Marked (Playing Games Book 1)

by Rebecca Barber

  “What can I get you?” she cooed at Logan, her come-fuck-me eyes staring at him.

  “I’ll take an ice water and whatever the lady would like,” he ordered, settling his hand on my lower back and nudging me in front of him before cocooning me from behind.

  “And you?” she asked a whole lot less politely with an uninterested and entirely fake smile.

  “I’ll have a leg spreader, thanks.”

  The look on her face alone was worth my embarrassment. I felt Logan’s laugh as it passed through his body and into mine.

  Without saying anything, she spun away and prepared the drinks before sliding them back along the bar. Pulling my money from the clutch dangling around my wrist, I paid quickly.

  “Hey! It was supposed to be my shout.”

  Turning around, I was shocked to see how close he was. Tilting my head back, I looked up into his face and saw the tug of a small smile on his entirely kissable lips. Taking a sip of my drink, I prayed the alcohol would numb the thoughts in my head.

  When he lifted his glass to his lips and took a drink, I was mesmerised by the bob of his Adam’s apple. Taking another big mouthful, I straightened my shoulders in the same moment an argument broke out beside me and, as it escalated and people pushed and shoved back and forth, he pulled me behind him and protected me. To say I was stunned would’ve been an understatement.

  With outstretched fingers, he reached out and took my hand in his before leading me through the throng of people over to a quiet corner. I should’ve been intimidated by how he towered over me, or from how wide his shoulders were as he blocked my view of the rest of the club. And I really should’ve been worried about the things his cologne was doing to my body. Everything was tingling. Even the things that most certainly should not be tingling around this particular guy.

  “How’s that leg spreader working for you?” he asked as I drained the last of my drink and licked my lips. Honestly, it was working well. A little too well probably. But hey, you only live once, and Logan Oliver was looking at me like he wanted to eat me alive. Right now, I wanted that too. I really did.

  “Not too bad,” I replied more than a little cocky. “I could probably go another, though.”

  “Probably?” he asked with a quirked brow.

  “Definitely,” I suggested, stepping past him, my aching, diamond pointed nipples brushing against his arm in a move designed to drive him crazy but backfired on me big time.

  I’d almost made it all the way by when he snagged my wrist, halting me in my tracks. “Where are you running off to?”

  “The bar. I’m suddenly feeing extremely parched.” It wasn’t a lie. My throat was as dry as the Sahara, probably because all the moisture in my body was pooling between my legs.

  He looked down at me, his eyes alight with mischief. “And you think I’m going to let you sashay that mighty fine arse up to the bar and order another X-rated drink on your own?”

  “What makes you think you have a choice?” I winked and added a flick of my hips as I moved towards the bar.

  A gap opened and I slipped into it. Squished between a squealing, sweaty girl who was crapping on about some guys she just like totally made out with and a guy who was sending silent death stares at the busy bartenders, I took a breath and tried to get my racing heart under control.

  Just when I’d managed to pull myself together, two long, tanned, muscular arms caged me in. With warm breath tickling my neck, a husky voice asked, “So, can I buy you a drink?”

  Spinning around in his arms, I came face to face with Logan. It should’ve been weird or awkward that we’d never even exchanged names, but for some reason it made it even hotter. I didn’t even feel guilty for the fact that I recognised him but hadn’t admitted it.

  “What’s in it for me?” I taunted. For some reason, with him I couldn’t act normal. Why I couldn’t just say thank you confused the crap out of me. Instead, I was unashamedly flirting.

  “You mean besides a leg spreader?” I almost choked on my breath. With the lull in the pulsating beat of the music and the pause in conversations around us, more people heard Logan’s comment than he’d intended, causing him to blush like he’d just been caught with his hand down his pants.

  Patting him on the arm, I smiled, trying to put him out of his misery. The poor bastard. Before I had a chance to say anything the bartender appeared in front of me asking what I was after. After stealing one last look, I just couldn’t help myself.

  “I’ll have a leg spreader please.”

  “And for you?” she asked Logan.

