Wicked Little Games

by Dee Palmer

  “Morbid curiosity,” I say out loud.

  “What?” His deep voice makes the hairs on my neck prickle. It’s both familiar and strange. He has a subtle twang; he has picked up a little of an American accent, only I’m not sure which part of the States exactly. I don’t know where he’s lived all this time, but all those years is going to rub off somewhere along the line.

  “I wondered what would bring you here, being a big important CEO and all. I can only think it was morbid curiosity. You saw my name and—”

  “And what?” he snaps. The deep boom in the quiet of the room makes me jump.

  “And nothing,” I reply and hold his gaze. I can feel his anger radiating off him in waves, and as much as I thought about this moment a thousand times, I am struggling to keep my own rage in check. It’s bubbling in my belly with a hairpin trigger, and unfortunately, he knows all my buttons.

  “Where is it, princess?” His tone drops an octave, and he rolls my nickname around his tongue like he owns it.

  “No nicknames, Atticus, we’re not kids anymore, and you lost the right to call me that five years ago. This isn’t some cute reunion.” My jaw is clamped shut, but I manage to push the words out through gritted teeth.

  “You’re damn right it isn’t, Tia.” He slams his fists on the table, shaking the whole damn room with his fury. “Where is it?”

  I frown and look at the table and then at the floor where the debris from his tantrum and Maria’s haul is now lying. His eyes follow mine, but there seems to be no light dawning, so I point sharply to the supplies.

  “Exhibit A, Atticus. There’s your stuff.”

  “Cute. You think I give a shit about a few pens, Tia? I want to know where my fucking money is,” he growls, his knuckles white as they grip the table. I hold the fierceness of his glare and match it with my own.

  “What money?”

  “The money that is missing from the company bank account, Tia, that money.” He leans on his hands, his face inching closer to mine. I can smell the faint scent of whiskey, and on him, it always smelled so sweet, so heady. I swallow the lump in my throat, fighting off the images of our past that are bombarding me and making it really difficult to stay focused.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Don’t lie to me. This isn’t the first time you’ve been caught with your hand in the cookie jar,” he sneers, and I scoff out a bitter laugh.

  “Cookie jar, fucking cookie jar! You piece of shit, you’ve got some fucking nerve!” I stand up, and we are now just millimetres from each other, our noses practically touching. His eyes look like a crystal clear azure ocean this close up, and even filled with suspicion and a heavy mix of hatred, they are utterly mesmerising. “You make it sound like I got a slap on the wrist for being a naughty girl. I didn’t steal shit from your family, and I got sent to jail for six years. Six. Fucking. Years. Atticus. Your family ruined my life, and you stood by and watched, you bastard.” My voice cracks, but he is unmoved. He stiffens, and his reply is as cold as the look he levels on me.

  “You only served three.”

  “For good behaviour, yes, but it still ruined my fucking life. How was university in the States, Cass?” The pitch in my voice rises, and I hate that I’m losing what little composure I had, but damn it, this is like the floodgates of years of pent-up emotion, pain, and ultimate betrayal unleashed.

  “No nicknames, remember?” he snarls.

  “Did you go to all the frat parties, Cass?” I fire back, ignoring his retort. “Fuck lots of lovely cheerleaders? Was Misty the best cheerleader girlfriend a jock like you could wish for? Was your first time a dream, Atticus? Was it? Because mine was a fucking nightmare.” Tears flow onto my cheeks, taking us both by surprise, and I roughly dry them, thankful there are just a few when I can feel the tidal wave building. I won’t give him the satisfaction.

  “What are you talking about?” His voice softens, and that’s worse. I shake my head and tighten my lips.

  “Nothing, it doesn’t matter.” I draw in a steadying breath, and with enormous effort, I calm my tone before I continue. “I didn’t steal then. I didn’t steal this stuff here. And I haven’t taken your money either, but it doesn’t matter, does it? I have a record, and you didn’t believe me back then, so why the fuck would you believe me now?”

  “You’re lying,” he counters, and I almost laugh, but there is nothing funny about this situation.

  “No, I’m not,” I repeat.

  “Yes. You. Are. Or have you forgotten, princess, I know you.”

