Chapter 1: The Unspoken Game
I’m 31 now, but this wicked little game started when I was just 19, a wild young thing in the back of my then-boyfriend’s car. My husband, Jake, was up front laughing with another buddy, while I sat next to his friend, Ryan, in the backseat. I still remember the heat of his hand as it crept up my leg, stroking over my jeans. I didn’t stop him. Hell, I didn’t even flinch. Instead, I parted my thighs just enough to let him know I wasn’t playing coy. Nothing more happened that night, but the spark was lit—a dangerous, silent agreement that’s burned for over a decade.
Fast forward to now. Ryan’s over at our house again, hammer in hand, fixing up the drywall in our living room. Jake’s at work, and the air between Ryan and me is thick with the unspoken. I’m in the kitchen, pretending to fuss over a pot of coffee, but really, I’m waiting. I hear his boots scuff against the floor as he walks in, and I don’t even turn around. I know what’s coming.
‘Nice view from back here, Lila,’ he drawls, his voice low and teasing, like we’re just chatting about the weather. I smirk, stirring the coffee with a little more sway in my hips than necessary.
‘Keep your eyes on the wall, handyman. Wouldn’t want you to mess up Jake’s house,’ I shoot back, sharp as a whip, but I don’t move away when I feel his hand slide over the curve of my ass, firm and unapologetic through my leggings. My breath catches, but I keep my cool, turning my head just enough to catch his grin.
‘Oh, I’m real good with my hands. You know that,’ he quips, giving a little squeeze that sends a jolt straight through me. I laugh, a throaty sound, and step closer to the counter, not to escape, but to play the game. I lean forward, just enough that my ass presses back against his grip, daring him to push further.
‘Careful, Ryan. I bite back,’ I warn, my voice dripping with challenge. His chuckle is dark, and his fingers dig in just a bit harder, testing me. My skin’s buzzing, heat pooling low in my belly, but we both know the rules. This is as far as it goes… for now.
I turn around, breaking the contact, and hand him a mug of coffee like nothing’s happened. His eyes are on me, hungry, but he takes the cup with a nod. ‘One of these days, Lila, you’re gonna start something you can’t finish,’ he says, his tone half-joking, half-serious.
‘Oh, honey, I always finish what I start,’ I retort, locking eyes with him over the rim of my own mug. The tension crackles like a live wire. I can feel my pulse racing, my body already anticipating the next time we’re alone. I know he’s hard under those jeans—I can see the strain—but I don’t look down. Not yet. I’m not some blushing damsel; I’m the one steering this ship, and I’m damn good at it.
He steps closer, close enough that I can smell the sawdust on his shirt, and for a second, I think he might break our silent code. My pussy clenches at the thought, a rush of wet heat I can’t ignore, but I hold my ground, staring him down. ‘Don’t tempt me, Ryan,’ I whisper, my voice a blade wrapped in velvet. ‘Not unless you’re ready to play for keeps.’
His jaw tightens, and I know he’s sweating under that cocky smirk, probably panting inside for more. But he steps back, tipping his mug to me like a salute. ‘Game on, Lila. Game fucking on.’
I watch him walk back to the living room, my heart pounding, knowing this is just the warm-up. One of these days, that unspoken line is gonna snap, and when it does, I’ll be ready—horny, dripping, and in control.
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