Page 64 of Twisted Play (Cruel Games #1)
EVA
My phone buzzed for the fifth time in as many minutes. I ignored it, scribbling notes as the professor scrawled organic chemical reactions on the whiteboard.
Buzz.
“Turn that off,” Violetta hissed from beside me. “Professor Xiao hates phones in class.”
I wanted to. “Can’t,” I said, twisting my lips. “Team stuff.” It wasn’t quite a lie, not if I stretched the definition of team stuff to include the depravity Cole and Tristan subjected me to.
She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, okay.”
Cole
Are you ignoring me?
Are you in class?
Fine. But after class, you’re mine.
I switched the chat to silent, but then my other phone buzzed.
The Devil
I want the playbook. All of it.
Me
I’m in class.
The Devil
I don’t fucking care.
Me
I can’t. That’s different from medical records.
The Devil
Do you think your father will know the difference with a bullet in his chest?
My hands trembled so hard, I almost dropped the burner phone. He’d never asked for strategy before, just medical records, injury reports, things that felt less like betrayal.
“Shit,” I muttered, loud enough that the guy in front of me turned around to glare.
“Everything okay?” Violetta whispered.
No. Nothing was okay. I hadn’t slept more than four hours a night this week, between Cole and Tristan’s demands, practices, and Carter’s increasingly aggressive timeline. I was shattering into a million pieces, with nothing to hold me together but my tears.
“Fine,” I said shortly, instantly assailed by guilt. It wasn’t Violetta’s fault.
Rory
Girls’ night tomorrow? Haven’t seen Eva in forever.
Sage
Down! Eva ?
Violetta looked at me out of the side of her eye and watched as I typed my refusal.
Me
Can’t. Gotta work.
Rory
Again???
Sage
Work or “work” with those hot boys who’re dicking you down?
Me
Actual work.
Rory
Suuuuuuuuure.
I switched off the screen, my cheeks burning. They had no idea what was really happening. How could they?
“You can tell us, you know,” Violetta murmured. “If something’s wrong.”
“Nothing’s wrong.” The lie tasted bitter. “I’m just busy.”
“Too busy for lunch?”
“Rain check?” I asked, already knowing I wouldn’t follow through.
Violetta’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Sure. Whatever.”
I practically ran to my next class, wolfing down a protein bar as I speed-walked across campus. My phone buzzed again.
Tristan
Brought you coffee and a muffin. Outside your lecture hall.
Me
Test in 10 minutes.
Tristan
I know. You need brain food. Let me take care of you for 5 minutes?
Me
You’re impossible.
Tristan
That’s not a no. Look up, kitten.
I glanced toward the door. There he was, holding breakfast and wearing that soft smile that made my chest ache. God, he made it so hard to remember this wasn’t real.
He brushed his lips across mine when I reached him then handed me my food. “You got this, kitten.”
My heart melted, and I made it into my seat just as the professor started handing out exams. My attention wobbled as I gripped my pencil and tried to focus on the test in front of me. The questions blurred together.
An hour later, I stumbled out of the classroom, sure I’d bombed it. My phone lit up immediately.
Cole
Library. Study room 4.
Me
10 minutes.
At least they’d let me study after they fucked me. Sometimes. When they weren’t too demanding.
Rory
Eva, seriously, we miss you.
Sage
Yeah what’s going on? You okay?
Vi
She’s “fine”.
Rory
That’s what you always say when you’re not fine.
Sage
We’re worried.
I switched off notifications for the group chat. My chest ached, but I couldn’t deal with their concern right now.
The Devil
If you can’t handle this simple task, perhaps I should speak with your father directly.
My hands trembled as I typed back.
Me
The playbook is complicated. Give me time.
Please.
I switched off the screen, bile rising in my throat. Alek kept the plays on his iPad, and I had no idea how I was going to get it, let alone unlock it.
I rounded the corner to the library, already unzipping my hoodie. Maybe if I let Cole and Tristan work off some steam now, they’d let me focus tonight.
My phone buzzed one last time.
I tucked it away without even checking the screen, my hands shaking with worry. When was the last time I’d felt steady? Calm?
The answer hit me—in Alek’s office, my mind blissfully empty after focusing on making his coffee exactly right. No demands, no pressure, just the simple ritual of grinding beans, heating water, and dropping to my knees to serve him.
I shouldn’t want that peace, shouldn’t crave the way he stripped away my control until nothing existed except pleasing him.
But god, I needed it.
I turned away from the library, my feet carrying me toward his office before I could think better of it.
I knocked on the door to Alek’s office, my stomach churning. This wasn’t like before. He hadn’t ordered me here. Instead, I’d come on my own, hoping for—I didn’t allow myself to verbalize what I wanted, not even inside my head.
