Page 99 of Vicious Games

Speaking of which…

I lick my lips, my own kind of hunger kicking in when I see Frankie’s cleaned her plate, completely relaxed now that she’s got some food in her. I don’t wait for her to offer to clean the dishes again—like I said, we’re on a time limit—and instead lace my fingers with hers, pulling her back into the living room.

“What’s that look in your eye?” she asks suspiciously when I sit down on the couch, pulling her by the waist to settle on top of me like I always do.

“I’m just eager for our tutoring to continue,” I coo with a shark-like grin.

“You’re not talking about calculus, are you?”

I shake my head, smirking like the cocky bastard that I am. “We’re way past that, Frankie. I kept my end of the deal. Taught you, fed you. Now it’s my turn to get what I want.”

“And what’s that?” she asks, batting her eyes, running a finger down the lame-ass tie of my school uniform. As if reading my mind, she helps loosen it, slipping it off my head.

“Better?” she asks with a teasing glint in her eye.

I nod, feeling as if I were going to fucking combust if I don’t kiss her this very second.

However, today… Today’s not about me. Today’s all about her.

“I want to try something,” I say, keeping my voice firm but calm. “Do you trust me?”

“You already know the answer to that. I wouldn’t trust you as far as I could throw you.”

“Ouch,” I pretend to be hurt. “Fair enough. But do you trust me here? In these four walls?” She holds her breath and then nods, those beautiful blue eyes locked on mine. “Good.” I lick my lips again, my whole body hardening at what I have in mind. “Because today I want to see you.”

Her brows bunch up in confusion. “What do you mean,seeme? I don’t understand.”

“We’ve been parked at PG-rated second base for a while now,” I tease, keeping my voice light, “and I think you’re ready to hike your education up to rated R.”

“You want to see me… without my clothes?” she asks, blanching like I just suggested we join a cult.

“Just this part,” I say, tugging gently at her navy cardigan.

She glances down at her chest, then back up at me, shifting nervously on my lap.

If she only knew that every time she moves, it’s as if she were giving me a lap dance, she’d bolt out the damn door.

“I’m not sure I’m ready for that,” she finally says, her insecurities starting to poke through.

“Look at me,” I order gently, tipping her chin up until her face is inches from mine. “You’re perfect, Frankie. Just the way you are. Nothing under that hideous cardigan and blouse is gonna change my mind on that.”

Here’s the irony in all of this—I’ve fed dozens of girls every bullshit line there is from the ‘get laid handbook,’ and not once did I believe a single word coming out of my mouth, even though they gobbled it up like candy. But this? What I just told Frankie? It’s a hundred percent the gospel truth. She’s… perfect. Even when she’s giving me hell.Especiallywhen she’s giving me hell. Frankie is just… yeah, fucking perfection. And yet, by the look on her face, she doesn’t believe me, hence the fucking irony.

I lean in, brushing my lips over her cheeks, her nose, her eyelids, and every little inch of her face before finally hovering by her ear.

“You’re perfect, Frankie,” I whisper. “Let me prove it to you. Let me show you just how perfect you really are.”

Her blue eyes soften, looking at me with such vulnerability it punches a hole straight through my chest. It takes everything I have not to kiss away every worry she’s ever had. But I won’t do that. Not until she says yes. Not until she wants it.

“Okay,” she breathes out so softly I almost think I imagined it.

“Okay?” I ask, needing to be sure.

When she nods, I have to swallow a groan.

Fuck. This is happening.

Don’t fuck this up,my conscience hisses in my ear, and for once, I agree with the little bastard.

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