Page 5 of Twisted Play (Cruel Games #1)

EVA

The tight fabric of my polyester suit scratched against my skin as I walked toward Coach. The last time I’d worn it was when I went to beg Jedediah Carter to spare my father a week ago.

I dragged my fingers along the desk, desperate for the texture to ground me, to stop me from doing exactly as he asked. My fingernails caught on a groove in the wood, and I focused on the sharp pain rather than the throbbing between my legs that started the moment he’d told me what he wanted.

I needed this job.

Jedediah Carter had made sure of that.

A million dollars. My breath caught in my chest once again, aghast at how my father had managed to double our debt— my debt. The weight of it crushed me, making it impossible to walk away from Coach’s bargain.

He watched me with eyes so dark they were almost black, sharply angular, over high cheekbones, his jawline covered with a neatly trimmed beard.

Coach breathed deeply, and his muscles stretched the expensive fabric of his button-down shirt, reminding me of how fucking large he was—a solid wall of strength that, until a few moments ago, I’d admired with all my heart.

I rounded the final corner, and he rotated in his office chair, legs splayed wide, his thick thighs tense, a casual display of dominance that took my breath away, even as my mind screamed for me to flee.

Coach’s eyes tracked my movements, burning a fiery path over my skin as he took in my flushed cheeks, how my suit didn’t quite fit, the tight curve of my skirt over my hips down to my calves, then the cheap flats I’d had to repair once again before my interview this morning.

Once I stood between his knees, I paused, looking down at the man who’d just tumbled from the pedestal as the greatest college hockey coach alive to a filthy old man who asked students for blow jobs in exchange for employment.

The worst part? How much a secret, dark, twisted part of me wasn’t nearly as disgusted by the thought of taking his cock in my mouth as I should have been.

He didn’t feel filthy, not quite—not the way he licked his lips as his gaze fell on mine, not the way my skin felt too tight, and definitely not the way my heart pounded in my chest, terrified and nauseous and also a little bit curious.

A lot curious. Desperate to know what other commands he’d give and what other ways he’d force me to debase myself.

“The job is mine,” I affirmed one last time, hating that my voice sounded breathy and eager rather than calm and unbothered. What a fucking cliché.

He lifted a hand to my hip, burning me where his fingers dug into me through my cheap clothes. A fleeting want for him to press harder, to leave bruises I could touch later to remind myself of this moment, flickered through my mind then disappeared in a puff of disgust .

“It will be.” Coach’s voice was raspy and dark, a promise and a threat wrapped into one.

Slowly, as if moving through molasses, I dropped to my knees, wincing as they hit the hard tile of his office floor.

I wobbled—my skirt was too tight to get comfortable—and grabbed his thigh for balance.

His skin burned under mine, and the hard muscle of his thigh contracted beneath my touch.

From this angle, he was massive, his broad shoulders blocking out the fluorescent light above us.

I felt small, exposed, as he bulldozed through my iron control.

The knowledge that he could see me like this—vulnerable, desperate, my composure faltering as I vacillated between disgust and curiosity—made me want to scream. And yet, here I was, on my knees, my mask slipping further with every movement, unraveling under his impassive gaze.

Why was he doing this? Coach was hot and successful and wealthy, and he could have anyone. Why was he resorting to blackmailing students for blow jobs? Why me?

He reached for my face, and I flinched. He froze, then continued his movement, slow and steady, as if he knew I was afraid of the violence coiled tight within him.

A calloused finger tucked an errant curl behind my ear.

The gentle gesture violated me more than if he’d grabbed at me—the false tenderness stripping another layer of my defenses, making me want to lean into his touch.

My hands trembled as I reached for his belt. I was going to do this. I was going to suck the hockey coach’s cock for a job—suck the hockey coach’s cock so I could spy on the team and report back to Jed Carter.

He didn’t help me, just moved his hands to his thighs and watched.

Hot tears pressed behind my eyes. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry, though. I’d always hated giving blow jobs—the way men grabbed my hair and used my mouth while acting like they were doing me a favor, the way they never reciprocated, the way they made me feel worthless.

The quiet, “That’s a good girl,” that escaped Coach was like warm honey pouring through the cracks in my chest. My whole body lit up at the praise, even as I hated myself for it.

“Don’t stop just because I praised you,” he growled.

