Page 13 of Twisted Play (Cruel Games #1)

EVA

Professional development, my ample ass. I’d managed to avoid Alek for the first week of classes and practices, still furious at myself for giving in and sucking his cock so I could get this job.

When Dr. Parker told me I had a meeting with him before evening practice, in his formal office upstairs, I knew my grace period had ended.

I smoothed my hands over my clothes—track pants and an oversized t-shirt with the university logo on it, hating the fleeting wish that I’d worn sexier underwear. Alek was a disgusting asshole, taking advantage of a student almost two decades younger than him, and I shouldn’t want to impress him.

But I did.

Dammit.

The door to his office was cracked open, but I still raised my hand to knock. Thud, thud, thud , went my hand against the frosted glass door.

“Come in,” his commanding voice said, and my feet moved before I realized I obeyed .

He sat on the corner of his desk, one foot planted on the ground, the other dangling, his shirt sleeves rolled up, revealing the black ink that covered his hands and forearms. Did it cover him everywhere?

My eyes roved over his strong shoulders and thick biceps as his did the same to me, catching on my breasts, my hips.

I licked my lips, and his eyes darkened.

Stop, Eva. Fucking gross.

“I’m sorry I’m la—” I began, before I realized he wasn’t alone in the room. Jedediah Carter stood close to the wall, looking at the photos of the teams Alek had worked with and played on. “Oh,” I whispered as terror shot through me.

Two powerful men.

Two blackmailers.

One broke-ass student who just wanted to pay off her father’s debt, graduate, and go to med school.

I was so fucked.

“I’ll come back,” I whispered, my calm deserting me. I took a step backward, unable to conquer the fear that overcame me.

“No need,” Carter said, his eyes narrowing. “I was reviewing the team’s medical protocols with Coach Nivokov. We want to ensure everyone stays…” He smiled with a predator’s teeth. “We want to make sure everyone stays healthy this season.”

The weight of unspoken menace pressed against my chest. Carter moved closer, forcing me to step sideways toward Alek. The leather of his Italian shoes whispered against the carpet.

“I’m sure Ms. Jackson will be quite thorough in her duties,” Alek said, his voice carrying a warning I couldn’t decipher.

I’m here because you forced me! I wanted to scream at Carter. I’m not doing anything wrong! Except I didn’t think sucking the coach’s cock was what Carter meant when he told me he expected me to destroy the team from within.

“Ms. Jackson, please take a seat,” Alek said, his deep voice washing over me like a wave of calm. Keeping my eyes on Jedediah, I inched toward Alek, as if he could protect me from the greater evil.

Alek watched me, his expression neutral, giving me no insight into what he was thinking. When I reached him, he gestured to one of the chairs facing his desk and told me, “Sit.”

I nodded, but didn’t move, refusing to give Jedediah my back, my instincts overcoming my good sense. Alek stood from where he leaned on the desk and stepped forward, blocking Jedediah’s view of me with his body. It couldn’t have been intentional, but my shoulders relaxed all the same.

“Thank you for stopping by,” Alek told him.

Carter paused at the door. “I look forward to seeing more of you, Ms. Jackson.”

“Of course,” I managed, hating the slight waver in my voice.

“Think about what we discussed,” Carter told Alek then left, the scent of his cologne lingering like a threat.

The door clicked shut with dreadful finality. Alek remained motionless, a solid wall of muscle between me and where Carter had stood. My knees wobbled, but I refused to show weakness.

“Sit.” Alek’s command cut through my rising panic.

I couldn’t. If I sat, I’d be trapped. If I ran—Carter would—my father would?—

“I said sit, malyshka.”

The pet name hit like a bucket of ice water, reminding me of what I’d done to get this job. My legs gave out, and I collapsed into the chair, hating how his voice alone stripped away my control.

Alek studied me, his dark eyes unreadable.

The silence stretched until I wanted to scream.

He moved to his mini-fridge, the quiet, domestic action surreal after Carter’s intimidation.

The bottle he pressed into my hands was ice cold, grounding me.

