Page 60 of Under Control

“You know that what Petrov wants doesn’t have anything to do with honoring your father?” Carrick demanded.

“Is that a question?” Danica caught on quickly and shot him a slick look. “I think it’s your turn—truth or dare?”

“Dare.”

He leaned back, his seated stance wide, and crossed his arms, gazing down his long nose at her. So she decided to make it harder for him.

“Off with your shirt.” She licked her lips, knowing she was just being selfish and trying to make him feel equally uncomfortable.

His eyes hard on her, he tore off his T-shirt like he didn’t give a fuck, exposing the long, curving tattoo across his chest. Now, in the light, she had a way better view of it than when she’d seen it in the tent. It was words and numbers—likely something meaningful to him. And now, she also had a way better view of his rippling, jacked body. Tan and defined, his chest flexed as he leaned forward.

“Not bad,” she shrugged, shooting him a coy look.

Carrick shook his head with a grin then stared her down in all seriousness.

“My turn.”

Shit, Danica thought, as she weighed her options. She didn’t want any more questions. And she definitely did not want to drink any more of that engine grease.

“Fine. Dare.”

“You know what I’m going to ask.” He leaned back, his arm resting over the top of the couch. The view was delicious as his hard body shone under the soft amber light in the corner of the shadowy room.

“When exactly is this game over?” She caved back into the chair, eyes wide and shy as he watched her.

“When I’m done.”

Danica grumbled as she reached forward and took the shot of tequila, sending the burning liquid down her throat. She was going to be drinking a bottle of tequila that night, apparently.

“Now, tell me, truth or dare?” she said, licking the last drop of tequila from her bottom lip.

“Truth.” He shrugged like he didn’t care, but she knew he did.

She’d guess he was just testing her to find out what her question was, so she might as well go for the jugular.

“What does your tattoo mean?” she asked, narrowing her eyes on the cursive writing across his chest. “Is that a date—from two years ago?”

Without hesitation, he reached forward, took the shot from his glass and poured them both new shots. He reached over and picked hers up, motioning for her to grab it.

“I forgot to tell you—any round where neither of us answer, we have to take another shot.” He brought his to his lips. “And the punishment gets worse from there.”

“Who invented this game? God, you are sadistic,” she grumbled as she brought the second tequila shot to her mouth, slamming it back.

I can’t take any more of this.

“You have no idea,” he mumbled as he took his drink, winking at her.

A literal cold snap of electricity ran up her body and she parted her lips. That reaction only seemed to encourage him.He likes being the bad guy, she realized.

Now, three shots in, it was safe to say she was starting to feel it—and that all the things she really wanted were starting to bubble to the surface. Maybe she really needed to say some stuff. It didn’t help that she wasn’t far away from him, and she’d spent the entire day oscillating between hating and needing him. Her own resolve to have the upper hand was wearing thinner and thinner, and he was starting to look better and better by the second.

That was, until it was his turn again and he demanded she take off her clothes for the third time. She realized it was something he really, really wanted. He wanted to see her naked again. He wanted more.

Danica felt a rush up her chest as she considered her power over him. The man was undeniably horny and just as undeniably doing everything he could to control himself.

She wondered if she could make him suffer a little.

She decided having the upper hand was something that was really important to her—with him, anyway.

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