Page 142 of Vicious Games

Does my reluctance to let Lucky love me stem from my fear of abandonment?

I’m still trying to grasp what I’m feeling when Lucky leans in closer, his voice a hushed whisper against my lips, tender now but no less certain.

“I won’t leave you. I’ll never leave you.”

“You don’t know that,” I choke out, feeling tears start to burn my eyes.

“Yes, I do,” he vows. “Do you think this shit happens to a guy like me often? That falling in love was even in my plans? It wasn’t, Frankie. But none of it matters to me anymore. Not the fear. Not the mess. Not the past. Just you. You’re the only thing that matters to me. Only you. Always you.”

I press my forehead against his chest, shaking my head as unwanted tears start to run down my cheeks, and state, “How can you sound so certain? How many love stories do you know that have a happy ending that started in high school? It’s fantasy. It’s not real. I can’t base my life on a fantasy. I can’t. I won’t.”

“Look at me, Frankie,” he orders, his voice holding that same sweetness—one I don’t think I deserve right now. I crane my head back, his chestnut eyes so full of the love he claims to have for me that it physically hurts to look at them. “This is real. Yes, we’re young, so what? My parents were kids when they fell in love, and guess what? They’re still going strong. It only means we found each other sooner than most. That means we’re both lucky. Lucky to have found that missing piece of us we didn’t know was missing. Can’t you see, Frankie? Can’t you see that you’re the only one for me? The only girl who has me saying cheesy shit and actually meaning every word of it.”

“It’s not cheesy,” I hiccup on a sob. “It’s… romantic.”

“No, babe. It’s just the truth.” He shrugs with a timid grin, cupping my face in his hands. “It’s my truth. I love you. And I’ll fight for you. Even when you want to give up on us.”

“I don’t want to give up.” I sob. “I’m just…”

“Afraid,” he finishes for me. “You don’t think I am too? I’m fucking terrified over here,” he admits, his Adam’s apple bobbing a mile a minute. “But that’s okay. I’m okay with being scared as long as you’re by my side. Are you by my side?”

“I want to be,” I finally admit. “I really do.”

“Because you love me?” he asks, his brown eyes pleading with mine.

“Yes,” I mutter softly. “Because I love you.”

“Then don’t give up on us,” he orders, pressing a tender kiss on my lips. “Just let me love you, Frankie. Let me prove to you that this… is real. That it’severything.”

His mouth moves over mine, slow at first, reverent, as if memorizing the shape of my lips all over again. There’s no rush in him, no urgency, just a quiet kind of devotion that undoes me more than anything he could say. Any promise that he could make.

“God, I want you so bad,” he breathes against my skin, his forehead resting against mine. “Do you want me?”

I nod, unable to form words, too full of emotion to do anything but feel.

I’m already against the glass, my back flushed on it, the chill sinking into my skin through my robe, but I barely feel it. All I feel is him. The heat of his stare. The burn of his skin against mine. The warmth of his love.

The city sprawls out behind me, endless lights blinking like distant stars, but none of it matters. Not when he’s looking at me like this. Up here, above it all, we’re not just untouchable. We’reourselves.Raw. Real. Unafraid.

“Let them see,” he whispers, his voice rough with need, as he pulls my robe off me ever so gently. “Let the whole damn world see how beautiful you are. How much I love you. How you belong to me… how I fucking belong to you.”

Once the robe falls to my feet, he lifts me with ease, my legs wrapping around his waist on instinct alone, as if we’ve done this a thousand times in every lifetime we found each other. His hands explore my body with surreal confidence as if charting a map he already knows by heart—slow, sure, patient.

“How sore are you, baby?” he asks before peppering my shoulder with kisses while needling my nipple to the point of exquisite pain.

“I’m good… I’m good,” I utter, breathless, my eyelids growing heavy with want.

“Liar,” he smirks, but his smug grin falls off his face when I start sucking on his earlobe and grind against him slowly, deliberately, so I can feel just how hard he is, how ready, how much restraint he’s barely holding onto.

“Just show me. Please,” I whisper, the last word torn from somewhere deep inside. “Just show me how much you love me.”

“Fuck. Like I’ll ever stop,” he grunts, positioning his crown to my already-soaked center.

When he thrusts inside me, it’s not frantic or hurried but deep and deliberate. It’s almost as if he’s making a promise with his body, as well as his heart. A promise that he intends to keep.

My heart splinters open with every slow thrust.

Lucky rocks into me with a rhythm that feels like music only we can hear, his mouth pressing soft, desperate kisses along my shoulder, my jaw, and the hollow of my throat. Every movement says that he’s not going anywhere. Every touch says that he’ll keep my heart safe.

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