Dirty Games (Tropical Temptation)

Oh, but he did. He knew the kind of pain she was talking about all too well, because he’d been living with it for weeks, too. Every time he let his mind off the leash, it wandered back to that moment when he’d had her draped over the hyperextension bench, bare-assed and breathless. Sometimes he imagined walking around the front, freeing his aching cock from his shorts and feeding it into her waiting mouth. He imagined her head bobbing, her body tensing and flexing as she drained him so thoroughly, he had to hold onto the pull-up bar overhead to keep from sinking to his knees. Other times, he stepped into position behind her, looped an arm around her waist, and thrust into her, balls deep, while she gripped the handles and arched up until he could watch her face in the mirror as she came.

But all of that was normal. Relatively. Just looking at her constituted a sex act, and he appreciated sex as much as any other man with a pulse. Yes, he wanted her, but like everyone else, he occasionally wanted things he couldn’t have. Wanting her didn’t trouble him. What troubled him was how much he looked forward to seeing her every morning, or how hard it had been, lately, to dismiss her at the end of each day and walk away.

That was not normal. That was dangerous, because she was a client. His role in her life was strictly temporary, and subject to limits. Hell, there was a guy at the other end of a phone with whom she traded phrases like, I miss you, too…

“Please,” she repeated, her voice a broken whisper. “You told me to ask when I need help. Luke, I’m asking.”

…and she could be manipulative as hell. Seducing him into breaking his own rules amounted to an attempt on her part to equalize the power in their relationship. He couldn’t allow her to succeed, but recognizing her motivation didn’t stop his hands from moving—didn’t even make them pause. One scooted her hips forward, forcing her thighs wider. The other untangled her fist from his shirt.

A voice inside his head growled, Fuck the guy at the other end of the phone. She’s not with him right now. She’s with you. She’s not asking him for help. She’s asking you.

How much of that enlightened sentiment accounted for his motivation?

Doesn’t matter. You’ve already walked a fine line with her once. You can do it again.

“I’m going to help you, Quinn.”

His chest muffled her sigh. “Thank you,” she murmured, and the gratitude rang sincere. He had to remind himself she played roles for a living.

But then she added, “I promise not to forget you don’t like me,” in a husky murmur that sounded a little too honest.

“I like you,” he corrected, not bothering to mask the sincerity of his words as he wrapped his hand around her ponytail and eased her head back until their eyes met. “I like you so much, I’m going to help you help yourself.”

“Help me…what…?” Her question hovered in the air like anticipation as he guided her hand b

etween her legs and pressed it there. Uncertainty flashed in her eyes.

More theatrics, or did the idea of getting herself off while he watched actually trigger some self-consciousness? Either worked for him. “Help yourself.”

Her lips firmed into a line—a tiny show of mutiny—before she shook her head. “That’s not the kind of help I’m asking you for. You know what I want.”

He didn’t back off. She’d dragged them to this line, and by God, she was going to walk it. On his terms. “Oh no. I think you misunderstand how this works. You’re permitted to ask for my help, but you don’t get to specify my methods. You’re not in charge here.”

One blond brow lifted. “I was kind of hoping you would take charge,” she argued, immediately shifting tactics. No wonder he hated leaving at the end of the day. It wasn’t easy walking away from someone who entertained him at the same time she challenged him on every level.

“I already have. You just don’t realize it yet.”

Her chin came up. “Your authority has its limits, even if your opinion of yourself doesn’t. Sorry, Luke. This isn’t going to work for me.”

“Close your eyes, Trouble.”

She released an exaggerated breath and slowly lowered her lids, somehow turning it into a small act of rebellion.

He picked up the towel she’d slung over the back of the seat, folded it into a narrow length, and tied it over her eyes. Then he brought his mouth close to her ear. “You’re beautiful.”

He could shift gears, too.

She released another breath, slower this time. “You think that’s all it takes? Blindfold me, stroke my ego, and I’ll come in my panties?”

“I’m simply stating a fact. You have all this beauty at your disposal, to enjoy anytime you please. Do you ever?”

Her lips parted. Her cheeks went a delicate shade of pink. “Of course. Everyone does. Don’t you?”

An honest response, if somewhat defensive. She needed him to give her an admission, too. “Yes. Want to know what I think about when I do it?”

Her lungs expanded as she drew in air, and the tight nipples forming peaks beneath her white workout top nearly touched his chest. His lips pursed from the need to draw one into his mouth.

“Yessss.”