Page 56 of Played
He folds his arms across his chest and lets his gaze roam my body. Hungry. Feral. Despite his annoyance, he wants me as much as I want him. And I do want him. So fucking much. “I haven’t heard anything close to begging. And I already told you that’s not happening again. Not unless…” He raises an eyebrow, always fucking challenging me.
He’s right. I haven’t begged. I haven’t begged for anything since I was a teenager, but this is as close to it as I’ve come. “Mase…” That’s all I say, all I can manage.
His eyes soften a little, and he gives me wicked grin. That one that makes me want to smash my mouth against his. “Thought so. Have a good night, King.”
Then he turns around, looking like he’s about to head off into the crowd in search of Dax, but I catch him by his wrist, stopping him before he can.
He tries to wrench free, but I pull him closer, pressing his firm body against mine. Images of him lying beneath me, at my mercy and full of my cock, burn themselves into my brain and have me aching to fuck him again. What the hell am I doing?
“I’ll do it.” I hear the words leave my mouth even as I’m sure I’d never say them aloud. My traitorous throbbing cock is running the show for the rest of tonight, and he wants Mason James any damn way he can get him.
Mason blinks at me. “You’ll do what?”
I suppress a growl. “You know what. Don’t make me say it in the middle of this club.”
Realization dawns on his face. Those brown eyes darken with undisguised desire. “Don’t fuck with me, King.”
I take a deep breath. “I’m not fucking with you. I want this. Take me home.”
His eyes narrow, his grin wicked. “Not until you say it.”
A growl rumbles in my throat. I shake my head. He’s enjoying this. Torturing me.
He places a hand on my chest and skims it down my abs, stopping dangerously close to the waistband of my jeans, where my aching cock is bursting to be let out. To be inside him. “Tell me what you want, King. Consent is very fucking important to me, and I need to establish yours.”
I chew on the inside of my cheek. Motherfuck. Why does he have such an effect on me? Why can’t I get him out of my goddamn head? I close my eyes so I don’t have to look at his smug face when I say it. “I want you to fuck me.”
His hand disappears, and when I open my eyes, he’s making his way across the dance floor, through the swirling mass of bodies. He’s heading out of the club. A second later, I’m hot on his heels.
Chapter
Twenty-Eight
KING
We take a cab from the club to Mason’s penthouse, and I don’t know if the Scotch from earlier has worn off completely, but I’m nervous as hell. And I’m never nervous about fucking. I have no idea what to do in this situation. I’m always the one in control.
Mason places his cell phone and black Amex on the coffee table, then stuffs his hands into the pockets of his dress pants and simply watches me, his dark eyes roaming my body, like he’s enjoying how nervous I am. Maybe this was a huge fucking mistake.
“Come here,” he says in that deep, soothing voice I imagine he uses when he’s convincing billionaire investors and buyers to do whatever he wants.
I take a few steps closer, wanting to reach out and grab him. Resisting the urge to smash my mouth against his and kiss him until neither of us can breathe—before I bend him over his sofa and fuck him into submission. I curl my hands into fists at my sides and let out a shaky breath.
Mason’s eyes narrow. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, King. I’m not that much of an asshole. The door’s right there.” He glances over my shoulder.
He’s not even a little bit of an asshole, but I’m not nervous because I don’t want this. I’m scared as hell because this is a big fucking deal to me. I shake my head. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Good to know.” He slides one hand to the back of my neck and holds me possessively as he rests his forehead against mine. “I know this is a big deal.” He presses a soft kiss on my lips. “But it’s still just me and you. And we’ve done this plenty before. Whatever happens, I’ve got you, okay?”
I don’t deserve this level of concern and comfort from him. Not after the way I treated him. But that’s one of the things I admire most about him—he is a genuinely good person. He’d never willingly cause someone pain. He’d never humiliate or betray them. If I’m going to do this once in my life, then it should be with him. My shoulders drop, tension slipping out of my muscles. “Yeah.”
“Good boy.” He flashes me a wink that has my cock twitching. “How about I get you nice and relaxed first though.” Without another word, he drops to his knees and his deft fingers make quick work of my jeans.
“You been hard since the club, huh, Hotshot?” he teases, gripping my aching shaft.
I thread my fingers through his hair, feeling more in control already, which I’m certain was his intention. “I’m always hard around you, Playboy.”
He hums with his lips against the crown of my dick and sends vibrations of pleasure shooting through me. “Yeah you are.” His tongue darts out, and he sweeps it over my engorged head, causing me to groan his name.
