Page 63 of Risky Game

No way was I acting like some needy little schoolgirl.

But I wasn’t inclined to sit next to my brother, who would bring the judgment down on me with the holy book he loved to read so much, so I excused myself, filled up my glass of wine, and headed to their guest room, wishing I had gone back to their garage apartment instead.

I ended up taking a shower for lack of anything else better to do. It was enough to get over the conversation with Jassen. It was not enough to get over Logan. It was a shower where I’d remembered all the things Logan had done to me in the last twenty-four hours. A shower where I’d wished I’d also brought some toys with me so I could take care of the heat sparking through my body at the thought of them. A shower where, in the end, I said who gave a shit about the toys and used my own hand. My own fingers to touch me the way Logan had spread my lips, forcefully shoved two of his deep before flicking my clit with his thumb and then lapping at it with his tongue. It was enough to take the edge off, but it wasn’t nearly good enough.

It wasn’t nearly the same as Logan doing it himself.

And oh dear God… I froze, bent over in the bathroom, hair being dried with a towel, and stood abruptly.

What if Logan Caldwell ruined me for my own self-pleasure? There was no way. I’d never had a man give me an orgasm where I hadn’t thought afterward, “I could have done that, and probably better, without all the hassle.”

But oh… how he proved me wrong. From the bossiness to the touches. To the firmness and the sting of pain when he hadn’t hesitated to do whatever he wanted to my nipples…

Oh man.

I was at risk of becoming a royal hot mess with this one.

This had potential trouble stamped all over it for reasons outside the logical ones he and I already talked about. Maybe this was a fluke.

Maybe I was distracted from the day with my brother. The conversation.

That had to be it.

There was no way Logan gave me better orgasms than I could take care of with a wide variety of tools. I refused to believe it.

I went back to drying my hair when my phone lit up and like the needy, silly little schoolgirl I was trying not to be, I dove for the phone before the first alert had finished the short ding.

Have a good day?

Okay. So at least he was thinking of me. At least he texted me. There were a dozen ways to play this. Did he want the sassy, confident woman who stormed into his office that morning asking for what she wanted? Which still… surprised the hell out of me.

Did he want the obedient, simpering fool who went weak in the knees every time she called him sir and his eyes flared with lust and dominance?

Or did he want the nanny? The friend to his daughter?

Simpering fool it was.

Can’t stop thinking of me, sir?

If that was what he wanted, the sir would get a reaction. I bit my lip to contain my smile and tossed my towel onto the hook by the door. I’d made sure to lock the bedroom door, so I strolled to my bed and climbed beneath the covers, forgoing the pajamas on my dresser.

That mouth is going to get you into trouble.

Oh, if only he knew… But he liked this game, so I’d play along.

Maybe I like thinking of the way you’d take control of it.

I was wet. And it had nothing to do with the shower. A few simple sentences tossed back and forth, and my hand was drifting beneath the covers, cupping my full breasts and tugging on my nipple.

My phone screen lit up. A FaceTime call from Logan. I scrambled to grab my AirPods from the nightstand and popped them in.

I’d look silly and probably already did with my soaking wet hair and my unmade-up face, but there was no way I was missing out on this.

Instead of the bossy, in control man I experienced that morning and expected, as Logan’s face cleared on the screen, he appeared more rattled.

Hair tousled. Scruff longer than normal. There was a puffiness beneath his eyes and a thin line from his lips pressing together.

My heart clenched. What if I’d judged this all wrong?

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