Page 7 of The Games We Play
“I wouldn’t be opposed,” I murmured, my hands trailing up, cupping his jaw as I leaned the slightest bit closer.
“I’ve been staring at you all fucking night,” he said with a tone so low and masculine it caused the hair on the back of my neck to stand up. “So damn beautiful.”
My breath hitched exhale against my lips. My mind was short-circuiting. We were so near danger, so near falling over the cliff into each other.
His hand left my hair and trailed slowly and softly down my sides, following the curve of my waist.
“Especially in that tight outfit, teasing me.” He glanced away, and his eyes caught on my breasts. “Showing everyone exactly what is underneath.”
Mac glanced up, a wicked grin curling his lips. Heat burst under my skin, every nerve buzzing with raw, unfiltered need.
His thumb brushed over my breast, teasing the aching peak of my nipple through the thin fabric, and I moaned without shame, the sound slipping free like it had a mind of its own.
“Imagine my surprise,” he murmured, voice low and full of grit, “when I found out you pierced them.” His gaze darkened. “Can’t get that image out of my head.”
Neither could I.
God, I wanted him to wrap his lips around me, to run his tongue along the bar, to toy with the metal until I shattered from the teasing alone. I was desperate for it, desperate for him.
I couldn’t take the tension a second longer. I surged forward, crashing my mouth onto his in a kiss that exploded like fire and brimstone.
His lips crushed mine—firm and demanding. Mac’s tongue swept in like he had something to prove, and maybe he did. A low groan rumbled in his chest, and I pressed closer, drinking him in.
Smoke and whiskey. That’s what Mac tasted like. Dangerous. Addictive.
A shiver rolled through me, my body unraveling at the seams. I let go of every last thread of restraint and gave in to the moment, to him.
His hands roamed greedily, gliding over every inch of me like he needed to memorize my shape. Even through the spandex of my costume—which was officially the world’s worst cockblock—I burned for him. What the hell had I been thinking, wearing something so tight?
Mac’s villain costume, on the other hand? A total fantasy I hadn’t known I craved until now. The green-tinged hair. The smudged paint. The delicious chaos.
I rocked against him, feeling the hard press of his cock through his pants. Heat coiled low in my belly as our mouths met again, hot and frantic, like we were trying to make up for lost time.
Why had we spent so much time circling each other instead ofthis? I didn’t have the answer, but now that I’d had a taste of Mac Ridley, there was no going back.
I was desperate and horny, craving this like a drug I’d been starved of for far too long. And Mac? He was the cure.
He gripped my ass, kneading through the fabric, groaning at the feel of me. Then, without warning, he stood, hauling me into his arms. My legs wrapped around his waist instinctively as he carried me across the loft.
My back hit the wall with a thud, my breath catching, but Mac held me steady, his body pressing into mine, anchoring me to him.
The sound of the party below was distant, a heavy pulse of bass vibrating through the barn, but up here, in our own little world, the only thing I could hear was the sharp inhale of Mac’s breath and the pounding of my heart.
I was trapped between him and the wall, caged in by heat, by tension, by the undeniable pull that had been simmering between us.
And God help me—I never wanted to escape.
Mac fumbled with the zipper at the top of my costume, fingers trembling as I kissed him again and again, devouring every sound he made. When he finally yanked it down, the rush of cool air on my back made me shiver.
I pulled away enough to shove the tight fabric down my arms, but with Mac pinning me to the wall, it was a losing battle.
“A little fucking help,” I muttered against his mouth.
He smirked, then set me down abruptly.
His hands wereeverywhere. Yanking, stripping, peeling my costume away with an urgency that made my knees weak.
Just like that, I was bare.
