Page 54 of Convict's Game
I was lost for words, caught up in his fantasy. My body was so ready for him, heat pooling at my core and my skin on fire for his touch.
“Are we going in, then?” I finally managed.
He tipped up my chin, lowering his mouth until we were millimetres apart. Amusement danced in his eyes alongside deep, unhidden attraction. “Nope.”
Disappointment pierced me. “Why not? Because you want me to beg?”
“Nah. That ship sailed. Let me remind you that when you agreed to the rules of the game, you gave your body over to me. I get free use of you whenever I want. I’ll fuck you in your sleep, in the shower, I’ll drive into you on those pristine sofas while the city watches us.”
Damn his dirty mouth. I curled my lip. “I get the same rights.”
“You do. I’ll even trade in a safe word for a hydration break. But the flip side is what else you get from the deal. What should be the more important part from your point of view. If I’m to help you, I need your story. I want to know everything about your life. Every little detail to what makes up Emilia Marchant and why you’re willing to go to dangerous lengths for your cause.” He slanted his gaze to the room. “The moment we go in there, it’s game over for talking.”
Convict slapped my ass and moseyed back down the hall. “So get your story on. I’ll make coffee.”
Trailing after him, I had a choice to make. I’d done all of this solo, only bringing Kane in for one specific part which turned out to be nowhere near enough. But in tying myself to Convict for a month, I wasn’t alone anymore. For the first time in my life, I had a partner in crime.
It might be time-bound, but my gut told me to follow this man. Honesty shone off him, as much as questionable morals and breathtaking heat.
I didn’t trust him, not yet, but I felt…something.
I’d agreed to let him have sex with me whenever he wanted. In my sleep, as he’d pointed out. A shiver ran over me, the lust he generated just by existing ever present.
What would it be like to wake and find him inside me? Toying with me. Fucking me. For a dizzy moment, I couldn’t breathe for wanting him.
Except he wouldn’t go there without talking first.
The decision over sharing deeply personal parts of my life had been made. I just had to find the words.
In the living room, I gazed at Convict, busy in my kitchen, then drifted to the shelf and picked up two framed photos. I set them on the coffee table, tidying the paperwork I’d left in a mess.
The scent of coffee pricked my nose.
“No milk in your fridge. Tells me you’re not ready to take care of more than a succulent.” Convict joined me with two mugs.
I rolled my eyes, and we settled on the sofa. I took a sip of the hot drink, picking over where to start my story.
It helped that Convict had positioned himself to face me. He gave me his full attention. I needed it.
“A month ago, my grandfather died.”
He wrinkled his nose. “I read about it while you slept. I’m sorry.”
An all-too-familiar ache stole over my heart. I glanced at the first framed photo where my grandfather smiled back at me. I missed him so much. “It’s hard to share this. I haven’t talked to anyone. Even Kane doesn’t know the full story. You might not be a stranger any more, but I still don’t know you.”
His gaze held mine. “Pop quiz. What’s my name?”
“Roscoe Locke.” He’d told me the first time we’d met, and I’d never forgotten it.
“Where do I work?”
“For the skeleton crew, in the warehouse by Deadwater river.”
He inclined his head. “What do I like?”
The heat in his eyes was unmistakable.
“Me.”
