Page 122 of Twisted Play
“Do you want it to be?” he murmured back, as if he were genuinely curious, so quietly I almost couldn’t hear.
Eva remained silent for a beat and then nodded. “I need it to be.”
Fuck.
Was Cole right? Did she like what we were doing to her as much as she hated that she didn’t have a choice? My breath caught in my chest at the thought of Eva on her knees for the two of us because she wanted to be, not just because we were forcing her. Did she like giving up control?
Oh, fuck. Of course she did. Eva kept a vice-like grip on every part of her life lest it spin out of control and leave her starving, her father dead, or worse. Letting go for a moment had to be a fucking relief for her.
“Okay, sweetheart,” Cole said, running a hand up her stomach to her throat, holding her against him. “You’re going to let me dress you like the filthy slut you are, or you’re going to pay for your disobedience. What’s it going to be?”
“Dress me,” she said, and the hope in her eyes destroyed me. She wanted this.
He skimmed his hands down her sides. “Can’t play with you here, but I bet you’re absolutely soaked right now, aren’t you?”
Precum leaked out of my cock. Fuck. If I didn’t get myself under control, I was going to embarrass myself. Again. I might anyway. Jesus, how were those two so fucking hot together?
Nina cleared her throat, drawing all our attention to her, exactly as she’d intended. “What are you looking for?” she asked, her eyes carefully on Eva’s flushed face.
“She’s a fuckin’ goddess,” I said. “Make her feel like one.”
44
EVA
True to his promise,Cole slipped a vibrator up my pussy a few minutes before he had to report to the arena for the pregame meal and warm-up.
“It’s sound activated,” Tristan’d murmured as he stroked my clit. I clung to him and then stepped away when a group of rowdy players turned the corner. “Now go wait in the stands like a good girl.”
To my shock, they’d dressed me in leggings, warm boots, and Tristan’s jersey for the game instead of one of the slutty outfits they’d bought for me earlier. Tristan had dragged a satin-lined knit beanie over my curls, then bent down to kiss my forehead.
“Find us outside the locker room after the game, okay?”
Cole was less sweet when he shoved me back against the cinderblock wall of the hallway and licked my lips until I opened my mouth for him to plunder. He ignored the players who snickered as they walked into the locker room, pressing his hard cock into my center until I moaned.
“There we go,” he murmured, stepping back to look atme. “That’s the Eva I like to see, flushed and looking like you’re a second away from coming.”
My cheeks flamed, and he chuckled before nipping my earlobe hard enough to draw out a yelp then drawing back.
“Wish me luck for the first game of the season?” Cole said, his face strangely blank, as if he weren’t certain of how I’d react.
I made my decision. Maybe I’d never reconcile the man who blackmailed me into sex with the man who’d gotten up before dawn to force an exclusive boutique to scour the city for clothes in my size, or the man who spent five figures dressing me like a slut, who bought me lunch when all I had was a PB&J.
I surged up on my toes to kiss his cheek. “Good luck,” I whispered against his skin, and then I snatched at Tristan’s shirt, dragging him in for the same. For a second, the three of us stood together in a bubble of safe, comforting silence.
“Eva—” Cole began, but I couldn’t let him finish, couldn’t let him make me regret my decision to give him the affection he sought instead of the bite of my sarcasm.
“I’ll see you after the game,” I interrupted.
I hated them. I hated what they were doing to me. I hated my body’s reaction to them.
But it didn’t matter how many times I repeated that to myself—I no longer believed it.
I shovedmy way through the crowd to get to my seat, flashing my staff badge whenever anyone got in my way. I was almost there when the music turned up and the vibrator inside me turned on, distracting me from where Iwas going. A crowd of rowdy students slammed into me, dumping sodas and beer all over me.
“What the hell?” I cried, frantically brushing at my borrowed jersey as the liquid soaked through it, trying to breathe through the rhythm pulsing inside me.
“Oh god, I’m so sorry,” one of the students said, pawing at me with napkins in a futile effort to clean up his mess. The vibrator intensified, and I bit back a moan. This was so fucking humiliating—and hot.
