The Game That Breaks Us (Us 3)

We place our order and I pay—no way in hell am I letting her pay—and then we stand off to the side to wait for our order.

I feel nervous—jumpy, even—because I know what I have to do and I’m scared she won’t like it. Rejection isn’t something I have to deal with often. At least, not with women, but Grace is always putting me in my place.

Our order is called out and Grace scurries forward to grab our mugs—yeah, they put it in mugs—before I can move. She has the biggest smile on her face as she turns back to me, and I’d like to think she’s smiling at me like that, but she really fucking loves her coffee. I follow her through the coffee shop and to a back area with tables. She picks a table in the corner and sets our mugs down.

“Tattoo and coffees, I like this mix,” she says, sliding into a chair.

I chuckle. “Funny, because you were opposed to the tattoo thing at first.”

She lifts her mug and takes a tentative sip so she doesn’t scald her tongue. She sets the mug back down and her lips quirk. “Hey, I changed my mind. I’m allowed to do that.”

I want to ask her if that means I’m allowed to change my mind, but I bite my tongue. For now.

Grace holds out her wrist, admiring the crown tattoo.

“Are you sure it’s okay?” When I thought of it, I knew it was perfect for her, but that doesn’t mean she likes it.

She smiles and nods, wrapping her long fingers around her mug of coffee. Several rings adorn her fingers and her favorite watch sits on her wrist. “I really do love it,” she promises. “What about yours?” She eyes my tattoo.

“It’s fucking perfect.”

Someone at a nearby table glares at me for cussing and I wave sheepishly.

Grace laughs. “You’re going to get us in trouble.”

“While we’re being bad we might as well go full out,” I tell her, waggling my brows. I pick up a sugar packet from the table and rub it between my fingers, waiting for her to speak.

“What do you have in mind?”

“Is there a bathroom here?” I ask.

“Why?” She looks scared now.

My voice lowers to a whisper. “I think you know why.”

She shivers—and it’s not because she’s scared, but because she’s turned on by this. Underneath her prissy attitude and dresses lies a wild heart. Anyone who says you can’t be good and a rebel doesn’t know how to live.

I stand and offer her my hand. We leave our mugs on the table and head down a narrow hall to the bathrooms. It’s unisex—this couldn’t get any better—and empty. I push open the door and she stumbles inside, breathing heavily. I know if I felt her chest I’d feel her heart beating madly behind her rib cage.

I close the door behind us, but I don’t lock it. Her eyes flick to the lock and she raises her brow in question. “Aren’t you going to lock that?”

“No.” I shake my head. “That’s part of the thrill.”

“Getting caught?” she asks, backing against the porcelain sink.

I shake my head. “Thinking you’re going to get caught.”

She swallows thickly as I stalk closer to her. I plant my hands on either side of the sink, caging her in.

“What are you going to do?”

I bite her bottom lip, pulling it between my teeth before letting it go. “Whatever you want to do.”

“I’m in charge?” Her voice shakes and she reaches up a tentative hand to touch my chest.

I nod. “You’re always in charge.”

She smiles at that and leans in to kiss me. She doesn’t have to lean far since she wears a pair of ridiculously long heels. My hands move to her waist and I can’t get a good grip on her hips thanks to the heavy coat she wears. I find the tie around her waist and undo it, pushing the coat off her shoulders. It falls to the floor and she breaks the kiss with a laugh.