Page 28 of Dirty Play

I end the call before she can say anything else, but her words stick with me as I set my phone down on the coffee table. I grab my wine glass and sink deeper into the couch, letting my head fall back against the cushion.

What I need most?God.That’s the last thing I need.

Or at least, itshouldbe.

The apartment is quiet except for the faint hum of the TV. I’m not even watching it; I’m just staring blankly at the screen while swirling the last sip of wine in my glass.

I set the glass down and curl my legs under me. My mind betrays me again, pulling me back to earlier. Back to the gym and to him.

I close my eyes and see him standing there, all muscle and arrogance like he owned the entire damn place. The way his green eyes locked onto mine, daring me, testing me. The smirk tugging at his lips like he already knew what I was thinking.

And then he caught me.

A shiver skates down my spine as I replay it. The feel of his hands on me, rough, strong, sure. The way his arms tightened around me, holding me against him like he wasn’t just catching me but claiming me. And the moment I felt him, hard, unyielding, pressing against my tummy…

My breath hitches.

Stop it, Livia.

But my body doesn’t listen. I sink deeper into the couch, letting my head rest against the cushion as the memory plays on a loop. His scent, masculine and clean with just a hint of something darker, lingers in my mind. The way his voice dipped lower, rough and teasing when he asked me if I could feel him.

I feel the flush creep over my cheeks, down my neck, pooling in places I shouldn’t acknowledge. My fingers trail absently over my stomach, brushing against the hem of my tank top.

I shouldn’t.

Ireallyshouldn’t.

But my hand moves lower anyway, sliding over the curve of my hip and resting just below my waistband. I bite my lip, closing my eyes as I let myself imaginehim.

Rowan’s hands wouldn’t hesitate. They’d be bold, demanding, claiming every inch of me like it was his right. His lips would follow, hot and desperate, leaving a trail of fire across my skin. And his voice would be the end of me, murmuring filthy promises that would make my knees go weak.

My fingers dip lower, and a soft gasp escapes my lips the moment they find my swollen clit.

I’m spiraling, drowning in thoughts of him. The way he touched me, held me, the way his gaze lingered on my lips like he was seconds away from—

I jerk my hand back like I’ve been burned, my chest heaving as reality slams into me.

“No. No, no, no,” I mutter, pressing the heels of my hands to my eyes as if I can block out the images.

I can’t believe I almost…

Over him.

I groan and grab the throw pillow next to me, burying my face in it.

“Damn you, Rowan. Get out of my head!”

But even as I say it, his name tastes too good in my mouth, and the ache he left behind refuses to fade. And I still have to face him tomorrow night at The Fortress.

The bass from the club hits me the second I step out of the Uber, vibrating through the soles of my heels and up my legs. The air is thick with the kind of electricity that only comes from a night filled with possibilities or disasters. Knowing my luck lately, it’s probably the latter.

The bouncer gives me a once-over, his lips twitching like he’s impressed, and I offer a polite smile as he waves me through. The heavy door swings open, and I’m hit with a wall of sound, music pounding, laughter spilling over, and the faint clink of glasses somewhere in the chaos.

I adjust the hem of my black satin mini dress as I step inside, the fabric hugging my body. It’s one of those dresses that doesn’t leave much to the imagination—thin straps, a dangerously low neckline, and a slit up the side that’sjustshy of scandalous. Paired with black heels and a matching clutch.

Tonight, I need that armor.

The club is packed, bodies moving together on the dancefloor in a messy, intoxicating rhythm. I glance around, my gaze flicking over clusters of people laughing at the bar, whispering in dark corners, grinding against each other like it’s a competition.

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