Page 46 of Cracked Ice (The F*cked Up Players #1)

twenty

L ucien cocks his head at me, not overtly angry, but still obviously upset with me. I dab at my eyes with some clean napkins and pull out a tube of concealer and lip gloss from my cleavage. His expression grows even more suspicious like I’m more insane than he originally thought.

“What? I like staying hands free.” I pad my ring finger under my eyes to blend the concealer back out and cover the mascara smudges.

“As for my sanity?” I shrug, popping my lips when I’m satisfied with the gloss.

“That’s yet to be determined. After all, I am on a date with you .

That has to warrant some sort of lapse in mental state. ”

I wink so he doesn’t think I’m being mean again, though if I were, I would gladly take my punishment and crawl for him right now.

It dawned on me some time after we left my apartment that I don’t have to worry about little things like embarrassing myself.

I’ll never see these people again. So if he wants me to beg like a dog, well then, woof woof .

He softens beneath me the slightest bit but his voice is cold when he speaks again.

“You didn’t have to do that. I had it handled.”

I drag my eyes away from the napkin dispenser I’m using as a mirror to look at him.

“And when you say handled , you mean stab him with that steak knife I see in your hand right there?” I quip.

He looks down at his right hand beneath the table his grip loosening on the handle. Sparing me another glance, he sets it gently on the seat next to him.

“Clever girl,” Lucien coos.

I roll my lips to keep from grinning like an idiot.

“My way was cleaner, and we got a free meal out of it. So, what I believe you’re trying to say is thank yo u,” I retort, twisting the top closed and shoving it in my bra with my phone this time.

I tense when I feel the brush of his lips along my shoulder then my neck.

“Why would I thank you when there are so many better ways to show my appreciation?” he breathes against my skin. “Besides, you didn’t give my way a chance. The results would have been similar.”

“The result would have been bloodshed.”

“What’s wrong with that?” he retorts, snaking his arm across my middle, not allowing me up from his lap even as I try to stand, to get away and think clearly.

“Aww, I was only going to scare him. I wasn’t going to hurt him,” he croons, a sinful edge to his voice that highly suggests otherwise.

“Why don’t I believe you?”

His laugh is sinister.

“Because you’re smarter than you look,” he says with a wink.

“Gee, thanks,” I mutter even as I feel his cock thickening beneath me.

“What I mean is you see things the others don’t. You see me, even when the rest of them are blinded by what they want to see. I like that about you.”

I shift my body to revere him more closely, my heart lurching at his last words.

He likes me?

I search his eyes for the lie, but when I don’t find it a wave of confusion washes over me.

“I see you, but I still don’t understand you.

You have this seemingly golden retriever personality but then you turn serial at the drop of a hat.

I know for a fact you would have gutted him right here in this diner and not bat an—” I gasp.

The tip of the steak knife presses between my thighs, no longer settled beside him, but held in his grasp and devastatingly close to my pussy. “Oh shitshitshit. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” I plead, whispering to avoid another scene. Lucien in trouble, is the last thing I want.

“No, no, no,” he coos. “Don’t be sorry, Princess. You’re right.” He slides the knife up my thigh, grazing the skin as it inches deeper between my legs.

I stutter a breath, fear clawing at my insides that he might cut me, that he wants to cut me, but I’m also so turned on, I can’t think straight.

My body hums, a new brand of adrenaline streaking through my bloodstream like a drug I’ve never tasted and a potency that already has me hooked.

I’ve never faced odds this dire before, but I think I like it.

“Do you know the difference between a golden retriever and a wolf?”

His voice is still teasing, but his movements are deliberate, calculating. He angles the steak knife so the tip presses into my skin, but he doesn’t apply pressure. My spine straightens.

“One will kill you,” I answer, shivering beneath his touch as his thumb rubs tender circles against my side.

“Evolution,” he whispers, his teeth grazing along my shoulder blade. I squirm, yelping when the knife pokes into my delicate flesh.

“Stay still,” he warns through my gasp, his warm breath tickling my neck. “I never quite adapted to domestication. Unlike most, I’ve always tended to follow my most basic of instincts. I think something, I say it. I want something, I take it. I’m hungry, I eat.”

