Page 54 of Wicked Games

“But you know what woke me up?” I ask. “Again, silence means yes.”

He doesn’t say anything.

“It wasn’t the moaning or you dry humping me. It was this.” I tilt my head to the side and pull the neck of my shirt down to show him the faint bite marks on my shoulder.

He slaps his hand over his mouth, and for a second, I can’t tell if he’s mortified or scared shitless.

“That was quite the way to greet the morning,” I continue and let my shirt fall into place. “And I’m pretty sure you unlocked a new kink of mine while you were going to town on me.”

He drops his hand, his eyes wide with surprise as he stares at me like he can’t decide if I’m fucking with him or not.

It hits me then how easy Felix is to read when he doesn’t have that stupid blank mask on. You just need to know how to draw those reactions out of him.

“Do you know why I didn’t let you finish?” My voice is raspy now, and I’m as hard as a rock. I started this to fuck with him, but it’s affecting me just as much. “Why I stopped you and didn’t let you come?”

He shakes his head.

“Because I thought you were thinking about someone else.” I pin him with a look. “Were you thinking about someone else?”

He shakes his head again.

“No?”

“No,” he whispers. “I think I remember that part of the night.”

“You do?”

“Yeah.” He fists the sheets so tight his knuckles go white. “I remember having a dream where I was getting off, and it felt really good. I don’t remember actually doing anything that you said in real life, but I was doing it in my dream.”

“Who were you dreaming about?” I can’t keep the demand out of my tone. “Tell me.”

“You,” he chokes out. “I was dreaming about you.”

Something dark and possessive moves through me, and the flare of heat that hits when Felix slowly wets his bottom lip with his tongue is so strong it makes my dick throb.

“What were you dreaming about?”

His cheeks are ruddy now, and his chest is covered with red spots. He should look ridiculous sitting in my bed with thesheets tangled around him, his hair a fluffy mess, and covered in a splotchy blush. He should, but he doesn’t.

More of that possessive desire flows through me, and the urge to claim him is suddenly stronger than the desire to fuck with him.

“Tell me,” I prompt when he doesn’t answer.

“I was dreaming about when we…when I sucked your dick.”

“Yeah?”

He nods. He’s clearly mortified, but he keeps eye contact with me.

“You liked it?”

“Obviously.”

“You know what? I just realized something.”

“What?” he asks warily.

“You owe me a show.”

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