Hurriedly, I unbuttoned and unzipped his pants, the heat of his skin scalding my fingertips. I didn’t expect the way his breath hitched when I touched him, or how that tiny loss of control from such a powerful, brutal man would unfurl a fierce sense of power in my chest.

“There you go,” he said as I reached into the slit of his boxers and pulled him out, and fuck me, I practically glowed with pleasure. What the fuck was wrong with me?

Coach’s breath stuttered as I wrapped my fingers around him. His cock mesmerized me—thick, hot, veiny, and already dripping precum.

“Do you know what to do?” Cruel amusement tinged his voice.

“Can’t be that hard,” I snarked as I ran my thumb over the tip, smearing the evidence of his desire over his skin. His thighs trembled under my touch, and I marveled at the way his breath caught when I squeezed him.

I wanted to do a good job, and I didn’t know what to do with that thought as I humiliated myself in the coach’s office. I shouldn’t care about pleasing him. This was just a means to an end—the job I needed to save my father.

Fuck, the urge to bend my head and taste him was so fucking overwhelming. His cock jerked in my grip, and a primal pride blossomed in my chest at my power over him. Even on my knees, even debasing myself, I could make this massive, terrifying man react to me.

“Spit on me,” he commanded softly. When I didn’t react, he reached around to tug on my ponytail, hard enough to let me know he could make it hurt if he wanted to. The sheer size of him overwhelmed me, making me feel protected and trapped at the same time. “I told you to do something, malyshka .”

Wetness pooled between my legs, the command in his voice as arousing as it was upsetting. The overwhelming desire to let go of my fierce control, my need to do everything right and be perfect in every way, to give into his commands, terrified me more than his brutality ever could.

I shouldn’t want this. I shouldn’t crave his praise like a flower to the sun. But when his fingers tightened in my hair, bringing a flash of hot tears to my eyes, need coiled tight and hot in my belly.

“I said spit,” he growled.

To my shock, I did exactly as he commanded, watching my spit run down his shaft, mesmerized. “Move your hand up and down,” he instructed me, as if he thought I’d never done this before. I flushed with embarrassment and then pulled myself together. Why should I care if he knew I was inexperienced?

I slid my fingers over his cock, shocked to find my nipples hardening under the cheap lace of my bra, the scratchy fabric tightening with every breath.

“I’m going to tell you what to do, Eva, and you’re going to do exactly as I command. Do you understand?”

When I didn’t answer, he yanked my head up so I could look at him. His dark, hooded gaze burned into mine, and I couldn’t look away. “Do you understand?”

I gave in .

“Yes, sir,” I whispered, pumping my hand up and down as I ceded control and surrendered to the inevitable. To him.

His grip in my hair loosened. “Good girl.” His praise rushed through my veins like a drug, and instantly, I craved more. “Now, lick the tip.”

As if in a trance, I did exactly as he asked, bending my head and darting my tongue out to catch the bead of precum gathering there. The salty taste exploded on my tongue, and I moaned before I could stop myself, heat flooding my pussy.

He groaned, the sound raw and desperate. I did that. I made him lose control. I could do this. I could do this, I could get him off, I could get this job, and I could save my father. All I had to do was submit.

I lapped at him, savoring his taste and the way his thighs trembled under my palms. My too tight skirt dug into my thighs as I shifted, trying to relieve the ache between my legs.

“That’s it, baby girl. You’re so good at this.”

His praise fucking unlocked a longing inside me. I wanted more of it. I wanted him to love how I blew him. I wanted him to want more. I wanted him to want me until his want drowned out my self-hatred.

Fucked up, Eva.

When I closed my lips around the tip, his hands clenched into fists, but he didn’t move, letting me take the lead. That tiny concession to my control made me bold. I sucked harder, and the broken sound that escaped him sent aching desire rushing to my clit.

I could own this moment. I could make him fall apart like he was making me fall apart.

Experimentally, I took him deeper into my mouth.

“Yes, like that,” he breathed. “Such a good girl for me. Look at you, taking me in your mouth like you were fucking made to suck my cock.”

I pumped my fist in time with my head, sucking hard, his cock filling me, not quite able to take him into my throat. When I tried, I gagged around him, pulling back at the last minute. Shame and arousal battled in my chest—I wanted to be perfect for him, to earn every scrap of praise.