“But . . . you’re so playful,” I pant through the mixture of pleasure and pain.

“My personality does not dictate my needs and this is what I need.” His tongue flicks out, swiping against my lobe.

“Why?” I groan.

“To keep my mind clear.”

My shoulders shake as I hold back laughter.

“ This is your mind being clear?”

“It is when my focus is you . You keep me one-tracked. You . . . quiet the noise in a way I don’t hate.”

My heart swells. I’m his focus? I mentally shake my head, unable to physically do so without jostling the knife.

I shouldn’t think like that. More likely he had no choice but to focus on the person he thought was stalking him. I didn’t really give him a choice but, then again, hanging out tonight, that was his choice, right?

“Oh. And that’s a good thing?” I manage shakily.

“Yes,” I feel him laugh against my neck, his face buried in the crook as he licks the bite marks he’s given me. “That’s a very good thing.”

The knife moves away long enough for him to turn my body, facing me more toward him.

For a moment I feel like I can breathe again but I whimper at the loss of his warm embrace.

My lower lip pouts when he grabs my chin, pinning me with a look as he stares up at me.

His face is so close he could kiss me. Though his teeth baring in that way tells me he’s much closer to biting me than anything else.

“You know if anyone is hard to understand, it’s you.”

“How so?” I whisper, my eyes still trained on the knife he’s wielding when he positions it back between my legs.

He tilts my face toward his, turning it to look into his eyes. They’re mesmerizing. I still.

“You come off as confident, spoiled, entitled . . .” His eyes search mine as he continues slapping labels on me. “But you melt when I praise you, you question me when I compliment you, and you fight me when I try to feed you french fries.”

I refrain from wrenching away but only barely.

“So, what’s your point?”

“My point ,”—he digs the knife in a little deeper and I suppress a helpless groan—“is that you have no idea how beautiful you are, do you?”

I want to lie, to play the role I know all too well, but I swallow it down. It’s useless. He sees right through me.

“I do.” My head drops from his hold. “I just . . .don’t always believe it.”

Especially when it’s used against me.

The pressure of the knife lessons as he stares at me, waiting for more.

“Why not?”

I’m not sure he means to sound as accusatory as he does but he’s not stabbing me so I continue.

“Because it’s not enough,” I say. “It’s not enough to warrant love, to grant adoration, to garner respect. I’ve been nothing but perfect my whole life and I have nothing to show for it. I’ve yet to earn my own father’s respect, let alone his unconditional love.”

Lucien shrugs one shoulder.

“You’re right, it’s not enough,” he agrees, pulling the knife up and setting it aside.

I move to get up, afraid he’ll see the tears already burning to fall. I won’t let him see me cry. Not real tears. But he jerks me back, forcing my attention back on him.

“You’re not beautiful because you’re perfect. You’re beautiful because you’re not.”

I try to push him away but he’s freakishly strong.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” I argue, turning to get up.

“It makes perfect sense,” he retorts, grabbing my hips and pulling me back down on top of him.

“How?” I demand, my voice raised as I try my hardest to ignore all the times my so-called beauty was good enough to land my dad a new business deal but not enough that he ever attended a single competition even after landing perfect score after perfect score.

His hand comes up to touch my face, “You’ll see.

By the end of the night . . .Your perfect skin will be bruised and bloodied.

Your perfect makeup, smeared.” He strokes my cheek.

“Your pretty hair, mussed and tangled. Tears will leak from your eyes, streaking those beautiful pink cheeks. Cum will drip from your pussy, your ass, your mouth.” His thumb pulls at my lower lip.

“Those perfect lips of yours will be swollen from my kisses and your cunt will ache for weeks by the time I’m done with you. ”

I suck in a ragged breath, my throat no longer clogged with emotion but shock.

He releases his hold on my lip, and it springs back up with a pop.

Fuck me.

“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, Sydney.” A long finger trails down my throat, his eyes following close behind.

“When your sweet, soft voice is rasped, your throat fucked raw, and your mouth dry from all your screams. Then . . .”—he glances back up to my mouth— “Then you’ll be perfect.

That’s what perfection is to me . I’m going to show you how beautiful you can be when you’re a filthy, bloodied, squirming mess for me.

I’ll show you what real perfection looks like, Princess. ”