17. ELLY
17
ELLY
A week passes before I put the next stage of my plan into action. When I get back from my Friday afternoon shift at the Marchmont, I have a quick supper and go up to my room. I’ve paid attention to Jack’s schedule, and I know for a fact he gets home earlier on Fridays.
I do my makeup heavier than normal, and then get dressed in the outfit I bought from the Soho shop. I buckle into the platform heels. Shit, they’re high. I haven’t worn shoes like this for years, but walking in them comes back to me quickly, like riding a bike.
I prance in front of the mirror, and I’m suddenly filled with a sense of excitement. I haven’t dressed up like this for a man since I worked at the strip club, and it feels a lot like reclaiming something I’ve lost. When did I give up on all this stuff? I never took all my clothes off back then, but near enough, and I know a thing or two about using my body to drive men wild. And I look crazy hot in this outfit, even if I do say so myself.
Jack is going to lose his mind.
I head downstairs, lingering at the front door. Right on time, I hear the beep of his car in the drive as he locks it.
I’m about to open the front door when I hear voices.
Shit . He’s not alone. I hadn’t planned for this. I run back to my room and throw a skirt and jumper over the corset and suspender belt. The outfit looks ridiculous paired with these enormous platform heels, but they make my legs look amazing, so I keep them on.
My heart is racing as I take the stairs down to the front door. I force myself to appear calm just as Jack unlocks it and steps inside with Seb and Matt Hawkston in tow.
Jack stares at me, blinking a few times like he’s got a floater in his vision. Is it the make-up that’s causing the double-take? Perhaps it’s the shoes . Either way, I’ve got his attention, and my skin starts to heat under his gaze.
“Hey. Elly, isn’t it?” Seb says, grinning at me and stepping in front of Jack, who has clearly lost his ability to form words. Did I do that? “We met at the racetrack. That’s some voice you have. You can really sing.”
“Thanks.” I smile, immediately feeling more at ease on account of the warmth in Seb’s greeting.
Matt, Nico’s other brother, stares between me and Jack as though he’s trying to run a calculation in his head and can’t make the numbers work. And no wonder, because Jack, who’s usually so together, appears to have been blindsided by my appearance.
“Good to see you again,” Matt says to me, gruff and low.
“What are you doing here?” Seb asks.
I explain that I’m living with Jack until my lease ends, which Seb accepts, although I don’t miss the querying glances he directs at Jack, who cocks his head slightly in response, as though none of this is his fault.
“Are you joining us for poker?” Seb asks me.
Jack hasn’t stopped staring, and his gaze is like a laser beam that’s stripping away my skin. I have no idea if he wants me to join them or not, but if I’m going to win this game, I need to be where Jack is.
“I’d love to.”
“You’d love to,” Jack repeats like his brain is only semi-engaged with the thought-to-word process. Then his full concentration appears behind his eyes and he says, “It’s high stakes. I don’t think you’ll be able to—”
Seb’s arm is suddenly around my shoulder, and the action completely cuts through whatever Jack is about to say.
“I’ll cover her stake.” Seb winks at me. “Let’s give Lansen a run for his money, shall we?”
Jack frowns, his brows drawing so low that he looks almost like he’s scowling. Is it because he doesn’t want me to join them, or because he doesn’t like the fact that Seb is touching me? I hope it’s the latter.
“Yes, please,” I say, smiling up at Seb.
Jack huffs. “Fine.” He nods his head in the direction of the dining room. “You two go and make yourselves comfortable,” he instructs the Hawkston brothers. “Elly and I will get drinks.”
As Matt and Seb walk away, I make my way to the kitchen, Jack pacing right behind me. There’s a strange tension in the air, and I wonder if Jack can feel it too. It’s as though we both know something is going to happen tonight.
Jack closes the door behind us, and a strange pressure squeezes in my heart. I turn to find him standing behind me, every inch the boss man in his suit and coat, and it occurs to me that if he were to give me an order right now, I’d obey in an instant.
His blue eyes are hard and scrutinizing as he takes me in, but his gaze drifts up and down my body, lingering over my legs. “You look different.” His tone reveals nothing.
“So?”
