Page 24 of His Twisted Game

“Go for it.”

My jaw dropped. “What?”

“You would never do that to your sister. And you would never win in court. Not with the connections I have.”

He let his eyes cast down on me, inching from my eyes to my hips, my legs unconsciously parting again.

“If you want to be a good little plaything, you’ll do as I say. So if I catch you wearing a bra or panties again, the game is off.” With those words, he leaned back in his chair. “Tell yourself it’s for feminist sexual liberation. A jab at the patriarchy. Pretend like you’re doing it for a good reason. But we’ll both know it’s for me.”

The idea of letting him get to me like that made my head spin. But his eyes were glued to me, determined to consume me, bite by bite, until there was nothing left of who I once was. And part of me thought maybe I would let him. That maybe I would enjoy it.

Why did it feel so good to know that he wanted me like this?

A good little plaything.

His plaything.

“That’s your only condition?” I asked. “No panties? No bras?”

“Two conditions,” he corrected. “The second: if I tell you to do something, you do it.”

“What do you mean?”

“We shall see. It could be a regular assignment at the library, or it could be something entertaining. I do enjoy ‘fun’ sometimes.”

Those words. Was he flirting? I looked away and steadied my breath.

It was just underwear and following orders. It wasn’t a big deal.

And maybe I wanted to see what he would do.

“If I win, I want co-ownership,” I said.

“You won’t win.”

His eyes darted to my thighs and I crossed my legs, not giving him that satisfaction. “Then what’s the problem in agreeing to my demands?” I asked.

A slow smile spread across his lips. I had caught him, then.

“Co-ownership,” he said. He offered me his hand this time. Despite myself, I shook it, his hand swallowing mine. “You play hard, don’t you?”

“You don’t know who you’re dealing with, Mr. Feldman.”

A smirk crossed his face, different from before, one that was full of pure amusement. “We’re more alike than you realize.”

I locked eyes with him, trying not to let his words get to me. “You don’t know me.”

The smirk was replaced by cold, calculating stoicism. “I know that you’re strong. But I’m stronger, Fiona; remember that.”

I squished my thighs together. Why did I like knowing that he could overpower me like this?

“Good girl,” he said, nodding down at my lap.

Those words sent electricity through me. Without realizing it, my legs had parted again, my hands resting on my inner thighs, dangerously close to my pussy. I bit my tongue.

He had been thinking these thoughts since he first laid eyes on me at the anniversary party.

And because of that, I knew I had power over him.