Page 61 of Under Control

Danica stood up out of the chair, turned around and slowly peeled off her yoga top, revealing a light blue lacy bra underneath. Still with her back to him, she bent over the chair slightly, arching like a cat and smiling when he groaned behind her. He wasn’t the only one who knew how to play games.

Feeling the rush of the tequila coursing through her veins, she realized fruit for dinner wasn’t enough to keep her from getting absolutely wasted.

And maybe she was going to do something she was going to regret, but at that precise moment, she didn’t really care.

Hooking her thumbs in the soft waist of the yoga pants, she slowly started rolling them down over her skin, revealing to him her lower back then her tailbone. Very slowly she popped them down over her naked ass, which she had covered only by the smallest patch of lacy blue panties. As she folded over completely, reaching down to her ankles to very slowly pull off her pants, she gave him a full bent-over view of her body. She’d expected his reaction and it was unmistakable.

He groaned savagely in the background, and she rose then reached behind her ass, innocently tugging at her panties to readjust them, showing a half inch of her raw, wet pussy. Just for fun, she slipped a finger underneath the fabric and pretended to play with her own wetness.

She knew how to compete in a game, all right. She was going in for the kill.

Turning back around, she sat down in the chair and brought that same finger to her mouth, taking it in like she was sucking on sugary icing.

“The fruitarian diet has its benefits.” She grinned absently, as though she didn’t have a care in the world.

The entire moment became absolutely worth it when he shifted in his seat to adjust the hardness in his crotch, his incredible erection. That part of his pants was tighter and more pronounced than it had been minutes ago. And she remembered how his cock had felt going in and out of her.

One point for me.

He looked her up and down, licking his lower lip, but kept on with the conversation as if nothing had happened. The man had fucking skills.

“So, you’ve got some misplaced sense of blood loyalty to Petrov, and he terrifies you,” Carrick reiterated, machinations obviously working through his mind as he watched her. “Got it.”

Under his heated gaze, she stirred in her seat, her arousal kicking in, but she couldn’t be the one to relent. She had to be stronger than he was.

There was a silent game going on—one where the points really did matter.

“I think you are starting to understand me.” Danica shrugged and leaned forward to push her empty shot glass back toward him, squeezing her breasts together to tempt him. “And maybe you are starting to understand why I can’t just do whatyouwant me to do.”

“Then we will have to find another way.” His voice grew dark, and she realized he was planning something.

Without her input, of course.

She clenched her jaw as she narrowed her eyes on him. “My turn.” She took in a deep breath and stiffened. “You told me last night that you will never love again. What makes you think you can control that?”

He just sat, staring at her—silent as a grave. His lips and jaw tightened, and she recognized a familiar pain in his eyes. She knew the pain of loss anywhere—because she’d experienced it once, too.

Breathing out low, she whispered, “What happened to you, Carrick?”

Carrick pre-emptively reached out, poured himself an overflowing shot and sucked it back, shrugging like he didn’t give a fuck.

“That’s not fair,” she gasped.

“Why not?”

“You can’t just deny all my questions. You can handle more booze than me, so I’m at an unfair disadvantage,” she cried out at the mounting injustice. “Don’t be a cheater.”

“I’m not a fucking cheater.” His voice was hoarse, and his eyes were growing livid as he bounded forward, intimidating as hell.

But she wouldn’t be frightened by him. She needed to keep her upper hand. She jumped up from the chair, staring him down.

“If you aren’t going to play fair, then I’m not playing.”

She moved to march away, but he lunged up from the couch, grabbing her.

“I’m a lot of things, but I’m not a cheater,” he countered, the strong scent of tequila on his breath. “I’ve never cheated.”

She blinked up at him, partially confused—and she realized that he wasn’t talking about the game anymore.

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