His eyelids flicker as if to dismiss my question. “Do you know how to play poker?”
“Yes.”
He nods. “Okay.” He blows out a breath, his shoulders sink, and his features take on a new softness. “You look good. Your eyes…”
So it is the make-up.
His voice is full of admiration. It coats me like warm honey, and I let out a small laugh as I step towards him. In my ridiculous heels I’m much nearer his height than I am normally, and I can’t help glancing at his lips. As if he knows what I’m thinking, his tongue slips out and wets the bottom one.
“El?” he breathes, and the sound ripples all the way down my body. I want to kiss him, and he knows it . But that’s not how to win the game, is it?
“Shh,” I say, reaching up for his tie. He doesn’t stop me, and I undo it, easing it out from under the collar of his shirt. A burst of his cologne wafts towards me, unravelling a little coil of arousal low in my hips, which I ignore. “Just remember,” I whisper into his ear. “I play to win.”
I pull back to see his blue eyes a shade darker, his jaw tight, a muscle standing out along the edge.
“So do I.” He takes his tie from me, rolls it up neatly and tucks it into the pocket of his coat. For a few seconds we stand there, a fraction too close, holding eye contact that scorches in ways it shouldn’t, before he says, “Let’s get those drinks then, shall we?”
The rest of the night passes without a hitch. I play some fantastic poker, and although I don’t win much, I don’t lose either, which is just as well seeing as I’m playing with Seb Hawkston’s money.
Seb is so much fun. He’s a joker, making us laugh, teasing me about my cards, pretending to lean over and see my hand. Not to mention he’s gorgeous, but so is Matt. All the Hawkston brothers are freakishly good-looking, but I’ve no interest in either of them that way. Next to Jack, they’re nothing.
We’ve been drinking Scotch all night, and I feel mellow and happy.
Every so often, Seb’s arm creeps onto the back of my chair. He’s not coming onto me. I don’t get that vibe at all, but each time he leans towards me, Jack’s eyes flash over at us like a spark of gunfire, setting off a fission of sexual energy deep in my core.
He hasn’t spoken much, and as the game goes on, his expression fixes into a furious frown. He’s losing. Badly.
Part of me wonders if that has anything to do with the way Seb is being with me. If Jack and I weren’t playing the game, and if Jack was seriously interested in me, I’d think what I was doing was cruel. Teasing him this way. Making him jealous. But none of it’s real. I might be flirting with Seb, but it’s Jack’s attention I crave. And even that’s only for the game. Right?
The money, think of the money. A hundred thousand pounds.
Finally, the poker game ends, and the men say their goodbyes. Jack merely grunts from his seat at the table. He’s lost a shit load of cash. But if he will play poker with billionaires…
Seb stands and looks at me. “Grumps might need a shoulder to cry on.” He indicates Jack.
“Fuck off,” Jack mumbles.
Seb tips his chin. “Sleep well, Lansen.”
“I’ll see you out,” I say, rising to my feet to escort Seb and Matt to the door. We head into the hall, where Matt bids me goodnight and lets himself out, but Seb lingers a moment until we’re alone.
“I had fun tonight,” he says, and my heart skips a beat. I’ve been so fixated on Jack that I hadn’t stopped to worry about Seb, other than to assume he couldn’t possibly be truly interested in me. Have I led him on? He pulls a business card from his wallet and hands it to me. “I’d like to take you out sometime. Call me.”
My blood turns cold. “Oh.” I stare at the card, but don’t take it. “I don’t…I…”
Seb gauges my reaction, his eyes narrowing slightly. He flicks the card back into his wallet, but he doesn’t look annoyed. “You and Lansen, eh?” He chuckles. “Thought so.”
My chest tightens. Jack and I barely spoke to one another all night. How did Seb know? “There’s nothing going on.”
The smile that curls his lips is all scepticism. “Not yet, maybe. But Jack never loses at poker.” He leans in to kiss my cheek. “Thanks for helping me distract him. Don’t stay up too late.” He turns and trots down the steps, waving the back of his hand at me as he goes.
I linger in the hall for several minutes after they’ve left, but Jack doesn’t emerge.
