Page 10 of Twisted Play (Cruel Games #1)

EVA

I woke before sunrise, Cole’s heavy arm draped possessively across my waist. My body ached in places I didn’t know could ache, marked with bruises and scratches that told the story of last night. The scent of his expensive cologne clung to my skin, to the sheets, to the very air I breathed.

Carefully, I slipped out from under his arm. I needed space to think, to breathe, to remember who I was before Cole Carter had consumed me so completely in the span of a few short hours.

I perched at the foot of the bed, wincing as I cataloged the damage.

Purple fingerprints bloomed on my hips, bite marks scattered across my breasts and inner thighs.

The soft cotton sheets felt like sandpaper against my tender skin.

I should have been horrified—I’d never let anyone mark me like this before—but a dark, primal part of my soul was thrilled at the evidence of his possession.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

Cole’s roughness, the way he’d pinned me down—I’d never felt so out of control or so alive. Each time he’d called me a good girl, I’d melted, surrendering pieces of myself I didn’t know I could give away.

I traced a particularly vivid bruise on my inner thigh, remembering how Cole’s fingers had dug into my flesh as he’d held me open.

Heat pooled between my legs at the memory, and I hated myself for it.

I’d been raised to be strong, independent, not desperate to be a good girl for a man who degraded me as easily as he praised me.

No, that was a lie. I’d been raised to do whatever it took to survive. And maybe, a little pain was the price of my pleasure.

My gaze drifted to the mirror on his dresser, where I caught a glimpse of my reflection.

My curves looked softer in the dim morning light, my thighs fuller, my stomach rounder.

But last night, Cole had worshipped every inch of me.

“ So fucking gorgeous,” he’d murmured, his hands greedy on my hips.

“Perfect.” The way he’d buried his face between my thighs, groaning like he was feasting on something delicious.

“Made for me.” The reverence in his touch as he ’d cupped my breasts, telling me how beautiful they were—that I was.

I’d felt beautiful in my skin, powerful in my softness.

“Eva?”

His sleep-roughened voice startled me. I reached for my bra, refusing to meet his eyes. If I looked at him—really looked—I might not be able to leave.

“Eva,” he repeated, more commanding this time. “Come back to bed.”

I glanced up, my breath catching at the sight of him.

The sheets pooled around his waist, revealing the sculpted planes of his chest, the sharp cut of his hip bones.

Morning light gilded his skin, highlighting the scratches my nails had left on his shoulders.

God, he was beautiful—and terrifying in his beauty.

“I thought you’d—” Want me gone. Kick me out. Not want to see my face in the morning light.

“You thought I’d what?” His eyes tracked my movements as I struggled with my bra clasp, my fingers trembling. “Stay. Let me gorge myself on your sweet pussy, then take you out for breakfast, then fuck you again until neither of us remembers our names.”

A strangled noise escaped me, half-laugh, half-sob. How could he say such filthy things so casually? And why did they make me want to crawl back into his bed and let him do exactly that? My nipples hardened painfully against the lace of my bra, my core clenching around nothing.

But I couldn’t. His father held my father’s life in his hands.

And Cole—Cole was dangerous in ways that had nothing to do with his father.

He made me want to surrender control, to let go of the iron grip I’d maintained on my life since my mother left, since my heart failed me, since everything became my responsibility.

I yanked my dress over my head, wincing as the fabric scraped against tender skin. The cool air raised goosebumps across my flesh, a stark reminder of how exposed I was in every sense of the word.

“I need to go. I—” I swallowed hard, searching for the right words.

“The last thing I need is to get involved with some rich fuckboy who’s just going to break my heart when he gets bored.

” I forced myself to look at him, to see the son of the man who was blackmailing me.

“What does the son of Jedediah Carter really want with a girl like me?”

The flash of hurt in his eyes nearly undid me.

A traitorous thought slipped through my defenses—what if I stayed?

What if I used this unexpected attraction to my advantage?

I could get close to Cole, use him to get the information his father wanted, maybe even find leverage against Jedediah himself.

The idea sickened me as soon as it formed.

I’d already degraded myself enough—spying for a billionaire, sucking Coach’s cock for a job—no, Alek’s cock.

He didn’t get to be Coach in my thoughts anymore.

Using Cole this way would be a step too far, a line I couldn’t cross.

The fact that I’d even considered it made me hate myself a little more.

“I’m not going to get bored,” he snapped, stalking toward me like a predator.

My lips twitched in a rueful half-smile. If only he knew how complicated this already was, how impossible.

I turned to leave, my hand on the doorknob, desperate to escape before I changed my mind. The metal was cool against my palm, grounding me momentarily in reality.

“Wait,” he rasped, and I froze. He tossed me a t-shirt—his shirt, with his name emblazoned across the back. It smelled like him.

I slid it on, hyperaware of how he watched me, memorizing every detail. The possessiveness in his gaze should have repulsed me. Instead, it sent a thrill of heat through my core, made my breath catch, my pulse quicken.

“Give me your phone,” he demanded.

