Page 150 of The Games We Play
I felt exposed. Vulnerable. But also completely safe—seen—with Mac looming above me, eyes locked on mine like I was his entire world.
“Surprise me,” I said, breathless. Because honestly? Anything he chose would be perfect.
Mac’s mouth descended, and when his tongue touched me, I gasped—my body arching as a bolt of pleasure cracked down my spine. I lay there helplessly, wrists cuffed behind me, my weight pressing into my own hands. The pressure hurt more than I expected, but not enough to care.
I wanted to touch him. Desperately. To bury my hands in his hair, to hold him there while he devoured me, but I couldn’t move. I was completely at his mercy.
And Mac didn’t waste the power.
He feasted on me. His tongue traced circles around my clit, every flick both heaven and hell, a sinful torment that made my eyes roll back. I couldn’t stop trembling, couldn’t stop moaning as he licked and sucked with purpose.
There wasno wayLizzie knew this was what Mac had in mind when he decided to close the bar.
“Fuck,” I moaned, voice shaking.
He hummed against me, the vibration making my thighs quiver. His rhythm built, faster, deeper—then he stopped.
Just like that.
My body jerked in protest, aching with the loss of what had been so close. I whimpered, teetering on the edge of a denied orgasm, my core pulsing with frustration.
“Not yet,” Mac said.
He leaned in again, running the tip of his tongue along my sex, back and forth as a tease before he pulled away again.
Then something new pressed against my clit—round, firm, slightly larger than the cherries he’d used earlier.
There was aclick.
A sharp, sudden buzz filled the air, then my body. The vibrator came to life, sending shockwaves of sensation through me.
I gasped, every nerve igniting at once.
The pulse was steady, deliberate—too fucking good. My hips moved on instinct, grinding against the toy, desperate for friction.
“Ride it, Pen,” Mac said, voice thick and low. “Look at you. So fucking needy.”
Mac was the kind of man who’d talk you through your own undoing.
I moaned—deep and raw—and then screamed, the sound ripped from my throat without thought.
His hand was suddenly over my mouth again, the sound muffled.
“People may not be able toseethrough the window,” he murmured, “but it sure as hell isn’t soundproof.”
Then, cruelly, the vibrator was gone. His hand, too.
“Then turn up the fucking music,” I hissed, frustration thick in my voice.
A beat of silence passed, and then music flooded the room, the bass pulsing hard enough to drown out anything else.
“What a good idea,” Mac cooed, returning to me. “I should’ve thought of that sooner.”
“Istillhaven’t come,” I snapped, irritation bleeding into desperation. He’d brought me to the brink twice, only to leave me aching, wild, and dizzy from the tension and blood rushing to my head.
“Say please,” Mac said with a smirk I could hear in his voice.
I said nothing.
