Page 69 of Dirty Game
He looks up, and I watch his eyes track over me—taking in his shirt, my bare legs, the way the lamplight makes the fabric almost transparent.
His knuckles go white where he's gripping his pen.
"Rosalynn." My name is a warning, but also a plea.
"I want you to teach me."
The pen in his hand snaps. "Teach you what?"
I move closer, my bare feet silent on the thick carpet.
Each step makes the shirt shift against my sensitive skin, and I have to suppress a shiver. "How to be yours. Completely."
The glass in his other hand creaks.
He sets it down carefully, like it might explode. "You don't know what you're asking."
"Then show me."
"Rosalynn—"
"Three days," I interrupt, stopping at the edge of his desk. "Three days of you looking at me like you want to devour me but running every time we’re close. Three days of my body aching for something I don't understand, feeling empty in a way I'venever felt before. Three days of wanting you to touch me and not knowing how to ask."
I place my hands on his desk, lean forward slightly.
The shirt gaps open, and his eyes drop to the exposed skin before jerking back to my face.
"I'm asking now. Teach me. Show me.Please."
He stands slowly, comes around the desk with the controlled grace of a predator.
This close, I can see the war in his eyes—desire battling with restraint, need fighting with his own conscience.
"If we do this, there's no going back. You'll be mine in every way. Not because of your uncle's debt. Not because I bought you. Because you're choosing it. Do you understand?"
"I already am yours. I have been since you broke Paulie's wrist for touching me. Maybe before that. Maybe from the moment you kissed me so gently I thought I'd imagined it." I meet his eyes, let him see the truth there. "I just want my body to belong to you the way my heart already does."
Something breaks in his expression—all his control cracking like ice in spring. "You can't say things like that."
"Why not? It's true."
He cups my face in his hands, thumbs tracing my cheekbones with a gentleness that makes my eyes sting. "If we do this, we go slow. You tell me to stop, I stop. No questions, no anger, no consequences. You understand?"
I nod, but he shakes his head.
"Words, little mouse. I need words."
"I understand. If I say stop, you stop."
He kisses me then, soft and careful, nothing like the desperate kisses we've shared before.
This is a promise, a question, a beginning.
His lips move against mine slowly, teaching me a new rhythm, and when his tongue traces the seam of my lips, I open for him immediately.
When he pulls back, we're both breathing harder.
"Come with me."