  “You knew me,” I correct and watch his face for any sign that my words mean anything to him. His jaw is ticking, and he purses his lips like he’s thinking through some complicated math, but whether that problem has anything to do with how he feels about me, I’m clueless. I no more know this man in front of me than I do Detective Doyle.

  “I want my fucking money back,” he growls out slowly, fire and anger burning in his glare. He doesn’t believe me. Well, no fucking surprise there.

  “And I want my fucking life back, so I guess we are both shit out of luck, aren’t we?” I snap, setting my jaw tight and tipping my head to one side in defiance.

  “Oh, princess, you know I don’t believe in luck.” He pulls away from me, and I feel his loss, the heat, the connection. For fuck’s sake, what’s wrong with me? After all that time, after everything, why do I feel anything at all? It must be that I’m in shock. That’s all this is; I just wasn’t expecting the draw, the pull, or whatever it is. I wasn’t prepared for him, period. He affects me, and that’s a worry I wasn’t anticipating. I didn’t think I would see him so soon, or at all, if I’m honest. I think I was hoping for not at all, and now I know why. For the second time today, I want to kick myself for being an idiot. Why should any of this come as a surprise? It’s always been him.

  He walks out of the room, and my hands grip the table to stop myself collapsing. I suck in a slow deep breath, trying to remain composed when I feel anything but. My head is a mess, racing with question after question.

  What the hell was that? What the fuck am I going to do? I can’t go back to jail.

  What about Logan?

  “Here and here.” Atticus slides the piece of paper in front of me, pointing to two lines where I need to sign. This is it. It may be black ink in the pen, but I know damn well this is my blood on the paper. I scratch out my signature and grip the pen tight to stop myself using it as a weapon and end up having a murder charge added to my probation for Category 1 theft. I just made my deal with the devil, and I wonder, not for the first time, if the nightmare I keep waking from was actually a premonition. Atticus swiftly takes the papers from me, as if I might change my mind. If I could, I would. I racked my brain for three hours after the detective came in and offered me a choice of rock and a hard place. I couldn’t come up with an alternative. This wasn’t in my plan, but really, what choice did I have?

  “I can’t believe you’ve done this. You must have some serious sway and some high-ranking officials in your pockets to get this sort of deal. Is it even legal? Tell me this isn’t really happening?” I stand and grab my bag from the chair. Atticus is holding the door for me to leave the room with him.

  “Oh, it’s really happening, princess, and I will only say this once: This was your choice.” His face is impassive, and I can’t fathom why he is doing this.

  “I didn’t have a choice, did I?”

  “You could tell me where the money is,” he clips, and I tighten my lips and shoot daggers his way. It’s my stock response to that question. “Don’t look so broken up, princess, I’ve just saved you from finishing your probation and some serious extra time inside. All you have to do is spend the next twelve months with me. It’s not exactly a hardship. I live in the fucking penthouse at Number 1 Blackfriars.”

  “Stop calling me that. I don’t give a flying fuck where you live. I do care that now, I have to live with you, and if you really believe you still know me,
then you’d remember I’ve never cared about material shit,” I fire at him, my eyes narrowing, and if I had heat vision, he would be a smouldering pile of ash right about now.

  “Well, you took my money for some reason,” he counters as I pause on the threshold, his tall frame towering over me. I tip my head to keep the eye contact. All the time I knew him, he never once scared me. How times have changed. I can feel my tummy tighten with something akin to fear, yet I won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing just how terrified I really am.

  “I didn’t take your money,” I repeat.

  “Yes, so you’ve said. I’ll have my pen back, please. Can’t have you picked up on another theft charge before we’ve even left the station,” he quips, and my jaw drops.

  “Really? Jokes? This is so far from funny, it’s unreal,” I bite out, venom dripping from my tone. He leans down, and I have to arch away from him to keep the distance.

  “This is as real as it gets, princess. For the next twelve months, you’re mine, and I will get my money back.” He holds my stare, his blue eyes darkening to the colour of a bottomless ocean. He searches my face, but his expression is unchanged, handsome with a hint of hatred. I struggle to see any sign of the man I used to love, not that it matters. He’s not here for me; he’s here for his money. He lets the door close, and I follow him along the corridor.

