Page 49 of Force Play

“That was not part of the deal.”

“Rules are overrated, especially when breaking them tastes like you.” He leans back on his heels, rising in front of me. And dammit my eyes go straight to the tent in his shorts. From the way it bobs, I’m guessing he’s not wearing anything beneath them. It would be so easy for me to reach out and test that theory.

As if he can hear the rebellious thoughts running rampant in my head, begging me to give him more, one side of his mouth lifts higher, giving me that lopsided grin. It shouldn’t make my skin heat all over again. But it does, which is a problem, and all I need to shut down the needy voices in my head.

“Ready to beg already? I thought it would take longer.”

“Fat chance. Now hand me a towel before I freeze to death.”

After a beat too long, he reaches for a towel from the basket, shaking it out and draping it around me before he scoops me up.

“I can walk—” My protests fall on deaf ears as he continues turning sideways to get through the bathroom door.

“Actually, you can’t. So let me just get you to bed safely before you slip trying to get out on your own.”

“You’re annoying.”

“And you don’t hate it as much as you pretend to, or you wouldn’t have just let me watch you come with my name on your lips.” With his knee on the bed, he sets me in the middle, looming over me. His eyes drop to my lips. For a second, I think he’s going to kiss me. Instead, he brings his mouth to my ear and his free hand to his still tented shorts, gripping himself. “I’m going to go take care of this. If you listen closely, maybe you’ll be able to hear me groan your name when I come all over my stomach.”

“That level of detail was hardly necessary.”

“I disagree. Last time you were here, I got you to picture me naked. Now you’re thinking about the way I look with my fist around my dick after you let me watch you. You want this more than you let on, but don’t worry, playing this game with you is the most fun I’ve had in a year.”

Pushing off the bed he moves just out of reach, making a show of adjusting his cock. Then he leaves, flipping the lights off on his way out. Reluctantly I pull his shirt over my head accepting, once again, that it’s my only option other than going to bed naked. But sleep doesn’t come easy; not with my ears straining to hear any noise coming from upstairs.

Small miracles do exist because at some point last night exhaustion won out and my body gave in to sleep. The noises he taunted me with never came. Which is definitely not the reason I woke up on the wrong side of the bed.

Not at all.

That might be the throbbing in my ankle, or the fact that once again I can smell him everywhere; his scent clinging to the shirt I’m wearing and blending with the familiar clean fragrance of his sheets. If I wasn’t cranky, maybe I’d ask him what brand of dryer sheet he’s using because they smell too good for a single man.

The first thing I notice when I pull myself up to sit against the headboard is the glass of water and ibuprofen on the nightstand. The second is that my crutches are propped against the wall there as well.

Was he in here this morning or was it last night after—nope, not thinking about that.

Pushing away the landslide of memories, him on his knees in front of me, the way he taunted me with the promise that he’d make me beg for his cock. Like that’s going to happen. Last night was it. Never again.

My sour mood improves marginally when the smell of strong coffee reaches me as I hobble towards the door, still slightly unsteady on the crutches.

Silence greets me when I step into the kitchen, which is always unexpected any time Dom is involved.

“Oh, Dommy-boy, you here?” The dripping of the coffee machine hints that he can’t be too far. Movement outside catches my eye, so I crutch towards the sliding door to take a closer look. I almost trip when I get a clear view.

What seems like miles of muscles and tan skin glisten in the morning sun as Dom effortlessly hoists himself out of the pool, using the edge instead of the perfectly good stairs. With his back to me, he stands to his full height.

Oh my god. What the hell is he wearing?

Impossibly tight teal spandex cling to his ass, highlighting the perfect divots that grace each side. He bends to grab the towel at the side of the pool testing the scrap of fabric. There’s a lot that sucks about my situation, but right now it’s that I can’t make a stealthy escape. If he turns around, he’ll find me here gawking and I’ll never hear the end of it, especially after last night. At the very least, I should look away.

Except what he does next has me entranced. Lifting his towel to the overgrown mop of golden brown hair, he runs it over his head, making every single ab pop off in spectacular fashion. His biceps and round shoulders flex with each pass of the towel. I am completely defenseless as I watch, knowing I’m playing with fire but not doing a damn thing about it.

Momentarily forgetting about my ankle, I spin, getting tangled in the stupid metal contraptions and lose my balance. My only saving grace is the oversized chair next to the door, which I’m able to dive into, keeping myself from putting weight on my injured ankle.

Once again, the clatter of my crutches falling gives me away, and moments later there’s a still-wet Dom dripping on me as he leans over me.

“Enjoy the show?” He sounds smug as ever, but his brows pull together and his eyes roam over me, inspecting me for damage.

“I don’t know what you mean. I’m just looking for help getting a coffee mug down.”

---