  Not giving him a chance to answer, I answered for him. “And he’ll have a creamy pussy please.” With a sly smile, she moved away and started mixing.

  Logan waited until she was far enough away before he scolded me. “What the fuck did you just order me?”

  “What? The creamy pussy? I thought you’d like it.” I was playing with fire and I knew it. Who knew getting burned could feel so good?

  “Oh, I know I would. Who doesn’t? I just prefer a good old-fashioned screaming orgasm.”

  “Who doesn’t?” I taunted, and he groaned in response before reaching down and adjusting the impressive bulge in the front of his jeans. One I wasn’t even bothering to pretend I hadn’t noticed.

  “You’re truly evil, you know that?”

  “Yeah. But you like me anyway.”

  “Fucked if I know why.” He chuckled with a shake of his head. Before I could get myself any more worked up, our drinks were set down in front of us and I reached for my wallet.

  Reaching over my head, he handed over his card and nodded to the bartender. “I can buy my own drinks,” I reminded him.

  With a wicked smile on his all too handsome face, popping the dimples I’d only ever seen in photos, he met my eye. “There’s no way I’m letting you pay for my creamy pussy.” Collecting his glass, he lifted it over my head and took a sip. It looked completely ridiculous. This gorgeous, masculine man’s man sipping a pink cocktail in the middle of a crowded club. “Mmmm,” he moaned, almost buckling my knees. I really needed to pull myself together around this guy, but I was enjoying it too much. Way too much.

  “Just what you wanted?” I teased, taking a sip of my own drink and stepping away from the bar. As alcohol flooded my body, I felt my skin warm. I was blaming the booze, but I couldn’t rule out Logan’s stare as being responsible.

  “Absolutely. It’s just the way I like it. Sweet and creamy and delicious.” Now it was my turn to moan.

  A moment later, we were back in our nook out of the crush of the masses, quietly sipping our filthy-named cocktails, eyeing each other, willing the other to crack first. I refused. I couldn’t give in before he did. Instead, I concentrated on every line on his face, the way his hair flipped to the left and the tiny freckles on his cheeks.

  He snapped first. Draining the last of his drink, he smacked his lips together before bending down to whisper into my ear. I don’t know whether it was the warmth of his breath tickling my neck or the gruffness in his voice that had my knees buckling. “Finish that damn cocktail before I do it for you and get your sexy arse on the dance floor.”

  I opened my mouth to protest, but one look in his eyes had me swallowing down every drop and setting the glass on the high-top table behind us. The moment the glass touched the fake wooden finish, Logan’s massive hand wrapped around my wrist as he half dragged me across the club. When I stumbled forward, my boobs crashing into his back, I wanted to blame the alcohol or the ridiculously stupid heels but maybe it was just the fact I was so distracted by him, I wasn’t watching where I was going. Two steps later he stopped, spun around to face me as his hands grasped my hips, dragging me towards him.

  His huge, hard erection was unmissable as it dug into my stomach when he wedged his leg between mine. I couldn’t help it. In the darkness of the dance floor, wrapped up in this man who was too fucking hot for his own good, I dropped my head against his shoulder, closed my eyes and ground against him.
I should’ve been ashamed of myself. I was acting like a common whore. The problem was, I wasn’t. Not one little bit.

  Grinding against his thigh, I was regretting my choice of underwear. Or lack thereof. Fucking Giselle. Bitch had convinced me to go without underwear and avoid the dreaded visible panty line. What she hadn’t considered was how this man could wind me up with a few seemingly innocent touches and some well-timed words. Now my biggest issue wasn’t VPL but more leaving a wet patch on his jeans. Trying to squeeze my thighs together, I needed to ease the throbbing.

  “You’re flushed.”

  “Your fault.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Even his banter was driving me insane. Not willing to risk another second, I grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, dragging his head down to meet mine and kissed him. At least it started out as a kiss. Until he took control. Plunging his tongue in my mouth, he kissed like he played football. Full of passion, force and completely in control. By the time we pulled apart, we were both breathless and heaving. When I lifted my hand to touch my lips which were no doubt swollen as they tingled, he grabbed my hand and spun me, so my back was pressed against his chest.

