Page 96 of Twisted Play
Obediently, I did as asked. His thumb brushed my bottom lip, and I shivered.
The orange segment was tart on my tongue as Alek fed it to me, his other hand warm and steady on my back. My body felt heavy, floating in that strange peace that came after submission. I hated how much I needed this gentle moment, hated even more that he seemed to know exactly what I needed. My eyes burned as his fingers stroked through my hair.
When had he learned to read me so well? And why did that terrify me more than any of his threats?
He fed me another segment, and I struggled to reconcile this determined care with the man who’d forced me to kneel naked before him earlier.
Alek held me, firm and strong, as if he knew I’d bolt the moment he let me go.
He held another orange segment to my lips, and I took it without hesitation. The fight drained out of me, leaving behind a strange peace. My mind was finally blessedly quiet.
“There you go,” he murmured. He looked at me like he was seeing past my painstakingly constructed walls.
“You need this, don’t you?” He traced my jaw with his thumb. “These moments when you don’t have to think, don’t have to be in control.”
I should have denied it, should have pushed away, gathered my dignity. Instead, I let my head rest against his shoulder, accepting another piece of orange.
“So many responsibilities.” His voice was barely a whisper. “Your father, your studies, work. But with me, you canjust...” He trailed off as I relaxed further into him. “You shouldn’t trust me,” he murmured, so quietly, I wasn’t sure I was meant to hear it. His fingers trembled slightly against my lips as he fed me another orange segment.
The tenderness felt like another weapon. Between my secrets and Carter’s demands, I was drowning in lies I couldn’t begin to untangle. Alek shouldn’t trust me either.
“Last piece,” he murmured, pressing the final orange segment against my lips. His fingers stroked my hair for another moment before he shifted.
Reality crept back in. Bills. Deadlines. Carter’s threats. My shoulders tensed, and I eased myself off his lap, looking anywhere but him.
“I—” What could I even say? Thank you for degrading me? Thank you for making me feel like I’m worth something by treating me like your personal fucktoy?
“Look at me.” His voice was firm but gentle. When I met his eyes, he traced my cheekbone with his thumb. “You did well today, better than I could have imagined.”
His praise spread through me like warm honey, making my knees weak, my chest tight. Pride warred with shame, relief with self-loathing. I shouldn’t need his approval this much, shouldn’t feel like I was floating, coming undone, just because he called me perfect, good.
But I did. God help me, I did, every fucking time I came into this office, desperate to serve and to please.
“Buy yourself breakfast before you go home,” he ordered, and the command was a cold splash of water. I couldn’t afford to buy a meal on campus.
I had a sandwich in my bag, and that would have to do.
“Yes, Sir,” I lied and walked out of his office.
36
EVA
“B-plus?”Violetta peered at my bio-chem exam. “That’s unusual.”
Fuck yes, it was unusual, but I was burning the candle at both ends with no end in sight. “It’s just one exam,” I said, as much to remind myself as her. “Not enough to pull down my average.”Yet.I had to get my shit together, lest I crack under the pressure.
Violetta looked at hers—an A. Of course it was an A. Violetta was going to change the world. Me? I just wanted to survive another day without Carter finding out I was fucking his son, without Alek discovering why I was sleeping with his star players, without Cole and Tristan learning about Alek. The weight of my secrets pressed against my chest until I could hardly breathe.
“Still, unusual. You okay?”
I pulled my backpack from beside my seat and loaded my laptop and notebook into it. What could I tell her? That I was exhausted because I had to find several hours a week for two feral hockey players to degrade me and fuck me, in addition to secretly reporting everything the team did to oneof those hockey players’ fathers? And let’s not forget what I did in Alek’s office two days ago. The taste of oranges still haunted me, sweet and bitter at the same time, the way his unexpected care followed his cruelty.
“I’ll be fine,” I lied.
“Lunch plans?”
“Just my PB&J,” I said, grateful I didn’t have to be embarrassed about my poverty with Violetta. She’d been there too. Like me, she still was. “Join me in the dining hall?”
