Page 39 of The Games We Play
I watched my parents’ relationship crack under the weight of lies and half-truths until there was nothing left but hurt and regret.
I swore I’d never find myself in that same situation.
“I’m so fucking sorry, Trou—” Mac started, but his words faded into nothing.
I clenched my jaw, staring at my stitches. “You have no idea the mental shit I’ve been through since.”
His voice dropped lower. “If it’s been anything like mine… yeah, I do.”
I finally looked up, my gaze locking onto his. “Why tonight? Why show up now with this big protest?”
Mac’s eyes traced the movements of my hands as I twisted the yarn, looping it through the hook. His voice was quieter this time, but steady.
“Because I can’t block it out any longer.” He exhaled sharply. “You consume me. Every thought. Every second. Awake or asleep.”
The air between us grew heavier, thick with the weight of everything unspoken.
I didn’t know what to say. How to think.
The anger still simmered beneath my skin. But something else knocked at the door, too.
11
PENNY
MARCH. TWO MONTHS AGO.
Our lips brushed, soft and teasing, before Mac’s hand slid up to cradle my face. His touch was fire against my skin, a slow, smoldering burn that sent a shiver down my spine. I deepened the kiss, my tongue tracing his in a slow dance, savoring the way he tasted—like warmth and smoke and something unmistakablyhim.
The early morning sun peeked through the curtains, casting golden light over us, turning the moment hazy, dreamlike.
I loved when he touched me. It was electrifying, earth-defying—something I’d never experienced before. Mac had unlocked a part of me that belonged solely to him.
These past few months had been more than I ever anticipated. Hot hookups. Fun. Low stakes. No strings attached. Existing in the now, tangled up in him.
Yet, there was a lingering feeling of permanence. I didn’t want to hide this forever. The urge to shout and tell everyone, especially my best friends, how happy Mac made me was relentless.
Breaking away from the kiss, I grinned at him, my fingers grazing the warm, taut muscles of his abdomen. I trailed my touch lower… and lower…
Mac chuckled, his voice dripping with amusement and warning. “Whoa there, Trouble,” he murmured, eyes darkening with heat. “If I’m gonna be the one getting breakfast, you gotta let me go.”
I pouted, slipping my fingers into the waistband of his boxers, toying with the elastic.
His breath hitched.
“As much as I love your hand wrapped around my cock…” His voice rasped, low and rough. “If we start again, I’m not leaving this bed. And neither are you.”
I bit my lip, my fingers dipping lower, teasing over the velvety tip. He was already hard—his protest was futile. I laughed, low and wicked.
“One more round, then breakfast?” I countered, stroking along his length, pushing him toward the inevitable.
Mac let out a quiet curse, his restraint fraying. He crushed his mouth against mine, his grip tightening around my neck just enough to make my breath catch, sending a dizzy, heated rush straight through me.
His teeth grazed my lower lip, tugging playfully before he pulled back just far enough to whisper, “Mmm. I love the way you taste.” His voice was thick, hungry. “Maybe you’re all I need for breakfast.”
Before I could tease him back, he rolled me onto my back, the blankets slipping away to expose my bare skin to the cool air. He straddled me, one hand pinning my wrists above my head.
I gasped, arching into him. “I wouldn’t be opposed,” I murmured, moaning as his lips trailed down my throat.
