Reckless Games

by M. J. Lowell

  The lingerie was the third chance of the year. I’d been at the door with my bags packed, a cab already called, when he’d suddenly reappeared with the box in his hands. He looked like he’d spent the last four nights in a gutter. He was filthy, his clothes torn and stained. He held the box out to me, the same contrite look on his face. Except then I’d thought it was sincere.

  “I’m sorry I’m so weak, kitten,” he said. “Please don’t leave. You’re the only one I have.”

  I accepted the apology and the present. The apology turned out to be meaningless, and the box was soon forgotten in the back of the closet. But one lazy Sunday afternoon a few months later, while Sawyer was watching football, I’d pulled the box out and slipped on his present, wanting to surprise him.

  It was frilly and see-through, a black baby-doll nightie in a scratchy fabric that left angry red marks on my skin. But it was a gift from Sawyer, my boyfriend, which meant he had to like it. Had to want to see me in it. And it did look like the things the women wore on the X-rated Web sites he visited late at night, after he thought I was asleep. When I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I did a double take. I didn’t look like myself. I was a stranger. A sexy stranger.

  I felt daring as I danced into the living room, bold. I’d waited until the game was over – I knew better than to interrupt – and he glanced up from where he was sprawled on the couch. A quick glance, and then a longer one.

  “What are you wearing?” he said.

  “Your present. Don’t you remember?”

  He blinked. “It’s the middle of the day.”

  I moved toward him. “I thought we could—”

  “What is wrong with you?” he demanded with sudden fury. “Give it a rest already.”

  I felt like I’d been slapped. I froze, made fists of my hands to keep from shaking. “I- I was only trying to help.”

  “Help?” he said in a shrill falsetto, mimicking me. “What do I need help with?”

  “To get you in the mood. It’s been over a month since we made lo—”

  “You’re keeping track?” he snapped, his face flushed with anger. “That’s not normal, kitten. The way you need sex all the time? It’s pathological. I should have known you were nothing but a little slut. You’ve been a wildcat from the beginning.”

  “I’m not— that’s not—”

  “Have some self-respect,” he said in disgust.

  In that moment I saw myself through his eyes. Saw the cheap black nightie and my ridiculous pretense of sexy sophistication. I was a joke. Pathetic. “I’m sorry,” I’d said and run to the bathroom. I shut myself in the bathroom and stood under the shower, letting the hot water pound over me until it ran out. But no matter what I did I couldn’t get warm.

  I felt the same chill now on the street outside the Plaza. Not the insensate relief of numbness. This was the chill of an awful powerlessness, complete and terrifying.

  “I need to go,” I said, struggling to free my wrist from his grasp. “Let me go.” I could hear the desperation in my voice.

  Slowly, Sawyer opened his fingers and released me. His smile stayed sweet but his voice was smug as he said, “I’m glad to see I can still stir such passion in you.”

  The rage I felt threatened to overwhelm me. I didn’t know where it came from but I wanted to hit him and kick him and scratch him and tear at him until he was nothing but a bloody, quivering mess.

  Instead I pushed past him. I heard him calling after me, but I blocked out the sound as I walked quickly around the corner, cursing myself for having ever let him inside me.

  Because he was inside me. Sawyer had taken up residence long ago and never left. I felt imprisoned in my own head, in my own body, held hostage by my memories. I wanted to escape from myself. Be someone else. Someone free of Sawyer, free of my past.

  At that moment, the Tesla slid up alongside me and drew to a stop.

  Tuesday Granite. I could be Tuesday Granite. She’d never give Sawyer the time of day.

  The passenger-side door of the Tesla opened from the inside. “Get in,” said Rhys’s voice, low, and husky.

  This was what I needed. He was what I needed. Rhys and his rules and his safe games would be my antidote to Sawyer.

  I lowered myself onto the seat, shut the car door and turned to face him.

  “Miss Granite,” he said evenly. His eyes swept over me and rested on my thighs.

  I felt the heat begin to flow through me, melting my numbness.

