Page 73 of Vicious Games

Yeah. The climb is my favorite part. And no matter how long we spend like this—tangled up on his couch, lips fused, hands roaming—it never feels like enough. Like there’s some deeper ache burning inside me, begging to be satisfied.

Lucky feels it, too. I know it because every time the alarm rings on my phone, telling me the time’s up, he always holds me there a little longer like he can’t quite let go.

When I finally push off his lap, he yanks a pillow over himself, shifting like it’s no big deal. But I know exactly what he’s trying to hide—the proof of just how much he wants me. And damn it, if seeing him like that doesn’t send a sick kind of thrill down my spine. Talk about an ego boost.

“God, you smell good,” he murmurs between kisses, his nose brushing along my jaw.

He talks a lot when we kiss, too. Normally, his constant chatter drives me insane. I swear the boy talks just to hear his own voice.

But when we kiss? I love every word that comes out of his mouth. I more than love it. Because every word that spills from his lips, no matter how absurd, feels like something he designed just for me.

“I smell like curry.” I laugh against his lips.

“That and vanilla,” he counters. “With just a hint of cardamom.”

I’m still at that. Because he just described my favorite perfume to a T. The one Sister Agnes gave me for my sixteenth birthday a few years back. The same perfume I’ve been extra careful about using, only spritzing it behind my ears and on my wrists for special occasions. Though lately, I’ve been wearing it a lot more often than I should.

“But you taste even better,” Lucky groans, sealing his lips over mine again, deepening the kiss until I’m dizzy.

I bite his bottom lip just enough to catch my breath.

Lucky’s reaction, though? Instant.

“Jesus, fuck,” he chokes out, his grasp tightening on my waist. His eyes burn into mine, dark and hooded. “Do that again.”

“This?” I tease, tugging at his lip again before tracing it with my tongue.

“Fuck,” he groans, shuddering beneath me. “You’re starting to get really good at this.”

“I’ve had a good teacher.”

“Hmm,” he hums, his voice rough, deep. The sound alone makes my pulse race.

And then… there it is. That ache deep in my belly. Growing. Waiting. Needing.

That ache.

That hollow, desperate ache that never truly goes away until I’ve distanced myself from him.

“Frankie,” Lucky groans, his voice thick with desperation. “Think we can move to phase two of our sessions?”

I keep kissing him, letting his lips mold against mine, his fingers practically digging into my flesh.

“That depends,” I tease, breathless. “What’s phase two?”

“How about I show you?” The corner of his lips curls into a sexy smile.

“Tell me first. Then, if I say yes, you can show me.”

“Straddle me.”

I pull back slightly, blinking. “Straddle you? What are you, a horse?”

He laughs against my lips, the sound deep and wicked.

“Fucking hung like one right now.”

I don’t get his joke, but even if I did, it wouldn’t matter. Not when my mind is still reeling from what he just asked me to do.

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