Page 56 of Wicked Little Game
I wish I knew why I’m doing this.
When I arrived here, I wanted to leave this house, and this entire mission, behind me as soon as possible. A part of me still wants to do exactly that, but the other part of me—the dumb, weak part—can’t let go of Ruby.
She makes me feel things I haven’t felt in a long time. Mostly aggression and despair, but also something else. Something that doesn’t let me sleep at night while I try to come up with a solution for the misery I got myself into.
We have barely made it through the opening sequence when Ruby squirms around next to me. I know she wants something. By now, I’m able to smell her mischief in the air before she even acts on her inappropriate thoughts.
As if on command, she bats her eyelashes at me, voice sickeningly sweet as she talks over Bond being chased down a ski slope.
“Sam?”
“What?” I groan while I pull my arm away from her, realizing I had it around her for the past few minutes.
“I’m thirsty.”
“I know, you’re not exactly subtle.”
“No, not like that,” she laughs, teeth catching on her lower lip and my body has an immediate response as soon as my eyes land on her plump lips. “I mean yes, like that too, but could you give me my water bottle, please?”
She nudges my foot with hers, probably to get me into gear.
“I’m injured,” she says with a fake miserable expression on her face.
Goddam brat, too lazy to fetch a bottle that’s within her arm's reach.
I grab it, feeling her expectant gaze on my back. Something about her alters my brain chemistry, makes me fall for her wicked little games more and more. While I tried to avoid her traps in the beginning, I’m not actively taking part in this stupid, whatever the hell it is.
Looking back, I have been entertaining her shit since the day she made lasagna.
Slowly, I open the bottle, holding it out of her reach. I wouldn’t advise her to try taking it from me.
“Open your mouth,” I say in a low tone, wanting to see how good the little brat can follow orders tonight.
“Why?”
Apparently not that good.
“You said you were thirsty.”
“Yes, but—”
“Open your mouth or I’ll make you.”
Reluctantly, she opens her mouth for me while her eyes follow every movement of my hand. I lift the bottle up to her lips and slowly tilt it. Water runs into her mouth, slow at first. She’s trying hard to swallow as quickly as possible, and it works until I tilt the bottle so much that she can’t catch up.
She flinches as the ice-cold water runs down her chin. It soaks through her shirt, turning the white fabric see-through until it clings to her tits.
I have a feeling that her shirt isn’t the only thing that is soaked, judging by the way her nails dig into my thigh. It’s only when she stops pinching and starts slapping that I pull the bottle away.
“You’re wet,” I say while I screw the lid back onto the bottle.
Ruby glares at me. She’s terrible at acting offended, and I can see how she presses her thighs together.
“It suits you.”
“You like it when I’m wet for you?”
I’m completely responsible for the misery I cause myself, and I would be lying if I said I don’t enjoy it right now.