  “Where are we going today? More shopping?” I thought I’d sounded easy, care-free, but Rhys paused before answering.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked. There was kindness in his voice, I realized, startled. Concern in his eyes.

  I looked away. Don’t be nice to me, I wanted to yell. Take me. Use me. Erase the memories, wipe the slate clean. “Nothing’s wrong.”

  I could feel the weight of his gaze on me. “You’re different. Did something happen?”

  “We only have three hours.” It was a struggle to keep my voice level, my expression neutral. Be Tuesday Granite, I schooled myself. “I’d rather not waste them.”

  “You’re upset. Maybe we shouldn’t do this today. I could help—”

  I turned back to him. It was a mistake. The concern was still there in his eyes, unmistakable and genuine. For a fleeting moment, I imagined what it would be like to press my cheek to his chest, to have him hold me and whisper that everything would be all right.

  And for a fleeting moment, I almost thought he was offering precisely that.

  It’s only smoke and mirrors, I told myself. You’re only projecting what you want onto him. If he knew you, the real you, he’d want nothing to do with you.

  And I couldn’t let that happen, couldn’t let him turn me away. I needed him to undo all of Sawyer’s damage.

  I hardly recognized my own voice when I spoke. “I agreed to play by your rules. And you agreed to play by mine. Is the game on, or not?” It was Tuesday’s voice, I realized, full of smooth challenge.

  Rhys gave me a long, considering look. And then it was if he flipped a switch. His eyes took on a steely glint, and the mask of cool self-reserve seemed to slide down over his face. He nodded, put the car in gear and pulled away from the curb.

  His profile was sharp against the gray light of the wintry afternoon, but the skin beneath his eyes was smudged with purple, as though he hadn’t gotten enough sleep. I felt a sharp pang of envy, wondering about the appointment he’d had the previous evening, and who had kept him up.

  Cut it out! I ordered myself, crossing my legs.

  “It won’t work,” he said, glancing down at my legs again. “You’re far too passionate to contain it. The Bentley reeked so strongly of your pussy after Davies dropped you off yesterday it had to be detailed.”

  His explicitness was jarring, as I suspected he meant it to be. In my current state, it was welcome. And exciting. My cheeks flamed with a mix of embarrassment and arousal.

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “Never apologize for desire. Now take off your pants.”

  I couldn’t have heard him right. “I beg your pardon?”

  He jerked the Tesla to the curb abruptly, oblivious to the blare of honking horns behind us. Without looking at me, he snapped, “How many?”

  “How many what?” I asked, confused.

  His fingers beat impatiently on the steering wheel, his eyes stared straight ahead. “How many men were you with this weekend?”

  Of course. He still believed I was a player in every sense of the word, and nothing I’d said or done had given him reason to think otherwise. In fact, just the opposite.

  “Well?” he demanded.

  “They weren’t all men,” I answered. It was true. The club had hosted a private party on Saturday night to celebrate the launch of a new cosmetics line. There probably were more women than men in the crowd, not that I’d been paying much attention.

  Rhys turned to glare at me. “Then why are you playing th
e prude? You said you wanted to play. So either take off your bloody pants or get out of the car.”

  His voice, his commands, the certain knowledge of his desire were already drowning out Sawyer’s noise. My fingers undid the top button of my jeans. I couldn’t imagine not doing exactly what Rhys told me to do.

  I raised my hips from the seat so I could slide the leather down, conscious of his eyes on me and grateful for the Tesla’s tinted windows hiding me from the hordes of tourists and Christmas shoppers on the sidewalk outside.

  “Completely off,” he said, his voice tight.

  He watched as I kicked off my boots and slid the jeans down the rest of the way. His eyes moved up my bared thighs and rested on the triangle of blue silk, where the gold thread spelled out “Tuesday.” I was mortified to see there was already a visible wet spot. Rhys smiled at that, and I shivered.

  “Touch yourself,” he said.