“Relax your throat, baby girl,” he instructed, his voice rough with need.

I shook my head. I couldn’t. It was too much.

His lips curled up in a cruel smile. “I told you to do something. Now do it.”

My pussy clenched around nothing at the instructions. Why was it so fucking hot for him to tell me what to do? When I didn’t move fast enough, he shifted in his chair, sitting straighter, tangling his fingers in my hair again.

“Open,” he commanded. The hoarse demand bypassed my brain entirely, shooting straight to my core. My mouth fell open before I could stop myself.

He forced my mouth down over his cock. “Relax your fucking throat,” he snapped as he filled me.

I gagged and struggled, tears leaking out of my eyes, and he only pushed further in.

My vision wavered as I fought for breath, darkness teasing at the edges of my sight.

Just when panic set in, he pulled me off with a hard yank.

I gasped for air, looking at him with betrayal. I’d been doing my best!

“We’ll get you there,” he promised darkly, bringing my face back down to his cock and fucking roughly up into it, not quite so deep as before but still so hard that I couldn’t react, couldn’t move, just had to take it as he fucked my face.

“You’re taking me so well.”

To my shock, the praise unlocked the tension in me, allowing me to open my mouth further and relax like he demanded. Despite my resolution to hold them back, a tear slid down my face, then another, a physical reaction to his roughness rather than an emotional one.

“So beautiful when you struggle for me,” he said, “with tears running down your face like you hate this. But you don’t, do you?”

I didn’t. I did. I didn’t fucking know anything except that I wanted to please this hard man who’d stripped away my defenses, leaving me raw and exposed.

“So fucking pretty on your knees.” He pulled my mouth off him with a tug so hard, I moaned with pleasure.

Wait, what?

“Mouth open, tongue out,” he commanded. “And don’t fucking move again until I tell you to.”

Obediently, I did as he asked, as unable to stop my reaction as I was to stop breathing.

He fisted himself, pumping once, twice, and then he came all over my tongue, hot spurts of cum shooting into my mouth as he groaned.

“Don’t move,” he growled.

I waited, trembling, the salty taste on my tongue, the evidence of my debasement visible for him to see, shaking, aghast at myself, at him, utterly humiliated, and more turned on than I’d ever been in my life.

And he’d barely even touched me.

Coach watched, a smile teasing at his lips. He stroked my cheek with one finger before sitting back in his chair, sprawling like a lazy predator as my shoulders heaved.

I was going to cry.

No! I wouldn’t give him that victory. Unable to swallow, sure I was drooling all over my one interview outfit, sweaty and messy, I waited for his command .

“Swallow, baby girl,” he said, finally. The muscles of my throat worked as I obeyed. Tears burned behind my eyes, and I clenched my fingers on my thighs, my nails digging into my cheap skirt as I struggled to understand the maelstrom of emotions in my gut.

What had I done?

“Come here,” Coach said finally. His eyes slid to his phone on his desk, and he smiled ruefully. When I moved to stand, his hand on my shoulder stopped me. “Clean me up.” Before I could look for tissues, he added, “With your tongue.”

My eyes flew to his, but instead of protesting, I took his half-hard cock in my hands again and lapped at him, removing the evidence of what we’d done, lick by lick.

“Such a good girl for me,” he said. “You did so good.”

I did good. I closed my eyes at the pleasure his compliment gave me.

He must have noticed, because he brought up a hand to stroke through my hair.

“What a treat you are,” he murmured, stroking my cheek as I caught my breath.

But I couldn’t. My entire body shook with the effort to get myself back under control after the hottest, most degrading experience of my life.

“Keep your eyes closed.” He pushed my face until it pressed against the inside of his thigh. I waited there as he stroked my hair, the soft gentleness a horrifying contrast to his brutality of a few minutes before.

When I shoved away, as if to stand, he held me in place with a touch on my shoulder.

“Just wait.”

I gave into the urge to take comfort from the very man who’d brought on my misery. His fingers stroked through my hair as he murmured praise, telling me what a good girl I’d been, how well I’d taken him, how perfect my lips looked wrapped around his cock.

When my breathing finally steadied, he cupped my chin and tilted my face up to his, gesturing to a door at the side of his office. “Go clean up.”

I had to know, even if asking broke whatever spell held us both captive. “Did I?—?”

“Yeah, baby girl. Job’s yours.”