Page 58 of Twisted Play (Cruel Games #1)

The anthem started, and with it, the vibrator roared to life, making my knees buckle.

From my spot in the student staff section, I gripped the railing, trying to stay upright as the crescendo of voices sent waves of pleasure through me.

The players on the ice, the crowd around me, Cole and Tristan’s burning gazes—everything blurred except the intense pulsing between my legs.

That’s when I made the mistake of looking toward the bench.

Alek stood with his hand over his heart but turned his head toward me, his eyebrows shooting to his hairline when I swayed.

His expression shifted from curiosity to dark interest as I struggled to keep my composure.

Whatever he thought was happening, the intensity of his stare only made everything worse.

The vibrations peaked with the final notes of the anthem, and I had to bite my lip to stifle a whimper. Through the haze of my arousal, I watched the ref drop the puck for the opening faceoff. Cole won it cleanly, sending it back to the defense with a sharp snap of his stick.

The game moved fast, the players’ skates cutting clean lines through the fresh ice. I tried to focus on taking notes, but every time the crowd roared—at a big hit, a near miss, a fancy stick handling move—the vibrator responded.

“You okay?” Elijah asked as I white-knuckled the railing during a particularly loud cheer for Tristan’s breakaway attempt. “You look flushed.”

“Just nervous about the first game,” I managed, watching Tristan’s shot ping off the crossbar. The crowd’s disappointed “Ohhh!” sent another wave of pleasure through me.

When I glanced back at the bench, Alek was still watching me, his head tilted slightly, as if trying to solve a puzzle.

I couldn’t read his expression, but the weight of his gaze made my skin burn, as intensely arousing as the toy Cole used to ensure I wouldn’t forget who I belonged to during the game.

“Eva!” Katie’s voice startled me. She stood on the stairs beside Elijah, shouting over him to get my attention, her expression a mix of sympathy and amusement. “Oh, honey, what are you doing in Haruto’s jersey?”

“Drink accident,” I managed, watching Cole slam an opposing player into the boards with far more force than necessary. The ref’s whistle shrilled, and the crowd’s angry response had me clutching my tablet as pleasure rocketed through me.

Katie looked me up and down, and I wondered if she figured out what was going on. She looked fucking perfect, gorgeous in a slim cut version of Haruto’s jersey, jeans so tight they might have been painted on, and perfectly highlighted blonde hair that hung in a straight sheet down her back.

She pressed her lips together and then nodded sharply, as if she’d come to a decision. “Come on.”

“What? Where?” I couldn’t miss the game—my job was to watch. “I can’t?—”

“I’ll be back.”

Five minutes later, she returned with a jersey bearing Tristan’s number and a ball cap with Cole’s embroidered onto the front, tags still on them. “The girls all pitched in.”

My eyes widened, and I turned around to see a row of gorgeous women, some familiar, some not, seated a few rows above us.

“The girls?”

“Girlfriends and puck bunnies,” she said with a grin. “Can you change here?”

I shuffled over Elijah into the aisle so I could maneuver more freely. Quickly, I slid Tristan’s jersey over Haruto’s, maneuvering to pull off the offending garment without flashing the entire stadium. Then I swapped my beanie out for the ball cap.

“Why are you helping me?” I asked as I adjusted myself, wishing my cheeks weren’t so red with the embarrassment of needing her help in the first place.

Katie looked me in the eye. “Because I remember what it’s like to be new to all this.

The team, the guys, their games. We all were, at one point.

” She jerked her chin up to the women a few rows up, all of whom watched us with interest. “But Eva? Be careful. Cole and Tristan—they’re different with you.

More intense. More...” She trailed off, searching for words.

“Unhinged?” I supplied.

“Invested,” she corrected. “Which makes them more dangerous, but also way hotter.”

I waved my gratitude to the women above me, who waved back, much to the amusement of the entire section, who’d been watching our exchange.

By the time I made it back to my seat, properly attired in Tristan’s jersey and Cole’s hat, both men’s expressions had softened from fury to satisfaction. But Katie’s warning echoed in my head, mixing uncomfortably with the constant buzz between my legs.

“Thanks,” I murmured as Elijah stood to let me back into my seat, not sure what to say, conflicted between their appalling possessiveness and the warmth that filled my chest at how they took care of me.

