Page 151 of Wanna Play A Game?
Cali scoots off her stool, scrambling away from him. She heaves for breath, throwing him and Miles a wild look.
“You think you’re so much better than Ben because you won’t hit me? You kidnapped me! Took me away from my home for nothing. I didnothing.” Her chest heaves. “You’ve been through my phone. You know I didn’t call the cops on you.”
Sawyer crosses his arms. “You did! You called 911 the day we saw you at the gas station.”
“I didn’t—“ Cali stops, a look of realization coming over her face. Then it’s flushed with pure fury. “I called 911 because Ben hit me that night, Sawyer. Choked me out in the kitchen!”
Sawyer gives her a disbelieving look. Cali continues to heave for breath. I don’t know her that well, but she looks like she fully believes what she’s saying.
Sawyer's face transforms from disbelief to shock. A quick flash of devastation flicks over his face before he flashes me a helpless look. For a second, I want to help him.
I have no idea if she’s telling the truth.
Cali whirls, marching over to me. “I’ll do the dishes.”
Sawyer stands there, heaving for breath. He’s frozen, and it makes my gut twist a little. I’ve never seen Sawyer freeze before.
The moment doesn’t last long. He catches me looking at him, and his face transforms. With a snarl, he darts out of the kitchen.
Miles is still standing there, looking torn. For a second, I think about running after Sawyer and fucking that defiant, tortured look out of his eyes. But then Miles follows after him, and I’m left alone with Cali.
She continues washing the dishes.
What does that mean for us if she didn’t call me in? I wouldn’t believe her, but I haven’t been through her phone, and Sawyer has, and he looked like he believed her. I don’t know. And I hate not knowing.
Cali continues washing. She isn’t washing them right, and it makes my skin crawl. I see all the spots she’s missing, even leaving some bubbles on the pans as she sets them up to dry.
Wrong. All of it is wrong.
I gently nudge her out of the way with my hip. “Here, I’ll wash. You dry.”
She glances at my hard-on, then back at me. Her pupils widen and I think she’s going to call me out on it, but she doesn’t.
She switches, trying to dry the ones she just washed.
I gently take them from her.
She tries to snatch them back, “Sorry, did I not do it right, Your Highness?”
I bump her, shooing her arms out of the way like a pesky fly.
“You did fine,” I say, grabbing a new sponge from under the sink – I don’t use dirty ones on these – and begin my routine. I don’t know much right now, but I do know that I can’t let my men get sick.
Cali watches me, seething. I feel her anger burning across my skin, and it doesn’t help my hard dick.
Once I’m as satisfied as I can be, I place the pan on the drying rack for her.
She says nothing. I ignore her and dig into the next ones. I’m almost done before I glance back at her.
She pretends like she wasn’t just watching.
“So.” She pulls a breath in. “Is that it?”
“What?” I growl.
“That.” She waves at the sink. “Is that what’s wrong with you?”
Heat runs under my skin, and I’m immediately defensive. “Sorry, am I bothering you, Your Highness?” My cheeks burn. I’m self-conscious about my compulsions, but I’ve gotten so used to people who’ve seen them a hundred times that I forgot what it feels like to have a new person see them.
