Page 134 of Twisted Play
“Princess,” he groaned, pushing her forward over me until her chest pressed into mine. “Are you ready?”
“Stop being so goddamned considerate,” Eva said through a moan, “and fuck me like you did when you hated me.”
Cole pulled out then did exactly as she demanded, setting an intense rhythm that drove her to babbling incoherence as we thrust in and out of her, holding her still and forcing her to take the pleasure.
When she screamed her climax and clenched that deliciously hot pussy around my cock, I followed her over the cliff, lightning zinging down my spine as I exploded inside her, painting her insides with a shout.
A second later, Cole came, whispering her name like a fucking prayer. We fucked her through the aftershocks until she collapsed on top of me, shivering and whimpering as we held her.
Cole drew out of her then disappeared in the bathroom for a moment. The water ran, and then he emerged with a wet towel. Gently, he lifted her off me, ignoring her gratifying protest, and laid her on her back so he could carefully clean between her legs.
Eva’s eyes remained shut, but she whined when he left her. “Gonna tattoo my bite marks on your ass, I swear,” he muttered as he slipped into the bed behind her, wrapping her up in his arms.
She didn’t say anything, just snuggled close to him and drew me to her.
We had to talk.
In the morning.
Cole threw his leg over her hip, his heel reaching around my ass to drag me closer.
I let him, draping my arm over Eva’s waist, my fingers brushing against his. He tangled his fingers in mine and squeezed.
Eva mumbled in her sleep, and even though he released my fingers to brush her hair out of her face, he brought his hand right back to mine when he was done.
His eyes met mine, unreadable in the dark. Cole was as fucked as I was for Eva, even if he’d never admit it. And if he’d maneuvered me into this twisted relationship, I had to figure out a way to maneuver us out of it and into the kind of relationship Eva would want to stick around for, without the blackmail.
Now how the hell was I supposed to do that?
48
ALEKSANDR
The momentmy apartment door slammed behind me after the game, I yanked at my tie, desperate to breathe. The memory of Eva’s scent lingered on my fingers from when I’d handed her that fucking orange earlier in the week.
Sweet.
Innocent.
Mine.
My cock hardened at the memory of her lips wrapping around each segment, how she’d trusted me to feed her. A week later, and I could still feel the ghost of her breath, still see the way she’d melted when I praised her.Mine.
No, not mine. Never truly mine. A real Dom earned submission through trust, not blackmail, and I’d thrown away a decade of BDSM principles the moment I forced her to her knees in my office. But Christ, the way she’d looked up at me, all wide green eyes and trembling, like she wanted to submit, even if she didn’t have the vocabulary to describe why.
I shrugged out of my jacket and dropped onto my couch,then shoved to my feet again to snatch a bottle of vodka out of my refrigerator. My hands shook as I poured myself a glass. Anything to wash away the image of her squirming in her seat during the game, her thighs pressed together, causing so much tension on the ice, the entire arena had felt it. Every shift of her hips had my cock straining against my slacks, imagining my fingers inside her, my tongue, my?—
What kind of monster got off on coerced submission? Yet here I was, aching just remembering how she’d looked up at me through her lashes from her knees, eager to please, desperate for praise.
“Fuck!” Dmitri had handed her to me on a silver platter. Instead of corrupting her and taking my revenge, she was corrupting me, distracting me from my team, making me betray everything I believed about power exchange, a wicked temptation every time she called me “Sir,” whether we were in a scene or at practice.
I dropped back onto the couch and scrubbed my face before calling up the recording of the game. I rewound it again and again, torturing myself with glimpses of her in the stands. The way she’d flushed when Cole skated by. How she’d melted when Tristan tapped the glass. My cock jerked every time she shifted in her seat, imagining she was wet and aching.
Eva offering me a perfect coffee, on her knees, her arms above her head, pleading with her eyes for a word of praise, even if she’d never admit out loud how much she craved it—even if she never understood why it turned her on to submit to me.
Eva, naked on her knees in my office, her fist around my cock as she sucked my soul out through bee-stung lips, looking up at me with hatred and need swirling together inher eyes, her gorgeous tits covered with a constellation of freckles begging me to map them with my tongue.
Eva whispering, “Please, Sir.” The words that should have filled me with pride twisted like a knife, even as they sent fire racing through my veins. I’d forced her submission, violated every principle I’d ever held about power exchanges. No safeword. No negotiation. Just cruel manipulation of a desperate girl.
