Page 44 of Twisted Play (Cruel Games #1)

Did she let them fuck her raw? Did she spend the whole practice dripping cum, her icy composure a filthy lie?

I had to know.

The elevator dinged, and I gestured for her to proceed, my eyes glued to her luscious ass, the way her thighs pressed against one another when she walked.

Today, I would take the pictures to send to her father and let him know the power I held over his daughter.

Eva stopped outside my office, her eyes flicking over the frosted glass.

“Go on,” I instructed her.

Her eyes flicked to mine, and then she opened the door, settling to her knees beside my chair like she was accustomed to.

I locked the door behind me and pressed the button to lower the blinds over the windows. The mechanical whir as they descended calmed me.

“Strip,” I commanded.

“What?” she gasped, her eyes widening.

“Did I stutter?” Each word was measured, as if I wasn’t imagining replacing every mark those boys had left on her body with my own.

Eva blinked, her full lips parting, and her chest heaving.

“I don’t—I—What?”

I spun in my chair so my knees were on either side of her, one behind and one in front. “Did you think this wasn’t about sex, baby girl?”

For a moment, raw fear flashed in her eyes before that perfect mask slipped back into place. My cock hardened at the sight. Breaking her control had become an obsession—one I refused to examine too closely.

“Right.”

She knelt, a perfect picture of submission, save for the tremor in her hands as she reached for her sweater.

Slowly, as if she were moving through molasses, she hooked her fingers under the hem.

She paused then took a deep breath and lifted it, her arms brushing against my legs where I caged her in, revealing the soft curve of her stomach, the heavy swell of her breasts barely constrained by the lace of her bra.

Her soft belly pushed out over the waistband of her jeans, begging me to run my fingers over it. I ached to trace the constellation of marks across her skin—bite marks, bruises, evidence of rougher handling than I’d dared. Yet.

“I said strip,” I growled to hide the rasp in my voice. Her eyes flicked to mine, and she flushed, the rosy pink spreading outwards until her entire chest was covered in her blush. Beautiful. I banished the unwanted thought, lest it distract me from my objective.

My phone pressed against my thigh, heavy with promise. One photo would give me everything I’d dreamed of for sixteen years—Conrad Jackson’s complete destruction. Instead, I found myself imagining different photos. Eva on her knees. Eva bound and begging. Eva wearing my marks instead of theirs.

She turned her head forward, reaching behind her to unhook her bra. My breath stuttered as she slid the straps down her arms, revealing perfect dusky nipples, already hard with desire, even as I was sure she told herself she hated every moment of this.

I raked my gaze over every inch of her creamy, freckled skin glowing with vitality. My fingers dug into my thighs with the effort to watch her instead of reaching out and touching what was mine, playing with those perfect fucking tits until she begged me for more.

“Stunning,” I murmured before I realized I’d said something.

Eva’s eyes widened, and then a tiny bit of tension leached from her shoulders.

Without saying anything, I pushed away from her, turning back to my desk. “I said strip.”

“Oh,” she whispered, relaxing from the stiff position she knelt in to unbutton her jeans. She hooked her fingers in the waistband and slid them down to her knees.

Her lips twisted, and then she looked up at me. “Sir, may I—” She took another one of those deep breaths. “May I stand to take them off?”

I nodded, and she gracefully pushed to her feet before kicking off her sneakers, shoving her jeans and underwear to the ground. She stepped out of them then bent over to pick them up.

I snatched her panties out of her hands—damp. Inhaling them now would give away more than I wanted to, but I clutched them in my fist.

“Sir?”

“Fold your clothes,” I snarled. Gracefully, Eva collected her garments and folded them, placing them on the floor beside her before standing up again.

She wouldn’t look at me. Her hands twitched, reaching up to cover her heavy breasts and her deliciously smooth cunt before dropping again, fisting at her sides, then flattening against her thighs.

“Turn.”

Eva’s breath caught. Was she—of course she was self-conscious about her body.

She was a female college student with access to the internet, and the world was designed to make her hate herself, no matter how gorgeous she was.

And I’d taken several shots at her, pretending the generous curves were ugly instead of a perfect, sinful temptation that begged me to run my hands along her skin.

I stared at her profile, the soft roundness of her stomach, the plush curve of her ass, the teardrop shape of her breasts—large enough to overflow my hands.

“Turn,” I said, “and face me.”

Her face carefully blank, Eva pivoted. A riot of red curls spilled over her shoulders, only emphasizing the pale beauty of her skin.

And those tits.

Christ.

No longer able to resist, I cupped one, then lifted it as if weighing it, admiring how it spilled out of my palm .

Her breath caught, and her eyes drifted down to where I touched her.

Perfection.

Too bad today was about dehumanization.

“Go make my coffee,” I instructed her, reluctantly taking my hand away and immediately missing the warmth of her skin against mine.

Eva blinked twice then turned on her heel, not quite hiding her confusion and irritation. A moment later, the machine whirred to life as she heated the water and ground the beans.

I watched her back, stiff and straight, the gentle folds of her fat around her waist, the seam where her ass hit her thighs, and the gorgeous dips in her hips—for a moment, I considered discarding my revenge so I could truly make her my sub.

When I turned in my chair to watch her better, my knee ached at the movement, reminding me of everything I’d lost—the reason she was here in the first place.

She turned around, cup in hand, walking gracefully to stand before me before sinking to her knees. She lifted it up to me, her eyes downcast, perfectly trained, at least in this respect.

“Sir, your coffee,” she murmured.

