Page 43 of Desperate Games

I think it is—but I can’t do more than think, because I feel something.

“Oh!”

I gasp as his teeth sink gently into one cheek.

The sting makes my whole body clench, and I swear I hear him growl.

He soothes the bite with a kiss, then two. Then he’s kneading my flesh, slow and sensual, like I’m his favorite meal and he’s taking his time.

His fingers trail lower.

Teasing.

Testing.

When he slips one finger between my cheeks, circling my hole with just enough pressure to make me gasp again, I feel my face go hot.

“Remy—”

“Not tonight. I’m not gonna fuck you here yet,” he murmurs, dragging his fingers lower, sliding through where I’m already soaked for him. “But soon.”

“Jesus,” I breathe, hips rocking back into him instinctively.

“Right now?” he rasps behind me, voice low and jagged with need. “Right now, I need to feel this sweet, tight pussy quiver around my dick. Need to pump you full of my seed.”

My breath catches—shallow, sharp.

God.

I want that. I want it so bad it hurts.

My hands grip the edge of the mattress, knuckles white, spine bowed, body open and waiting.

Then, I feel it. A flicker of panic. A rush of adrenaline behind my ribs.

Does he know?

My eyes widen as I stare into the shadows of the room, mind racing. Could Remy possibly know what I’m trying to do? That I want this—him—to be more than just pleasure?

That I want him to knock me up?

All those filthy, possessive things spilling from his lips—filling me, breeding me, marking me—they shouldn’t make my pulse race like this.

Shouldn’t make my thighs tremble or my core clench like I’ve been waiting my whole life to hear those words.

But they do.

They really fucking do.

And maybe he does know.

Maybe something deep in that primal, dominant mind of his senses what I haven’t said aloud.

That this isn’t just about the moment for me.

It’s about the after.

The consequence.