Page 18 of Twisted Play
I was so fucked.
6
EVA
I woke before sunrise,Cole’s heavy arm draped possessively across my waist. My body ached in places I didn’t know could ache, marked with bruises and scratches that told the story of last night. The scent of his expensive cologne clung to my skin, to the sheets, to the very air I breathed.
Carefully, I slipped out from under his arm. I needed space to think, to breathe, to remember who I was before Cole Carter had consumed me so completely in the span of a few short hours.
I perched at the foot of the bed, wincing as I cataloged the damage. Purple fingerprints bloomed on my hips, bite marks scattered across my breasts and inner thighs. The soft cotton sheets felt like sandpaper against my tender skin. I should have been horrified—I’d never let anyone mark me like this before—but a dark, primal part of my soul was thrilled at the evidence of his possession.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
Cole’s roughness, the way he’d pinned me down—I’d never felt so out of control or so alive. Each time he’d calledme a good girl, I’d melted, surrendering pieces of myself I didn’t know I could give away.
I traced a particularly vivid bruise on my inner thigh, remembering how Cole’s fingers had dug into my flesh as he’d held me open. Heat pooled between my legs at the memory, and I hated myself for it. I’d been raised to be strong, independent, not desperate to be a good girl for a man who degraded me as easily as he praised me.
No, that was a lie. I’d been raised to do whatever it took to survive. And maybe, a little pain was the price of my pleasure.
My gaze drifted to the mirror on his dresser, where I caught a glimpse of my reflection. My curves looked softer in the dim morning light, my thighs fuller, my stomach rounder. But last night, Cole had worshipped every inch of me. “So fucking gorgeous,”he’d murmured, his hands greedy on my hips.“Perfect.”The way he’d buried his face between my thighs, groaning like he was feasting on something delicious.“Made for me.”The reverence in his touch as he ’d cupped my breasts, telling me how beautiful they were—that I was. I’d felt beautiful in my skin, powerful in my softness.
“Eva?”
His sleep-roughened voice startled me. I reached for my bra, refusing to meet his eyes. If I looked at him—really looked—I might not be able to leave.
“Eva,” he repeated, more commanding this time. “Come back to bed.”
I glanced up, my breath catching at the sight of him. The sheets pooled around his waist, revealing the sculpted planes of his chest, the sharp cut of his hip bones. Morning light gilded his skin, highlighting the scratches my nails hadleft on his shoulders. God, he was beautiful—and terrifying in his beauty.
“I thought you’d—”Want me gone. Kick me out. Not want to see my face in the morning light.
“You thought I’d what?” His eyes tracked my movements as I struggled with my bra clasp, my fingers trembling. “Stay. Let me gorge myself on your sweet pussy, then take you out for breakfast, then fuck you again until neither of us remembers our names.”
A strangled noise escaped me, half-laugh, half-sob. How could he say such filthy things so casually? And why did they make me want to crawl back into his bed and let him do exactly that? My nipples hardened painfully against the lace of my bra, my core clenching around nothing.
But I couldn’t. His father held my father’s life in his hands. And Cole—Cole was dangerous in ways that had nothing to do with his father. He made me want to surrender control, to let go of the iron grip I’d maintained on my life since my mother left, since my heart failed me, since everything became my responsibility.
I yanked my dress over my head, wincing as the fabric scraped against tender skin. The cool air raised goosebumps across my flesh, a stark reminder of how exposed I was in every sense of the word.
“I need to go. I—” I swallowed hard, searching for the right words. “The last thing I need is to get involved with some rich fuckboy who’s just going to break my heart when he gets bored.” I forced myself to look at him, to see the son of the man who was blackmailing me. “What does the son of Jedediah Carter really want with a girl like me?”
The flash of hurt in his eyes nearly undid me. A traitorous thought slipped through my defenses—what if I stayed? What if I used this unexpected attraction to myadvantage? I could get close to Cole, use him to get the information his father wanted, maybe even find leverage against Jedediah himself.
The idea sickened me as soon as it formed. I’d already degraded myself enough—spying for a billionaire, sucking Coach’s cock for a job—no,Alek’scock. He didn’t get to be Coach in my thoughts anymore. Using Cole this way would be a step too far, a line I couldn’t cross. The fact that I’d even considered it made me hate myself a little more.
“I’m not going to get bored,” he snapped, stalking toward me like a predator.
My lips twitched in a rueful half-smile. If only he knew how complicated this already was, how impossible.
I turned to leave, my hand on the doorknob, desperate to escape before I changed my mind. The metal was cool against my palm, grounding me momentarily in reality.
“Wait,” he rasped, and I froze. He tossed me a t-shirt—his shirt, with his name emblazoned across the back. It smelled like him.
I slid it on, hyperaware of how he watched me, memorizing every detail. The possessiveness in his gaze should have repulsed me. Instead, it sent a thrill of heat through my core, made my breath catch, my pulse quicken.
“Give me your phone,” he demanded.
I shook my head. “So you can text yourself, so you have my number? I don’t think so.” The burner phone in my purse seemed to burn a hole through the fabric, a constant reminder of my betrayal, of myself and of him, even if he’d never know it.
