Page 9 of Dirty Play

Or does she want me to admit the only reason I don’t drink around her is that it’ll make me struggle to remember the reasons I can’t be with her, nearly to the point of saying fuck it every time.

“A lot has changed.”

She glares at me, obviously annoyed I’m not giving her more, but at this point, she’s getting enough.

“Fine. But you’re buying all of it. And going shot for shot with me. Hopefully it’ll put your grumpy ass in a better mood, or I'll have to start thinking of more creative ways to make you happier.” She winks while grabbing my hand and pulling me toward the bar.

The feel of her hand in mine sends a shock straight through my body, and I'm wondering just what these creative ways might be. I can think of about thirteen different ways she can do that, starting with her on her knees, choking on my cock.

What the fuck have I done, and why am I not stopping it?

Chapter 4

Gwen

When Cade interrupted those guys bothering us on the dance floor, I immediately wanted to tell him to go away, that we were fine. But when I saw the look in his eyes as he watched me—his dark eyes full of hunger—all thoughts of sending him away flew out the window. The only thing I wanted to do was to keep my mouth shut and legs open.

It feels like the first time in a long time that he’s letting out that playful side of himself. Usually, he keeps anything resembling an emotion locked up in a vault. So obviously, I’m testing the waters, seeing how far I can push the limits before he snaps to his senses and reminds me just how bad of an idea this is.

The problem is that I’ve never thought it was a bad idea.

Luckily, tonight we both seem to be in the frame of mind that we just want to have fun—hopefully together, based on how he’s acting. But now, after being on the dance floor, in such close proximity to him, I need a little liquid courage to keep myself from overthinking everything. Like, why now? What’s different today that has him changing his mind—that has him willing to cross these boundaries with me? He’s always kept me at arm’s length, keeping the line between us well established. But now? Now, I’m not even sure there is a line.

After three… maybe four rounds of tequila with the last of our group, I’m finally feeling ready to dance with the big grump and see just how much trouble I can get into tonight because, dammit, I deserve it.

This is exactly what I need after the shit afternoon I had—a night of fun where I can forget the stress of the real world. The stress of not being in control and knowing that will never change. Working in the nursing field means there are a lot of things I won’t have control over, especially when it comes to someone's health.

Looking at Cade across the table from me, I see his eyes drift over to Max and Cassie, who are on the dance floor putting on a show for the entire bar while Sawyer just shakes her head. She’s used to it by now, although it took a bit for her to get used to their PDA. It’s not long before Cade’s eyes come back to me, only now his dark brown eyes are glossed over with tequila and unguarded desire. Mix that with the backwards hat he’s now wearing and the crooked grin playing on his lips, and he’s the bad boy of my dreams.

We’ve become more and more flirtatious as the night has gone on, but it still feels like we’re tiptoeing around it. Nothing obvious has happened yet, just a lot of little touches and flirty comments. Right before we came back from the dance floor, he let his lips graze down my neck before pressing a soft kiss against my pulse point that nearly sent me into cardiac arrest. I want him, and I’m not sure what I need to do to make him finally snap.

“He’s staring again,” Sawyer whispers to me, nodding at Cade, who is chatting with the guys.

I already know, though.

I've been able to feel his eyes on me, piercing my skin with their heat. His usual light brown eyes are a dark, chocolatey shade, like his hair, as desire swirls through them. It’s intense in an almost dangerous way—like what I would imagine standing outside of a burning building would feel like. Close to the fire, yet not directly in it. It feels like a warning, but instead of nerves, excitement buzzes through me. I’m eager to run headfirst into the fire, just waiting to get burned.

“No, he’s not,” I lie.

“Bullshit.”

I just shrug and grab my water, hoping she can’t tell just how affected I am by this whole situation. It’s always fun to flirt around and throw Cade off —it’s one of my favorite little games. I’m just not used to him reciprocating, especially so obviously. He knows I think he’s hot, and I haven’t gotten laid in months. I've made plenty of little jokes about being well overdue for a good roll around in the sheets. I mean, the closest I’ve been to a man in the last twelve months was the night Cade and I went to a concert and stayed in Philly. Between the music, the booze, and the fact that he made sure to protect me in the pit, it did something to me that night. I still remember the feel of his chest pressed against my back while I watched with stars in my eyes, listening to Morgan Wallen serenade me. It was just Cade and I, and that was the one time we almost let things get carried away.

But that was also the night he made it crystal clear he doesn’t do relationships or feelings and that he and I would only ever be friends.

Just friends.

I’d fuck my friend, though, so I guess the joke’s on him.

When I look back at Cade, he’s still watching me, his tongue swiping along his bottom lip, and I can’t stop thinking about his tongue sliding down my body. The little grin on his face unnerves me—it makes me believe he knows what I’m thinking. I wonder if he knows that just his heated gaze has already done more to my body than any other man has done, ever.

“You look like you have something to say.” I set my glass back down, not exactly sure what to add with him looking at me like he wants to eat me. The man’s practically oozing sexual energy tonight—not something I’m used to being on the receiving end of.

But the way he’s watching me, leaning back in his chair with his glass in one hand and his other arm thrown over the chair next to him, has me about ready to climb into his lap and taste that whiskey he’s been drinking.

“You haven’t been out with us in a while,” he finally says matter-of-factly, no elaboration provided.

“No, I guess I haven’t.” I shrug.

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