Page 25 of Played
“You didn’t what?” Her kiss-swollen lips curl up in a hard yet brittle-looking smile. “Let me fill in the rest. You didn’t mean for it to go that far. Didn’t mean for your dick to get hard?” She deliberately drops her regard, and I don’t need to glance down to verify that my cock is doing the fucking most under my jeans. “Didn’t mean to like it?”
That smirk evaporates from her mouth as she lifts her eyes back to mine.
“And here I was, starting to believe that maybe you weren’t the asshole I met in the conference room. That you weren’t mean. But I was wrong. You’re not mean—you’re cruel.” She closes her eyes, but a second later her thick lashes rise. And the hurt there ... my chest hollows out. “And to think I felt safe with you. Looks like I was wrong twice in one night.”
She spins on her boot heel and stalks the short distance to her car. I don’t say shit as she unlocks it, climbs inside, and drives off. Even when the sound of her engine has long faded, I continue to stand there on the sidewalk.
And to think I felt safe with you.
Her words ricocheted inside my head, echoing in my chest.
Adina was right; I didn’t mean for it to go that far. The kiss was her experiment, not mine. Yet I’d been caught up, tangled in her flavor; the slide of her soft, lush lips against mine; the sounds that rumbled from her throat. I wasn’t supposed toenjoythat kiss. But the fact I had seemed just as much a violation as giving in and tasting her. My hubris had been in thinking I could have that mouth and control it. Controlme.
“Shit.” Tunneling my fingers through my hair, I clench my jaw.
After another long moment, I lower my arm and force my feet forward, stepping off the curb and rounding the rear of my car.
I’m the last person Adina should feel safe with.
Not when I’m a danger to myself.
Chapter Six
ADINA
I pull around to the back of the firehouse and park. After grabbing my bag out of the back seat, I climb out of the car, ready for my twenty-four-hour shift. As much as I appreciate the one-day-on, two-days-off schedule, I always look forward to coming in to work. But today, I’mreallyeager to get in here. It’s been a couple of days since that kiss fiasco with Solomon, and I’ve spent all that time thinking and rethinking. About Solomon. About our conversation at the bar. About the kiss.
About the kiss.
Yes, it warrants repeating. Because I’ve done nothing but hit replay on how he dominated my mouth. For those few moments, it wasn’t even mine anymore—it had his name stamped on it, and he claimed my mouth like he had the pawnshop ticket entitling him to it. What had started out as something I needed to test out, to prove, ended up being the biggest—and hottest—mistake I made in a long-ass time.
I don’t even need to close my eyes or think hard to feel those soft, almost too-full lips pressed against mine, molding to mine. Or feel the tangle and slick glide of his tongue over and around mine. Feel that big calloused hand wrapped around my neck in a firm, slightly intimidating, and completely pussy-wetting grip.
But more, I don’t need to try too hard to feel the burn of humiliation and shame that razed a path through me, leaving me in a pile of ashes in front of him. For real, I don’t even know why I thought kissing Solomon Young was a good idea. Nothing about the man screamedgood idea.
That’s what I get for being impulsive.
For giving even the slightest amount of trust to the wrong person.
Never again.
Huffing out a breath, I enter the firehouse and head straight for the locker room to change. It’s empty, and though that’s a little unusual, especially at shift change, I’m grateful. For the last two days, I’ve felt like rejection and embarrassment are tattooed on my skin for all to see. And no amount of scrubbing can wash them away.
I’m so entrenched in my thoughts I don’t notice the pictures and green and blue streamers until I’m damn near upon them. Jerking to a halt in front of my locker, I’m staring at the shit covering the front of it, seeing it, but ... not. Because I don’t understand what it all is ... at first. Then ...
Holy shit.
My eyes widen, pinching at the corners.
Are those . . . ? Is that . . . ?
Yes, andyes.
My groan echoes in the room, bouncing off the walls and the lockers. Printed-out pictures of me and Solomon standing close together on the sidewalk outside the bar. Pictures of us kissing.
Oh my God.
I squeeze my eyes shut, but nope. When I open them, the pictures are still there.We’restill there. And from the amount of pictures taped to my locker, it’s safe to assume others have seen it. And by others, I mean everyone in this firehouse. I pinch the bridge of my nose. Son of a bitch.
