PLAY ME: A Kinky Reads Title

by Dukey, Ker

  Feeling stupid, I undo the top button on my blouse and seek him out. He’s in the living area looking over some pictures I have out. My stomach drops when I see him holding a photo taken at my graduation. His brows crash as he stares at the image. His eyes shrink to blue slashes as he holds it up, pinning me to the spot with his glare.

  “You asking me wasn’t random. You know my brother?” he growls.

  Swallowing the lump in my throat, I round my shoulders and march over to him, taking the picture and placing it back on the mantel. “I knew your brother, yes. That was years ago.”

  “So, he’s not involved in this?”

  “What? No, I haven’t seen Rocko since graduation, and we weren’t friends.” Maybe that’s a bit harsh. “He didn’t like me, and the feeling was mutual.” I shrug.

  He chuckles at that, a real laugh that makes butterflies dance in my stomach. It’s a beautiful sound. Honest. “Rupert was an asshole in college. If you didn’t put out, he didn’t have time for you. Don’t take it personally.”

  “What makes you think I didn’t put out for Rupert?” I bite my lip to stifle my laugh. “And Rupert? Seriously?”

  “He was named after our mother’s grandfather. He hated it with a passion. Made everyone call him Rocko. Told people his name was Ricardo after that soccer player.”

  I go to open my mouth to respond, but he moves toward me, filling the four feet of space between us with his large, intoxicating body. His finger reaches out to lift my chin. “And I know you didn’t put out because he would have bragged about it. He never mentioned a Quinn.”

  “He used to tell you everyone he had sex with?” I ask, incredulous.

  Smirking, he rubs a hand over the back of his neck, releasing me from his hold. “You’d be surprised how little he had to tell,” he replies. “Shall we eat and talk business?”

  “Of course,” I agree, gesturing toward the dining room. “I hope you like Chinese food.”

  “Wow, you cook Chinese?” He eyes the neatly set out food.

  “No, I order Chinese. They deliver.”

  If I cooked, he might not live long enough to help me with my plans.

  There’s that beautiful laugh again.

  “So, is that a deal-breaker for you? Me knowing your brother in college?”

  “No.”

  “Good.”

  “Tell me about yourself, Quinn.” He dishes us out some food.

  I sip my water and shrug. “What do you want to know?”

  “How long have you had fantasies about being taken by force?”

  I almost spit my water out over the table, but manage to catch myself and swallow. Wiping my mouth, I squirm a little in my chair.

  “If you can’t even speak about it, how do you expect to play it out?” He raises a brow. There’s no amusement in his tone or mockery.

  “I’ve always had different needs than my peers. I once told a friend about a dream I had, and she was mortified. Ever since, I know to keep my thoughts to myself where sex is concerned.”

  “What was the dream?” he asks so casually, like old friends talking about the weather.

  My stomach dips. Heat scorches a path up my neck, blooming over my cheeks. “I was taken by surprise by a friend. He came into my bed, told me not to speak, and…” I shrug. He knows what.

  “And?” he demands.

  I gulp down more water, then shake off the embarrassment. “He pushed my shorts to the side and slipped inside me, fucking me hard and rough, then left like it never happened.”

  “Was the friend Rupert?”

  “What?” I bark. “No, we weren’t friends. I told you that!”

  “Just checking,” he says with a grin.

  “It was my father’s friend, not mine, but that just makes it feel worse.” I cringe.

  “Why are you ashamed of that dream?” He places his fork down and clasps his hands together, resting them on the table.

  “Because it’s been drummed into us to feel shame over sex. It’s different for women than it is men. If we think about being taken, we’re sick. Sluts. Guilty if something happens to us, right?”

  He studies me for a long beat.

  “Wrong, and I think you know that,” he says, his brow furrowing. “You’re a smart woman. There’s no shame in having fantasies or wanting to play them out. It doesn’t mean you want it to happen in reality—that you want to be forced or attacked. Consent is everything. In your dreams, fantasies, you control the narrative. It’s a misconception that you want to lose control and have the choice stripped. You are choosing this and in complete control of every aspect. It’s an illusion that you’re taken without permission. By force. A game, and one you shouldn’t feel guilty about.”

