Page 128 of Play the Game

“You’ve been abandoned as a child and left to fend for yourself, yet you don’t have an ounce of hate for your mother.”

My eyes gloss over, and this time, I do look away.

Emory’s thumbs rub gently against my cheekbones, pulling my focus back to his eyes. “And just so we’re clear, no one is around right now. This isn’t for show, Scottie. I mean every single word.”

My hands begin to shake when Emory grabs my hips. Our eyes catch, and he looks right at my mouth. “When I touch you…” His words fade as he drags his hands lower, cupping me around the ass. “Whether it’s in front of a crowd or inside our home…”

Our home.

God, I love the sound of that.

“It’s because I want to.”

Emory slowly pulls my leg out from the high slit of my dress and wraps it around him. I curve my body to get closer. Heat covers my flesh with the feel of his palm slipping closer. He’s teasing me, and I’m not even sure he means to. “Thirty more minutes, and we’re leaving.”

He stares at me intently before slowly swiping the outside of my lace thong. “And then I’m going to strip you out of this dress and make sure you believe every last word I just said to you.”

Can’t wait.

My eyes shut when he pulls the lacy material to the side and feels how wet I am.

“You want me to touch you now?” he murmurs, kissing the side of my neck.

I’m desperate, and it’s pathetic. I don’t even mean to nod, but I do, and I pair it with a, “Mm-hm.”

He clicks his tongue. “What kind of husband would I be if I denied my wife?”

His finger sinks inside, and I pant. Every time he calls mehiswife, my heart tumbles.

“Such a good girl,” he mutters, pulling on my earlobe with his teeth. He fingers me deeper, and I move against his hand faster, showing him how good of a girl I can be for him.

I grip onto his shoulders for stability. My knees shake, and I whimper. “I like being a good girl for you,” I admit shyly.

I don’t know what has come over me, but with the look of pure possession on his face, I know he liked hearing it.

“I’m not waiting until we get home.”

“Wha—”

Emory drops my leg and pulls me with him toward the bathroom. He’s a man on a mission, and who am I to stop him?

“The men’s bathroom?” I ask, panicking.

He opens the door, and there’s an older gentleman inside. He takes one look at us and smirks before leaving us alone.

As soon as the door shuts and Emory locks it, he turns with his blue eyes darker than normal and his jaw flexing with need. “You like to be my good girl?”

I nod timidly and lean against the sink.

“Good,” he states, draping his suit jacket on the locked door handle.

My heart does a triple flip when he rolls his white dress shirt sleeves up his forearms. His veins pop, and I swear to god, he gets ten times hotter.

“Then you’re going to be my good little wife and let me fuck you in this bathroom.”

Fifty-Four

EMORY

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