Page 92 of Twisted Play
I took the espresso cup only, rather than the cup and saucer like I usually used, content to let her sit there, naked, quivering with worry that someone might walk in on us.
When her arms shook from the strain, I rescued the saucer and spoon, and she dropped back down to her haunches, relief making her shoulders slump.
“Perfect,” I murmured, delighted, as always, with the way praise released her tension.
Eva might hate me, but she had a hell of a praise kink.
I turned back to my desk and opened my laptop. Her nudity would make her vulnerable, push her into the right headspace for what I wanted to do to her next.
She squirmed and wiggled—not behavior I would ever tolerate at the club, but I hadn’t truly punished her yet. That might change today, but for now, I found it far more effective to simply withhold my praise.
“Sit still,” I murmured.
“Am I distracting you, Sir?” she sassed.
Yes.“You don’t have enough of my attention to distract me.”
Eva pouted for a second before she caught herself, and affection squeezed in my chest at how fucking adorable this beautiful, strong woman was, annoyed I wasn’t complimenting her for not sitting still.
A sharp knock at my door shattered the moment.
Eva squeaked, her perfect control fracturing as she scrambled backward. I caught her by her curls, the silk of her hair sliding through my fingers. “Under the desk,” I commanded, my voice pitched low enough that only she would hear.
She didn’t hesitate, just crawled between my legs and the wooden panel, her blind trust hitting me like a punch to the sternum. I’d examine that feeling later, along with the way my hand lingered in her hair before I let go.
After shoving her clothes into a drawer, I opened the door to find Doctor Dion Hall, Yorkfield U’s director of athletics, waiting with a friendly smile—the kind of smile that would vanish the moment he discovered what I was doing to Eva Jackson.
“Dion, what brings you here today?” I asked as I walked him into my office.
Eva settled between my legs as I took my seat, her bareskin burning through my slacks. She leaned her head against my injured knee then gasped before switching sides with a gentle nudge against my thigh. Pressure grew in my chest at the small consideration that had nothing to do with her body heat or the way her skin slid against mine.
“How’s the team?” Dion asked. Reluctantly, I gave him my full attention. He was a friend—not so good a friend he wouldn’t fire me and blacklist me in a heartbeat if he ever learned what I was doing to Eva, but a friend, nevertheless. “I’d like to go over the roster, if you have a moment.”
I opened my bottom drawer to pull out my files, my legs brushing against Eva as I moved.
The files were out of order—odd. I shook off my unease and spread them out on the desk. “It’s a strong team this year—a championship team.” The words came automatically as delicate fingers worked their way up my thighs. What game was she playing? Testing my control? Or was this another way to gain power over me?
“You always say that,” Dion laughed, white teeth flashing against warm mahogany skin.
“That’s because it’s true.” Dion could have fired me after my disastrous first year—I’d hated coaching, hated him, and hated Yorkfield. He’d put his faith in me, and I’d paid him back with championship after championship. “How’s your new student medic working out?”
Eva froze against me. “Eva Jackson?” I rasped.
Dion nodded. “She had stellar recommendations. Not just from the women’s program, but from a couple of donors.”
Eva pulled away.
“More than one?” I asked.
“She’s smart. Pre-med. Shame about her heart last year, but she’s doing well now.”
“She’s working out well,” I said. “As you said, very smart, good analytical skills. She’ll be an excellent doctor.”
As we spoke, Eva relaxed against my left leg, each shift of her body underneath the desk making me impossibly harder. Images flew through my head of that first time in my office, of her on her knees, her lips wrapped around my cock, the curve of her hips. I’d wanted to pinch and pull her nipples until she cried, taste them and feel them harden into taut buds under my tongue.
Fuck.
“Alek?” Dion asked. “The roster?” I yanked my attention back to him. One by one, I reviewed the first line with Dion—our star players.