“Come in.” Alek looked up from his laptop, genuine surprise flickering over his face. “Eva?”
My eyes roved over his attire—a button-down shirt and slacks rather than the athletic wear he wore to practices. God, I was interrupting his workday. He hadn’t asked for me. He didn’t want me. This was so humiliating. Heat rose in my cheeks, betraying my lack of emotional equanimity.
His brow furrowed. “Is something wrong?”
I opened my mouth then closed it, feeling even more foolish than before. “No, never mind. I’m sorry.” The words rushed out of me, and I turned around, intending to make a quick exit.
“Eva,” he snapped.
I stopped. “Sir?” I said, my voice humiliatingly hopeful, as if I wished he could magically know what I wanted, what I needed, without me having to ask.
“Turn around. ”
Reluctantly, I did as he asked, aware my cheeks were flaming, the pit in my stomach growing as his eyes raked over me, taking in my embarrassment, my trembling hands, the dark circles under my eyes, and especially how I couldn’t quite meet his gaze.
“Eva,” he rasped and scrubbed his face. “Shit.”
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, utterly humiliated. “I’ll go.”
“No,” he snapped, the words whipping out like a physical strike.
I flinched.
“Lock the door and come here,” he commanded.
Step by slow step, I walked over to him, my tote bag full of books heavy on my shoulder, his eyes growing darker as I moved closer.
He turned in his chair, his legs spread, and gestured for me to step between them.
“Sir,” I breathed.
Alek’s gaze turned contemplative. He leaned forward and stroked a finger down my cheek, sending a rush of need to my core.
“Strip,” he said, his voice like velvet dragging over gravel.
I blinked. “What?”
“You heard me,” he said, reaching up to take my tote. “Fold your clothes neatly.”
As if I would ever do anything else.
I unzipped my hoodie, shivering as the cold air swept across my collarbones.
“Second thoughts?” he asked softly.
The air was cold against my bare skin as I removed my bra and panties, adding them to the neat pile. I fought the urge to cover myself, to hide from his assessing gaze. His tablet sat on the desk beside me, screen dark. Carter’s threats echoed in my head .
“Kneel,” he said simply.
I knelt beside him, spreading my knees slightly, hands clasped behind my back. Alek let me sit there for long moments as I cleared my mind.
Finally, he cleared his throat. “Coffee, baby girl.”
I rose gracefully, or tried to. My nudity made me hyperaware of every movement. The espresso machine’s heat felt obscene against my bare skin as I measured beans into the grinder.
Alek didn’t touch me. He didn’t have to. His gaze was a physical weight as I moved through the familiar ritual. Grind the beans. Heat the water. Pull the shot.
The steam wand hissed as I frothed milk, and I jumped.
“Steady,” he murmured. “You know how I like it.”
I did. The knowledge settled into my bones as I focused on the milk’s temperature, the angle of the pitcher, the sound of micro-foam forming.
Pour the shot. Add precisely one ounce of foam. Place it on the saucer with the spoon aligned just so.
“Sir.” I sank back to my knees and lifted the cup and saucer to present them to him.
His fingers brushed mine as he took it, sending electricity racing across my skin. “Perfect,” he said after tasting it.
The praise melted something inside me. My racing thoughts slowed. The constant pressure in my chest eased.
Alek hummed and settled one large hand on my head, his fingers tangling in my curls. I fought the urge to lean into his touch like a cat seeking affection. Each touch unraveled another knot of tension in my chest. “That’s right, baby girl. Let it all go.”
I closed my eyes, focusing on his touch, on the rough carpet under my knees, on the lingering scent of espresso in the air. The constant whirl of thoughts in my head—Carter’s threats, Cole’s demands, Tristan’s sweetness, my friends’ concern—faded to white noise.
“Good girl,” he murmured. “So good for me.”
Time stretched like honey, measured only by the steady rhythm of his fingers in my hair. I floated, anchored by his touch, finally free of the crushing weight of my own control.
When he tugged my head back to look at him, his eyes were softer than I’d ever seen. “Feel better?”
My eyes burned from his uncharacteristic gentleness. How did he know?
“Yes, Sir.”
“Good girl.” For long moments, he kept me there, kneeling beside him, my mind blissfully quiet. His thumb stroked over my temple, each touch a reminder of my place at his feet.
Finally, he said, “Stand up.”
I rose on shaky legs, my body heavy with submission, my core aching with need. His eyes traveled over me one last time, lingering on the marks Cole and Tristan had left, on my hardened nipples, on the way my thighs pressed together.
“Get dressed.” The command was soft but unmistakable. He watched me dress as intently as he’d watched me strip. When I finished, he stood and cupped my chin, forcing me to meet his eyes. “Same time tomorrow.”
It wasn’t a question.
“Yes, Sir.”