Page 60 of His Twisted Game
Those words came out with such sincerity that my jaw hung open. “Because you like playing games with me?”
He smirked to himself. “My interest in you isn’t reliant on whether or not we’re playing a game.”
“What is it dependent on, then?”
“You, Fiona. Just you.”
A text message came through, buzzing in his pocket. He checked it, typed a response, but then his demeanor changed, a sudden shift in his personality. Whatever it was, had pissed him off.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Work. Speaking of which,” he took a sip of his whiskey, “Did you get that file opened yet?”
I shook my head. “What is it, anyway?”
“A work video. The parts that don’t have to do with cattle farming. We record videos for our clients.”
So it was as simple as a video, then. Why was it encrypted?
“Have you considered asking someone for help?” he asked.
“Are you suggesting that I ask someone for help? Like Erica?”
“I’m not suggesting her.Youare.”
I shrunk down into myself. I didn’t want to ask her for help, but it wasn’t her fault that she was better at a lot of things than I was.
Sawyer beamed at me like none of these worries mattered. He simply wanted me.
“Sit beside me,” he said.
A tension seized my stomach, my skin on fire. Why was it that everything inside of me felt electric knowing that he wanted me to be by him? It was like a drug.
I stood up and got on his side of the table, sitting right next to him. He put a hand on my knee, and we finished our meal like that. It was as if his hand was a reminder that he owned me. And I loved it so much, knowing that he wanted to possess me, that I lost my appetite. I was distracted. I putmyhand onhisknee, running my fingers up his thigh, his cock responding to my touch.
“What are you doing, Fiona?” he breathed, his voice husky.
“I want to please you,” I whispered.
He went to the door of our dining room, then locked it.
“Sawyer,” I said.
His expression was ruthless, as if he was angry that I would dare question him.
He smacked a hand across the dining table, the food and plates crashing to the floor. I gasped, my eyes round and concerned. Then he pulled my pants and underwear down and hoisted me up until my bare ass was on the table.
“Sawyer,” I breathed.
He knocked his hands into my knees until I spread myself, then he slapped his palms on my inner thighs, the sting of it awakening me.
“What are you doing?” I whispered.
His lips twitched in surprise. He kneeled down, pressing his fingers against my pussy lips and clit.
“What was that?” he asked in a murmur. His eyes barely flicked up to acknowledge me.
I shook my head. I had forgotten what I had said. “What?”
