Page 109 of Fake Game

Jackson pushes up and begins to slip off the bed.

I jerk up on my elbows. “Wait.” The word is laced with pure desperation as my eyes plead with him.

“Don’t worry, I’m not leaving. I’m just grabbing a little something.” He leans around the bathroom door, fiddling with something, and I bite my lip.

I probably would’ve gotten on my hands and knees before letting him leave me high and dry again. Well, dry is the exact opposite effect he has on me.

Jackson dips back onto the bed and crawls next to me. I watch as he dangles a long white strip of fabric from his hands—the tie from the bathrobe.

“You said you’d used handcuffs before, right?”

I nod.

“Words are important here, sweetheart.”

“Yes, I’ve used them before.”

He stretches the fabric between both hands. “And what if I tied this like handcuffs? Interested?”

Want churns in my core, fantasies I’ve dreamed of rising to the surface. The closest I’ve successfully gotten to bondage was an ex who used his suit ties to secure me against his headboard and his belts to bind my wrists. A bathrobe belt is definitely new—and a lot closer to the ropes I’ve always wanted to try.

Newfound hunger surges through me, the prospect lighting me up.

“Yes.” I bring my hands forward and brandish them toward him.

He smiles, his eyes lighting up with mischief. “All right, hands behind your back.”

I shift to follow his instructions and watch him as he gets to work, feeling the fabric thread around my wrists.

“If it ever gets too tight or you feel like you want to stop, just say ‘red.’ That will be your safe word.”

“Okay.”

It’s not my preferred safe word, but it would work in a pinch, and I didn’t feel like getting into the details right now. All I want is Jackson to finish what he started the other night.

I glance back and trace his face with my eyes. He has a strong jaw. There’s no sign of any stubble, no moles or beauty marks on his skin, kind of like someone drew him on paper—perfection.

With a final tug, the fabric tightens, and my hands attempt to move on reflex only to be met with resistance. But there’s nopanic, just a sense of relief that travels down my chest. I feel secure around Jackson; his domineering aura calms the storm within me and just lets me be present.

This is what I crave—the feeling of safety and being looked after. The ability to find someone I can trust to just take over and let me feel.

“Perfect.” Jackson places a kiss on my jaw as he presses my chest back until I’m propped against the padded headboard.

I follow the way he shifts down on the bed and his hands grip my thighs, spreading me wide. He leans down and blows a stream of cold air against my pussy, causing my body to shiver.

“I love how responsive your body is.” I suck in a breath as his tongue finally traces up my center, coming to rest on my sensitive clit, circling it. “So fucking wet for me.”

“Oh my Gods.”

His tongue dives in and my hips buck off the mattress for a split second before he pushes them back down, keeping me rooted as he eats me out. The sensation is all-consuming, and when he lets go of one of my thighs and replaces his hand on my clit, rubbing rhythmically, I let out a moan.

I feel him smirk briefly before he picks up the pace. My hands pull at the ties as my fingers scrunch out looking for something, anything, to grab onto. The pressure is coiling, squeezing tighter and tighter with every passing second.

My heels dig into the mattress, fighting for purchase as they keep slipping with all my squirming.

The pressure. Everything. It’s too much.

“You can take it.”

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