  Would it be inappropriate to hug him right now? Yes, probably. I opt for handing him the contract I drafted.

  “I want it to be you. I wrote up a contract I think you’ll be happy with.”

  He stares at me a few silent beats, then picks up the folder, opening it and reading it over.

  It’s excruciating waiting for him to decide if he’s going to agree. I push food around my plate for what feels like an eternity before he pulls out the pen tucked in his breast pocket and hovers it over the paper.

  This is going to happen.

  3

  “This is a good contract,” I say, lifting my gaze to meet hers. “But it has holes.”

  Her lips press together in a firm line. In her own environment, she is fierce and strong. My heart skips a little beat as I worry about what sort of monsters she’s avoided by choosing me instead. This contract of hers is bones. It’s missing meat. Muscle. Strength to protect her. If I were a monster, I could flick at the bones and they’d scatter as she lost herself to a dangerous game.

  Luckily, I’m not a monster.

  I’m a man.

  A man she needs.

  Exactly the man she needs.

  “There’s no safe word on here.” Just the tiny tip of the iceberg.

  She bristles. “No.”

  “Did that word work before?” I lift a brow. “In your dream, I mean.”

  “There is no magical word to stop someone from doing their worst,” she bites out, her neck turning splotchy red.

  “No, but friends don’t do their worst to each other. Friends learn each other’s boundaries, and those boundaries need to be clearly defined. Are we friends, Quinn?”

  She lets out a shaky breath and nods. “Sorry. This is new to me. I’m nervous.”

  I reach over and take her hand. Gently, I press her thumb to my wrist so she can feel the erratic jumping of my pulse “So am I.”

  This seems to settle her.

  As enticing as this is, it’s begging for disaster. We both know this isn’t a fantasy based on a dream. Someone fucking hurt her. And I don’t want to be the person to screw her head up more. But if it’s not me, it’ll be someone else. A person who will take advantage of her. After spending a short time with her, I already know I don’t want to hurt her or betray her trust. Something about her just scratches away at my surface and burrows there. Quinn is the kind of girl who gets inside your head and lingers. It’s the most unusual thing, but not something I’m disappointed over. It’s refreshing. It makes me crave more.

  “How about ‘hush’?” she asks.

  “Like my club name?”

  “Seems fitting.”

  I smile at her. “I like it. Hush is a safe place for people to embark on their fantasy journey. It only seems right it’s also a safe word.”

  “What else am I missing?” she asks, her body relaxing.

  I scribble down the safe word, then tap the paper with my fingertip. “Where do you want this to happen? Here? The club? A public place?”

  “Um, not outdoors. No cars.” She swallows, and her hand trembles.

  Nodding, I write that down. “I’d rather do it in a private setting so no one who happens to see will misinterpret what’s happening.”

  “Here then,” she says. “
Maybe your house one day.”

  “Good,” I say, writing those notes down as well. “Now, let’s establish what’s allowed and what isn’t.”

  “No handcuffs,” she blurts out, her nostrils flaring. “Ever.”

  “You make the rules here,” I remind her. “Be upfront and tell me everything you want, but most importantly, tell me everything you don’t want.”

  “Y-You can bind me, with your hands maybe, but I want to be able to get away if I can,” she says, her voice shaky.

  “Can I bite you?” I ask with a playful smirk.

  A smile breaches her pretty face, and she loses some of the tension. “I’ll allow it.”

  “Good,” I say with a chuckle. “You look tasty.”

  She bites her bottom lip. “I’m not opposed to pain.”

  “As long as I include some pleasure?”

  “Yes,” she agrees. “And I…I want you to keep going, even if I cry.”

  “Because we have a safe word,” I remind her. “One you will use when you don’t want me to keep going.”

  “Yes.”