I could go upstairs, call it a night, but nervous energy is pumping through me, especially after what Seb just said. Did Jack really lose tonight because of me? The idea that I affect him that way is thrilling. Guilt tussles with the thrill, but I’m not going to let it stop me focusing on our game and what I set out to achieve this evening. I spent a fortune on the outfit still concealed beneath my regular clothes, and I’m damned if I’m going to let it go to waste. Plus, if I don’t do this now, I’ll lose my nerve.
Swallowing down my hesitation, I totter down the hall on my heels and enter the dining room, where the debris from the poker is still laid out on the table. I hadn’t noticed how low the lights are in here, and the room is almost smoky, as if we’d been indulging in cigars. But there’s no smell of smoke, and only the scent of Jack’s cologne hangs in the air.
He’s seated at the head of the table, hunched over, a furious energy emanating from him, penetrating every inch of the shadowed room.
“How much did you lose?” I ask in a hushed voice.
“Enough.” He stands and starts putting all the chips away. Shuffling the cards, he spares me a glance. “You’re a fucking nightmare, you know that?”
For a second, I contemplate turning around and going to bed, but I dismiss it as momentary weakness and forge on with my plan. “Is you losing my fault?”
A dark laugh rumbles from him, and he begins shuffling the cards faster, fanning them out, letting them fly from hand to hand. It’s mesmerizing. “Couldn’t fucking concentrate with you here.”
A little buzz shoots through me. Maybe Seb was right, and if Jack’s prepared to make an admission like that, then this might be the moment to strike.
“Sorry.” I pout my bottom lip, but Jack doesn’t look amused. “Let me make it up to you.”
“How do you plan on doing that?”
“I’ll dance.”
Jack stops shuffling the cards, and without the flickering noise of them the room is deathly quiet. “Dance?”
I give him what I hope is an enticing, but seductive smile, acting as if I have this all under control, even though butterflies are swarming through my insides. I must be crazy. But I’m committed to this plan. Committed to winning.
I haul my jumper over my head and toss it to the ground.
Jack squints as though he’s looking into a light that’s too bright, but I don’t miss the moment his eyes widen as he takes me in. He likes what he sees . He looks like he wants to question me on my actions, but the expression vanishes, replaced with one of liquid heat. Perfect . His lips form what looks like an overawed ‘ fuck ’, and the heat in his eyes flows through me as though he’s funnelling it right to my core.
I need to make a move. One that’s not me running away from the explosive scenario I’ve set in motion. I can handle Jack Lansen and the way he’s looking at me. Can’t I?
I’ve already linked my phone to the sound system, and the music starts playing. I start to move, slow and sensual, and then I undo my skirt and let it fall to the floor, revealing the stockings and suspender belt.
Jack’s body goes taut. He doesn’t take his eyes off me, but he’s holding himself back, as though he’s expecting me to scream ‘ Gotcha! ’ in his face. But this isn’t a joke, and I need him to get involved.
I walk over and pull out the chair he was sitting on, turning it around and gesturing for him to take a seat.
“What are you doing, El?” Jack’s body is preternaturally still, but his eyes roam hungrily over me as I move.
“Playing with the pros.”
He tilts his head, contemplating my response. “Okay,” he says, putting the pack of cards on the table and dropping into the chair. “Show me what you’ve got.”
“No touching,” I confirm.
Jack swallows, and his Adam’s apple bobs up and down. God, he's got a sexy throat . The column of it, the dark stubble peppering it. “You’re the boss,” he replies gruffly.
A pulse thumps between my legs at his words. Maybe this is too much. But— fuck it —I'm not running away again. “No talking.”
He makes that little humming sound and sinks back in the chair, his thick thighs spread, and his shirt sleeves rolled to the elbow. His energy beats against my skin so dense and potent I can almost taste it.
I run over in my head what I’m doing here. Get him hard. Walk away. Irresistible, but unattainable. Hopefully, everything I’ve already done tonight has primed the path.
The music makes everything easier, filling the room with its sensual beat. I move to the rhythm, letting instinct take over, stroking my body as I dance, running my hands over my hips… my breasts. Jack’s mouth is drawn into a tense line, but his eyes are blue fire. As he drags his gaze over me, paths of scorching awareness steal over my skin. I have every scrap of his attention, and it feeds me like I haven’t eaten for a week. I’m gorging on the sensation of being admired by Jack Lansen, and I’m not sure anything has ever felt this good.
