Page 38 of Game Over

I release her wrists but keep my body pressed against hers, trapping her between the cold concrete and my heat. My hand slides down her throat, feeling her pulse race beneath my fingertips.

“Last night, I gave you pleasure.” My thumb traces her bottom lip. “Made you come until you screamed for me. Remember?”

Her eyes flash with defiance, but I catch the involuntary shiver that runs through her naked body.

“Now it’s your turn to please me.”

I step back just enough to create space between us, my hand moving to her shoulder. The pressure is firm, unmistakable.

“Down.”

She resists, of course. I expect it and welcome it. The fight in her eyes only makes my cock harder.

“I said down, Kira.” I apply more pressure, making her knees tremble with the effort to remain standing. “Don’t make me force you more than I already am.”

My free hand moves to her hair, tangling in the strands tight enough to restrain without hurting. I guide her downward, the pressure on her shoulder increasing until her knees finally connect with the concrete floor. The position brings her face level with my crotch, exactly where I’ve imagined her countless times.

“There’s my good girl,” I murmur, tightening my grip on her hair. “You’re learning.”

I hold her hair to tilt her face toward mine, even as I keep her kneeling. Through the eyeholes of my mask, I lock my gaze with hers, savoring the conflict I see there—fear wrestling with something darker, something she’s not ready to acknowledge.

“Now, Mischief,” I say, my voice dropping lower, “you’re going to give back what I gave you last night. And I expect enthusiasm.”

I unzip my pants slowly, deliberately. Kira’s eyes track the movement of my hand. The sound of the zipper teeth separating fills the concrete corridor. Her breathing quickens—fear or arousal, it hardly matters. Both feed my hunger.

“Open,” I command.

She presses her lips together, defiance flashing in her eyes. Predictable. Beautiful. I’ve anticipated every response and planned for every moment of resistance.

“We can do this the easy way or the hard way,” I tell her. “But make no mistake, this is happening.”

I outline the shape of her lower lip with my thumb, applying pressure to the soft flesh until she gasps. The moment her lips part, I push my thumb inside, feeling the wet heat of her mouth.

“That’s it,” I murmur, my thumb exploring her mouth. “Show me what that pretty mouth can do.”

I withdraw my thumb and replace it with two fingers, pushing deeper, making her take them to the knuckle. Her throat constricts as she struggles not to gag.

“Suck,” I order.

Something shifts in her eyes—perhaps resignation or the dawning realization that fighting only prolongs the inevitable. Her lips close around my fingers, and the wet heat of her mouth envelops me. The sight of her on her knees, naked and vulnerable, taking my fingers between her lips, nearly undoes me.

“Good girl,” I praise, removing my fingers from her mouth to free my cock from my boxers. “Now show me how much you want the real thing.”

I tug Kira’s hair harder, forcing her mouth toward my cock. The power coursing through me is intoxicating—her naked, vulnerable body kneeling before me in my maze, exactly as I’ve imagined countless times. When I dreamed of this moment, designing every detail of this labyrinth, I knew it would feel good. But this—this transcends imagination.

“Open wider,” I command, pressing the head of my cock against her lips. “That’s it.”

Her mouth trembles as it stretches around me. I push forward slowly, savoring each millimeter of her tight little throat engulfing me. Beneath my mask, I grit my teeth against the rush of sensation.

“I want to see your eyes while you take me.” I tighten my grip on her hair until her eyes lift to mine.

The conflicting emotions in her gaze only fuel my arousal—fear dancing with something she’s fighting against recognizing. Her resistance is crumbling. I can feel it in the way her tongue hesitantly moves against the underside of my cock.

“That’s it, angel. Show me what that mouth can do.”

I thrust deeper. Her hands brace against my thighs, not pushing away but steadying herself. A subtle shift—her first genuine surrender.

“You’ve thought about this,” I tell her. “I’ve heard you whisper ‘Ghost’ when you think no one’s listening.”

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