  I slid my hand between the silk of the panties and my skin, moving my fingertips through the tiny curls to my clit. It felt like a cherry ripened in the sun, warm and full and ready to be plucked. Moving lower my fingers grazed hot, wet lips.

  “Now give me your hand,” Rhys said. I held it out toward him, my fingers damp with my own wetness. One by one, he sucked them into his mouth. The feel of his tongue sent an explosive tingling through my entire body.

  “You are delicious,” he told me. “I can’t wait to spread you on your back and lick you from head to pussy.”

  “Oh,” I breathed. “I can’t wait for that either.” My voice sounded solemn, part oath, part plea.

  Rhys laughed with delight. “What a find you are.”

  Then he dropped my hand, put the car in gear again, and took off.

  We drove only a few blocks more before turning into a parking garage beneath a large office building. He waved at the guard on duty, driving by without pausing and guiding the Tesla up the winding ramp before stopping in a far corner of the fourth floor. There were cars parked around us but otherwise the space was deserted.

  Rhys got out of the car, came around to my side and held my door open. “Get out.”

  “But— I’m not wearing any pants.”

  His eyes narrowed. “I don’t like to repeat myself.”

  I slid my feet into my boots and got out of the car. Rhys looked down at me. His eyes were hypnotic, drawing me in. “Are you ready for the next level of play?”

  “Yes,” I said gratefully. I was desperate for him to take me out of myself.

  He held up a black silk blindfold. “Put this on.”

  “But I like looking at you.” As I said it my hand came up and caressed his cheek. Sawyer already seemed years, universes away.

  For a moment Rhys let my hand rest there, and something flickered across his face. “I forget how young you are.”

  “I’m not as young as I look,” I protested.

  “I wonder.” He brushed a loose strand of hair back from my forehead.

  I felt a sudden flash of anger. “You’re right,” I said, my hand dropping to my side. “Maybe you’re too old for me.”

  “Touché. But don’t go falling in love with me, Tuesday. It would be a mistake.”

  I bristled. “I’m not that kind of girl.”

  He chuckled. “No, you’re not. And thank God, because you’re dangerous enough as you are. Now put on the blindfold.”

  But the anger had brought me back to myself, reminded me I had a question that needed answering, that there was more than one reason I’d come here today. Concentrate, Lucy.

  “Blindfolds seem a little cheesy,” I said. “Like Halloween. Only for Halloween, I was Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany’s. What did you go as?”

  He stared at me like I was crazy. “Halloween?”

  “Did you go to a party? Dress up?”

  He shook his head in disbelief. “Stop talking rubbish and put on the blindfold,” he growled.

  “I don’t like to be spoken to that way.”

  “I think you do. When the circumstances are right.”

  His words cut through me like a scalpel. Because he was right. I did like it. From him. Like this. “That’s completely—”

  “Do you always babble when you’re nervous?”

  “I’m not nervous,” I told him, hoping he couldn’t hear the pounding of my heart.

  “Oh, but you should be,” he said. Something about the mildness of his tone sent a flutter of fear through me, but the fear was laced with desire.

  “Why is it so important that I wear a blindfold?” I managed to say. “What are you afraid I’ll see?”

  I saw that flicker of darkness in his eyes. There was no longer any playfulness in his tone when he spoke. “What you see can be a distraction. I want you to give your full attention to what I’m about to do to you. I don’t want to give you any place to hide.”

  The breath caught in my throat. “What are you going to do to me?”

  His lips came close to mine. “I’m going to use you for my pleasure. And you are going to be utterly complicit.” He reached into the blue silk panties, grabbed the cluster of curls there and tugged it hard, pulling me toward him. “Every single inch of you.”

  He spun me around and pushed me against the side of the car, holding me there with his body. His hand cupped my clit in front and pressed against me, so I could feel a thick solid hardness against my behind. That was his cock, I realized, and my knees almost gave out at the thought of that— the sheer massiveness of it, driving into me. He lowered his mouth to my ear.

