Chapter 29
“Peach, hit A, A, X!” My voice bounces off the walls of the small living room as I glance at Blair, who’s frantically mashing random buttons like her controller is possessed. We’re playing It Takes Two, and let’s just say teamwork is… a work in progress.
Now, my Blair, my love, my beauty, my absolute weakness, is a goddess in every sense of the word. Her skills as a fashion designer alone could make angels weep. And in the bedroom? Let’s just say heaven might need a new definition.
But when it comes to Xbox games, or honestly, any kind of game, she might be the worst player in the history of gaming.
Seriously. The. Absolute. Worst.
The worst part? She’s the one who begged me to buy this damn game. She saw it on social media and decided it would be a “cute bonding experience” and “a great way to work on our teamwork.” (Her words, not mine.)
And, like the sucker I am when it comes to her, I bought it. I thought it’d be fun, it’d be sweet. I thought wrong.
It’s been hours. Hours.
“Why do I keep dying?!” she screeches as her character plummets off yet another ledge.
“Because you’re not hitting A, A, X!” I shout back, trying and failing not to laugh.
“I am! The stupid controller is broken,” she accuses, glaring at it like it just insulted her latest design.
“No, baby, you’re just…” I pause, catching myself. Telling her she sucks might not be the best way to keep the peace. “…still learning.”
Her eyes narrow suspiciously, but she doesn’t call me out. Instead, she huffs, puffing a stray strand of hair from her face, and returns to mashing buttons with the same chaotic energy.
And yet, as frustrating as it is watching her character flail around, I wouldn’t trade this moment for anything. Because even when she’s bad—horribly, laughably bad, at this—she’s still mine.
“You’re supposed to jump, Blair. Jump and dash.” I groan as her character runs straight into a pit for the thirtieth time.
“I am jumping!” she shouts back, her eyes wild with frustration. “The game is broken!” I can’t help but laugh. She is just too cute. Unable to stop herself, she laughs too. “It’s not funny, I’m really trying here.”
“God, you’re killing me, smalls. You’re lucky you’re cute. Okay, one more time. Press A, then A, then X,” I instruct. To her credit, she tries to follow my direction diligently, but to no avail. Her character meets another unfortunate fate.
It’s only been five days since we decided to give this a real shot, five days since Blair made the seemingly absurd decision that we wouldn’t have sex for a week. A whole week. Or, as she put it, ‘until I’ve had a face-to-face conversation with my sister.’
It’s been over a month since I’ve had her. Not five days, a month. And now, she’s walking around like the goddamn embodiment of temptation, making this self-imposed celibacy feel like cruel and unusual punishment.
She doesn’t even have to try. The way her hair frames her face, wild and perfect, or how her smooth skin catches the light, it’s enough to drive me insane.
That tiny waist that fits in my hands like it was made for me, those curves that defy logic, and those lips.
God, don’t get me started on those lips.
They always look like someone’s just finished devouring her. Plump, pink, and so inviting they make my mouth water. It’s downright unfair.
And she knows it.
I can see it in the way she moves, the subtle sway in her hips that’s practically hypnotic. The way her teeth catch her bottom lip when she’s pretending to focus on something only to glance at me with that playful, innocent expression she thinks I can’t see through.
She’s playing with fire.
The thing is, I want nothing but to get burned.
But I’d decided to respect her decision, no matter how many times she keeps accidentally wiggling her perfect ass against my erection at night.
Instead of tying her up and fucking her until she’s carrying my kids, I’ve been channeling my frustration into something more…
civilized. Dates. Romantic gestures. The works.
One night, I took her on an exclusive dinner and wine-tasting at Le Taillevent, pulling every string to make sure it was an experience she wouldn’t forget. By the end of it, she was tipsy, her inhibitions slipping with every glass, and her advances toward me went from playful to downright sinful.
Dating Blair while staying celibate is not for the weak.
The next day, she decided it was her turn to plan a date.
We went to dinner at a cozy little spot she found, and afterward, we took a romantic stroll through the streets of Montmartre.
The night air was warm, the cobblestone streets bathed in the soft glow of streetlamps.
We explored Place du Tertre, soaking in the artistic energy of the square, her hand in mine the entire time.
It was beautiful. She was beautiful.
And then she decided to sleep naked that night. Naked.
