Page 71 of Play the Game

My face is on fire.

And in between my legs is on fire.

“Right,” I whisper. “Exactly.”

A shaky breath clamors from my mouth, and I hate that Emory’s hands are still on me. It’s difficult to keep our stare-off intact because the more I look at him, the more attractive he becomes.

Blue eyes that darken with something enticing, a husky voice that is both possessive and greedy, and a mouth that I know is talented… He’s making it hard for me to think straight.

The sleepy state he was in a short time ago looks more like he’s high on the thought of touching me, and that has to be me tricking myself into thinking something that’s untrue to make myself feel better about the thoughts I’m having.

“It’s after midnight,” he states. “So I’m cashing in my question for tomorrow right now.”

I mentally prepare myself because I know he’s going to ask about my nightmare. “Okay,” I whisper.

“Do you want me to make it my responsibility?” Emory loosens his grip on my calves and slowly drags his hands over my legs until they rest on my bare thighs.

“Wh–what?”

“Do you want me to touch you, Scottie?” There’s hope in his blue eyes, and I want to give in to him so badly it hurts.

Goosebumps fly over my flesh like fireworks, and he notices. I suck in a breath when he skims his fingers against my skin, moving to the inside of my legs. He pushes them open wider, and I let him.

“Yes or no?”

He’s looking directly in between my legs, and I know I need to say no. This is not part of our arrangement. When no one is around, we’re not supposed to…touch.

“This isn’t in the contract.” I can hardly say the words.

There isn’t a speck of humor on his face. Only determination, lust, and something so dangerous I can’t help but want to stroke it. “I wrote the thing. I know what’s on it. I asked if you want me to touch you.”

I open my mouth, but my eyes flutter closed when his finger traces the inside of my leg, seemingly getting closer to my sweet spot.

“If you don’t want me to touch you, tell me now. Otherwise, I won’t be able to stop.” His hand freezes, and I almost pout. “I’m a man, and you’re in my bed, wearing my shirt without any panties on, looking at me with those blue eyes full of want.”

Thoughts of what this will mean make my heart beat harder and faster. I’m on the edge of a cliff, and I have no idea if I shouldjump. I always know what I want, but sometimes what I want isn’t what I need.

Heat pulses in between my legs, and I have a feeling he can feel it.

He swallows loudly, and I watch the muscles in his jaw flicker back and forth.

Do I want him to touch me?

God, yes.

But what I want and need are two very different things.

I’ve learned that the hard way.

Thirty-Two

EMORY

What the fuckam I doing?

This is all her fault.

One second, I’m flipping out of my bed in the dead of night and taking care of the woman I call my wife while she’s seemingly in the middle of some type of panic attack, and the next, I’m kneeling on the floor in between her legs, silently begging her to let me touch her.

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