I pressed it against my cheeks, furious at how my hands shook and the visible loss of control.

“Drink,” he ordered. My fingers trembled so badly, I couldn’t open it. Alek didn’t comment, just took it back to open for me, his fingers brushing against mine. The water couldn’t wash away the acrid taste of fear.

He took the empty bottle, his fingers lingering on mine longer than necessary. “Interesting,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Carter frightens you more than I do.”

I jerked my hand back. “I’m not afraid of you.”

His smile was cruel. “No? Then why are you shaking, baby girl?”

Fury and humiliation warred in my chest. “Because you’re a bastard who made me?—”

“Made you?” He leaned forward, invading my space. “I didn’t make you do anything. You chose to get on your knees.”

I waited for him to tell me to strip or to give him another blow job or to degrade me like the fucking stereotype he was.

Instead, he watched me silently, as if thinking. Finally, after a silence that grew uncomfortable, he gestured to an expensive espresso machine. “Your resumé mentioned you worked as a barista. Do you know how to use one of those?”

The sudden shift in conversation knocked me off balance. I stared at the machine in the corner, uncertain if this was another test. “Yes.”

“Yes, what?” His voice carried the same quiet cruelty as Carter’s, but where Carter’s threats made me want to flee, Alek’s made me want to—I swallowed hard.

“Yes...” I trailed off. “Yes, Sir?”

“Good girl,” he rasped.

I hated how much those words lit up the pleasure centers in my brain. I didn’t want to be a good girl to a creep who’d blackmailed me into giving him a blow job in exchange for a job I needed to satisfy a second blackmailer.

And yet.

“You want me to make you coffee?” The words came out flat. “And that’s it?”

He leaned back in his chair, spreading his legs wider. The casual display of dominance reminded me of that first day in his office, the interview, when I’d knelt between his powerful thighs and—no.

“I want you to make me a macchiato,” he said. “And you will thank me for the opportunity to serve me.”

“You’re insane.”

“Am I?” His eyes glittered, and he leaned forward over the desk. “You need this job badly enough to get on your knees for it, and Jedediah Carter knows who you are. Tell me, Eva, what makes you so desperate?”

Ice slid down my spine as I realized just how closely Alek watched me, saw me.

I stiffened my posture and lifted my chin. “Fine.”

“That’s right, malyshka. The milk’s in the fridge.” His voice followed me, a dark caress. “Show me how well you can serve.”

My hands trembled as I measured the beans. The routine should have been calming—I’d worked as a barista all through high school. Alek watched from his desk, silent and assessing, as I made what I knew was a perfect macchiato.

His gaze never left me as I walked toward him, my equilibrium restored, confident in my coffee-making abilities.

“Kneel,” he instructed. I looked at the coffee, then at the carpet beneath my feet, confused. He arched an eyebrow, unamused.

Right.

I set the plate and mug on his desk and sank to my knees.

“Now offer me the coffee,” he said.

Carefully, I slid the coffee off the desk, praying I didn’t spill it, then lifted it up in offering. “Your coffee, Sir.”

He took it from my hands, his own making the cup look dainty, then took one sip and set it aside. “Not quite right. Try again.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Heat rushed to my face. “That was perfect.”

His expression didn’t change. “Was it?”

I shot to my feet, snatched the cup, and took a defiant sip. The acidic bite hit my tongue, and I barely stopped myself from grimacing. Dammit. It was almost perfect.

“Thank me for the opportunity to get it right,” he said, his tone no less commanding for its softness.

Asshole.

“Thank you, Sir,” I sneered, waiting for him to explode at my rudeness.

He ignored me as I stalked back to the machine.

I took one deep breath, then another, flailing for the familiar firm grip I kept on my emotions.

My chest shuddered. No. Fuck this asshole.

He didn’t deserve my tears. I’d kept my shit together my whole fucking life—when my mother left us after my first heart surgery, when my father lost his job, when I had to use the campus food bank to even be able to eat my freshman year—none of that made me lose my cool, and I’d be fucked if this asshole would make me lose it today.

