Page 147 of The Games We Play
Fumbling through my purse for my phone, I turned away from the door, ready to call Mac and demand he let me in. I wason time, and there was no way in hell I’d let him pretend otherwise. I deserved a gold star for this.
Just as I pulled up his contact and hovered over the call button, I felt a hand wrap around my mouth from behind.
A sharp gasp left my throat, muffled against the palm. My whole body jolted, heart kicking into high gear as arms wrapped around me and dragged me back.
Fight or flight surged in my veins. I was going tofight.
“Shhh…” a voice murmured close to my ear, deep and low.
My flailing slowed. I caught a glimpse of the tattooed arms holding me and felt the familiar shape of his chest against my back.
Mac.
“Quit putting up a fight,” he whispered, his mouth grazing my ear.
Relief rushed in. My shoulders sagged even as my heart thudded wildly. I couldn’t speak—not with his hand still over my mouth—but he filled the silence.
“Before I turn you around,” Mac continued, his voice suddenly laced with something darker. Dangerous. It thrummed through me like an electric current, straight to my core.God, I knew that tone.
“I know you’re gonna have questions. One, no one can see inside. Two, the bar is closed for the night. Yes, my sister knows. No, she doesn’t care. And three…you can say no at any time.”
The blood in my ears pulsed so loudly I almost missed the question that followed.
“Are you ready to see what I’ve planned for us?”
I nodded, barely breathing.
Slowly, Mac turned me around but didn’t release me. His hand stayed on my mouth, his chest pressed tight to my back. His presence surrounded me, possessive, protective, and thrilling.
The bar was transformed.
The tables and chairs had been cleared, tucked away in the far corner. Rose petals littered the floor in scattered trails of crimson. Dozens of candles glowed softly from every surface, casting the room in a flickering, golden haze. The scent of wax and roses filled the air, and somewhere beneath it all, a soft hum of music played just above a whisper.
My eyes flicked toward the bar and caught.
Handcuffs.
A whip.
I squinted, my breath catching.
Was that… a vibrator?
Mac leaned in closer, his voice brushing the shell of my ear, thick with heat.
“Our very own red room, Pen,” he murmured.
A shiver chased down my spine as goosebumps broke out across my skin.
Slowly, Mac lifted his hand from my mouth, and I took a step forward, creating just a sliver of space between us. His presence lingered behind me—grounding, intoxicating, safe in the most dangerous kind of way.
I let my gaze sweep the room again before turning back to him.
He stood casually, hands tucked in the front pockets of his jeans, eyes locked on me with a gaze that pinned me in place. That crooked smirk curled at the edge of his mouth, dimples flashing just enough to make my knees weak.
God, those damn dimples were lethal.
I tipped my head slightly, a wicked smile tugging at my lips. My voice dropped to a sultry whisper as I ran my tongue slowly along the edge of my canine.