  He was hot.

  So fucking hot.

  I could feel his muscles against me as I moved against him. His erection pulsing against the bottom of my back. At least I wasn’t the only one embarrassing myself here. But from the size of the surprise in his pants, that man had absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about.

  With him nipping at my neck, I withered against him. The sensations of pleasure and pain flooding my body. If I could’ve formed a coherent sentence, I would’ve suggested we move to somewhere a little more private and discreet, but right now I didn’t give a flying fuck. This man had me hanging on by the thinnest of threads and I was that needy and desperate I’d do anything for him to send me flying over the edge. If he didn’t finish the job soon, I was going to need to get the hell out of here and take care of that myself.

  Just when I was about to beg, I didn’t have to. I felt strong, warm, calloused fingers walking their way up my thigh, disappearing under my skirt and pushing inside of me. I couldn’t have stopped the moan that escaped my lips even if I’d wanted to.

  “Keep dancing,” he growled against my skin before biting my ear lobe.

  How was I supposed to think, let alone dance? Leaning back into him, I let him lead me on the hottest dance of my life. Closing my eyes, I moaned and murmured and whimpered as Logan lifted me higher and higher. The moment he bit down on my shoulder as his thumb brushed over my pulsating clit I exploded, a million stars blurring my vision.

  “Breathe,” he whispered as my heavy eyelids fluttered open, half expecting the entire room to be staring slack-jawed at me.

  As the reality of what I’d just done, what I’d just let him do to me settled in, my heart started pounding again but not for the same, incredible reason. I’d just had the most intense orgasm of my life in the middle of a crowded dance floor with a guy who didn’t even know my name. I was a slut. A dirty, dirty slut.

  Straightening up, I tugged my skirt down as his hand swept passed my arse. By the time I turned to face him, something I wasn’t entirely sure I had the balls to do, I saw him licking his fingers with a smug satisfied smile dancing on his lips. Arsehole was proud of himself. While he had every reason to be – he’d just rocked my world – seeing it written on his face was the cold shower I needed.

  Feeling the evidence of my orgasm running down my legs, I shook my hand free and wound my way through the crowd on a beeline for the bathroom. As much as I needed to clean myself up, I needed a minute to pull myself together.

  Bursting through the door, I came face to face with a girl trying to fix her hair and makeup. She looked as freshly fucked as I was. Or maybe I was just projecting. Slipping into the stall, I closed the lid, sat down and dropped my head in my hands.

  CHAPTER THREE

  LOGAN

  Wiping the sweat from my brow, I tossed the towel in the dirty hamper in the corner of the gym and finished what was left in my water bottle. Every muscle in my body was hating me right now. I’d always hated the gym. I knew it was a necessary evil and a part of my job, but it wasn’t a part I enjoyed. I’d much rather be out running around in the pouring rain and howling wind than lifting a metal bar over my head time and time again.

  “You done already?” Bryce taunted from his seat on the leg press. If I thought I hated the weight room, then Bryce was worse. Except, like everything else in his life somehow, he managed to half-arse it and get away with it. On paper it looked like he did long workouts but sitting on the weight bench watching cat videos on YouTube didn’t count. At least it shouldn’t. Didn’t stop him from busting my balls, though.

  “Well some of us have actually finished our sets already,” I threw back, tugging my shirt away from my body. I was sweating like a whore in a church.

  “You going out tonight?” Jack asked as he sauntered over.

  “Nah.”

  “Why the fuck not? You’re never gonna find a chick to suck your dick if you’re sitting at home.”

  Flipping him the bird, I started towards the shower.

  “Jack, give the guy a break. Maybe he’s not interested in finding a chick,” Nick attempted to defend me, but it only made it worse.

  “Hey, no judgement here. If you wanna bring a dude home, Logan, just give me a heads up to give you some privacy.”

  “You guys are a bunch of cock smokers, you know.”

  “Takes one to know one,” Bryce threw out there.