  “Good girl.”

  She laughs, and the sound is lovely.

  “Are orgasms okay?” I taunt.

  “They’re preferred,” she says back, rolling her eyes. “That is, if you can make them happen.”

  I flash her a crooked grin. “That’s a given. But I’ll write it down so I’m contractually obligated to make it happen.”

  “Smartass,” she grumbles, but not unkindly.

  “Penetration?”

  Her cheeks burn red. “I’m clean and on the pill.”

  “I’m clean too.” Of course I’ll want to see paperwork that proves that, and I’ll show her mine, but for now, I leave it. “I take it penetration is okay, then?”

  “That’s fine.”

  “Anal?”

  She blinks several times. “I…I don’t know.”

  “We can always write an addendum to the contract later if we want to add it.” I wink at her to lighten the mood. “Kissing?”

  Her brows furrow together as her eyes dart to my lips. “I think so.”

  “Not good enough, Quinn. If there’s any doubt, it needs to be removed from the list. Just like anal.”

  “Kissing is okay,” she breathes. “Just not on the back of my neck.” She shudders. “In fact, I don’t want your face anywhere near the back of my neck.”

  An odd request, but I write it down anyway.

  “Can I put my mouth on you everywhere else?”

  She swallows and nods.

  I lick my lips, getting a thrill at the way her gaze lingers on them.

  “Can I chase you?”

  “Yes.” Doubt flickers in her eyes, but she doesn’t say no.

  “Can I sneak up on you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can I threaten you?”

  “You can try.”

  I laugh. “It’s all a game we’re playing. Don’t forget. And you have the one thing that ends the game.”

  “Hush,” she whispers.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She smirks. “Good boy.”

  Confidence looks good on her.

  “Can I fight you?” she asks.

  “Do you want to win?”

  She frowns. “I can’t be a victim.”

  Whoever made you this way will rot in hell one day.

  “No, because you’re a fighter. You’re also in charge. A rule maker. A boss. You’re the puppet master in this game. You hold all the cards. You’re on top.” I wink. “Except when I have you pinned beneath me.”

  “But I’ll still be in charge,” she whispers.

  I grin at her. “This paper is the beginning. It starts and ends with you. I’m simply here to help you.”

  “Why are you saying yes to me?”

  “Because I can’t bear the thought of someone else saying yes. I don’t trust them.”

  “But you trust yourself?” she asks.

  “I have to,” I say softly. “You’re relying on me. And I don’t let my friends down. Ever.”

  “Thank you, Joshua.”

  I scribble my name on the paper and push it over to her. “You can thank me when I make you come.”

  “You’re pacing,” I say before sipping my glass of whiskey. “Sure you don’t want a drink?”

  Her lips thin out. “I like to keep a clear head.”

  “And I’m not going to get you when you’re doing that.”

  She frowns. “Doing what?”

  “Waiting for it.”

  A loud sigh escapes her. “I’m sorry.”

  “You don’t have to apologize. I’m simply communicating here. Talk to me. Why are you pacing?”

  “I’m wondering if this is a bad idea.”

  “Want to practice?”

  She chews on her bottom lip. “Yes.”

  “Take your shirt off.”

  Her eyes bug out. “What?”

  “You have a cami on underneath. Take the other shirt off and cool down. If you can’t trust me enough to partially undress, how will we ever get to the rest?”

  Her brows furrow, but she nods. “Okay.” She begins unbuttoning her shirt with shaky fingers, then peels it off her body. Her tits are nice handfuls under her white cami. Pert nipples poke through the fabric, making my dick twitch.

  “Good job. Now, let go of the shirt.”

  It drops to the floor. I drain the rest of my glass before setting it on the coffee table, then rise to my feet. Her eyes widen, and she takes a step back.

  “You have a safe word,” I remind her.

  She nods.

  I take another step toward her, forcing her to take another one back.

  “I can see your nipples through your shirt. I’m going to touch one.”

  Her nostrils flare.

