Page 69 of Twisted Play
She flushed. “Because I’m clumsy, have terrible hand-eye coordination, and I don’t know, because I had open heart surgery last year and I’m fucking terrified my heart will stopif I do it,” she snapped. “But thanks for reminding me I’m fat too.”
The hurt in her voice made me feel like shit. Then I reminded myself I wanted her to suffer.
She reached down to wrap one hand around my ankle and pushed it toward me, bending my knee. “How’s that feel?”
“Better,” I admitted begrudgingly.
“Good.”
Without another word, she moved to my other side and arranged my leg so she could massage my quad. Her fear was so delicious, I felt my cock stir when her hands touched my thigh.
Her delicate fingers stroked over my leg, digging into the muscles and releasing the tension I held there.
“This leg isn’t injured,” I muttered, well aware I overcompensated with it, as desperate for her to take her hands off me as I was to keep them there.
“Doc told me to do it, so I’m going to do it,” Eva snapped at me. Her shoulders were hunched with tension, and her jaw set, but her hands moved with surety over my muscles.
“Such a good girl, doing exactly as she’s told,” I murmured, quietly enough that nobody but Eva could hear me.
Her eyes were full of fire. “I know you’re a hotshot coach and all, but some of us need these jobs. If I don’t work, I don’t eat, and my father doesn’t eat, so yeah, I’m gonna do as I’m told. I can’t afford to lose this job.”
The thought of her going hungry twisted uncomfortably in my chest. This wasn’t part of the plan. Her suffering was supposed to bring me pleasure, not whatever this feeling was.
She dug her thumb into my muscle, and the pain tookmy breath away until the knot melted, leaving relaxation in its wake. I watched her as she worked, her curls pulled up into a messy bun on top of her head, and I fought the urge to pull on one and unravel her completely.
“And what would you do to keep it?” I asked, my voice low and dangerous, even though I already knew.
Her fingers dug into my thigh, hard enough to bruise. “Don’t,” she whispered, but she didn’t stop her methodical strokes. Such perfect obedience, even in her resistance. It made me want to push harder, see how far she’d bend before breaking.
Eva leaned over me, running her fingers across my kneecap through the fabric of my pants. The gentle scrape of her nails sent electricity crackling up my spine.
“Why areyouhere?” she asked finally.
“I’m the hockey coach,” I answered dryly.
“I mean, here, in Dr. Parker’s clinic. Surely you can afford private physical therapy.”
I hadn’t wasted my NHL winnings before my injury, and smart investments, both legal and illegal, provided a much higher level of comfort than my coach’s salary.
“Dr. Parker’s the best sports physician in the country, and her team of PTs is fantastic, even if it means occasionally submitting to the clumsy hands of students.” Even if I didn’t agree with how highly she prioritized individual students instead of the team.
Eva flushed at my words, though I hadn’t meant them to specifically wound her. “Dr. Parker’s a great teacher,” Eva murmured, her fingers still moving in those maddening circles.
“And yet, you’re constantly late for practice, you miss sessions, and you’re a distraction to my players.”Hypocrite.She was a distraction to me too.
Her breath caught, but she didn’t look up. Instead, she smoothed her thumbs over my kneecap, gently pressing and releasing the tension from the muscles on the sides. “Your players are persistent,” she murmured.
“Puck bunnies are a dime a dozen.” They were, but she wasn’t one of them. Eva was fucking special, and everyone on the team knew it. “They’ll tire of you eventually.”
Eva snorted—with amusement or derision, I couldn’t tell.
“The good news is, you’re not their type.”
Eva stepped away abruptly. “You’ve said that before, and I’d like you to clarify what you mean by that.”
I couldn’t tell her the truth—that even though Tristan and Cole had never shied away from puck bunnies before, it was her innocence that drew them—drew me—in like moths to flame. That her curves begged for me to bruise them, that those plump lips were made for sucking cock, and that every movement of that lush body made me want to bend her over the nearest surface and fuck her until she screamed. That my cruel words were a way of pushing her away, of pretending I didn’t want to taste every fucking inch of her.
Even more than that, I couldn’t tell her how fascinating I found her desperate need to please, her willingness to submit to keep this job. What secrets was she hiding? What would she do if I threatened to take away the position she so clearly needed? The thought of her on her knees, begging to keep her job, sent heat straight to my cock.