  There is a Range Rover with blacked out windows and a suited driver waiting with the back door open. Atticus nods and steps aside to let me in. His hand hovers close to the base of my spine, but it doesn’t touch. I can still feel the heat as if he did, though. I’m in so much trouble. I shuffle to the other side of the seat, as far as I can from Atticus, which is a challenge since his long legs spread wide, and he drapes his arm over the back, his fingertips just millimetres from me. I swallow the lump in my throat and turn to face him, shifting a little farther away as I do.

  “I have to get my stuff, and I have no idea how I’m going to explain this to Logan.”

  “Logan is your cat?” His thick blond brows knit together, clearly troubled, but I doubt he’s in a sharing mood.

  “Not exactly.”

  “Boyfriend?” His jaw ticks, and his tone is clipped with irritation.

  “It’s complicated.”

  “I understand.” He brushes off whatever that was, and he is once more a stony-faced statue. I can’t begin to get a read of him at all. I sniff out a light laugh.

  “I doubt that. I don’t understand it myself.” I can’t help my smile when my minds drifts to all things Logan and us. I let out a heavy breath. “He’s not going to be happy.”

  “He cares about you?”

  “None of your fucking business,” I snap, and he grins and waves me down, my hackles clearly showing through all my layers of clothing.

  “Calm yourself, I’m not prying. I meant, he cares enough about you that he wouldn’t want to see you back in prison?” Atticus clarifies.

  “No, he wouldn’t want that.”

  “Well, then, he’ll be fine,” he states and turns away, his eyes fixed on the bustle of the city as we crawl our way out of town. Mine do the same, and I really hope I’m wrong when I mutter to myself,

  “No, he won’t.”

  I want to take it slow, but I’ve waited too damn long for this, and those little panting breaths are driving me fucking nuts. Her arms are stretched taut, high above her head, both her tiny hands are in one of mine, and my grip is tight. She’s not going anywhere, but then, the way her eyes are burning into mine, I know she’s exactly where she wants to be, finally.

  “You ready, T?” My lips brush hers, and her whole body shivers. God, that’s the sexiest fucking thing.

  “I’m scared.” She nibbles on her bottom lip, and I press mine over hers, pulling the soft flesh into my mouth and taking her troubles with it. I suck a little too hard, and she whimpers before I release it with a soft plop. I press another kiss at the corner of her mouth and smile. Her lips mirror mine and transform her face. She glows when her face lights like that, when she’s truly happy.

  “I’ve got you, you’re mine, remember?” I whisper, and she falls.

  “Then I’m more than ready.” She releases her breath, and a sexy moan escapes the back of her throat. Before she can draw her next breath, my mouth is once more on hers. Our lips crash together with the urgency of months and months of pent-up lust and passion unleashed. Damn, she tastes good. My tongue traces the seam of her lips and dives inside, drinking in her flavour and taking everything she has to give. Her tongue, tentative at first, twists with mine, pulling me closer, until I fill her mouth and draw the very breath from her body. All-consuming, this kiss is so pure, when I break, it leaves us both breathless and wanting more.

  I cup her chin and hold her face immobile, firm and possessive, mine. Her eyes lock onto me, her pupils so large there is no colour at all, just inky black pools to lose my soul in. It’s like every part of her is opening for me, wide eyes, mouth gasping for air, and when my thigh slips between her legs, they fall to either side of me and melt like butter around my leg. I push my body against her, the heat from our connection incendiary, and collectively we have on way too many clothes. I need to feel that heat, naked and raw. I need to feel how wet she is for me, because she can damn well feel how hard I am for her.

  “Keep your hands right there.” I press them against the wall and let go, happy when she does exactly as I ask.

  “What are you going to do?” she gasps, and I press my finger against her swollen lips.

  “Shh, angel.” I kiss where my finger was, and a low rumble from my chest accompanies my declaration. “I’m going to do everything.”

  “Oh.” It’s barely audible. If I hadn’t been watching her mouth, I wouldn’t know she had spoken at all, just laboured breaths and sexy-as-all-hell sighs.