  “I’m going to possess you completely. Touch you in places you’ve never been touched, make you feel things you can’t imagine. I’m going to own you. Your every thought, every sensation, every breath will be mine.” He pressed against me, making sure I felt every inch of his impossible length. “Do you want that?”

  “Yes.” The word was a sigh, a whisper. A prayer. I wanted him to turn me inside out. Make me over.

  “Then fucking blindfold yourself.”

  I did.

  Chapter Eighteen

  I was trembling in spite of myself, in spite of my fierce resolution to make Rhys the cure for Sawyer.

  What are you doing? demanded my inner voice. You’re blindfolded in your underwear in a parking lot, about to do who knows what with a man you barely know. Every instinct was telling me to pull off the blindfold and run.

  Then Rhys slid his hand into mine, knitting our fingers together, and my doubts vanished.

  “Stop thinking,” he said, leading me forward. I stepped tentatively, my heels echoing against the pavement. I heard a soft beep and the click of a lock releasing, a door opening. I walked on, guided by Rhys’s hand, trying not to stumble.

  We paused, I heard another door open, and Rhys pulled me forward again. The door shut behind us, and I heard its latch fall into place.

  “What do you feel?” Rhys asked.

  The air was warmer. There was the unexpected crackle of a fire and smell of wood smoke, as well as a scent I couldn’t identify but that made me think of manor houses, polished mahogany, old books with gold-embossed spines.

  “Luxury,” I said.

  He laughed, and the sound of it was richer, fuller without being able to see his face. It was an embrace, like a velvet robe being draped over my shoulders. “What is this place?” I asked.

  “You could say it’s my subconscious. The place where my most intimate fantasies play out. But it’s probably more accurate to describe it as a dungeon.”

  I inhaled sharply. Leather. That’s what the scent was. But not, as I’d imagined, from leather-bound books. I started to tremble again.

  “In this room, your body, your thoughts, are all mine,” Rhys said. His words enveloped me. “The only sound you hear is my voice. The only thoughts you think are the ones I tell you to think. I am going to give you the most exquisite gift you’ve ever had.”

  He released my hand. “Get undressed.”

  I felt him near me, felt his eyes on me. It was
maddening not to be able to see him. With shaking hands I pulled my sweater over my head, then reached around to unhook my bra. Now I was wearing only the Tuesday panties and my boots.

  “What beautiful tits you have, Tuesday.”

  It had been a long time since I’d felt pride in my body, but Rhys’s words were like caresses, reawakening a part of me I hadn’t realized still existed, that I thought had been destroyed.

  I felt him move even closer. Felt his warm breath on my neck as he said into my ear, “Take off your boots.”

  I kicked them off.

  “Now your panties or I’m liable to rip them off you.”

  He said it casually, easily, but there was an edge to his voice now, as though looking at me – me – excited him.

  I slid out of the panties and stood before him completely naked. Completely exposed. It was different than it had been that first night in his suite, and different than it had been just the previous day. I felt vulnerable and scared and defenseless. But almost unbearably excited.

  “There’s a stool behind you. Sit on it,” he said.

  The seat was leather, cool beneath my bare skin. I heard a sound like a belt being unclasped. Then his pants dropping to the floor.

  “Spread your legs,” he said.

  I felt the blood pulsing in my veins. This was it. Whatever it was, it was starting.

  He circled me, and as he moved past my shoulder I felt his cock brush against my skin. It slid around my back and then the silky tip played over my nipples. It was heavy and hot. I longed to look at it. Without thinking I reached to touch it.

  He slapped me between the legs, hard. “I didn’t tell you to move.”

  I gasped. My clit stung with the rebuke, and with pleasure. He laughed. “Oh my. You liked that.” He slapped me again and my nipples tightened. “We’ll remember that.”

  I wanted to feel him. “Tell me what to do to please you.”

  “You’ll please me by behaving,” he said, his voice a reprimand. “Who is in charge here?”

  “You are.”

  “Whose mouth is this?” His cock grazed my lips.

  I ached for him to kiss me. “Yours.”