Wicked Games (McCade Brothers 1.50)

“That’s so good…so fucking amazing. I can’t take anymore…Christ, okay a little more.” But just when she had him so close she could almost taste his orgasm, he groaned, “Enough,” and pulled her up onto his lap. He fisted a hand in the back of her hair, held her still, and stared at her for a long moment.

“You really want to do this?”

This time his question contained an unmistakable thread of anger, and it unleashed a whole host of volatile emotions in her, including excitement. Feeling dangerous, she squirmed in his lap, lining up her hot, wet center with his thick, pulsing shaft. “That’s why I brought you here.”

“You want me to fuck you.” His voice went flat. Resigned. Disappointed, even.

Now her temper spiked. He’d let her walk out of his life. Yes, she’d broken up with him, but dammit, he’d always been able to read her like a large-print novel. He always understood her motivations, and even if for once he didn’t, the bottom line was he hadn’t cared enough to fight for her. Who was he to judge how she conducted herself now?

“I want you to fuck me blind.” There, Ian. Swallow that. “Do you think you can manage that one little thing?”

He stayed still and silent for so long she figured he knew, and was going to call off the whole charade. Screw it. She reached for his mask, but he caught her hands.

“No. That’s one thing you don’t get, Angel.”

Yes, she was a passably good actress, but how could he still not realize she knew it was him? Or maybe that was just how he wanted to play it? Temper edged up another notch, and so did desire. Game on. Good actress or not, she could portray a pissed-off, not-getting-what-she-wanted version of herself in her sleep. She ground against him, fighting a moan as her inner muscles tightened in anticipation of every steely, unyielding inch. “I’m sorry, but you seem to be operating under the delusion that you’re in charge here.” She tried to free her wrists from his grip.

He held on, easily.

She dialed her temper up a degree. He’d expect her to take a “no” badly. “Take the damn mask off.”

“I said no. Behave. Or do I have to show you how I handle girls who won’t behave?”

Behave? Oh, he had balls. “You did not just tell me to behave.” She struggled like a woman truly determined to get the mask off, shift the balance of power back to her, to win. He evaded her hands. Then he stood up, spun them, and, before she caught her breath, had her bent over the back of the chair.

Chapter Five

“You son of a bitch,” Stacy panted. “I suppose you think this puts you in control?”

With you, never, he thought as he adjusted his loose, one-handed hold on her wrists, and awkwardly tugged his jeans up. She flexed her wrists, testing his grip, and he knew she now realized she could shake him off anytime she wanted…if she wanted. A part of him hoped she did. Another part agonized at the thought. “You made the rules, remember? No holds barred. Nothing off-limits. Sound familiar? But hey,” he patted her backside, “I understand. If I’m too much for you to handle, that’s all you have to say and we’ll call it a night. Seven little words.” He leaned over until his mouth brushed her ear. “Do you need to say it, Angel?”

He barely had time to step out of the path of the lethally sharp high heel she aimed at his shin. She swore. He straightened and laughed, although there was nothing the least bit funny about how he felt right now.

Furious more accurately described his state of mind—pissed beyond words that she would do something so stupid, and dangerous and just plain reckless as have sex with a stranger, especially now, with some unbalanced idiot out there sending her hate mail.

Hurt came in a close second. Here he was, missing her so much he could barely think of anything except how to get her back, and she’d clearly moved on. Yes, she’d broken up with him. Yes, she was free to do whatever or whomever she pleased. No, that logic didn’t diminish the hurt. Not in the least. And how the hell could she not realize who he was by now? He didn’t want to be a hysterical schoolgirl about things, but she’d treated his dick like her best friend for a whole fucking year. Tonight she’d had him in her hand, and her mouth, and while he’d felt like he’d come home for the first time in godforsaken weeks, she’d been none the wiser? Hell, yeah, that hurt.

Lastly, because somewhere along the line she’d transformed him into a sick, masochistic head case, he was also ridiculously, excruciatingly turned on. The sight of her, face down, ass up, spitting mad and spoiling for a fight, made him determined to turn her into a quivering mass of need—exactly what she’d reduced him to with her antics this evening.

“Don’t flatter yourself. I’m perfectly capable of handling whatever you’ve got. The real question is, am I too much for you to handle?” She stomped her foot and connected with his instep.

A white-hot pain shot up his leg. It hurt like a mother, but even the pain made his cock throb, because it came from her. “I’m making a rule. No kicking,” he grunted and smacked her ass. Not hard, but with enough palm to make a very satisfying slapping noise.

She let loose an equally satisfying cry—part shock, part passion—and then, bold as ever, kicked him in the shin. This time, however, she used no force. The halfhearted effort told him what she really wanted. He spanked her again. This time her cock-twisting cry edged over into a throaty moan, and he wondered if it was possible to have a coronary if all the blood in his body surged straight between his legs. Could he get so hard he might actually lose circulation to some vital parts? Fuck it. Some things were worth the risk. “Follow the rules, or I

’m not going to play. Your choice, Angel. You want some more?”

A restless, edgy sound served as her reply, and she pushed up onto her toes. He took that as a yes, and responded with another swat to her vulnerable backside. Her husky moan wound him painfully tight. Probably pure theatrics on her part, but his dick didn’t know the difference, which made continuing the game an exercise in self-torture. Still, he refused to crack first, so he bluffed. “I can keep this up until one of us comes, but your sweet little ass is getting awfully pink, and you may need to sit down sometime in the next couple days.”

She held her position a moment longer, out of defiance or hope, he wasn’t entirely sure, and then sagged and rested her forehead against the seat of the chair. “You’re a bastard,” she said, breathing heavy.

The sentiment sounded so heartfelt, he couldn’t help but grin. “Undoubtedly.” He smoothed his hand over her rosy cheeks, gently, because he knew they had to be stinging just a little by now. She lifted her hips and pressed herself into his touch, like a cat. Their eyes met in the mirror. He caressed her again, lingered to tickle his fingertips along the crease. His grin deepened when she tensed and bit her lip, but failed to stifle a sigh of pleasure. “You’re going to be begging this bastard to make you scream before I’m done with you.”

“In your dreams.”

He traced the vee of her thong. “I’ll bet you’re so wet right now, you’ve soaked right through these very sexy panties you’ve been showing off all night.”

“Bite me.” She struggled to stand up.