Page 42 of The Games We Play (Balance of Power #3)

NAOMI

M y eyelids are well baked and stuck together as I attempt to open them. Rubbing the back of my hand over the crusted lines, blinking heavily, I bring myself back into reality.

My face is tight from the streams of tears I recall crying as I shared my story with Seamus, and he surprised me by holding me instead of responding with the rage I was expecting.

I suppose I should have expected him to refrain from showing any emotion, but I really wasn’t sure what to expect.

I partially expected him to leave, probably needing space, but as my salted vision clears I not only see him lying close next to me in my bed, I feel the warmth radiating from his skin.

He stayed the night in my tiny, messy bed, even though he probably hated every minute of it.

His naked chest is exposed with my pink sheets covering the rest of his body, and it’s a sight to be seen.

Never did I imagine Seamus Matthews lying comfortably in my bed, with one massive bicep over his head and the other covering his torso, blending with the light pastel tones.

I glance down at my floor. His clothes are scattered on the ground, jeans still muddy and darker in some spots from the rain. I’m sure it absolutely killed him to throw his clothing on the ground like that, but it probably beat lying in bed with dirt-covered, damp jeans.

Although my body is wrecked from the emotional destruction I put it through yesterday, there is a sense of relief. A lightness I haven’t felt in years—actually ever, I think. Like this was the therapy I always needed.

I always felt guilty choosing to have the abortion and deciding never attempting to get in contact with Seamus.

Well, that was a mix of feelings; because I never told my parents about Seamus, so they immediately thought the only chance I was pregnant was because of Nathan.

My rapist.

A statement that’s taken me years to own and accept.

There was a chance that the baby was Nathan’s. But, there was a chance it was Seamus’, too. And that thought has always weighed heavily on me.

I knew I was too young to be a mother, but I’ve always known I wanted to have kids. So the fact that Nathan took that choice from me, forcing me to live with the what ifs , is something I know I’ll never get over.

He stole that night from me. He stole years of peace from me, lacing me with trauma that’s followed me longer than I’d like to admit. And because of it, I’ve never been able to give myself to another man.

I’ve dated, had some short term relationships with men, but the physical part of those relationships never went beyond hand jobs or blow jobs.

Sex created an anxiety that I couldn’t get past. And for the first time, I don’t feel that apprehension. Not with Seamus.

He now knows about that night, he knows about the abortion, but he doesn’t know that Nathan also took my sexual desires and shoved them so deep that for the last ten years, I’ve never felt comfortable sharing them or myself.

I’ve been too ashamed to want the things I desire in secret, and I wish I could muster the courage to share that with him, too.

I glance back over, appraising the cords of his muscles and the strong lines of his neck and shoulders and I feel…aroused. It’s a foreign feeling to me. Especially because he’s done nothing to get me there and I’m literally just looking at him. Okay, drooling over him.

God, he’s a sight.

I want him to take me. I need it.

I dip my head under the sheets, covering myself as I move between his legs. One knee is bent to the side, while the other leg is stick straight and slightly splayed open.

I’m not surprised he’s wearing black boxer briefs. I wonder if he owns anything other than black. The fabric hugs him perfectly, and I can see the outline of his cock through the thin material.

I bit my lip as I dip my fingers in the waistband, tugging them down slightly, exposing his half hard cock.

Jesus, he’s big even when he’s not fully erect. I thought the same when I performed my Tantric massage on him, but up close and personal, he’s monstrous.

I lick my lips and wrap them around the tip of his cock. His breath catches in his throat and a slight moan leaves his lips as his hips buck up slightly. Pressing in closer to him, I take him all the way to the back of my throat.

His moan is loud as it echoes through the room, and fuck, it turns me on. I clench my thighs together as his cock hardens further in my mouth, and I let out a desperate moan of my own, needing more.

“Oh, fuck,” he hisses and I bob up and down with more intensity. The tip of his cock pierces the back of my throat at each pass. “Fuuuck,” he elongates before another, more urgent, “ Fuck ,” vibrates through the room as he pulls himself from out of my grasp .

His legs disappear from under the covers and the telling sound of my nightstand drawer opens with a harsh scrape, followed by a resounding thud.

I circle my arm up over my head, exposing myself from under the covers, to find Seamus standing with his boxers pulled half down over his hips, his hard cock exposed as he looks dumbfounded down at the bright pink, rubber vibrator in one hand, while the other is splayed out toward the bed.

My jaw drops and I roll onto my back in a fit of laughter.

“What the fuck, Mimi?” He stands, dropping his tense shoulders as he tosses the sex toy back in my drawer before shutting it closed.

“What did you think was happening?” I ask, still laughing.

He throws his hands up to his sides and rolls his eyes before sitting back down on my bed.

“It took me two seconds too long to realize I wasn’t in my house, and that dildo was not my gun.” I laugh even harder as I wrap my arms around his shoulders and pull him back down on the bed.

He gives up a smile and covers his forehead.

“Hudson is right. I’ve completely lost my touch. One visit from you that night at Afterburn and I’ve never been the same.” He glances down, as his arm splays open for me to lay in his nook.

I give him a tightlipped smile and squint my eyes as I study his gorgeous features.

I remember laying just like this all those nights at camp, staring up at him.

It’s the same now, except his jawline is harder, more prominent.

It’s scattered with a small amount of stubble in the morning, and he’s got a couple of wisdom lines on the corners of his eyes.

The scar over his eyebrow is still there, but has grown larger with him.

I remember the details of it as I flashback to all the memories that I’ve had of this exact moment.

“I haven’t been with another man since you,” I admit.