Page 70 of Cracked Ice (The F*cked Up Players #1)

thirty-one

“ G et her up.”

Trevor wastes no time obeying the order, as eager for his reward as Sydney is for hers.

Though, if anyone is being compensated for a job well done, it’s me.

Not only have I not completely shattered one of them yet or sent them running, but these are two people who don’t mind my twisted need to cause pain.

Who are willing participants in my fucked up game to lessen my own burdens—to make the load a little lighter.

Even if it is for their own perverse pleasure and need, they chose me.

Trusted me to be the one to tear them open, fix what’s inside and stitch them back up again.

Though tonight . . . my burdens are particularly heavy.

Their pain may not be enough to satiate the ache.

I might be losing hockey, my one legal outlet. All because I’m so fucked in the head, I couldn’t bear another word from that fuckface Anderson on the ice tonight.

“Knife!” I bark forcefully enough to jolt Sydney from her disgruntled stupor, the brat in her momentarily forgotten, as the chains rattle against the iron bed railing. She flinches away from me, and I try not to take it too personally. After all, she should be scared.

Trevor flinches too, his response dutifully opposite of Sydney’s, ready to end the game altogether before finally relaxing and passing me my favorite blade from my dresser as told.

Though I’m sure Sydney hasn’t spotted the difference from the one we played with downstairs, this one is perfect for carving.

“You good?” Trevor asks, his voice wary of my sudden mood change and his grip still on the knife’s edge as he holds the grip out toward me. He looks at me, then Sydney, then the knife, tensing.

“I’m . . . fantastic,” I grin, the smile conveying the only truth that exists. I don’t know what fate awaits me tomorrow but here, right now, I have my little stalker caught and bound to my bed. “ Fucking fantastic.”

He rolls his eyes and lets the knife go.

I snap my arm out, grabbing him by the back of the neck and bringing him toward me so we’re flushed. His dick is hard, throbbing and wet from his leaking tip.

“Do you wanna be strung up there with her?” I threaten. He shakes his head, groaning when I rub our cocks together. “Because if you’re going to roll your eyes at me, there’s plenty of room for you right next to her.”

He smirks, even as he pants through the sensation. “I don’t . . . know what you’re talking about. Must have been the lighting.”

“Right, because there’s no way this puppy would ever be so mean to his master now, would he?”

“No,” he pants.

“Good.” I nod my head toward the special drawer next to my bed. “You know what to do.”

He stares a moment longer, but I focus back on the trapped prey at hand, marveling at how those eyes shift so much in color.

I swear they were as cerulean as the ocean a second ago when she was blind with lust, but now that there’s fear involved, those baby blues look up at me in prayer, like an altar that’ll pardon her for the sins we’re about to commit.

Such purity, in those deceptive eyes.

They’re wet and dilated, dark and wanting.

Don’t kill her , I remind myself.

I slide her cuffed hands along the bed railing until I reach the top of the canopy.

Her body is the perfect size to accommodate the canopy’s height as she hangs suspended, struggling to keep balanced on her tippy toes from the too-tall bed frame.

Trevor sits quietly to the side as he grabs what we need, but I feel his eyes on me.

Don’t kill her.

Sydney’s already wincing with discomfort, sweat beading along her forehead as she squirms.

My cock twitches.

Don’t kill her.

This isn’t a mantra I typically have to use.

I’ve been able to be as rough with Trevor as I need for years now.

And though I’ve tried seeking the level of release I need with some women, I’ve never gone all-out with a woman before.

I’ve never truly sought the level of release I wanted.

Imagine how messy that’d get if I went around inflicting severe pain on every girl I thought I was pretty.

Don’t kill her.

I take a step forward, running my nose along Sydney’s jaw, then brushing it against hers.

Her soft breath tickles my lips. It tastes of pineapple rum and Coke with a lingering taste of coconut; a specialty of Chauncey’s he calls a Pina Colada Float.

I can’t even bring myself to be upset she went back to hang out with him.

I’m kind of glad he watched over her while I tried to work things out with Trevor.

I still need to work things out with him—but this ?

God, this is something I could do every day and never grow tired.

“Please,” she whispers against my lips.

I palm her face to keep us steady, to keep from diving off the cliff of sanity and careening us to our deaths.

“God, please, touch me. Punish me. Do something ,” she pleads. Fucking pleads. How can I deny her?

