Page 65 of The Games We Play
For the last month and a half—ever since that Halloween party—Penny and I had been unable to keep our hands off each other.
We’d agreed not to tell anyone—not our friends, not our coworkers. We knew exactly what would happen if we did: a chorus of“Finally!”and“Told you so.”Besides, keeping it quiet made it easier. If things fizzled out, we could walk away clean. No drama. No explanations.
But deep down? I didn’t see it fizzling.
Penny had a way of matching me, stride for stride. She stirred something wild in me, something I usually kept locked away.
I wasn’t the type to romanticize sex. I enjoyed it, respected it—whether it was for one night or more. But with Penny? It was different. There was a need—a feral, consuming need—that hit me the moment she walked into a room like, I’d go insane if I didn’t touch her.
The soft scent of vanilla and spice drifted through the air, and I finally glanced up.
She was leaning against the doorframe, a smirk on her lips and mischief in her eyes.
“Well, hello there, Penelope.”
“Hello,” she purred, giving me a slow wave with her fingers.
“I’ll be done in just a second,” I said, my voice low. “Then you’re all mine.”
She laughed, that warm, wicked sound that always lit me up from the inside. Pushing off the frame, she sauntered toward the desk and hopped up onto the edge with casual ease, bracing herself with her hands behind her.
“I don’t have all day,” she warned. “This is my lunch break. The library gives me thirty minutes, but I blocked myself off for an hour. If anyone asks, I was doing professional development from twelve-thirty to one.”
I turned my chair to face her fully, leaning back as my gaze swept slowly down her body.
That dress.
It clung to her in all the right places, just tight enough to tempt, just loose enough to imagine slipping it out of my way. The hem brushed below her knees, a whisper of fabric I could already see bunched around her hips. The neckline cut straight across her breasts, simple, elegant—and criminally distracting.
I nodded to myself, tongue sweeping across my bottom lip without thought.
“Hungry?” Penny asked, tilting her head with a feline sort of grace.
I sat up straighter and rolled the chair closer to her, the wheels sliding across the hardwood floor. My hands found the insides of her knees, and with a gentle but insistent pressure, I nudged them apart.
She opened for me, slow and deliberate, the trust in her movement making my pulse thrum louder in my ears.
I moved between her legs, eyes locked on hers as I dragged my fingers up the soft, heated skin of her inner thigh. Her breath hitched as the hem of her dress rode up under my touch, inch by inch, until that delicate pink lace was exposed.
I murmured, voice low and rough, “I’m fucking starved.”
My gaze shifted from between her thighs back up to her face. She was already watching me, eyes dark with heat, lips parted just enough to send a fresh wave of need coursing through me.
A soft smile curved her mouth as she reached out and tangled her fingers in the hair at the back of my neck. With a slow, purposeful tug, she tilted my face up, holding me there so she could look down at me like I belonged to her.
God, maybe I did.
I planted my hands on her knees again, gripping tight. My forearms flexed as I urged her thighs wider, baring more of that mouthwatering view. The fabric of her dress gathered high on her hips, and I swore I could feel the heat radiating off her.
She was absolutely breathtaking.
I leaned in, close enough to feel the warmth of her skin, to inhale—sweet, heady, and mine. My hand slid forward, fingers trailing a line straight down her center.
She was soaked.
Soaked forme.
The pads of my fingers barely grazed her through the lace, and a soft, helpless whimper escaped her throat. The sound hit me like a lightning strike.