As I move my hips, letting the music guide me, heat builds low in my core. A dangerous, simmering heat that could boil over at any moment. I’m in my body, following its impulses like a slave, but simultaneously heady with the knowledge that I have this huge, gorgeous man at my mercy. His fingers tighten around the arms of the chair, like he needs to cling on to prevent himself from reaching out to grab me.
My clit is throbbing, desperate for friction. Begging me to get a little closer. I wonder if Jack knows what dancing for him is doing to me, or if he thinks this is all part of the game.
Unable to resist, I slide onto his lap, straddling him, my arms around his neck. His warm breath hits the exposed part of my breasts, and I tremble with pleasure. In response, a low moan rumbles in his chest, and he releases the arms of the chair, letting his hands hover over my thighs, but he pulls them back, remembering he’s not supposed to touch. His eyes flicker shut, and he groans as if this is absolute torment to him, and the sound sends a bolt of white-hot arousal through me.
We’re playing with fire.
The music builds, the low bass thump of it echoing the beat of my pulse. I writhe and grind against him, and with each rotation of my hips, the pressure hits my clit, climbing steadily to the inevitable end.
I gasp as I feel him. The long, hard length of him pressed right against my core.
Oh. My. God.
This is dangerous. I should get up. Get off his lap. Walk away. I’ve done exactly what I meant to do. Achieved the goal. And yet I don’t stop, because feeling Jack beneath me like this is so fucking hot . I keep moving against him, and he lets his head fall back and moans again. His arms hang limp at his sides, but his hands are clenched so tightly that his knuckles whiten.
“El…”
The way he says my name, a low vibration that ripples right through me, does nothing to quell the rising arousal between my legs. Maybe he’s about to give in and admit he wants to quit the game and fuck. If I push a little harder, I could win. I put my hands on his shoulders and lean into him, pressing my lips right up to his ear. “Open your eyes. I want you to look at me.”
His broad chest expands, and at my command those blue eyes stare right at me, and the expression is so fierce, so primal, so predatory , that I have to force myself not to jump off him and run. And yet it’s also so attractive, so compulsive, that I couldn’t walk away. Talk about a headfuck.
I rotate my hips, pressing down against him more deliberately, aware my breathing is little more than shallow pants. I’m getting light-headed, and a delicious, lust-filled delirium consumes me with each thrust of my sex against him.
I don’t think I’m winning anymore. Hell, I’m not even playing, and I don’t care. We’re inches away from one another, and Jack still hasn’t touched me, although our hips are locked together.
“Keep doing that,” he grits out. “This is… fuck .”
A breathy moan slips from my open mouth. If he keeps talking in that deep voice of his, sounding like he’s about to lose it, I’ll explode. “Shhh,” I remind him. “Only I get to talk.”
His answering groan is a begrudging agreement.
“I can feel you,” I whisper, shifting against him, the steady pulse in my clit driving me to rub harder. His gaze doesn’t leave mine when he nods. “You feel so… fucking… good,” I murmur, and I’m not pretending, but even as the words slip from my mouth, I know I could play this off as part of the act.
“God, El.” His jaw tightens, his throat tensing. “ Fuck . Don’t stop…”
I love the sound of his voice, all desperate and wrung out. I want to kiss his mouth, eat up his words. I don’t give a fuck that he’s ignoring my instructions.
The familiar tingles of an impending orgasm zap through me. I should stop. I should pull back. But, fuck, if this doesn’t feel good, I don’t know what does.
Jack jerks a little against me, meeting my movements. I’m not even dancing anymore. I’m just grinding on him like a teenager, dry-humping him, but I’m so far gone I don’t care.
“Fuck,” I breathe.
“I know, I fucking know,” he says on a moan, and I don’t think I’ve ever been this turned on before. My blood whooshes in my ears, blocking out even the sound of the music playing, and Jack is meeting me halfway, the two of us a mess, tangled up, pressing ourselves as tight to one another as we can manage, without him actually laying a hand on me.
