Page 72 of Break the Ice

I can’t… there’s no way I could…

“What are you waiting for?” he challenges, picking up his glass of wine. “Show me that pussy, Sugar. Nobody has to know unless you get caught.”

I close my eyes and swear under my breath.

I can’t believe I’m about to…

“Or you can just quit,” he says. “You can fail the dare. You know what happens next.”

“Stop fucking gloating,” I growl, losing my patience for the moment.

Humiliation boils over into frustration and spite. I’m pissed and turned on, my pussy slick between my thighs, but I’ll never give in. I’ll never tap out and let Rafe win. I’m going to play the damn game and finish the five rounds. I’m going to protect my secret or go down trying.

I shift my hips forward on the seat and then slouch ’til I’ve sunk low in the chair. Holding Rafe’s gleaming eye contact, I slowly spread my legs wide. So wide they’re stretched as far as I can go while still sitting up.

My hand disappears under the tablecloth. My fingers splay my lips open.

Rafe might as well be chiseled out of the stone, the way he goes so hard and still. His jaw’s clenched, his breathing deepening. He angles his head down to peer under the table and he swallows as if it’s difficult. The knot in his throat bobs thicker than usual.

He’s found himself both immobile and mute, drinking in the X-rated sneak peek.

I see the opportunity in the moment when I drink in Rafe’s tense reaction to me following through with his dare and realizing he’s not the only viewer I have. My eyes meet a man diagonally three tables over who has noticed what’s going on at ours. He’s older, a neat white beard framing his face, well-dressed in a classic tweed suit. He’s just as entranced as Rafe—he’s tuned into the show that’s being provided under the tablecloth.

The show I’m giving, sitting spread in my chair with my fingers on my pussy lips.

It’s the wildest spur of the moment thing I’ve ever done. It’s something I never could’ve envisioned myself doing before I began this game with Rafe.

But it’s something I realize is necessary for the gameplay if I’m to win this round.

I need to seize control. I need to manipulate the odds in my favor.

My gaze shifts away from Rafe’s for good. I peer three tables over at the man who’s noticed my peepshow and I pretend I’m doing this for him. I’m embracing the insane dare Rafe’s given me by giving attention to a different man.

Rafe notices immediately. He glances over his shoulder, his gold-tinted eyes narrowing in disapproval, then he sits straighter as if the realization sunk in.

“Sugar,” he growls. “Stop what you’re doing.”

“I’m finishing the dare, Alpha,” I purr back.

My lids hang halfway as if I’m so turned on by what I’m doing—and I am. But not for the reason I want Rafe to think…

“Stop it,” he snaps. “I told you nothing about showing off to anybody else. Sit the fuck up right now, Sugar!”

“You told me to be a whore. Is that not what I’m doing?”

“Sugar, sit up?—”

“I’m so wet,” I moan, my fingers still splaying myself open. “I just want to rub my clit for him?—”

“I SAID NO!” Rafe roars. He springs up on his feet and shoves the plates and glasses off the table.

Everyone suddenly falls mute. The entire dining room goes still as the porcelain and glass shatter and Rafe’s husky voice bounces off the walls.

We’ve become the center of attention.

Though I snap upright quick enough no one else sees, my embarrassment returns in spades. Everyone knows we’ve been up to something, even if they don’t know the specifics.

Rafe, for once, looks taken aback too. Probably that he could have such an undeniably jealous outburst. His face darkens a split second later, and he grabs me by the hand to pull me away.