I shook my head. “So you can text yourself, so you have my number? I don’t think so.” The burner phone in my purse seemed to burn a hole through the fabric, a constant reminder of my betrayal, of myself and of him, even if he’d never know it.

“Sparrow,” he growled, crowding me against the door. His arms caged me in, his body radiating heat and strength. I felt small, vulnerable, trapped, and, god help me, I liked it. “Let me take you to dinner this week. ”

My breath caught as he pressed closer. I imagined saying yes, imagined what it would be like to date him openly, to have him look at me the way he was looking at me now, like I was something precious and rare.

Then reality crashed back. “How about you take no for an answer?” I snapped, as much to convince myself as him.

“How about no.” His lips found my neck, teeth grazing a sensitive spot beneath my jaw that made my knees weak. The scrape of his stubble against my skin sent shivers down my spine, a delicious contrast to the softness of his lips. A traitorous moan escaped me as heat flooded my core.

Before I could protest, he spun me around, pressing me face first against the door. The wood was cool against my cheek, a stark contrast to the heat of his body behind me. His hands slid up my thighs, under my dress, finding me bare and already wet.

“Cole, don’t,” I breathed, even as my body arched into his touch. I wanted to hate how easily he played me, how quickly my body surrendered to his commands, but I couldn’t, not when his touch set me on fire, burned away everything but need.

“Hands on the door,” he commanded.

I obeyed without thinking, my palms flattening against the wood. The sharp crack of his hand against my ass shocked a gasp out of me. The sting bloomed into pleasure so intense, I moaned. The sound of my own voice—needy, desperate, wanton—was unrecognizable.

“You really thought you could sneak out?” he growled, his voice dark with possession. “When you’re such a perfect slut for me?”

His fingers kneaded the flesh of my ass, my thighs, appreciative and reverent despite the roughness. “So fucking beautiful,” he murmured. “These curves were made for my hands.”

He pressed against me, his cock hard against my lower back. “Feel what you do to me, Eva? Feel how much I want you?”

I should have been embarrassed by how my body responded to his praise, but instead, I pressed back against him, craving more. What was happening to me? I’d never been so affected by someone’s touch, by their words, never wanted to surrender so completely.

“I love these thighs,” he whispered, sliding his hands up to grip them, spreading me wider. “So soft, so strong. Perfect for wrapping around my head while I taste you.”

His words made me dizzy with want. No one had ever spoken to me like this, like my body was something to be worshipped rather than tolerated.

When he pushed inside me, the stretch burned deliciously. I was sore from the night before, but my body welcomed him like he belonged there, like he owned me. The fullness, the pressure, the way he hit spots inside me I didn’t know existed—it was overwhelming, all-consuming.

“Fuck, Eva,” he groaned, his voice strained. “You feel like heaven. So tight, so wet for me.”

He moved slowly at first, each thrust deliberate, making me feel every inch of him. His hands roamed over my body, cupping my breasts through my dress, thumbs brushing over my nipples until I whimpered.

“That’s it, sparrow,” he praised, picking up his pace. “Let me hear how good I make you feel.”

In that moment, maybe he did own me.

“Look at you taking me so well,” he murmured, his voice full of awe. “So perfect, so responsive. Like you were made for my cock. ”

One hand slid around to cup my stomach, holding me steady as he thrust deeper. “Love how soft you are here,” he said, his touch reverent. “Tell me how good this feels,” he urged, his voice husky with need. “Be my good girl and tell me you want this as much as I do.”

“Cole, please,” I begged, not sure if I was pleading for him to stop or never stop. My voice sounded foreign to my own ears—breathy, desperate, almost sobbing with need.

His hand slid up to my throat, not squeezing, just resting there—a reminder of his strength, of my vulnerability. “Tell me you feel this too, sparrow, before you walk out this door and never look back.”

The words spilled from my lips before I could stop them, shocking me with their rawness, their honesty. “I want you,” I gasped, surrendering completely. “I want this. I want?—”

His other hand found my clit, circling with just the right pressure. “You’re so beautiful when you fall apart for me,” he whispered. “So fucking perfect. Come for me, Eva. Let me feel you.”

His praise pushed me over the edge. I came with a wail, my entire body convulsing around him as pleasure crashed through me in relentless waves. Stars burst behind my eyelids, my legs trembling, threatening to give out entirely.

“That’s it,” he groaned, his movements becoming erratic. “So fucking good for me.”

I felt him pull out, felt the hot splash of his release across my skin—another mark of ownership, another way of claiming me. It should have disgusted me. Instead, I felt a perverse pride in being marked this way, in carrying a piece of him with me.

He pressed his forehead against my shoulder, his breath coming in harsh pants. For a moment, we stayed like that, connected, intimate in a way that terrified me more than the sex itself.

Afterward, I fled without looking back, my legs shaky, my mind reeling. Each step sent shockwaves of pleasure-pain through my overused body. As I stumbled down the stairs, I pulled his shirt tighter around me, breathing in his scent.

I could walk away. I could keep my distance. I could do my job, spy for his father, save my own father, and never let Cole Carter touch me again.

But even as I made those promises to myself, I knew they were lies.