Page 85 of Ruthless Game

31

Emma

My head hurt.

My mouth was bone dry.

And my arms were heavy, like they’d been weighed down by something.

My whole body felt hot, like someone was pressed to my back. But that wasn’t possible. I’d gone back to my parents’ house, snuck into my bedroom so they couldn’t see me crying, only to sob myself to sleep. My dreams had been weird, a bee sting on the back of my neck, weightlessness, the sound of a car, the darkness of a shadowed forest passing by in a blur. But now it was day, the bright sun slanting through the slats of the shades, and⁠—

—I didn’t have slatted shades.

My childhood bedroom had curtains.

Where the fuck was I?!

I tried to sit up, and an arm squeezed tight around my waist.

“How’d you sleep, Angel?” Lawson asked, kissing my neck.

“Like someone kidnapped me, since I assume that’s what you did.”

He laughed. “I prefer ‘involuntarily relocated.’ It’s fall break, and we’re just enjoying a little vacation.”

“So what, you can murder me?”

“No, so I can convince you to give me another shot.”

I snorted. “And what, you’re going to keep me chained to the bed until I agree to forgive you?”

“More or less.”

“Is the more or less you edging me out of my mind?”

“Nope.” Grabbing me by my hips, he flipped me over and straddled my waist with his big, strong, muscular thighs. His cock, hard, thick, and heavy, lay on my stomach—my bare stomach.

I was naked.

And chained to the bed, as evidenced by the clanging sound and the fact that when I tried to push him away, my arms went nowhere.

“I’m done edging you,” Lawson continued. “It’s orgasms all day, every day, baby.”

“And if I don’t agree to that?”

“You will.”

That sounded ominous.

“I fucking hate you,” I told him.

“I know,” he said, the gentleness in his touch as he stroked my bare stomach in brutal contradiction with the edge in his voice. “But your pussy doesn’t. It’s going to really love me soon.”

I trembled under his touch, my body immediately coming to life at his words. I so badly wanted him to be wrong, but I knew he wasn’t. I recognized his touch in ways that lived deep inside me, and he’d been edging me for so long, the promise—or the threat—of finally reaching the finish line made my pussy feel like it had been bathed in the sweetest of syrups.

“See,” he said, voice alight with triumph. “All I did was tell you a vague plan of what I’m going to do to you, and you’re turned on. Let’s see if something more detailed makes you tighter, wetter, closer.”

Leaning down, he began to murmur in my ear. “First, I’m going to kiss you: your lips, your neck, your tits. I’ll suck your nipples until you get close, and then I’ll make my way down your body, sucking on your skin along the way, until you’re covered in marks from my lips and teeth and beard. So if anyone saw you naked—not that they’re ever going to—they’d know immediately who you belonged to.”