I took the espresso cup only, rather than the cup and saucer like I usually used, content to let her sit there, naked, quivering with worry that someone might walk in on us.

When her arms shook from the strain, I rescued the saucer and spoon, and she dropped back down to her haunches, relief making her shoulders slump.

“Perfect,” I murmured, delighted, as always, with the way praise released her tension.

Eva might hate me, but she had a hell of a praise kink .

I turned back to my desk and opened my laptop. Her nudity would make her vulnerable, push her into the right headspace for what I wanted to do to her next.

She squirmed and wiggled—not behavior I would ever tolerate at the club, but I hadn’t truly punished her yet. That might change today, but for now, I found it far more effective to simply withhold my praise.

“Sit still,” I murmured.

“Am I distracting you, Sir?” she sassed.

Yes. “You don’t have enough of my attention to distract me.”

Eva pouted for a second before she caught herself, and affection squeezed in my chest at how fucking adorable this beautiful, strong woman was, annoyed I wasn’t complimenting her for not sitting still.

A sharp knock at my door shattered the moment.

Eva squeaked, her perfect control fracturing as she scrambled backward. I caught her by her curls, the silk of her hair sliding through my fingers. “Under the desk,” I commanded, my voice pitched low enough that only she would hear.

She didn’t hesitate, just crawled between my legs and the wooden panel, her blind trust hitting me like a punch to the sternum. I’d examine that feeling later, along with the way my hand lingered in her hair before I let go.

After shoving her clothes into a drawer, I opened the door to find Doctor Dion Hall, Yorkfield U’s director of athletics, waiting with a friendly smile—the kind of smile that would vanish the moment he discovered what I was doing to Eva Jackson.

“Dion, what brings you here today?” I asked as I walked him into my office.

Eva settled between my legs as I took my seat, her bare skin burning through my slacks.

She leaned her head against my injured knee then gasped before switching sides with a gentle nudge against my thigh.

Pressure grew in my chest at the small consideration that had nothing to do with her body heat or the way her skin slid against mine.

“How’s the team?” Dion asked. Reluctantly, I gave him my full attention. He was a friend—not so good a friend he wouldn’t fire me and blacklist me in a heartbeat if he ever learned what I was doing to Eva, but a friend, nevertheless. “I’d like to go over the roster, if you have a moment.”

I opened my bottom drawer to pull out my files, my legs brushing against Eva as I moved.

The files were out of order—odd. I shook off my unease and spread them out on the desk.

“It’s a strong team this year—a championship team.

” The words came automatically as delicate fingers worked their way up my thighs.

What game was she playing? Testing my control?

Or was this another way to gain power over me?

“You always say that,” Dion laughed, white teeth flashing against warm mahogany skin.

“That’s because it’s true.” Dion could have fired me after my disastrous first year—I’d hated coaching, hated him, and hated Yorkfield. He’d put his faith in me, and I’d paid him back with championship after championship. “How’s your new student medic working out?”

Eva froze against me. “Eva Jackson?” I rasped.

Dion nodded. “She had stellar recommendations. Not just from the women’s program, but from a couple of donors.”

Eva pulled away.

“More than one?” I asked.

“She’s smart. Pre-med. Shame about her heart last year, but she’s doing well now. ”

“She’s working out well,” I said. “As you said, very smart, good analytical skills. She’ll be an excellent doctor.”

As we spoke, Eva relaxed against my left leg, each shift of her body underneath the desk making me impossibly harder.

Images flew through my head of that first time in my office, of her on her knees, her lips wrapped around my cock, the curve of her hips.

I’d wanted to pinch and pull her nipples until she cried, taste them and feel them harden into taut buds under my tongue.

Fuck.

“Alek?” Dion asked. “The roster?” I yanked my attention back to him. One by one, I reviewed the first line with Dion—our star players.

“Tristan Baptiste wasn’t drafted,” I said as Eva tugged on my belt then freed my cock.

What. The. Fuck.

“He’s a good kid,” Dion said. That was the other reason I respected Dion so much. An athletic program like ours could grind kids into the dust as much as it could lift them up, and Dion actually fucking cared.

“He kicked it up a notch this year—he’s going to be one of our star players. We’ll get him a contract.” After the championship.

Dion continued talking about the team’s prospects, completely unaware of Eva’s hot breath against my length, her satin-soft hand wrapping around me.

It was the perfect metaphor for my life—everything I’d rebuilt balanced on the edge of a knife, all because I couldn’t resist Conrad Jackson’s daughter.

When she wrapped those perfect lips around me and sucked, I nearly growled. The mix of submission and defiance was intoxicating—she knew exactly what she was risking, what she could cost me .

“You okay?” Dion asked, and I dragged my attention back to him, hating how he deserved better than this distraction.

“Just a lot on my mind with the season starting.” The excuse was weak, but Dion took it at face value.

“I’ll let you get back to it then,” he said with a smile.

“Thanks for stopping by,” I grit out as Eva sucked my soul out through her luscious lips.

The moment the door closed, I hauled her up by her arms. “What the fuck were you thinking?” But even as I snarled the words, I couldn’t deny how stunning she was—flushed, naked, caught between fury and arousal, trapped between my body and the desk.

Eva’s eyes were bright with anger. “You’re the one who told me to get naked, asshole,” she said, wrenching her arm from my grasp but keeping her voice low and reminding me anyone could hear us through the thin walls.

I raked my eyes over her body, trapped between me and the desk, naked, flushed, vibrating with fury.

“Go ahead then,” I growled. “Finish what you started.” Her eyes snapped to mine, shocked. “Before I spank you stupid for that stunt.”