Page 111 of Vicious Games

My Adam’s apple bobs as I take in every inch of her—flushed cheeks, parted lips, chest rising and falling right up against me. Her skin’s warm, her scent familiar, addictive.

“Because I don’t think I can touch you without having you,” I finally admit.

Her lips twitch, eyes glittering with defiance. “Try.”

Try?

Try?!

Fuck.

She wants me to fight everything primal in me. Everything that’s screaming to take her, to make her mine. And fuck my life, but for Frankie, I’d do just about anything. Even deny my own baser instincts and impulses.

I breathe deep through my nose, nodding once, willing my hands to stay on her hips and not move an inch. She smiles at my restraint with a quiet, knowing curve to her lips and gently presses her palms against my chest.

“If I didn’t know any better,” she whispers, “I’d think you might like me a little… by the way your heart’s about to beat out of your chest.”

“I have no idea where you got that idea,” I murmur, though the way my body responds to hers—taut and pressed up against me—is all the proof she needs that I’m full of shit right now.

I don’t just like her. Iachefor her.

“That’s a shame,” she says, coyly. “Because I think I might like you a little, too.”

“Just a little?” I lick my lips.

“Maybe this much.” She holds her index finger and thumb apart, their gap comically small.

“Oh, I think you like me a bit more than that.”

“Is that so?” Her eyes gleam. “And how much would that be?”

Instead of answering, I guide her hand from my chest down, lower, until her fingers are cupping the hard evidence straining beneath the thin fabric of my boxers.

“Maybe this much.”

Her gaze smolders, turning into a full-on storm of want, heat, and mischief all at once.

“Maybe,” she whispers, adding pressure with her hand, making me groan. “But not enough to sleep with you.”

“That’s a shame,” I grit, my voice strained as she starts rubbing me through the thin cotton.

“It really is, isn’t it?” she purrs, eyes alight with taunting humor.

I laugh. Of course, she’d take pleasure in tormenting me. She lives to torture me. But the sound dies in my throat when her hand slips inside my boxers, her skin warm and electric on mine.

“Frankie—”

“Shh, Lucky,” she murmurs, her voice thick with desire. “Let me show you just how much Idon’tlike you.”

My hand tangles in her hair, and I growl low in my throat. “You’re not playing fair.”

She bats her lashes, stroking me slowly, deliberately. “Since when do we ever play fair?”

“Fuck,” I hiss, gripping her waist as she strokes me, every movement sending sparks across my skin.

“Does that feel good?” she asks, breathless.

“I think you can tell it does,” I manage to rasp, fighting for control. “Don’t stop.”

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