I close my eyes, head falling back as waves of increasing pleasure ripple through me. I let out a whimper that’s so distorted by lust, I can’t believe I made the sound.
“Open your eyes,” Jack grits out.
“What?” I gasp.
“Look at me when you come.”
His words spark something in me, and when I open my eyes, he’s there. Right fucking there . Staring at me. His eyes never leave mine, and as if his gaze is the flame that lights the fuse, I explode. Pleasure rips through me, powerful surges of it blasting through my body.
I cling to him, more unfamiliar noises tumbling from my lips. Wild, passionate sounds driven by the force of the orgasm that seems to go on and on and on, eking itself out as I rub myself against his hard cock. “Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck …”
I shudder with each rising crest, finally collapsing against him, my body radiating heat and slick between the thighs. Beneath me, Jack’s chest moves like bellows, sucking in huge breaths.
He hasn’t come. He’s still hard, right between my legs. Fuck .
A vibration emanates from his chest and it takes me a split second to realise he’s chuckling. Not a loud, ridiculing laugh, but a desperate, disbelieving peel of laughter, as though he has no idea how any of this came to pass. My guts tighten and my body stiffens, regret rapidly flushing through me, stronger with each roll of Jack’s laugh.
“You may be the best housemate I’ve ever had,” he pants.
Oh, shit. How did I let this happen? I can’t speak. Can’t form a single word. This was not the way this was supposed to go.
Jack must see something in my expression that kills his laughter, because it dies the moment we make eye contact. His erratic breaths are warm against my face, and in a twisted moment of connection, he presses his forehead to mine. “Thank you for the dance.” The whispered words are painfully sincere, making inexplicable tears prick my eyes. I let my hands slide from their resting position on his shoulders down his chest, settling where I can feel the racing of his heart. We sit like that, neither of us moving, as if what’s happened has left us both shell-shocked. Finally, Jack says, “Do you want to come upstairs?”
The question strikes like a lightning bolt and I snatch my hands back, curling them into fists. I’ve massively fucked up. He thinks he’s won the game, and now he’s expecting me to jump into bed with him. It’s no wonder he thinks that. I totally lost control. Didn’t stick to the plan. In fact, I veered so far off the plan that I can’t even see it anymore.
I fucking failed.
Until now, I’d managed to avoid thinking about my dreadful interview with Robert Lloyd. I’d managed to put it out of my mind, distracting myself with makeup and shoes and poker and Jack fucking Lansen, but now, in the face of this new humiliation, it all comes flooding back in bright technicolour.
This is what I do, isn’t it? Fuck stuff up. Self-sabotage. I am fucking useless. I fail at everything I try . Not only did I screw up the biggest opportunity of my career, but I can’t even get Jack Lansen, London’s biggest playboy, to beg me for sex without suffering a mind-blowing orgasm of my own. How pathetic is that?
Without looking at him, I slide off his lap. He eyes me cautiously, like I’m a bomb that might go off at any moment, as he stands and adjusts himself. He’s still hard— rock-fucking solid —and from the way his trousers are straining, his dick must be enormous.
I’d be lying if I said part of me wasn’t screaming, yes . Yes, I want to come upstairs with you . But not tonight. I won’t let myself down again. I refuse to be like all those other women he persuades into his bed, losing their heads when he’s around. Even though I am, and I already have . But right now, I have a chance to regain at least the semblance of control.
I stand taller and meet his gaze head on. “I didn’t beg.”
“Huh?”
“You haven’t won. I didn’t beg you for sex. Those were the rules. And I won’t beg. Ever. I don’t want to come upstairs and I don’t want to sleep with you.” I’m being too emphatic, speaking too loud and fast, desperately over-compensating for the orgasm, which is just another of my failures, none of which Jack could never understand.
A bemused look crosses his face. “You just came on m—”
“It wasn’t real. I faked it,” I lie.
Tension zaps between us, and Jack’s eyes narrow. “Okay.” He stretches the word and it drips with an unspoken air of disbelief, but he doesn’t push me on it.
My eyes drift down to his crotch, where a dark patch spreads across the fabric, clear evidence of my orgasm. Oh, shit . I panic internally. I can’t handle the depravity of it, right there on his fucking trousers.
