Page 42 of Dirty Play

“I’m going to change really quick,” Gwen says, standing up. “Need anything?”

Yeah, you.

“No, I’m good with just the snacks for now,” I mumble, shoving my mouth full of popcorn before I let my inside thoughts become outside thoughts and tell her to get on her knees. With a shrug, she walks to her bedroom, tempting me in the worst way possible.

You’re no good for her, Cade. Just. Let. Her. Go.

I pause the movie and scroll on my phone for a minute, waiting for her to come back, knowing I need to distract myself from following her into her bedroom. Thankfully the group chat has been blowing up, everyone giving Harris a hard time for skipping out on the last couple of guys’ nights. They typically just consist of beer and food, usually at the bar so we can hang out in the offseason, but we still count on everyone showing up because, honestly, we’re a needy bunch.

Catching up on that was enough to distract me for a while but not long enough to miss her walk out of her room in just an oversized hoodie and tiny spandex shorts, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination.

“You paused the movie?” she asks casually, grabbing a blanket and sitting down, this time even closer to me, snuggling in like this is an everyday occurrence. She’s not actually touching me, but somehow fits perfectly beneath my arm outstretched on the couch. Yeah, she’s being a damn tease on purpose, and her little smirk confirms it.

The lord is testing me today.

“I did,” I grumble as she throws the blanket over both of us and grabs her phone, thankfully giving me a moment to adjust my dick in my sweats. “I think the Betty White part is next, and I figured you didn’t want to miss it.”

“Thanks, it’s my favorite part of the movie and if I had missed Betty White singing ‘Get Low,’ I probably would’ve cried,” she says, her eyes on her phone as she plays around, distracted by whatever she’s looking at.

It isn’t until she scoots closer that I can see what she’s doing, and I’m immediately furious.

She’s swiping on that damn dating app, messaging back and forth with a couple of guys like she’s not sitting here next to me, a man who she’s well aware can make her come.

Multiple times.

“What’re you doing?” I growl as I watch her.

“Oh, just finishing a few conversations from lunch. Mariah was helping me swipe, and I was just checking to see if I matched with anyone else,” she says, looking up from her phone, just staring at me with her big doe eyes like she’s trying to gauge my reaction. Probably trying to figure out how far she can take this, but the truth is I don’t even know what the limit is anymore, and she’s making it really fucking difficult for me to figure out right now.

When I do nothing but stare at her, she smiles wider, and in a quick move she’s turned her body, her head now using my lap as a pillow.

“Wanna help?” She smirks, her legs now on the couch while she shows me her phone with all the dating profiles and messages she’s received already.

My jaw clenches, her close proximity doing nothing to help my stiffening cock, the mention of other men talking to her pushing me. I hate the thought of someone else getting to touch her. It pisses me off.

No, that’s an understatement.

It infuriates me. It makes me wish we had a hockey game coming up, and I could drop gloves—throw a few haymakers at the first person to piss me off. I always give Harris a hard time for being so chirpy on the ice because he spends enough time in the sin bin as it is, but right now I get it. Every time she giggles at a profile or smiles while responding to a message, I feel my blood boil.

She’s fucking teasing me, pushing my buttons, and I can feel myself cracking even if I know this was her plan. I could see the wheels turning in her eyes as she assessed me—like she could taste my indecision and see that my walls were faltering. Instead of helping me hold them up, she’s holding a grenade and tempting me, just waiting to detonate everything around us, bringing them down completely.

And I want to let her.

But I know that if I have her a second time, I’ll be done for. There will be no letting her go.

“What do you think of this one?” she asks, showing me her phone with a shirtless man whose bio is almost as cringy as his picture.

“I think you should block him and delete the app.”

She looks up, her dark hair falling down, but she just smiles as she looks at me through her lashes. “And how would that help me get laid, Mr. Williams?” she purrs, her voice raspy, and I feel another crack forming in my resolve.

When did she become so brash? When did she get so outgoing, going after what she wants? And why is that making her so much more irresistible?

Brushing her hair from her face, I stare down, willing myself to stand up and walk away, to be the bigger man and not give into this dangerous game we’re playing. But the second she goes to look back at her phone, I snatch it from her hand and throw it to the other couch across the room.

“What the—” she starts, but I’m already lifting her by her hips, placing her in my lap as her hands grip my shoulders to steady herself, her eyes already wild.

“Delete. The. Fucking. App,” I growl, my fingers flexing against her, holding her in place.

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