Page 43 of Wicked Little Game
His words must have been an empty threat because he does, in fact, not try to drown me. Not even when I’m so close that I can feel the heat he radiates. And he also doesn’t drown me as I put my hands on his body.
Now that I’m standing directly in front of him, I have a good view of the various tattoos that adorn his body. The one on his left shoulder looks like flashes of lightning trailing down to his chest. They end behind a raven that sits on top of a half-buried skull and I'm pretty sure that the tattoo is intentionally placed there to hide the healed scar underneath. Right over his heart.
He flinches as I trace the lines of it, quickly grabbing my hand.
“Usually, people look with their eyes and not with their fingers,” he says sternly, but he still doesn’t shove me away. Not even remotely.
“Sam?”
“What?” He sighs as he looks down at me.
“You ever fucked in a pool?”
He doesn’t answer me. Instead, he puts his hands on my waist and pulls me closer.
“If I was yours, I’d let you fuck me anywhere,” I whisper, so close to his body that I can feel his sharp exhale.
It’s a dangerous game that I’m playing, but somehow, we’re both too stubborn to either give in or leave the situation in defeat.
His grip on my waist tightens, his thumbs stroking softly over my stomach, and I see how the muscles in his arms tense up. As if he has to physically keep himself from doing something he might regret.
“You’re already mine, darling.”
“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath. Arousal shoots through my veins and as much as I hate to admit it, I am not the one in control right now. My voice sounds desperate as I whisper against his lips.
“Fucking tell me to stop, Sam.”
But he doesn’t.
Instead, he pulls me even closer, and then our lips clash together. It’s a demanding kiss; rough and passionate. It’s messy and filthy, too much of everything and not enough at the same time, as if one of us would die if we’d stop this right now. His fingers dig into my skin as he holds me, my body pressed flush against his.
“God, you’re so damn needy,” he growls before he deepens the kiss. I bite down on his lower lip in return. There is no need for him to act like that. He hisses but doesn’t flinch away, only grabs my hair at the base of my head before he slips his tongue into my mouth.
His cock presses against my stomach beneath the water surface and I don’t know where I found the self-control to not take him out of his pants and end this little game of cat-and-mouse right now.
He lets go of me after a while and I use that opportunityto turn around and lean against the pool edge right next to him. The cold tiles are pleasantly chill compared to our bodies, which feel like they are on fire.
I gasp for air because my body seems to have lost its ability to function.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
I can do this.
“You’ll be the death of me,” he says while he lights up another cigarette. How the hell is he able to be so calm while I’m close to a nervous breakdown?
“Could say the same about you.”
My lips still tingle from our kiss and I am more than happy that we’re in the pool, the black fabric of my bikini bottoms hopefully hiding how wet I am because of a kiss.
I don’t know what’s wrong with me.
I never struggled with keeping physical attraction and feelings separate. Maybe, just maybe, that has to do with the fact that I never kissed the idiots that landed in my bed, if they even made it this far. But Samuel? He has my stomach in knots, as if I’m in high school again. And not even back then did I experience something like this.
So much for “getting my feelings back under control and keeping them locked away”.
I want to rip out the butterflies, or whatever tapeworm is running rampant in my stomach, and drown it right here in this pool. Guess I swallowed too much chlorinated water.