I dare a glance at him, which only makes his gaze dip to where I've been focusing, and I see the flash of awareness when he notices it too. “You’ve made a mess of me,” he purrs.
The shame that flushes through me is so intense, I can’t bear it. I need to get rid of the proof that this ever happened, right fucking now.
“I’ll clean it,” I gush, stepping up to him. “I’ll take them to the dry-cleaners.” My sense of self-preservation must have clicked off-line, because my hands drift towards his waistband as though I mean to strip him right here and now. “Please, let—”
“El.” He says my name like a warning as he moves back. “If you don’t want to see this over the finish line, then you need to step away from the trousers. My dick is on a hair trigger here.”
I retract my wandering hands and he waits as if expecting me to say something, but I’m so caught up in my own head, plagued by self-recriminations, that I can’t speak.
Jack quietly assesses me, and although his gaze is gentle, we can’t connect on any real level while this game is in play. When I say nothing, he raises a brow, and says softly, “I can recognise a real orgasm, El.”
The arrogance. But he’s probably seen a million of them. Given a million . Regret swirls like a snowstorm, threatening to bury me. I’m just another number to him.
I’m too humiliated to speak. My throat swells, a great sob keen to leak out. Fuck . It’s the orgasm messing with my head, raising all sorts of shitty emotions. I want to cry, but I will not let him see it. Damn him and damn this stupid fucking game. Why did I ever agree to play?
His stance softens as he rubs at the back of his neck, and somehow I know he registers everything I’m feeling, despite my best attempts to conceal it. God, I’m a fool . A deep, cramping ache runs from my belly to my throat. If he so much as touches me right now, I’ll burst into tears . “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, closing the distance between us, reaching out as if to draw me into a hug.
I hold up a hand to block his approach. “Don’t touch me,” I snap, my breaths coming fast. “I said no touching.”
Jack retreats, a frown marring his forehead, and I understand his obvious confusion, because one second I’m trying to undo his trousers, and the next I’m telling him to keep his distance. I’m past the limits of rational behaviour. “All right,” he says slowly, his palms open and raised, padding the air as though I’m a bull who might charge him and he wants to back the fuck away, little by little. “I don’t want to upset you.” He glances at his watch. “It’s late. We should go to bed. Separately.” He dips his chin in farewell, and when I don’t respond, he strides from the room.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Before I can question it, I’m following him, each step blasting pain through the balls of my feet in these damn stupid heels, anger burning through me like lit petrol.
“Even if I wanted to come upstairs with you, which I don’t, I wouldn't.” I spit the words.
Jack halts in the hall, then turns back to me slowly, and as he does, I stiffen, bracing for some kind of showdown. My hands rest on my hips. I’m on the offensive and I can’t hold back any longer.
“I don’t want to be the person you come home to, when you’re out there”—my hand flails so violently towards the front door that I wonder if it could actually come off my wrist—“doing whatever you want with whoever you want. I refuse to be another woman on your list of conquests.” I almost scream this last part, and somewhere in the back of my mind a little voice is whispering, ‘S top it. Why are you acting like a crazy woman ? This is supposed to be a game ’. But I’m so embarrassed, so angry, so filled with shame, that I’m powerless to act any other way.
An amused smirk has crept its way over Jack’s face while I’ve been talking, and it completely knocks me off. But when I don’t smile back, his amusement vanishes, and he tilts towards me, like he’s eager to hear whatever I’m not saying. Like the fact I’m standing here in his hall, staring at him, matters to him.
“El, what’s going on in that pretty head of yours? Because what I’m hearing isn’t making sense.”
Anger fizzes right below my skin, but even so, part of me is leaping at the fact Jack Lansen called me pretty. The collision of both sensations renders me speechless.
Jack’s still peering at me, concern etched into the slant of his mouth and the tight corners of his eyes. “Is there something you want to know?” His voice is gentle and laden with concern. “Because it feels like you’re trying to ask me a question.”
Something stutters in my chest like a car being jump started. I want to latch onto his offer of kindness, but I can’t because if I do, I’ll break. “No. I don’t have anything to ask you. I don’t care how many people you’re sleeping with, because I won’t be one of them.”