My morals have never been tested as much as they were in those hours. Every inch of her smooth, bare skin pressed against me, her soft, sleepy murmurs driving me insane. I knew she wanted me, her body language was practically screaming it, but I also knew that if we gave in, she’d regret it.
So I held her close, gritted my teeth, and whispered against her hair, “Soon, Peach. Soon.”
But the day I almost broke and she nearly won was when she took me to Marché Bastille.
The market was so alive. Colorful awnings rippled in the breeze.
Stalls spilled over with vibrant fruit, fresh cheese, warm bread, and locals calling out their specials in melodic French.
The sun was warm on our backs, and soft accordion music drifted through the narrow alleyways.
Blair was in her element, camera slung around her neck, hair swept up messily, sundress hugging her just enough to make my jaw clench.
She flitted from stall to stall like she belonged there, laughing with vendors in broken French and occasionally glancing over her shoulder to make sure I was still watching.
I always was.
She paused at a fruit stand, fingers dancing over figs and apricots, until her gaze landed on a small pile of peaches. She picked one up, ripe, golden-skinned, soft enough that her thumb left a delicate dent.
She looked at me then.
Right at me.
Her lips curved, slow and wicked.
“Look what I found,” she said, tone sweet, knowing. She brought the peach to her mouth and bit in. The skin gave way with a soft pop, juice instantly dripping down her chin and trailing along the curve of her neck.
My hands curled into fists.
She took another bite, languid, eyes never leaving mine, lips glossy with nectar. A quiet hum escaped her throat, and then she licked the juice from the corner of her mouth like a goddamn invitation.
I was on her in two strides.
My hand wrapped around the delicate column of her neck, just enough pressure to make her breath hitch and her eyes darken with something primal.
I leaned in, close enough for only her to hear.
“I’ve been letting you tease me, Blair,” I said, voice low, rough. “And that’s fine. I can play your games. But what I won’t let you do”—My thumb brushed the sticky line of juice that went down her throat—“is tease me with a fucking peach.”
She shuddered.
“Drop it,” I commanded softly, hand tightening just slightly against her throat. “Now.”
She obeyed without hesitation, the fruit falling into my open hand.
“Good girl,” I growled, stepping even closer, lips brushing the shell of her ear. “Now walk away. Before I bend you over this stall and fuck you right here, right now, in front of everyone.”
She let out a shaky breath, pulse racing under my fingers.
Then she did exactly what I told her to do; she spun on her heel and walked away, hips swaying, head held high.
She didn’t look back. She already knew I was watching.
And planning exactly how I’d make good on that promise.
“Ugh, I hate this game,” Blair says in frustration, pulling me back to the present.
“Here, let me show you how it’s done,” I say, taking the controller from her hands with a teasing smirk.
“Oh no, you don’t!” she exclaims, covering my eyes before I can even see the screen.
“Whoa, hey. That’s not fair.” I laugh as I try, and fail, to wrestle her hands away.
“Life isn’t fair,” she quips, straddling my lap to keep her hold firm.
Well, now we’re playing a different game entirely.
“Hmm, I like where this is going,” I murmur, though my dick does most of the talking. It’s been painfully hard since the moment she left Boston, and now, with her warm body pressed against mine, it’s a miracle I’m still coherent.
The controller slips from my hands as I let it drop to the couch, my focus fully on her.
My hands find her hips, fingers curling into the soft denim of her shorts before trailing down to cup her ass.
She uncovers my eyes, and I take the chance to meet her gaze, those deep brown eyes staring back at me, full of heat and mischief.
God, she’s beautiful.
We hold the look for a moment before I give in to the inevitable. I close the distance, capturing her mouth with mine in a kiss that’s as much a declaration as it is a demand. Her lips are soft and sweet, parting for me with a sigh that makes my blood burn hotter.
She deepens the kiss, pulling back just enough to yank her shirt over her head, leaving her gloriously bare from the waist up.
“Fuck me,” I breathe, staring at her like she’s the most exquisite thing I’ve ever seen, which she is. My hands slide up her back, fingertips grazing her skin as my eyes devour the sight of her.
She bites her lip, her teeth tugging at the soft flesh in a way that sends a jolt straight to my already aching dick. “Hmm,” I groan, running my tongue across my teeth. “Peach, you can’t do that to me. That’s definitely not playing fair.”