Page 42 of The Wrong Play

I shot him an annoyed glare, and he leaned in, dropping his voice to a whisper, his words ghosting over my skin like a promise.

“Now I’ve got your number. And you’ve got mine too. Buckle up, buttercup, because it’s about to get fun.”

I scoffed as Jace’s fingers traced a slow, lazy pattern along my hip, where my sweatshirt had ridden up and exposed a sliver of skin. My body completely betrayed me by shivering again under his touch. I should have pulled away. I should have moved.

But I didn’t.

I just sat there, heart pounding, cheeks burning, completely trapped in the moment?—

Until it hit me.

Another touch.

Another man.

Another time.

I sat stiffly on the couch,pulling the sleeves of my sweater over my hands as Callum poured himself a glass of whiskey.

“You’re too tense,darling,”he murmured,swirling the amber liquid in his glass before taking a slow sip.He was always drinking.Always watching me over the rim of his glass with those knowing eyes.

I swallowed hard, forcing a smile, trying to please him,because it was easier than the alternative.

“I just…”I hesitated, my fingers twisting in the fabric of my sweater. “I was looking at some other programs,maybe a veterinary program?”

His lips curved into a mocking smile. “Riley,”he chided,setting his glass down on the coffee table before turning to face me. “We’ve talked about this.”

My stomach clenched at his words.

He’d helped me with exactly one application.The only one I’d actually been able to submit.At the university where he taught—Chapel Hill.

“Besides,you’d never be able to keep up with that rigorous of a program.”

“Well…I mean,maybe,I could,”I murmured, knowing it was the wrong thing to say.

His expression darkened,his fingers curling around my chin,tilting my face up to meet his gaze.“Are you doubting me?”

My throat felt tight.

I shook my head quickly. “No. Of course not.”

His thumb brushed my lower lip,a quiet chuckle escaping him as he leaned in,his voice dropping to that low,velvety tone that always made my stomach turn.

“Good girl,”he murmured.

Then his lips were on mine.

I froze.

I always froze.

It wasn’t that he was a bad kisser.

It was that I never had a choice.

His hands were already moving,gripping my waist,pulling me closer,fingers digging in.

He always kissed me like he was sealing a deal,his mouth a contract I had no say in.Like he wasn’t just claiming me—he was reminding me he wasn’t optional.His hands never allowed space,never let me pull away,always holding,always directing,controlling,demanding submission without a single word.It wasn’t about passion.It was about possession.

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