Page 74 of Vicious Games

“Just straddle me, Frankie. And let me kiss you someplace else that isn’t your mouth.”

My body tenses at that. My heart stutters.

“I’m not sure I want that.”

I like kissing Lucky. If his mouth is busy somewhere else, that means I’m not kissing him. And I don’t know how I feel about that.

“It’s called foreplay, Frankie.” His voice is softer now, coaxing. “We have to move up eventually. I promise I’ll keep it tame. And if you don’t like it, you can tell me to stop.”

I think about it. Long and hard.

“So if I don’t like whatever you’re about to do, you’ll just stop?” I arch a suspicious brow.

“That’s how this works. You say stop, and I’ll stop. That’s how it should always work.”

I study his face, looking for any crack, any flicker of deceit, but there isn’t one.

Hmm. He was right about the kissing. Maybe he’ll be right about this, too. And if he’s not? Then we can always stick to just kissing.

“Fine,” I relent before pushing myself up from his lap to stand. From this angle, I watch Lucky lean back against the couch, his jaw tight, his hands clenched at his sides, his pants straining as he tries not to let me see just how affected he is by me.

I see it anyway. Any other time I would tease him about. But not now. Not when I’m just as turned on from just kissing as he is.

“What if I hurt you?” I ask, hesitating.

Lucky’s gaze darkens, tracking the way my eyes flicker to his lap.

“Already kind of hurting with you looking at me like that,” he replies, tension knotting in his jaw, silent but telling, while his bulge twitches under my heavy gaze.

I take a steadying breath and shift onto the couch, planting one knee beside his thigh. Then the other. My hands clutch his shoulders, doing my absolute best to keep my full weight off him.

Lucky doesn’t like that, though. His hands lock onto my hips, yanking me fully onto his lap, making me gasp as my thighs spread wider over him.

“Much better,” he murmurs, lips curving into a wicked smile.

“Are you sure I’m not hurting you?” I ask, feeling self-conscious.

He licks his lips, his chestnut eyes turning molten.

“I’m in fucking agony right now, Frankie. But no, you’re not physically hurting me.”

“Then why—”

He exhales sharply, pushing my hair to one side, his fingers trailing up and down my spine, sending goosebumps racing across my skin.

“If you have to ask, then I’m not doing a good job at this tutoring shit.” His frown deepens. “Let me see if I can up my game.”

His hand tangles in my hair, tugging my head to the side. His nose skims up my neck, his breath warm against my skin.

“This is gonna feel weird for a second,” he warns, “then it’ll get good. Really good. Just trust the process.”

I nod, giving him permission. His lips ghost along my pulse point, his mouth hot, teasing.

“That tickles,” I mumble, trying to scrunch my shoulder to block him.

“Stay still.”

His hands possessively clutch my hair, keeping me in place, forcing me to give him full access. He starts slow, pressing featherlight kisses along my throat, working his way up to the shell of my ear. His tongue flicks against it, and I jolt. The sensation is strange. Warm, wet, electric. His teeth graze my earlobe, alternating between licking, biting, and soothing the spot with slow, torturous drags of his mouth. And I find my body melting into it.

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