Page 15 of Wicked Little Game
“Logan, did you hear that—”
“Go and annoy Cabrera,” I say. Just when I want to hang up, Max yells something into the phone.
“—wants updates in ten days.”
My finger was already hovering over the end call button. I’m too quick and hang up before I can reply.
But I’m not complaining. If I gather enough stuff until I talk to Rockwell next week, maybe I can leave before my self-set deadline of two weeks is over.
I splash a bit of cold water on my face before I leave the bathroom. The black piece of fabric on my pillow distracts me, standing out from the white sheets like a sore thumb. I already know that it must be something that belongs to Ruby, but as I pick it up, I realizewhat exactlyI’m holding.
Black lace, a thong so tiny that I know it covers nothing. There are no coincidences in this house and I doubt this thing ended up in front of my door because of one.
Before I can stop myself, I imagine how it would look onher body, painfully aware of my growing erection that presses into the zipper of my jeans as I absentmindedly palm myself through the fabric.
Anger rushes through me as I realize I stepped right into her dumb little trap. But I can’t take it any longer. If I don’t take care of that issue,I’m probably going to implode during her next try to woo me.
I don’t think I’ve ever felt so pathetic because of a girl in my life. Not even during puberty. My belt hits the floor as embarrassment about what I let her do to me washes over me. But I’m too far gone and a tiny, deranged part of me doesn’t want her to stop.
She would probably enjoy it,I think to myself as I take my cock out of my boxers. She would look at me with this dirty smile while I’m sitting here all desperate, breaths coming out in short, quiet pants as I’m stroking myself, her thong wrapped around my cock.
Because this right here is the closest I’ll ever allow myself to get to feeling her body. She’s dangerous enough as it is. I don’t know what will happen if I get a taste of her.
Apart from that, I absolutely do not want that,I try to remind myself while images of Ruby run through my mind. The places I could fuck her in this house, the things I could do to her...
I clench my jaw as I come, not letting a single sound leave me. I already know she’s prone to listening and I won’t give her the satisfaction of hearingthis.
My cum runs over my fist, dripping down from the black lace, and the weak part of me wishes it would run down her face while she’s kneeling in front of me.
My plan of getting her out of my system worked wonderfully. The ten seconds of bliss vanish as quickly as they came, replaced by even more regret and anger than before.
I walk back to the bathroom, washing the evidence of mystupidity off of my hand and her thong as I look at myself in the mirror.
Deep down, I know that no amount of jacking off would be a substitute for what my body really wants.
Her.
Day six and I already fucked up. I take a deep breath to keep myself from doing somethingmature, like smashing the mirror in, because I can’t stand to look at myself right now.
But even less, I’d want to explain to Mr. Barron, or worse, to Ruby, what happened. So I just change into joggers and a shirt before I stomp towards the home gym.
As if I could get rid of the thoughts that plague me when I throw punch after punch at the boxing bag for the next few hours.
7
RUBY
Iwonder who Sam was talking to when I knocked on his door. As if I can’t tell the difference between the YouTube Shorts he watches on his phone and his pissed voice.
A few things about him are fishy so far. Hiding away in his room to talk on the phone, the scattered documents on the living room table, not to mention the stupid ski mask.
Even though I begin to see the appeal of his mask. Either that or I really need to get out more because my sanity is slowly but surely slipping.
When I walk downstairsto the kitchen the next morning at 10 am, almost unnaturally early for me, James is already there. He leans against the kitchen island, his balaclava shoved up while he sips on a glass of whiskey.
As much as I want to keep myself from staring, I can’t. I saw slivers of his skin and his face in the past four days, but that doesn’t make it less exciting. At least I snap myself out of it before I drool over seeing an inch of skin.
“Interesting choice of breakfast,” I say, looking at the glass in his hand. The air is thick with tension, even more than usual and I have a suspicion why.