He pins his lips together like he’s deciding to hold back the first thought that crosses his mind. Crap . He’s too smart not to see beyond my bitchy comeback. I’ve given myself away, caring so much about who this stupid, gorgeous, irritating man is sleeping with, but then I’ve already done that tonight in the most explicit way, so what does it matter?
Thankfully, Jack lets it slide. “Fair enough.” He sighs, and if I didn’t know better, I’d think he looked a little dejected. “That was one hell of a performance tonight. I’m impressed. Truly. I’d tip my hat to you if I had one.” He turns to head up the stairs, but then he pauses.
He runs a hand through his hair, brushing the thick dark locks of it off his face. Under his scrutinizing gaze, I feel ridiculous, dressed up like this, breathless and shameful, having orgasmed on his lap like nothing else in the world mattered, which at the time, it didn’t.
“Do you want to quit?” he whispers. “We can stop playing, if you want to. If this is too much, we can ditch the whole thing.” At his words, the urge to cry swells in my throat and burns behind my eyes again, and all I want is for him to put his arms around me. I thought this game would bring us closer, but right now it feels like all it has done is drive a wedge between us. It’s a mess.
I clench my teeth, biting down so hard on my molars I can feel the beginnings of a headache. “You could have put me up in one of your hotels. I never needed to move in with you.”
He runs a finger around the back of his collar, tugging at it. He looks a little unsure, but then his hand falls away, and when he speaks, there isn’t a hint of uncertainty in his voice. “I could have. Didn’t want to. I like you being here. As I said, you’re the best housemate I’ve ever had.”
I let his comment hang for a moment. He likes me being here . Despite my emotional turmoil, the thought makes me feel good. “Even though I’m messy?”
He smiles, but it’s a small, careful smile, as if he knows it might upset me and he doesn’t want to do that. “ Because you’re messy.” His eyes dart to the stain on his trousers for a second, and he adds, “You make the best fucking mess, El. I’d take it a million times over if it meant I’d get to spend time with you, even if you never let me touch you.” My heart does a curious somersault in my chest. How is it so easy for this man to manipulate my moods, guiding me through them like they’re nothing but a gentle breeze? “And if you don’t want to play anymore, then I don’t want to either.”
What happens if we don’t play? What happens to us then? Is there even an ‘us’ without the game? “We didn’t ever have to play. You could have…” asked me out. Taken me to dinner. Done something fucking normal.
He cocks a brow. “I could have what?”
I heave a breath, intending to share my thoughts, but every word lodges in my throat. Maybe he never wanted to do any of those things. “Nothing. It doesn’t matter.”
He pins his bottom lip with his teeth, examining me as though he’s not entirely satisfied with what I’ve just said. “All right. If you’re sure.” An awkward beat passes. “So… are we still playing?”
The question sounds tentative, but his eyes blister with a heat that roasts me on the inside. A smug little smile tugs at his lips, like he knows I don’t have it in me to say no. To say I’m not playing. To deny him the pleasure of this game. To deny myself.
Say no. Say no. “Yes.”
He fists a hand, and for a second I think he’s going to pump the air and congratulate himself on the result he wanted. But instead he lifts it to his lips, concealing his smile before he says, “The climax of this game is going to be better than the one you just had. I guarantee it.”
Oh, my God. This man is a fucking nightmare. And yet I can’t resist, but I don’t want him to think he’s got me already. “It wasn’t just me. You got hard,” I bite back, nodding at his dick. “I can still see it.”
His eyes are shining with amusement, with life , and it’s so endearing that even though I want to be annoyed at him, I’m failing. “Yup. The sexiest woman I’ve ever met just came on my lap. Of course I’m hard.”
And with that, he turns and walks up the stairs, leaving me gawking at his perfect muscled arse in his tailored suit trousers, annoyed that his words have my body gearing up for round two, and wishing I could follow him all the way into bed.
Winning this game is going to be harder than I thought, and tonight was a close call. If he’d said the right things in my ear, at exactly the right moment, he could have got me to admit that I want to fuck him. Want it bad . But he didn’t. I’m still in the game, and the money’s still there to play for.
But is it worth it?