I swallow, remembering where we are and why we all need this.

I pull back, taking a step away. Her startled eyes go glassy and for a second, I think she’s going to cry simply for not getting her way. Or that she’s faking it since I now know she can cry on cue. Either way, it’s hard to hide the smirk that tugs at my lips.

“Well, since I’m God, are you ready to confess your sins to me?”

“What?” huffs an exasperated Sydney.

“Yeah, what?” says Trev, finishing up his own preparations on the other side of the bed and now visibly anxious.

I better wrap this up.

“Ah ah ah, here I’m judge, jury, and executioner. I’ll be asking the questions. And I’ll be running the show,” I say.

“What’s that make Trevor?” Sydney juts her chin in his direction.

I peer over my shoulder where Trevor obediently remains silent as his anxiety melts away. The only time his mind allows for silence is when he’s being submissive. He craves the silence I chase away.

Facing Sydney again, I answer, “That’s easy. He’s the bailiff.”

“The bailiff?” she scoffs.

“Yep. Now, let’s start with something easy.” I tilt my head at her. “What did you do to make your teammates hate you so much?”

She guffaws. “You said easy.” I arch a brow, but she doesn’t back down. Even tied up, this hellion still has some fight in her. “What did you do to yours?”

Though she’s being sarcastic, I answer anyway.

“One, my team doesn’t hate me. And two, I asked you first.”

“But there’s nothing easy about that question and what does any of it have to do with my punishment?”

I shrug, “You’re naked and chained to my bed. What better time to get you to spill your secrets to me than right now?”

“Literally any other time, Lucien!” she gripes.

“But then how will I know you’re being truthful?” I lean in closer to her ear. “Even now you’re hiding something from me.”

I pull away in time to see her eyes grow wide.

“I’m not,” she huffs, “We’re strangers. If there’s something you don’t know it’s because we haven’t had the time to get to know one another, not because I’m hiding some deep dark secret from you.”

“Bullshit. You’ve been watching me for months and after today, you’re no stranger to me.

Not when I’ve gotten to know you so . . .

intimately. Hell, in a few minutes I’m about to know you biblically.

” I flick her lips playfully. “So, c’mon tell me what you’re hiding.

I know it has something to do with those girls.

Tell me, who could ever hate such an angel? ”

She huffs a laugh. “I’m no angel.”

“Well, ain’t that the truth. But I heard something rather interesting during our scuffle with the she-devils.”

I start to pace the room; noting our discarded clothes in separate piles and beautiful naked bodies in various positions of my pleasing.

“Oh yeah? What’d you hear while you were half-choking her to death?” she snaps, a little angrier than I expected her to be, all things considered.

“It doesn’t matter anymore anyway,” her voice barely above a whisper. “What’s done is done. There’s no point in looking backward.”

“Sounds cold-hearted,” I say. “And here I thought you were a good girl,” I goad, tapping the tip of the knife against her lips.

I thought I only wanted her body, but seeing her withhold information from me shows me I want something more.

I want all of her to be open to me. Maybe I should stalk her in return and learn her secrets that way. It worked for her, why not me?

“I am a good girl.” Her protests cause her to nick her lip on the knife, but I don’t pull it away as she licks the blood from the cut and continues her pleas. “So, Lucien, please, stop punishing me. I’ve been good. I’ll be good, just please put me out of my misery and fuck me already.”

Fuck, her pleas sound delicious. I smile as I drag the flat side of the knife down her naked body, truly taking her in from pretty little head to dainty little toes.

She’s fucking perfect.

“But I like your misery,” I pout.

She scowls and, God, her face is especially cute squished between her arms like that. Her restraints are tight, and she has nowhere to go but where I allow.

“Fine. Answer me this,” I relent. “Why’d you stop the game?”

My eyes flick up in time to see hers go wide, panicked as she struggles against her restraints.

“I didn’t tap out. I said I’ll play. I’m playing, Lucien, just like you said. Don’t send me away,” she whines.

“Calm down, I meant the game you started. Cat”—I point between her tits—“mouse”—my thumb juts toward my chest—“Or is it the other way around?”

“I told you . . . you caught me,” she pants. “Isn’t that enough?”

“Mmm, too easy.”

“Says the actual cat,” she quips. “I think maybe you’ve gravely overestimated my abilities.”

“Well, I think . . . you’re lying. And we know what happens to liars, don’t we, Sydney?”