  Instead of continuing the same argument we’d been having for two weeks, I left them sitting there comparing the size of their muscles and measuring their dicks and headed for the lockers. I couldn’t even be fucked showering here.

  Half an hour later, after having showered and taken care of myself…again – something that had become a daily, sometimes twice-daily occurrence – I was sitting on the couch waiting for my game to load and my dumplings to arrive. I played until my eyes were blurry. I should’ve gotten up and put my glasses on hours ago, but I’d been lazy. That was the problem with Wednesdays. We always had a weight session in the morning then the rest of the afternoon we were left to our own devices. Usually it wasn’t such an issue for me. On any normal Wednesday I had classes. But when I’d checked the schedule, my lecture had been cancelled and now I was bumbling around the house more than a little lost.

  Standing up, I stretched my arms up above my head, ignoring the ache. You’d think they’d be used to it; I’d be used to it by now. I wasn’t. Rubbing my eyes with the back of my hands, I waited until the black dots stopped blurring my vision before heading into the laundry. At some point I had to adult. Thankfully my mother had taught me to take care of myself before I was drafted. I could cook, clean and wash. I was by no means a gourmet chef, but I could scrounge up something without burning the house down. That was more than Bryce could do. Guy couldn’t even fry an egg without setting off the smoke alarm. I had no idea how he did it, but every freaking time without fail, one of us would be standing on a chair ripping the batteries out of the damn thing just to shut it up.

  After throwing a load of washing in the machine, I headed to the kitchen and organised some dinner. Nothing exciting, just a chicken breast and some salad, but I couldn’t afford another take out delivery. Financially it wouldn’t have been an issue but there was no point pushing myself in the gym if I was just going to go home and pig out, undoing all the good.

  Bryce had come home, showered, changed, doused himself in cologne before heading back out the door, reminding me not to wait up. Not that I ever did. If he was headed out, I was guaranteed to be locked in my bedroom, noise cancelling headphones in place before he returned. I’d learnt the hard way. There were just some things you couldn’t unhear. And hearing some chick screaming your teammate’s name and proclaiming him a god was number one on that list.

  That was just one of the many differences b
etween us. He brought the chicks he picked up back here, turning his room into a pussy palace which inevitably led to me calling them a cab the next morning while he hid in the bathroom. He might’ve known how to catch them, but he still hadn’t learnt how to release them. I, on the other hand, had never once brought anyone back here and had no intentions of doing so. I wasn’t a saint. Never pretended to be, but if I was going to fuck someone it was either at their place or a hotel room. It was much easier to be the one sneaking out the door when we were done than asking them to leave. I’d been witness to one too many of Bryce’s attempts at kicking them to the kerb, which always ended up in tears and tantrums worthy of the most temperamental toddler, to even consider going there.

  Except for her.

  She was still haunting me.

  And not just in my dreams either.

  She fucking tortured me in my waking moments. Especially those moments when my hand was wrapped around my rock-hard cock and it was her name on my lips as I exploded against the bathroom tiles. Well, it would’ve been her name had I actually have gotten it.

  After I’d had her coming all over my fingers, coating my hand in her delicious juices, she’d run off towards the bathrooms. Licking my fingers, I knew I hadn’t had enough of her. Even the thought of spreading her out in front of me and feasting had my cock weeping. I’d been so ready to throw her over my shoulder and drag her out of there. Bring her home and eat her out on my dining room table. Bend her over the couch. Pin her against the tiles in the shower. Before spreading her across my bed and fucking her until we couldn’t feel our toes.

  But she never appeared again.

  I’d stood there like a fool for far too long before realising what had happened and dragging my sorry arse home. It wasn’t even the missed orgasms that were pissing me off. It was her. Everything about her had me twisted in knots. The fun, easy banter. I’d never had that with anyone before. Being the awkward jock/geek that I was, meant that I never really fit in with anyone. Through high school, the jocks didn’t want me hanging around because I was on the debate team and doing the extended maths course. But the nerds didn’t claim me either because I ran cross country and played football. At the time I hated it. I hated everyone. I’d avoided any activities that weren’t compulsory.