Page 9 of Power Play

“How…how did you get my number?” I ask him.

“Your brother is drunk. I may or may not have stolen it out of his phone,” he says. “Did you make it home safe?”

My heart is pounding in my chest.

Levi Buck stolemynumber. And called it.

And he wants to know if I got home safe.

“I did. I just sat down on my bed,” I tell him, careful to leave out the part about me checking on my toddler just a moment ago—and also that I’m actually sitting on the floor. “Where are you? It’s too quiet to still be at Andy’s.”

“I’m in my car in the parking lot,” he says. “Couldn’t exactly go back in yet. I was a little…undone.”

Oh, my God.I feel my cheeks flush, and my stomach flips.

I clear my throat.

“Yeah, uh…sorry about that.”

He laughs on the other end.

“I’m starting to think you like riling me up and then walking out on me,” he says, and I quietly slap a hand to my face. If he only knew how badly I wanted to finish the job—or at least let him finish it.

“I…uh…I’m—” I mumble, but he cuts me off.

“Do you want to know what I would have done to you that night in the laundry room?” he asks, and my jaw drops open.

Oh. My. God.

“Wha—what?” I ask, pushing myself to my feet and walking over to my bed. I kick off my shoes and slide up, propping myself up on the pillows.

“That night, at Tyson’s. If you had come back to the laundry room. Do you want to know what I would have done to you?”

“I…”

“Are you leaning back?” he asks. I swallow.

“Yes.”

“Good. Pull your pants down.”

“What?” I choke out.

“Pull. Your. Pants. Down. Now,” he demands. I’m not sure how or why I am listening to him, but it’s like I’m not controlling my own movements. I reach down and unbutton my shorts, tugging them down over my hips and kicking them off.

“Okay,” I say.

“Tell me what your panties look like,” he says. His voice is low and husky, and I am so fucking entranced it’s not even funny.

“They’re, um…they’re navy blue. With lace.”

“Mmm, navy,” he says. “Now, pull them down, too.”

Like a robot, I do.

“Okay,” I say, my voice hovering above a whisper.

“Good girl,” he says, and I feel myself getting wetter. “Now, if you had come back to that room, I would have started by putting you back on that dryer. I would have pushed your legs apart wide enough for me to step between them. And then I would have slid my hands up your legs, underneath your dress.”

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