“Fuck you,” Elijah responded without heat. “I wish I had two gorgeous boys wrapped around my fingers like that.”

A few seconds later, both Tristan and Cole skated by us and tapped the boards with their sticks—not forgiveness, but it was something.

The first period left me panting and sweating as I tried to conceal how my men were edging me. The moment it ended, I dashed from the stands, flashing my staff badge to push through the crowd so I could have a moment of quiet in the bathroom.

As I shoved into an empty stall, my phone buzzed.

Cole

You better not be playing with yourself during the intermission.

Tristan

Send us a picture of that drenched pussy.

Cole

Where are you?

I hesitated, my thumbs hovering over the touchscreen. This was stupid. I was stupid. How could I even be considering acceding to their demand?

Me

None of your business.

Cole’s response was immediate.

Cole

Don’t fuck around with me, Eva.

Where are you?

My pussy clenched around the vibrator at his commanding tone, even through text. Fucked up, Eva.

Me

Bathroom.

Tristan

Send the fucking picture.

Please.

The please at the end undid me. Carefully, I lowered my leggings and the scrap of lace Tristan’d handed me with a grin, telling me he couldn’t wait to see these soaked later.

I stood with my back to the stall door, wanting a shot that at least pretended to be artistic. rather than showing the toilet. Was that sexy? Would they care?

Ugh, this was so fucking awkward. I wished I’d paid attention to a single social media post advertising how to take sexy photos. I felt like an idiot.

Me

I don’t want to.

Tristan

Why not?

I paused before hitting send, wondering if it was a mistake to share this vulnerability with my tormentors.

Me

I feel stupid.

My phone rang. Cole.

“Sparrow,” he rumbled, his voice deep and raspy through the phone. Something crashed in the background—the locker room, I realized. He’d called me from the locker room during the intermission. “Why do you feel stupid?”

Because I’d never done this before. Because my thighs were too thick and my stomach wasn’t flat, and I had no idea how to make this sexy. Because they were gods of hockey, on their way to winning their first game of the season, and I was frumpy, chubby Eva Jackson.

“I don’t know,” I whispered instead.

Cole hummed into the phone, the sound going straight to my core. “I scored during the first period. Don’t you think I deserve a reward?”

“A reward?” I whispered, his husky voice enthralling me.

“All I want,” he continued, his voice dropping lower, “is to see your pussy soaked and waiting for me, framed by thick, luscious thighs I can’t stop thinking about wrapping around my face. Would you do that for me, sweet sparrow?”

I blinked rapidly, the reframing of the request from a humiliating command to a fervent wish catching me off guard, imagining myself through his eyes, like my soft curves were a feature, not a flaw.

“That pretty pink pussy, swollen with need, your clit peeking out and begging you to play with it. But you’re such a good girl, you’re not going to touch it, are you? You’re going to wait until after the game and save that pussy for me, aren’t you?”

My core clenched as he spoke, and my hips rocked unconsciously. I wanted him to see me and be turned on. I exhaled sharply.

“Please,” I breathed, not sure what I was asking for.

“That’s my good girl,” Cole crooned. “Now, reach down with the phone and snap a picture.”

I spread my legs and did as he asked. Fuck, I was absolutely drenched. The purple tail of the vibrator was nestled in my folds, teasing my clit but never giving me the satisfaction I needed. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath for courage then hit send, ignoring how my heart pounded with fear.

“Oh, fuck,” Cole breathed across the line. “Such a filthy fucking slut. Look at you, absolutely soaked for us, gorgeous and wet, just waiting for us to fuck you into oblivion after the game.”

His words spread over me like warm honey, sticky and sweet.

Tristan

Beautiful .

I melted, leaning against the door and letting their praise wash through me. One word. Just one. But it made me melt, made me feel precious instead of dirty. How did they do that? How did they make me feel both degraded and cherished at the same time?

When I emerged a few minutes later to wash my hands, I looked at my reflection critically in the mirror. With my cheeks rosy and flushed, my green eyes sparkling, my curly hair messy under the ball cap, I had to admit, I’d never looked cuter or been more confident in my looks.

Not that looks were everything, I rapidly corrected myself, but I stopped. No. There was nothing wrong with looking in the mirror and admitting I looked good.

By the time I returned to my seat for the second period, the game was about to start again.

An hour later, the Marauders won 5-1.

It was time.