Page 102 of The Games We Play
But, due to the current situation, that would make me look like a psychotic Harley Quinn, so instead, Ikeep my stride with Seamus, holding back a satisfied smile because I know what his Plan B is. Although I don’t have any guilt or shame over that idea anymore, it’s still concerning.
What theactualplan is, I have no idea. I just know it involves the well-earned death of Nathan Simmons. And where I had reservations about what was going to happen to Nathan, now I am concerned about what might happen to Seamus.
He rounds the front of the truck and opens my door, waiting for me to step in. He’s focused on our surroundings, and as he glances around, I take a moment to really appraise him.
His dark hair falls with a slight wave, feathering just above his ear and rests in a perfectly straight line at the nape of his neck. His midnight orbs are the same shade as the deepest parts of the ocean, but where there has always been a lustful desire when he looked at me, now there is a vengeance intent.
I find it just as sexy knowing the story behind it.
A shiver runs through my spine as desire courses through my core. It’s something that Seamus has always managed to bring out in me, like it’s always been him and only him that my body has an uncontrollable sexual craving for. Something that went into hiding for all those years, but with him I feel safe, like I’m finally allowed to enjoy sex for what it is.
Passion, burning desire, and need.
Grabbing his shirt, I pull him into me and cup my hands around his face.
This is the first time since the day he moved in next door that his jawline hasn’t been smooth. This impromptu trip didn’t allow him to shave this morning, and he looks rugged and slightly out of control.
Wild, determined Seamus is a sight, and I fucking love it.
I’ve spent years trying to forget that night, not only because of what Nathan did to me, but because of how I felt when Seamus never came back.
There was so much resentment and hatred toward a man who had also experienced a loss I had no idea about.
We spent years lost from each other, and I saw the torture in his eyes when he told Nathan I was his. The same type of torture I live with when I think of what was taken from me.
I need him to know I’m his. Then and now.
“Fuck me.” My confident words catch his attention as he peers down at me. His eyes ricochet between my lips, eyes, the truck, the parking lot, the prison, then back to me.
He looks at me questioningly, with both playfulness and concern, but I know he feels as feral as I do.
I can’t help my lopsided grin as I bite my bottom lip and teeter my head back and forth, feeding into the playful side.
“Let’s Roshambo for it.” I lay my fist on my palm and peer up at him with a doe-eyed look.
Instead of matching my stance, he places his hands on his hips and he shakes his head. For a moment, I think he’s going to reject me again, that he doesn’t want to risk getting caught or taking me here.
His head falls forward to his chest as his lips form a thin tight line to avoid that rare smile I love.
When he lifts his head back up to face me, his eyes are dark and feral.
“You always choose paper.”
And before I know it, he’s grabbing me, hoisting my legs around his waist, slamming his lips to mine.
The handle of the truck door clicks open and gravity pulls me back as he sprawls me out on the backseat. He crawls in between my legs, never taking his eyes off mine, using only his foot to pull the door closed behind him.
I glance around the backseat and giggle, seeing his colossal form fill more than half of the air space in the truck, but he expertly maneuvers his hands, unbuckling his belt as he hovers over me.
His abs are on full display as his pants hang low on his waist. The zipper is splayed open at the center, his heavy cock weighted between his legs. The distinct outline of his swollen tip peeks through the thin fabric of his boxer briefs.
Jesus, it’s like my very own, all-inclusive, live porno show.
His kiss is desperate as he trails his lips down my neck and over the peaks of my breasts. Tucking his hands into my leggings, he yanks them down, desperate to expose me, like my skin is the oxygen he needs.
I peer back into his darkened eyes, and the dark specks dance with a fire in them. Like he can’t wait another minute to have me, and now there’s no holding back.
It’s the same way Seamus used to look at me, all those nights under the stars. There was more innocence back then, but still a burning desire that neither one of us could extinguish. And I see that hunger again, now with more power and urgency.
