Page 75 of Sinister Games

Although he made it very clear, it was only a temporary solution till he could arrange for private tutors. His attitude toward my attending university had not changed.

I wasn’t exactly lying. I did go to my morning classes and all the professors were perfectly normal, not one said a word to me about missed classes or schoolwork.

“Huh.”

Unable to resist, I stole a glance at Richard from under my lashes. He took a slow sip from his champagne flute before seemingly innocently asking, “Not even your final period teacher?”

My heart began to pound so loudly in my ears, it drowned out the sounds of the party. “Wh-what?”

“Your last class. I believe it was Textiles. That was the one professor I was unable to reach before you returned.”

Regretting drinking those two glasses of champagne so quickly as they soured in my stomach, I could barely form the words to respond. “Nope. They were completely cool.”

Okay, now I was totally lying. Of course, the one teacher he couldn’t get ahold of was the one class I’d skipped today.

Silence.

Looking up, I was unnerved to find Richard staring down at me. His dark eyes shuttered. The very real possibility he would call me out for lying to him and suddenly whip off his belt and punish my bare ass in front of all these people crossed my mind. My cheeks flamed crimson at the thought.

Trying to escape, I motioned with my head. “Richard, I think that man standing behind you wants to talk.”

Without even turning around, he said, “He can wait.”

A server passed and held an empty tray out to me. Reluctantly, I gave up my empty champagne flute. Now having nothing to do with my nervous hands, I wrapped my arms around my waist, trying to disappear.

“I guess you got lucky today.”

I turned wide eyes on him. “What?” What did he mean by that?

“With your professor not saying anything about your absence.”

“Oh! Oh, yeah. That. Yes, lucky,” I stammered. My heart hammering in my chest.

Richard drained the last of his champagne and placed it on another passing tray. Placing a warm hand on my upper arm, he said, “Let’s dance.”

His strong fingers wrapped securely around my arm, I was half dragged as I struggled to keep up with his long stride as he made his way to the makeshift dance floor. Sweeping me around, my front was crushed against his chest as he wrapped his strong arm around my middle. His large hand enveloped mine as he began to sway to the music.

The opening guitar strains of Chris Isaak’s “Wicked Game” began to play.

His hips pressed against my own. His hard cock pressed into my middle. Afraid to meet his gaze, I focused on his shirt front. There was a small crimson smudge staining the perfect white. My lipstick. My mark.

With my limbs stiff from fear, his strong arms supported my weight as he moved me around the dance floor as the mournful tones of Chris Isaak’s lyrics added a tense element to the cat and mouse game we were playing out on the dance floor.

What a wicked game you played…

“You know, Elizabeth. Trust is very important to a man like me.”

I squeezed my eyes shut and didn’t respond. He didn’t expect me to.

“Without trust, I become suspicious.”

His hand moved to press between my shoulder blades, a soft threat.

“You wouldn’t like it if I became suspicious.”

“Richard, I’m—”

His hand tightened over mine, crushing my fingers.

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