  “Or you could tell me no.” I take another step. “But no doesn’t work, does it?”

  She shakes her head.

  “No is fucking useless,” I growl, warning in my words.

  Her body tenses. “I have a safe word.”

  Stalking the rest of the way over to her, I notice the way her eyes flare in shock as her ass hits the wall. She flings her palms up to press into my chest. I lean close so our lips almost touch.

  “One word,” I remind her. “An easy one.”

  “I don’t need it for this,” she whispers.

  I arch a brow as I lift my hand. My thumb brushes over her erect nipple poking through her cami, making her gasp. “Told you I’d touch it,” I tell her smugly. “You’re doing great.”

  I could kiss her if I wanted. Her eyelids flutter closed, and she sucks in a deep breath. The moment when she loses the battle, she tenses and her wide, panicked eyes dart to mine.

  “I…uh, need to go to the restroom,” she blurts out, sounding terrified and unsure.

  She starts to walk away, but I stop her with a quick snag of her wrist.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Y-Yes,” she says, her voice irritated. With surprising force, she yanks her hand from my grip. “I’ll be right back.”

  She all but runs to the bathroom. As soon as the door closes, I walk over to her stereo, turning it to Nine Inch Nails’ “Closer,” then take it upon myself to learn the layout of her house. I find a room at the end of the hall that smells like her. I deliberately leave the light on when I’m done inspecting the space. As I round the corner into another room, the bathroom door opens.

  Pausing, I listen. She calls my name. Then huffs. Then calls my name again. I stand in the dark room off the hallway, waiting. She comes into view, and walks right past me, her steps hurried toward her bedroom. Before she makes it there, I sling an arm around her waist and yank her into the dark room.

  She screams.

  Fuck, how she screams.

  But it’s not the word I’m listening for.

  The woman is feral in her fight, but I’m stronger. I pin her against the wall with my hips and grab both her wrists. Her chest heaves, b
rushing against mine as I rub my hard dick against her through our clothes. I don’t speak or whisper assurances. I wait her out. She squirms and curses. She manages to break her hands free and hits me in the arm. I grip her jaw hard and bring my nose to hers. A whimper crawls up her throat. I brush my lips against hers, eager to taste her. I want to kiss her hard, steal her breath. I want to—

  “Hush,” she chokes out.

  Like I’ve been burned, I let her go and stumble back several feet. My heavy breathing and her soft sobs are all that can be heard. We don’t speak. Disappointment ripples from her in loud waves.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispers.

  “Nothing to be sorry for.”

  “I…I’m not weak.”

  “You’re not.”

  “But I already used the safe word.”

  “You think trust is based on a contract?”

  Silence.

  I step forward until we’re close, but not touching. “Trust is based on experience.”

  She doesn’t speak.

  “Can I take your hand?”

  “Yes.”

  Clutching her clammy hand, I bring it up and kiss her knuckles in the dark. Something tells me she wouldn’t want me to see her right now. No one likes their personal torment on display.

  “You’re not weak, Quinn. Tell me. Make me believe it.”

  “I’m not weak.”

  “Said in a whisper. I want to hear it. I want to feel it.”

  With a rage-filled scream, she lets me have it. “I’M NOT WEAK!”

  I tug her into her bedroom doorway where the light is bright. Tears track down her pretty cheeks. Her lips are parted. Defeat flickers back at me in her gaze.

  “The kiss set you off?”

  Her eyes dart to my lips. “Not you. Not the kiss. I just…”

  “What?”

  “Can we add alcohol to the contract? Is it too late for that?”

  “It’s never too late for anything,” I assure her, offering a wide grin. “I’m proud of you.”

  Her lip curls up, and she rolls her eyes. “You’re ready to run, huh? I’m a mess.”

  “I thought we established you’re the runner,” I say with a smirk. “And I’m going to chase you.”

  “I haven’t scared you away?”

  “You can’t scare me away,” I tell her with a wolfish smile. “I haven’t even gotten to bite you yet, my sweet.”