Page 101 of Vicious Games

I open my eyes, my heart racing even faster than hers under my palm, when I see the same kindness she gave him being thrown my way.

“But this,” she says, slipping her arms behind her back to unfasten her bra with slow, sure fingers, “you and me,” she continues as the straps fall from her shoulders, her bra hitting the floor next, making my mouth run dry at the sight, “there’s no reason for you to be jealous, Lucky,” she murmurs, her voice trembling with truth. “You’re the only person I’ve ever felt safe enough to show myself to. All of me.”

As I stare at her vulnerability—her heart, her body, her soul—laid out bare for me, something shifts yet again in the deepest parts of me, rearranging my insides into something I’m not sure I’m equipped to handle.

“Are you just going to stare at the girls all day,” she teases breathlessly, “or are you finally going to kiss me?”

As if her words snap something loose inside me, I cradle the nape of her neck and pull her to me, crushing her against my chest. And then I devour her mouth like I’m starving for her. Because I am. I have been for quite some time now. Longer than I’ll ever admit to her.

Our kiss is hunger, desperation, and salvation, all wrapped together.

My hands slide up the length of her body, cupping her bare breasts, groaning into her mouth when my palms can’t even hold all of her in them.

At first, my touch is featherlight and reverent. But it doesn’t stay that way. It deepens. Intensifies. Grows more desperate in tandem with the voraciousness of our kiss.

“I need to taste you,” I growl against her lips, barely able to get the words out.

Frankie nods frantically, her hands already fisting in my hair, pushing me down, guiding me to where she needs me most.

I kiss my way down her throat, licking, nipping, worshiping until I find one perfect, dark pink nipple, taut and begging for my mouth. I flick my eyes up to hers as I stick out my tongue and circle its tip around the bud—slow, torturous strokes—before closing my lips around it and sucking it into my mouth.

Frankie lets out a whimper, her head falling back in surrender, her hair cascading like spun gold over her shoulders.

I groan, the sound ripped straight from my chest at how fucking responsive she is, how her hips start swaying against my lap, grinding down on my rock-hard cock through the thin barrier of our clothes.

I let go of her nipple with a loud, wet pop, just long enough to attack the other one, lavishing it with my tongue, grazing it gently with my teeth, worshipping every inch of her.

“Lucky,” she mewls, rocking faster against me, her skirt hiked up so high I can see her cotton-pink panties peeking from underneath.

“What, baby? What do you need?” My voice comes out hoarse, unrecognizable, completely reeling by how badly I want her.

In these situations, I’m usually the one in control. Usually, I’m the one leading. But with Frankie… I’m fucking helpless.

“I… I…” she stammers, her chest flushed pink, sweat starting to bead along her sternum.

I lick a slow line up the crevice of her chest before sinking my teeth into the swell of her breast, needing to leave my mark on her, something that says she’s mine.

She lets out a broken howl, her hips grinding harder, faster against me.

“Do you need to come?” I ask with utter awe at her being so close to it.

Though, to be fair, if she keeps up with her tempo, I’ll be the one coming any second now.

She looks down at me, wild-eyed, beautiful, like the storm I knew she was from the start.

“Yes! Please,” she begs, her voice breaking. “I’m so close.” I grip her waist, steadying her.

“Do you trust me?” I whisper fiercely, desperate to hear her say it.

“Yes,” she whimpers, her eyelids so heavy with lust that I can barely see the shade of her wild, stormy blue eyes behind them.

Her ‘yes’ is the only permission I need. Before she can even blink, I lift her off my lap, flipping her so she’s laid out across the couch, sprawled like a goddamn feast just for me.

She gasps, blinking up at me, her chest heaving, her skin flushed, her body practically singing for me to touch her, taste her, devour her.

“Then trust me,” I say, my voice so low and rough it sounds like it’s been scraped raw from inside me. “I’m gonna take care of you, baby. Gonna make you feel so good you forget your own name.”

Her hands clutch the cushions beneath her, her eyes wide and hungry and trusting.

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