Page 26 of Play for Power (Central Sparks #3)

still so dickmatized

Rosie

I am so fucked.

Literally and figuratively, because I was just railed within an inch of my life.

It’s horribly cliché, and I hate it, but the arrogant son of a bitch had a huge dick and he seriously knew how to use it. I am still so dickmatized by him that I am lying limp, naked on my couch, while he disappeared to somewhere in my house.

I should be worried.

This is how most crimes occur, right? Get them to lower their guard, and when they’re lying boneless and defenseless, rob them of all their shit.

Though I doubt I need to worry about that. I have a lot of expensive things, sure, but Caleb walks around in Armani, Hugo, and Tom Ford, he isn’t struggling.

Still…he has been gone for a suspicious amount of time.

I sit up, trying to perk my ears, and when I hear nothing, I get up…ignoring his order not to move. Pfft, who does he think he is anyway.

I only make it a few strides before he walks out of my room with a cloth, looking as naked as the day he was born…and already standing almost fully at attention.

“You really don’t listen unless my cock is buried inside you.” His eyes coast a path down my body and back up, locking with my eyes and looking hungrier than they were a second ago.

“I know how to manipulate a man, what you had was an illusion of control.” I smirk, my hands landing on my hips as I lie through my teeth.

“Is that so?” he queries through a chuckle as he continues to walk right up to me, no space between us.

Holding eye contact with me, he lowers the hand with the cloth, and before I know what is happening, he’s between my legs.

His pressure gentle as he wipes me. I don’t really know what for, he wore a condom, but the warmth and just the look in his eyes as he lazily strokes me with the cloth is enough to make me lose any deception of control I thought I was gaining back.

“See, if you had listened and stayed right where you were, I could have lain down, wiped you first with the cloth”—he leaned closer, kissing my lips ever so softly before he whispered—“and then with my tongue.”

“Well”— who is this panting mess, because it certainly isn’t me —“you still could.”

“Only good girls get rewards.” He drops the cloth and spanks me lightly on the ass—a thing I am realizing he loves to do.

He then takes a hold of my hand, having the audacity to intertwine our fingers—and a scientist needs to examine why I allow this to continue—and he proceeds to drag me in the direction of my room.

I’m giving myself the grace of post-orgasm numbness as to why I let my little heart flutter, the butterflies loose in my stomach.

He leads me all the way to the en suite, where the lights are low, a candle or two lit, and the bath filled with warm water and bubbles. He leads me right to the edge before lifting my hand, gesturing for me to step in.

“I told you I’d run you a bath. I don’t usually break my promises.”

I’m too speechless to argue, or even move for that matter.

He lit candles.

What man, in his right mind, lights candles for a woman he’s having casual sex with?!

The look on my face must say all of this because he chuckles and I snap myself out of it, stealing my hand from his hold. I reach across to the other side of the tub where my robe hangs and quickly wrap it around my body.

“Thanks, hotshot, I can take it from here.” I spin and chuck a smile up at his confused face.

“I don’t follow.”

“Thank you for your service, sir.” I give him a fake salute, making sure to direct my thanks to his penis and not him. Spinning rapidly, I head back out toward the living room where his clothes are.

“Are you kicking me out?” he asks incredulously from where I can hear him following me. I pick up his scattered clothes and then spin to place them in his hands.

“Yes.” I smile at him, edging back to create space and watching his jaw drop.

“Rosie…we’re not finished.” He almost laughs and I just tilt my head, faux confusion. “Stop being a brat and get in the damn bath.”

“Oh, I will. But I need a little peace first. I tap him on the chest and head for the front door.

“You’re serious?”

“Deadly.” My hand hovers on the front door handle.

“My time is a precious thing, hotshot. Please don’t waste it.

” I sigh and he grunts, scratching the back of his head before he starts to pull on his boxers and then his pants.

Deeming him dressed enough once he has his shirt on but undone and his tie hanging from around his neck, I swing the door open, leaning against it to stop it from swinging closed.

I keep my pleased smile plastered across my face in a way I know pisses him off.

He looks perfect like this. Messy hair from my fingers, a slight blush to his cheeks, and a sheen of sweat across his skin.

He is borderline edible, and I don’t know that I’ll ever be satisfied.

That’s why he needs to go.

“I’ll call you,” he says quietly when he makes it to the threshold. He leans down, his lips hovering above mine, and I press a hand to the middle of his chest to keep the distance.

“I know you will,” I whisper back before shoving him and closing the door, denying him the kiss. I waste no time bolting it closed and then huffing a breath as I lean back against the door.

“That was rude,” I hear him shout from the other side, his playful tone pulling a reluctant smile across my face.

“You’re a sexed-up pest,” I shout back before I stride away and head for the bath I deserve. On the way to the bedroom, I hear my phone ping, so I collect it from my bag and open the messages.

Sex pest:

You love it ;)

Ugh, I think I have gas, my stomach is flipping again.

“I’m sure it’s worse in your head than it actually is.”

“It’s not. It really isn’t.” I sigh into the phone, responding to Jasper’s attempt to butter me up.

The weekend was a trash bag.

No, scratch that, it was old raw chicken baking in the sun, covered in maggots inside a trash bag, it was so horrific.

Caleb’s godlike sex and stupid magic penis brought my period on early.

Only early by a few days, but still. It ruined my whole weekend.

I spent all of Saturday and Sunday rolling around in the devil’s paradise that is sweatpants and a strap-on heat pack, vegging out on the couch, covered in snacks, and avoiding everyone’s calls and texts.

Even the girls couldn’t get me to do anything.

Hoes who abandoned 23A impossible.

So, undecided on how to respond to the girls, I do the bad friend thing, I leave them each on read.

I’m also avoiding my parents, who have been blowing up my phone like it’s going out of fashion. But they are far too esteemed to send text messages; instead, they leave voice messages.

Stop avoiding your responsibilities, Rosita. Grow up, answer your phone.

Can you call your father, I’m sick of handling the mood swings that could stop if you just picked up your phone.

I just rolled my eyes and proceeded to “avoid my responsibilities” for the rest of the weekend. I am nothing if not consistent.

I also called in sick today; my work is still accessible from home, so I was doing a half-assed job of combing through the slush pile when I stumbled upon gold. Hence being on the phone to Jasper.

“Anyway, I’m going to flick you over a query, I think it’s epic but I’m hormonal and emotionally glitching, do you have time to read over it, tell me what you think?”

“Sure. But don’t cry to me when I steal your author.”

“You wouldn’t,” I say while gasping, biting down the smile from the rare bit of happiness I’ve had since Friday.

“Test me, bitch.” I just giggle while I type out the email to him.

“How’s Halle?” I ask, changing the subject. We are usually in sync with our cycles. I have what Jas dubbed the alpha cycle and Halle’s menstruals synced with mine and also came early.

“Cursing you and Satan like you’re the same person, but otherwise in good spirits. Daniel got another HR warning today, he came out of Chris’s office looking thoroughly chastised.”

“Dammit. I can’t believe I missed it. Steph again?”

“Yeah, poor girl. We’ll be hiring a new receptionist soon, I’m sure.”

“I hope she slams a stapler on his hand next time. That guy really doesn’t know when to stop.”

“He should be burned at the stake,” Halle calls from in the background.

“Offt.” She sounded like she was growling.

“Yep.”

“Okay, well, I’ll email this over, let me know what you think.”

“On it, boss.”

I hang up, clicking Send and about to press Play on the hundredth rerun of The Hills when my apartment door swings open.