Page 19 of Flag On The Play
“It’s Lux,” I purr, grinding my hips just enough to earn a hiss of air through his teeth.
“No touching, QB. I know how difficult it is for you when I tell you something, but this is a big one.”
He grins, slow and smug. “Don’t act like you don’t love feeling like you’re in control.”
“There’s no act.” I roll my hips again, slower this time, letting his body react while mine stays cool and composed. “I am in control. And I fucking love it.”
His hands twitch where they rest on the couch, like he’s fighting every instinct to touch me. And honestly, I kind of love that too.
“You always this bossy when you're on top?” he asks, voice rough.
I lower my lips to his ear, letting my hair trail over his jaw. “Only when the man underneath me thinks he’s the one in charge.”
He groans, and I feel him get harder beneath me.
Goddamn it.
This is dangerous territory. But it’s also electric. My skin is buzzing. My heart is thudding against my ribs, and my body is betraying me by actually wanting him to touch me. His breath stutters, and my confidence builds. Each motion feels like a power move, each sway of my body a checkmate in the slowest, hottest game of chess I’ve ever played.
I slide down his torso, my hands running along his chest before I turn around on his lap and press my ass against his hips, grinding slowly in time to the music piping in through the wallspeakers. I glance over my shoulder and see his jaw clenched tight, his knuckles white on the cushion.
“Something wrong, Finlay?” I whisper sweetly.
“I’m fine,” he grits out. “Just trying to decide if I should bite my damn tongue or your neck.”
I smirk, rolling my hips again just to test his control.
“You always this mouthy when you’re paying for it?”
He chuckles darkly, voice gravelly low. “You always this turned on when you're pretending you're not?”
I pause for half a beat and take one sharp breath.
Damn him.
I recover quickly, flipping back to straddle him again, locking eyes with him. The room suddenly feels ten degrees hotter.
“This dance ends in five minutes,” I say, dragging a finger down the front of his shirt, “but the memory?” I lean in close, so close our lips nearly touch. “You’ll be jerking off to that for weeks.”
He grins, sharp and wicked. “You wish, Lux.”
I start to slow down the dance, easing him off the edge. But not before one last grind, one last breathless pass of my body over his. I can feel the pulse of tension between us like electricity.
I rise to my feet, pull my robe back on without looking away, and shoot him one last smile.
“Oh no, Finlay. You wish.”
And then I’m gone.
My hips swaying with the kind of pride you can’t buy, leaving Finlay Reed hard, frustrated, and thinking about me.
Just how I like it.
It’s a rare Saturday night when none of us works. It only happens a handful of times a year, and when it does, we don’t waste it. Hair done, makeup dark and dramatic, skirts just short enough to get a warning and not a ticket.
It’s girls' night, and we’re here to dance, drink, and destroy the memory of any man who dares take up space in our heads.
“—and then I walked the hell out,” I say, sipping my cranberry and vodka like it’s holy water.
