly. When she releases a sound of pleasure, I say. “We’re going to a party.”