Page 194 of The Wrong Play

His fingers traced the design, light as a whisper, before he let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. Before he could say anything else, though…the artist cleared her throat. “Uh, if you two lovebirds are ready…”

I snorted, because I’d kind of forgotten she was there.

I lay back, my breath steady, and let the needle carveJaceinto my skin like he’d already carved himself into my life.

Later that night, I found it.

Tucked in the back of the closet, half-forgotten but impossible to mistake—a black blindfold. I picked it up, smoothing my fingers over the fabric, and an idea sparked.

Jace had just stepped out of the shower, a towel slung low on his hips, water droplets still clinging to his chest. His hair was damp, messy, the blond strands curling slightly at the ends from the steam, and his muscles flexed with every lazy step he took toward me.

I needed a second to process the sight.

Because there was something almost unfair about Jace Thatcher when he was fresh out of the shower—like he’d been handcrafted for sin. Every sharp plane of his body, every defined ridge of his abs, was on full display, glistening under the soft light. His tattooed chest was broad, his shoulders unfairly wide, tapering down into a tight, cut waist, the kind of V-line that could make a woman forget all common sense.

I swallowed, my gaze trailing lower, taking in the way the towel barely clung to his hips, hanging loose, taunting. It wouldn’t take much—a tug, a well-timed stretch—for it to drop, and that knowledge made my pulse thuda little harder.

And then, my gaze caught on the ink that sat just along his ribs, standing stark against his tan skin. My name.

Riley.

My breath hitched, and I bit my lip, heat creeping up my spine as I imagined tracing my tongue over the letters, tasting the proof of his devotion. My own ribs were feeling tender after their new ink…but certainly not enough to stop me from having some…fun.

His lips twitched like he could feel my stare, like he knew exactly what was going through my head.

“Enjoying the view, babycakes?”

Cocky bastard. He was eyefucking me just as hard since I was dressed in nothing but a shirt and a pair of underwear.

I huffed, crossing my arms, even though my face feltwaytoo warm. “It’s notmyfault you look like this.”

His smirk deepened, and he took another step closer, his abs tensing, his towel dangerously loose. “Yeah?” His voice was thick, amused. “Is that why you’re undressing me with your eyes?”

Scoffing, my pulse betrayed me with another hard thump. “There’s not much left to undress, Thatcher.”

His gaze darkened, dropping to my bare legs before snapping back up. “Then why don’t you finish the job?”

I sucked in a breath, my knees suddenlyveryweak.

And then—his towel shifted. Not downward.Upward.

The thick material lifted, tenting as his body betrayed him, and my cheeks burned, even though I was well acquainted at this point with this monster of a dick.

Jace’s smirk turned…sinful, and his brown eyes gleamed with satisfaction, enjoying every second of my internal meltdown. “Something on your mind?”

I crossed my arms, shifting my weight, trying very hard tonotlook at the very obvious issue in front of me. “Your towel is…um…” I gestured vaguely.

He tilted his head, mock confusion clouding his expression. “What about it?”

I glared. “It’s moving.”

Jace let out a deep, rumbling chuckle, running a slow hand through his damp hair, making the muscles in his arm flexwaytoo distractingly. “Huh. Weird. Wonder what could be causing that.”

I approached him, the blindfold hidden behind my back, trying to get a hold of myself so this game could go how I wanted it to.

“Do you trust me, Jace?” I asked, trying to make my voice at least a little sexy sounding.

He lifted a brow. “Riley-girl, that smile is dangerous.”

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