The second attempt was too bitter, the third too weak. Each time I knelt, each time he dismissed my efforts, something inside me wound tighter.

By the fourth attempt, the rhythm of it possessed me—measure, grind, tamp. Each motion was precise, controlled. A bead of sweat rolled down my neck, and I could feel Alek’s eyes following its path, burning against my skin.

The steam wand screamed, and suddenly, my hands weren’t quite so steady.

“Focus,” Alek growled.

I bit my lip, fighting the urge to look at him, to see if he was remembering too. The muscles in my thighs tensed as I pressed them together, trying to ignore the ache building there.

The fifth attempt was really fucking good. I tasted it, and this time, the moan that escaped me was entirely about the coffee. Mostly about the coffee.

I sank to my knees beside his chair. Alek took the cup, his fingers brushing mine, calluses catching on my skin.

“Better.” His voice was dark honey and sin. “Again.”

I made the coffee one final time, hyperaware of my body’s betrayal—nipples tight beneath my shirt, skin flushed, pulse throbbing between my legs. The perfect macchiato was an offering, an excuse to kneel beside him, to feel his thigh brush my shoulder as I held up the cup.

He took a slow sip, and I watched his throat work, remembered how his thighs felt beneath my fingers that first day, how his grip tightened on my hair when he? —

“Perfect.” His approval slid down my spine like a physical touch. “Good girl.”

The quiet praise broke open inside my chest, filling nooks and crannies I hadn’t realized were empty and aching.

I should have hated those words, should have hated how they made me clench, made me want to press my thighs together and whimper.

Instead, I found myself leaning toward him, drawn by the memory of his hands on me.

“Look at you,” he murmured. “So desperate to please.”

“I’m not?—”

“No?” His fingers caught my chin. “Then why are you still on your knees?”

My heart shuddered to a stop. No.

“Stand up.” Alek’s command cut through the haze of arousal and shame. When I didn’t move fast enough, his fingers tightened on my chin. “Now.”

I rose on shaky legs, but he didn’t release me. Instead, he pulled me between his spread thighs, exactly where I’d been that first day. My body remembered this too, his heat, how the sheer size of him made me feel small, vulnerable.

“Tell me why you’re afraid of Carter.”

Ice shot through my veins, dousing the arousal. “I’m not.”

“Don’t lie to me.” His thumb brushed over my lower lip. “You’re good at many things, baby girl, but lying isn’t one of them.”

I jerked away, but he caught my wrist, tugging me off balance until I fell into his lap. The hard muscle of his thigh pressed between my legs, and I couldn’t quite stop my hips from rocking.

“Such a desperate little slut,” he murmured. “Getting wet just from making me coffee. ”

“Fuck you.” But I didn’t move away, couldn’t move away.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” His laugh was cruel. “But first, you’re going to tell me what hold Carter has over you.”

My chest heaved. “Why do you care?”

“Because you’re mine now.” His hands spanned my waist, fingers digging into soft flesh. “And I don’t share my toys.”

The possessive growl in his voice made me clench. God help me, I wanted to let go of all this fear and control and surrender to him.

But I couldn’t, not with Carter’s threats hanging over me.

Not with my father’s life in the balance.

I sat there silently, my lips pressed together in a thin line, holding my response even though everything in me wanted to pour out my secrets, to confide in Alek, as if he could shield me from the world.

Alek’s expression darkened when I said nothing. “Get up. Practice starts in twenty minutes.”

The dismissal felt like a slap. I scrambled off his lap on trembling legs, bereft without his touch.

“Oh and Eva?” He caught my wrist as I turned to flee. “Tomorrow, you’ll make my coffee again, and we’ll continue this discussion.”

It wasn’t a request, and god help me, I knew I’d obey.

The Devil

I want copies of the players’ files.

You better fucking answer when I text you.

My stomach dropped as I stared at the burner phone Jed Carter had given me, struggling to stay awake on the bus ride home from the club.

Practice.

Work.

Home.

Blackmail.

Fuck.