Page 93 of Twisted Play
“Tristan Baptiste wasn’t drafted,” I said as Eva tugged on my belt then freed my cock.
What. The. Fuck.
“He’s a good kid,” Dion said. That was the other reason I respected Dion so much. An athletic program like ours could grind kids into the dust as much as it could lift them up, and Dion actually fucking cared.
“He kicked it up a notch this year—he’s going to be one of our star players. We’ll get him a contract.” After the championship.
Dion continued talking about the team’s prospects, completely unaware of Eva’s hot breath against my length, her satin-soft hand wrapping around me. It was the perfect metaphor for my life—everything I’d rebuilt balanced on the edge of a knife, all because I couldn’t resist Conrad Jackson’s daughter.
When she wrapped those perfect lips around me and sucked, I nearly growled. The mix of submission and defiance was intoxicating—she knew exactly what she was risking, what she could cost me.
“You okay?” Dion asked, and I dragged my attention back to him, hating how he deserved better than this distraction.
“Just a lot on my mind with the season starting.” The excuse was weak, but Dion took it at face value.
“I’ll let you get back to it then,” he said with a smile.
“Thanks for stopping by,” I grit out as Eva sucked my soul out through her luscious lips.
The moment the door closed, I hauled her up by her arms. “What the fuck were you thinking?” But even as I snarled the words, I couldn’t deny how stunning she was—flushed, naked, caught between fury and arousal, trapped between my body and the desk.
Eva’s eyes were bright with anger. “You’re the one who told me to get naked, asshole,” she said, wrenching her arm from my grasp but keeping her voice low and reminding me anyone could hear us through the thin walls.
I raked my eyes over her body, trapped between me and the desk, naked, flushed, vibrating with fury.
“Go ahead then,” I growled. “Finish what you started.” Her eyes snapped to mine, shocked. “Before I spank you stupid for that stunt.”
35
EVA
Alek—Sir—hadn’ttouched me since our shitshow of an interview. No, he’d humiliated me, made me kneel beside him and make his coffee, taught me exactly how he liked it—how he liked me.
Somehow, I’d convinced myself this wasn’t about sex, that the peace I felt in his presence, when his expectations were clear and calmly given, when he called me a good girl when I pleased him, was a fucked up but acceptable exchange for this job.
And then, he’d stripped me today, literally and metaphorically, laying bare the illusion that I was anything but a toy.
I let my temper get the best of me, teasing him in front of the athletic director and hoping he’d get caught.
And also hoping the bold move would please him.
Because I was fucked up.
Now, he stared at me, eyes such a deep brown they were almost black, his pupils blown.
“If I get caught—” I’d lose my job. I’d lose my scholarship. I’d lose my access to the team and my ability to sendinformation to Jedediah Carter. My father—I choked down the sob that threatened to well up out of my chest. “Please,” I pleaded, hoping he’d understand.
Alek dragged his fingers through my tangled curls until he cupped my head with his large, tattooed hand, his thumb stroking over my temple.
I needed him to?—
I finally admitted to myself I didn’t put up with his bullshit just because I needed the job.
As I stood there, shaking like a leaf, sure every thought was written across my face, unable to hide anything from this man that I wanted to please as much as I hated him, I thought hard about what I wanted.
“What’s going on behind those pretty eyes of yours?” he asked me.
I couldn’t tell him that my time on my knees in his office, my eyes downcast, my mind floating, were the only moments of quiet in my tumultuous week. That, after last night, the idea of sitting here with my mind blank, focused only on earning the slightest bit of praise from him, seemed like a life raft. That each Tuesday and Thursday, when I came here after morning practice, were the quietest, most treasured moments of my week.
