Page 53 of The Wrong Play

He lifted his head, eyes blazing, his pupils blown wide.

“I got you,” he promised, his voice softer now, filled with something real. “Let me take care of you.”

And then, he dropped to his knees.

His big hands ran down my legs before gripping my thighs, spreading them as he stared up at me with a smirk that was pure sin.

“You’re gonna wish this elevator never gets fixed,” he growled as he shoved the skirt of my dress up with zero hesitation. The fabric bunched around my hips, exposing me, and my heart slammed against my ribs, panic and heat twisting into a knot I couldn’t unravel.

“Relax, Riley-girl,” he murmured, his voice low, a gravelly edge that sent a shiver racing down my spine. His fingers hooked into my panties, tugging them aside, and before I could protest—before I could even think—his mouth was on me, hot and relentless. I gasped, head tipping back, as his tongue slid through my folds, and then flicked against me, bold and precise. My knees buckled, only the wall keeping me upright.

“Jace—no,” I choked out, not meaning it at all. My hands shot to his head, fingers tangling in his hair, tugging hard, not to pull him away, but to hold on, because holy shit, he was good. Incredible, in fact. His lips closed around my clit, sucking lightly,and a moan ripped out of me, raw and unbidden, echoing in the tight space. He groaned against me, the vibration sinking into my core, and I felt my resolve crumbling, piece by jagged piece.

He pulled back just enough to look up at me with glistening lips, his eyes dark with hunger. “You don’t want me to stop,” he said roughly, a challenge laced through his voice. “You’ve been running from this, from me, and I’m done with it.”

He licked into me again. “Time’s up, Riley-girl.”

I glared down at him, my chest heaving, my thighs trembling under his grip. “This doesn’t mean anything,” I spat, but it lacked bite, and he knew it. His smirk widened, and then he was back on me, tongue diving in, circling my clit with a rhythm that made my vision blur. My hips jerked, chasing the heat, and I cursed under my breath, hating how much I wanted this, wanted him, no matter how much I fought it.

He gripped my ass, spreading my cheeks apart as he pulled me closer. I couldn’t stop the sounds spilling out—gasps, moans, little whimpers I’d never admit to later. He ate me out like he was starving, relentless and messy, his stubble scraping my inner thighs, adding a sting that only sharpened the pleasure. My fingers tightened in his hair, pulling harder, and he growled, the sound vibrating through me, pushing me closer to the edge.

“Yes, yes, yes,” I panted, my head slamming back against the wall, the cold metal a stark contrast to the fire building low in my belly. I was so close, and he seemed to sense it. He doubled down, sucking hard, and I shattered, my orgasm crashing through me like a wave, intense and overwhelming. My knees gave out, but he held me up, pinning me against the wall as I rode it out, trembling, gasping, his name a broken chant on my lips.

He didn’t stop, not really. He just eased off enough to let me breathe, his tongue tracing slow, lazy circles over my clit asI came down, oversensitive and shaking. I shoved at his head, weak and half-hearted, my voice a wreck. “Enough, Jace?—”

He pulled back, licking his lips like he couldn’t get enough of the taste, and then stood, towering over me again. His hands braced on either side of my head, caging me in, and I couldn’t look away from those eyes—dark, wild, burning with a need that matched the pulse still throbbing between my legs. “Not even close to enough. I want to eat your sweet cunt until my dying breath,” he said in a low voice, a promise wrapped in a threat. “You’re not getting off that easy.”

I swallowed hard, my chest tight, the air between us humming with tension. “The elevator could start working at any time,” I snapped, trying to claw back some control, but it sounded weak, and he just grinned, slow and dangerous.

“But it’s not working yet, my Riley-girl,” he said, leaning in, his breath hot against my ear. “Which means you still can’t run…”

Before I could argue, his mouth was on mine, hard and demanding, tasting of me and him and some kind of magic I couldn’t name. My hands fisted the waistband of his sweats, pulling him closer even as I cursed myself for it, and he groaned into the kiss, pressing his body against mine. I felt him—hard, insistent—through his sweatpants, grinding into me, and a fresh wave of heat surged low, reigniting the ache he’d just sated.

He broke the kiss, panting, his forehead pressed to mine. “Tell me you don’t want this,” he growled, daring me to lie. “Tell me, and I’ll stop.”

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out—because I couldn’t. I wanted him. Since the second I saw him walking toward me in the bar, since the second any words had come out of his mouth.

I didn’t want to want him.

I didn’t want to feel the heat curling in my stomach, the sharp pull in my chest every time he looked at me like I was something he’d already won.

I didn’t want to notice the way his presence filled a space, the way his voice wrapped around my name like a claim, the way his touch lingered long after he was gone.

But I did.

And I hated myself for it.

Because wanting him meant stepping into something I couldn’t control. Something reckless. Something dangerous.

And I wasso tiredof danger.

But standing here, trapped with him, his scent in my lungs, his voice sinking into my skin, his body so close I could feel the heat radiating from it?—

I was terrified.

Because it was too late.

Because maybe, despite everything…

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