Page 67 of Twisted Play
Eva hummed and leaned forward to pick up the little bag she’d dropped at some point.
“Red lipstick,” I said, wanting to regain a semblance of control over the situation, over myself. “Wear red.” My voice was raspy with need.
Eva’s sweet smile tugged on something in my chest, and I raised my hand to rub at it as if it were a physical pain.
I texted Tristan to let him know we’d arrived as she carefully applied layers of makeup.
“Why do you do that?” I asked.
“Do what?” she asked, brushing eyeshadow over her lids.
“Wear makeup? You’re fucking stunning, and you don’t need it.”
Eva laughed, still sweet but tinged with a hint of mockery.
“So like a man to think makeup is just making myself look pretty. Makeup is armor, a shield against the cruelty of the world. When I’ve got my face on, I’m put-together-can-take-on-anything-Eva, the Eva I’d like to be, rather than the hot-mess Eva I am when no one’s looking.”
I didn’t know what to say to that, so I sat in silence, watching her finish her look with a deep red lipstick that somehow made her cheeks look pinker and her eyes greener.
She looked at me, her eyes still sweet, and god, if I could have bottled that look and kept it with me forever, I would have. I unlocked the doors and got out of the car, only for Tristan, fucking Tristan, to beat me to opening Eva’s.
Better that way, I told myself. Let her hate me and fall for him. It’s what all three of us deserved anyway.
“Morning,” Tristan greeted me, grinning and handing me a coffee. “Black like your soul,” he said then handed Eva her own. “Almond milk latte with vanilla syrup and an extra shot of espresso.”
“Thank you,” she murmured, smiling up at him. “You remembered.”
“I remember everything about you, kitten.”
Watching Tristan hand her that perfectly-made-for-her coffee sent jealousy burning through my veins. But this wasn’t about possession, no matter how deep my obsession ran. This was about keeping her close, keeping her controlled. Every sweet gesture from Tristan just gave me more leverage. If I kept telling myself that, maybe I’d start to believe it.
I tightened my arm around her waist, feeling her phone in her pocket. “Remember our deal,” I murmured against her ear.
When I tugged her back toward me, inexplicably possessive, she didn’t protest like I expected. She just relaxed against my side and let me hold her close.
“You did so good in the car,” I murmured in her ear. “Showing me how you like to touch yourself, asking me if you could come.”
Eva didn’t say anything, just sipped her coffee as Tristan watched us, just far enough away that he wouldn’t be able to make out my whispered words.
“I need you to do that every time from now on, all right? No orgasms unless I give you permission first.” I was drunk on the power of controlling Eva’s climaxes. All the games we could play ran through my mind, leaving me hard and aching for her.
She glared up at me with betrayal in her eyes. “Fuck you, Cole,” she snarled, her sweet and compliant mood dissipating entirely.
“We’ll get there, sparrow. I promise.”
27
ALEKSANDR
One of thebenefits of coaching a world class university hockey team, other than working in the game I loved, was access to world class physical therapy. Not that it mattered—sixteen years of pain had taught me that nothing would fully heal what Conrad Jackson had done when he’d slammed that metal pipe into my knee, permanently injuring me and ending my NHL career. There wasn’t a day that went by when I didn’t remember it, especially when the weather was changing in early fall.
One of the university’s physical therapists massaged my quad, running strong fingers up and down my leg.
“How’s that feel, Coach?”
I gritted my teeth against the pain as he worked the knots out of my tight muscles. “Fine.”
“Eva,” Dr. Parker called. My muscles tensed at the name.