  “But first I’m going to peel these jeans from this beautiful body and taste you. I want you to come all over my tongue before we f—” I stop myself, because as relaxed and sexy as she looks right now, she’s gone. Only for a split second, but she’s not with me, and I can’t have that. I kiss her lips.

  “Tia, stay with me. I’m not going to hurt you. I will never hurt you.”

  “I know, sorry.” Her eyes glaze, and my thumb catches the first and, thankfully, only tear.

  “And don’t ever apologise. What I was going to say was, I want to taste you before I make love to you.” She blinks and shakes her head.

  “It’s okay, you can say fuck, Logan. It’s ok to say it. I just—” I interrupt before we lose this moment. She needs this as much as I do, I can see it in her eyes. It’s like we have this demon surrounding us both, one she needs to slay, with my help, but either way, she’s ready.

  “Hey, I will say it when that’s what we are going to do, but this isn’t what we are doing, not by a long fucking long shot. This is me, making love to you, with this body and my soul. You’re mine, Tia, but make no mistake, you own me just as much as I own you. And right now, I am going to worship your body, and we are going to make love until we both pass out.”

  “Sounds good.” She giggles and then swallows the lump in her throat, her eyes darkening with lust and fire. I smile the biggest fucking smile known to man. I have her back.

  “Fuck good, Tia, it doesn’t get any better than this…this, this is heaven.” I drop to my knees, and for the first time in my life, I say a silent prayer, she’s mine.

  I unhook the buttons on her jeans and peel them slowly down her toned legs, taking my sweet time, even if my mouth is literally watering at the sight. It’s a battle. I want to rip the clothes from her body, shred them, and devour her, but that’s not what she needs. She steps out of her jeans, and I plant a kiss on the cotton triangle at the apex of her thighs. Her tummy muscles clench, and she sucks in a breath. I keep my lips there, kissing and lightly nudging, until I feel her relax, and she lets out that breath she’s holding. When one of her hands threads into my hair, tugging and gripping, I slide my finger
s over the elastic and pull her panties to the floor.

  Kissing her inner thigh at the top, I alternate until I am back where I started, but this time there is nothing to hinder, no barrier. I hook one of her legs over my shoulder and move forward so she is spread much wider. She’s dripping wet and even with a little more hair down there than I’m used to, she is fucking perfect. I press my mouth against her soft folds and drag my tongue along her sweet wetness, drinking her in. I thought her mouth tasted like nothing else, but this here, this is intoxicating, a perfect mix of musky sweet and her.

  I can’t get enough.

  Her hands are in my hair, and her fists are pulling me this way and that, her greedy little hips grind against my mouth, and I am just about ready to explode. My cock is straining to the max and is in absolute agony in my pants. I can feel she’s letting go, and I am on cloud fucking nine that I’m taking her there. I slip one finger inside her tight little hole, and her muscles clamp down. She gasps, and I ease back a little.

  “No, no, don’t stop, more, Logan, I need more,” she pants, her voice so squeaky and high pitched, I chuckle.

  “Okay, angel, anything for you.” I cover her clit with my lips, working it with my tongue as I slide two, then three fingers inside her. She’s fucking tight, and that just makes my cock throb like a motherfucker behind my zipper. But this isn’t about me…yet. I gently pump in and out, twisting a little and putting just the right amount of pressure when I turn my fingers and press her sweet spot. Her legs shake, and her fists pull at my hair so much it makes my eyes water, but I keep working her higher and higher.

  “Oh! Oh, God, Loga…ah! ah! God, Oh, Lo—!” She loses any coherence somewhere between her declaration to God and saying my name over and over. Her hips buck against my mouth, and then every muscle in her body sets rigid. Time stands still as I watch the most amazing sight in the whole damn world: my girl, coming apart at my fingertips.

  She slides down the wall supporting her back and into my waiting arms. I scoop her against my chest and carry her to my bed. She has the sexiest smile, and her cheeks are flushed with colour. I can’t keep my eyes off her as I fumble with the buckle of my belt and kick my jeans to the floor. I crawl up her body, kissing patches of skin that take my fancy. All of it takes my fancy, so by the time my mouth is above hers, I can see she is once again a needy mess, and her body is writhing underneath mine, clearly desperate for some contact.