Page 20 of Games We Play
“Careful.” Sloan sat on the edge of the bed. “Two spanks, and you’ve got the rosiest red ass in town. Don’t have much resistance, do you?”
Leah pushed herself up on her knees but kept her ass far away from her ankles.Don’t sit on your ass!She hadn’t told herself that since she cracked her tailbone in sixth grade PE. “Might need some more. Never know.”
She lived for that smirk of indulgence on Sloan’s face. “Think you’re good for now. There’s that fine line between pleasure and pain.” She gestured to Leah’s top. “Take it off, hm?”
Maybe it hadn’t been a bad thing wearing that shirt to work that day. Because the thing was baggy enough to come off in one motion. No wiggling out of tight clothing. No shimmying out oflayers.Her bra had been unhooked the moment she got on Sloan’s bed. The only thing keeping Sloan from seeing those same tits from Saturday night was how quickly Leah could make it happen.
Two seconds. That’s how long it took for her shirt to hit the floor. Her bra fell off her chest shortly after.
“Damn.” Sloan picked up and dangled the handcuffs from her fingers. Her eyes wandered up and down Leah’s naked form. “You’rereallyhot when your hair doesn’t look like it’s been growing wild for five years.”
She thinks I’m hot?Leah, who was one of the first women in the locker room to start covering her breasts with her arms and huddle in the corner, now puffed out her chest so Sloan could get a greater gander. “Your hair is, um…” Leah couldn’t put her finger on it. She almost wanted to tell Sloan that her hair waslopsided.
“Right. This thing is driving me nuts.” To Leah’s great surprise, Sloan ripped off her hair and tossed it onto the nightstand. A bald head sporting very fine fuzz replaced the blond strands Leah had come to associate with Margaret Sloan. “What? Never seen a woman wear a wig before? Thought you could tell.”
“No… I mean… I’m surprised.”
“Don’t tell me you only screw blondes.”
Leah didn’t know what to do besides laugh. “I’m usually the one wishing I was blond.” When her laughter died down, she continued, “Why… I mean, don’t get me wrong, but… why are you wearing…”
“A wig?”
“Yeah.”
“Because life is easier when you shave off your hair.”
Leah figured there was more to it than that, but didn’t say anything. She was too enamored with the new look looming over her. Without the bangs to frame her face, Sloan had revealed high cheekbones and two diamond studs in each ear. Her dark makeup was somehow more striking with little dark hairs growing on her scalp.
She was still Margaret Sloan. The same energy. The same cheeky grin. The same tension brewing between them.
The fact she did this to her appearance only appealed to Leahmore.This woman was such an anomaly that Leah imagined she could peel one layer away after another, and still not find the core that lurked deep within Sloan’s heart.
Was that more frightening or desirous? For a relationship, that could be frightening. For a night? Hot.
“Look at you.” Sloan ended the infuriating silence by easing Leah back down onto the bed and bearing down upon her. “You’ve got this body begging me to do whatever I want to it.”
Leah’s wrists touched the headboard. “You know what a safe word is, right?”
“Yes.”
“Good. You pick out the safe word, since you’re the one being handcuffed.”
Indeed, she was. Leah’s wrists were now attached to the headboard, and the only give she had come from the bend in her arms. “Apples?”
“You know, your ass kinda looked like an apple before you turned over. Sounds apt.”
Leah grinned. “As long as you’re not saying that I’m apple-bottomed.”
“I would never. Now, what am I going to do with you?”
“I thought we were playing a game.”
“Oh, weare.”
Leah loved games. Especially if she was winning.
How could she not assume she was winning this game when a hot, domineering woman straddled her naked waist and shared her heat with her? Sloan was gorgeous. Even when she took off that blouse and sat in nothing but her tailor-made pants and a black bra that looked like it was made in Italy. Not that Leah knew what an Italian bra looked like.Decadent. Soft. Too good for my greasy fingers to touch.
