Page 125 of Vicious Games

“Okay,” he says through gritted teeth before slamming the back of his head against the wall and shutting his eyes.

“No,” I reprimand, cupping the bulge in his pants, feeling it instantly harden under my touch. “I want you to watch me.”

“Then this is gonna be the fastest blowjob in history. Just seeing you on your knees has me half there already,” he states, pained, but he does as I say, locking eyes with me. My heart swells when he softly grabs my chin, running the pad of his thumb over my bottom lip. “I’m not sure you know how much power you have over me.”

Don’t I, though?

Ever since we started our littleexperiment—Lucky wanting me to have all the facts about the pleasure I’d be giving up if I took my vows—he’s been adamant about giving me everything while taking almost nothing for himself. That right there was giving me all the power. It took a weekend of missing him, replaying every second we’d spent together, to realize just how much that mattered to me.

So, after surfing the net on the phone he gave me—finding porn sites Sister Margaretta would probably drown me in holy water for—I did my best to research all the ways I could show Lucky that I want his pleasure too. That I need it to feed my own.

With my eyes locked on his, I tug his zipper down. My fingers slide to the waistband of his pants, pulling them just low enough that I’m at eye level with his bulging shaft. I then run a finger along the band of his boxers, making him release a hiss as I tug them down to his knees, allowing his cock to bob free—it’s hard, flushed, and aching for attention.

“Frankie,” he groans as if pleading for mercy.

I grip the base of him, my tongue trailing along the thick vein on the side before swirling over the crown. I know he likes it when his fingers thread through my hair, holding me exactly where he needs me most. I take another slow lap, his hungry groan encouraging me to wrap my lips around him, sinking down as far as I can take him.

“Holy fuck,” he growls, his hands tightening in my hair as I begin to suck, slowly pulling back before sinking in again, losing myself in the rhythm.

He lets out a quiet moan when my hands brace against the wall behind him, my eyes fluttering shut, just relishing the feel of him on my tongue. I take my time. Learn what makes him gasp. What makes him groan. What makes his legs twitch as if he were about to collapse. He tries to say my name, but it comes out like a strangled prayer and a whispered warning all at once.

I look up, lips swollen, breath warm against his skin, and smile.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he chokes as his whole body shudders in anticipation. “You’re perfect.”

And there it is…perfect.Out of all the words that exist, Lucky always chooses that word to define me—perfect.

Perfect for him.

Even on my knees, in a dark utility closet, with only a door separating from the rest of the world, I feel empowered. Strong.Loved.I feel… perfect.

I take him back in, and he lets go as if falling off a ledge, mumbling how beautiful I am, how much he wants me, how much he needs me. How much he missed me. Can’t get much more perfect than that. When he’s done, I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and stand up slowly, adjusting my skirt, feeling triumphant and a little euphoric.

His chest is rising and falling like he just ran a marathon, and his hands are shaking slightly as he cups my face, pulling me into another kiss—this one slower, softer, almost reverent.

His voice is raw when he resumes his speech. “I want to take you out.”

I blink, stunned. “What?”

“Saturday night,” he says, and I can tell by the look on his face that the words spilling out of his lips surprise even him. “I want to take you on a date.”

A giggle slips out of me before I can catch it. “A date?”

He nods with steel resolve. “Yeah. I want to do this right. I want to take you somewhere nice. Somewhere it’s just you and me.”

“I’m not sure I’m allowed,” I whisper, suddenly feeling the weight of Sister Margaretta’s judgment on my shoulders.

He brushes my hair back with gentle fingers. “You’re an adult, Frankie. You can do anything you want.” I bite my bottom lip, unsure. “Let me make all the preparations,” he says, lifting my chin with his fingers while his arm tightens around me. “Let me take you out. Saturday night. Say yes.”

I pause and stare into the intensity in his eyes. How they beg, plead, supplicate to have one night where it’s just him and me. One night just for us.

“Okay,” I hear myself say, incapable of denying him when he’s looking at me like that.

Lucky kisses me again, this time with a smile on his lips. We stay like that for a few more seconds—soft touches, shared breath, stolen warmth—until reality slaps us both in the face when the bell rings.

“Shit,” I mutter.

“Youmissed Mass,” he grins, looking all too smug that I chose to pull him into a closet and have my way with him rather than following Sacred Heart’s rules and attending early morning Mass.

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