Page 42 of Desperate Games

Like I’m a feather, not a full-grown, curvy woman who does not get swept off her feet. Ever.

“What are you doing?” I ask, stunned, my arms flying around his neck automatically.

He growls. Actually growls.

“I told you. We need a bed this time.”

My brain short-circuits.

My heart? Free-falling.

My pussy? Already wet again.

And when he lays me down on the mattress, brushing the hair from my face with more gentleness than a man like him should be capable of, I know I’m doomed.

“Now be a good girl,” he murmurs, fingers trailing down the slope of my spine, “and roll over for me.”

My breath stutters.

Because I do it.

Without question.

Without hesitation.

Like I was meant to obey him.

And as I go to all fours, feeling the shift of the sheets, the cool air on my flushed skin, and the heat of him behind me again—I wonder if I just made the biggest mistake of my life.

Or the most honest choice I’ve ever made.

Because maybe I don’t just want his baby anymore.

Maybe I want him.

But that? That’s a dangerous fucking thought and I push it away, far and fast.

“Head down, Baby. Ass up. That’s it. Gonna fill you so good. Won’t stop till my cum is dripping down these pale thighs.”

A shiver rolls down my spine.

Fuck. Yeah, I listen to his instructions.

I don’t even hesitate.

All fours, knees sinking into the mattress, hands braced flat against the bedspread like I’m waiting for judgment.

Or maybe salvation.

I don’t know what I expect. But it’s definitely not the way his hands glide down my back like he’s mapping me. Worshipping me.

From shoulders to ankles, his touch is reverent and hungry all at once.

“Look at you. This fucking ass, your sweet cunt glistening for me,” he groans, voice vibrating with something primal. “Fuck.”

His breath ghosts over my skin.

I’m so damn needy, my pussy is clenching on air, and I wonder if he can see how wet I am. Is it dripping down my thighs?