Page 17 of Ruthless Game

“Lawson,” I hissed, glancing around, but everyone else on the flight was asleep or not paying attention. “And no, we weren’t.”

“Then were we doing something else? Was I touching you? I bet I was touching you, teasing that naughty puss⁠—”

I slapped my hand over his mouth before I could think better of it. His eyes darkened as he pulled my hand away.

“Oh, you want to play that way, do you, Angel? I bet if I stroked your pussy right now, my fingers would come back wet. I bet your panties are soaked. Give them to me.”

“What?” I gaped at him. “Why the hell would I do that?”

I’d known the deal we were making was sexual. I’d chosen to pretend otherwise, but he wasn’t going to let me anymore. It stirred up feelings inside me I’d rather bury.

“Didn’t I make it clear earlier? I own you now, Emma. If I tell you to do something, all I want to hear is ‘Yes, sir.’ Now, reach under that tease of a dress, take off your panties and hand them to me.”

I swallowed, wanting to feel repulsed, but only feeling excitement teasing me, tingling me. He was right, I was wet. I’d never done anything like this before and the only person I’d ever wanted to do something like this with was Lawson.

Reaching under my dress, I wiggled around, pulling down my underwear over my legs and socked feet, but hesitated. What if someone saw me?

As if he read my mind, Lawson growled low in his throat. “Don’t worry about anyone watching. If I see anyone’s eyes on you, I’ll kill them. Even the goddamn captain if it comes down to it.”

“You’d rather the plane crash than someone see my …” I trailed off.

“I’d rather die a thousand deaths than let anyone see or touch what’s mine, ever again,” he said, voice low. “Panties, now.”

I didn’t know what to make of it, of him, or how his stated ownership and possessiveness made me feel, so I carefully handed them over. Lawson stroked his fingers over them, like he had stroked my clit in my dream.

“Soaked, just like I thought. I’d smell them if I could, but that might be going a little far right now.”

Ripping open the blanket plastic impatiently, he placed it over both of us.

“Spread your legs. Not a goddamn sound, or no one’s getting out of here alive,” he warned.

“Yes, sir,” I murmured with loathing, but I spread my thighs. His hand disappeared under the blankets, and then I had to bite back my gasp, because he was stroking me, bare and wet, skin to skin, his touch lightly demonic. I couldn’t track what he did, because no one had ever touched me there but my gynecologist and me. All I could do was drop my head back against the headrest and feel the heat, the pressure, the erratic speed, as he tested me in ways I’d never been tested before.

“You’re close, aren’t you,” he whispered, lips teasing my ear and making me pulse like there were invisible strings tying it to my clit. “I’m going to stuff you full with my fingers, so I can feel you clench around them when you come, just like you will around my cock when I’m ready to fuck you for real.”

He covered my mouth with his hand, adding insult to near injury as he pushed a finger inside me.

Or tried to, anyway. As wet as I was, it felt like there was no room for him inside me. It hurt, in a good way, an ache that led to a cavernous hunger. I clenched around him.

“Fuck, Angel, you’re so tight,” he murmured, thrusting his finger in and out, testing me. “When was the last time someone fucked you?”

“Never,” I said, with full earnest honesty, because even though I knew he’d never believe me, even though I hated him, I still had to try.

His finger stilled, his voice hard when he said, “Do not lie to me, Emma. I swear to god, I hear you lie one more time, and I won’t only destroy your brother’s life, I’ll destroy yours, too. Now promise you’ll stop.”

I wasn’t lying, and god, why wouldn’t he believe me? Why hadn’t he believed me?

Because he’d never really loved me. And he hated me now.

“Lawson …” I started, then stopped, because I believed his threat.

Withdrawing his finger, he slapped my sex with his palm in punishment. I swore I heard the wet thwap echo through the plane, waking everyone up. Desire quaked through me, the crest of an orgasm hovering just out of reach.

“Lawson,” I whimpered.

He began circling my clit with his thumb again.

“Beg,” he ordered. “Beg me to forgive you. Beg me to let you come.”