Playing His Way Read online

  “It’s pretty fucked up,” he replied honestly, then grinned. “But I like it because it is fucked up.”

  She laughed. “Perfect. That tells me I made the right choice with the flooring.”

  She walked past him and out of the room, and he followed her into the hallway, waiting while she closed the door.

  “Do I get a peek at the red room?” he asked of the Fifty Shades themed suite, which she hadn’t allowed him to see since the day he’d approved the idea. He was curious to know how it was coming along.

  She shook her head. “No peeking until it’s completed, and it’s taking a lot of time because so much of it is custom work. It’ll most likely be the last room to be finished, in about another week to ten days.”

  And then she’d be finished, too, and he’d have no reason to see her on a regular basis. The thought made his chest tighten in an odd, untried way, and he exhaled a deep breath to chase away those mixed emotions tugging at his conscience.

  “Are you ready to see the Arabian Nights room?” she asked as she headed in that direction.

  He nodded and when she opened the door, he accompanied her inside and was immediately immersed in the fantasy she’d created. He quietly followed her around as she pointed out different things and explained how they tied into the concept, content to listen to her without any interruptions.

  The colors were vibrant, the lighting sensual, and as she’d promised, there were a ton of big, soft pillows arranged on the floor and all over the bed. Inside an armoire was an array of costumes—harem pants and sequined bras and silk scarves to enhance the fantasy. Another cabinet was filled with sex toys that could be purchased and used, and she’d even incorporated the wax play along with the candles the way he’d suggested.

  Images of Stephanie dressed up as his harem girl filled his mind, and he pushed the thoughts out of his head because it wasn’t going to happen.

  Once they were done and were back out in the hallway again, she produced a black eye mask and held it up to him. “I need you to put this on before we go into the Stripper’s Den.”

  He frowned as he fingered the silk material, because he’d never been blindfolded before, and certainly not by a woman. He wasn’t sure how he felt about the idea. “What for?” he asked, a bit gruffly.

  “It’s a surprise,” she said, her exasperated tone softened only by the smile on her lips. “Just do it, okay? For me? Please?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Fine.” Jesus Christ, when did he start caving so easily to a woman’s pleas? The guys would undoubtedly call him a pussy for his pliable behavior, but Stephanie seemed genuinely excited, and he didn’t want to dampen her lighthearted mood.

  Reluctantly, he put the mask in place, the black fabric completely hindering his sight. She took his hand and he heard the turn of a knob before she led him somewhere inside the room. He had to admit that, without his eyes to see, all his other senses were fine-tuned to any sounds, the vanilla scent in the room, and the feel of Stephanie’s soft fingers entwined with his. After a half dozen steps, the sound of her heels went silent.

  “There’s a wooden chair right behind you,” she told him as she braced her hands on his shoulders, as if to guide him. “Just sit straight down, and you’ll be good.”

  He realized just how much trust it took to believe her when she said there was a chair behind him as he lowered himself until his ass hit the wooden seat. It gave him a whole different perspective on all the times he’d used a blindfold on the women he’d played with in the past and how they’d felt having to depend solely on him.

  The click of her shoes told him that she was now standing behind the chair. She ran her hand down his arm, then grabbed the hand at his side. He frowned when he felt something cold and metallic snap closed around his wrist, then another similar sound. He tried to jerk his hand up, only to realize that she’d secured his arm to the leg of the chair with a pair of handcuffs.

  As he was processing this crazy notion, she quickly locked his other arm on the opposite side with a second set of shackles.

  He yanked hard, but he clearly wasn’t going anywhere until she let him. “What the fuck, Steph?”

  She sifted her hands through his hair and gently tipped his head to one side. Her warm breath caressed the shell of his ear before she spoke. “You’re under arrest, Mr. MacMillan.”

  With his vision gone, and now his ability to touch, he was all out of sorts. “For what?”

  “For being a very bad, naughty boy,” she murmured, his dick going hard as she skimmed her lips along his cheek. “I’ll be right back with your punishment.”

  He heard her walk away, then a rustling noise that sounded like she was changing into something. A minute or so later, the dirty lyrics for the song “Cherry Pie” filled the quiet, and then the blindfold was being lifted off his eyes. He blinked a few times to adjust to the lighting, realizing that Stephanie was standing behind him again. He glanced around the renovated suite, and if he hadn’t known better, he would have sworn he was in a private room in a gentlemen’s club. In front of him was a small stage with a pole, a mirrored background and ceiling, and a disco ball that turned slowly, causing glittering spots of colored lights to dance around the room.

  Then Stephanie stepped into view, and he groaned as he took in her skimpy, sexy-as-fuck cop costume. Stripper heels with a two-inch platform and a four-inch stiletto spike, tight black booty shorts that left very little to his imagination, and a black crop top with a zipper in front that displayed a fuck ton of cleavage and exposed her flat stomach. A fake police badge over her left breast completed the look. And Jesus Christ, her perfect tits were nearly spilling out of the too tight top.

  “Eyes up here, mister,” she ordered, indicating her face.

  He raised his gaze to find her smirking at him, and that look, combined with the fantasy element, totally turned him on. He was so damn conflicted, which was becoming a normal occurrence around Stephanie. The struggle between wanting her and knowing anything between them couldn’t be more than just a few temporary fucks waged war against one another—because he wasn’t, and never would be, a man who promised forever, nor could he be her happily ever after. And especially now that he’d learned about her asshole ex, she deserved to find someone who could give her all those things and more.

  “We shouldn’t be doing this again,” he said, his words both truth and lie.

  “Tell me why not,” she replied, surprising him with her response and the determined glint in her gaze.

  He blew out a harsh breath and forced himself to be blunt. “Because I can’t give you anything more than sex. I also don’t want to be another asshole in your past who’s hurt you, because I will walk away. I always do.” Because he had to. Especially with her.

  She stepped toward him, close enough that she could brace her hands on the arms of his chair and bend low to look him straight in the eyes. “I’m a big girl, Brent,” she said, that confidence he was coming to love about her infusing her voice. “What if having sex with you is what I want? Not vanilla sex, but your brand of fucking? I like the way you make me feel, and I’ve realized it’s because I can completely let go with you, mentally and physically. That’s a first for me when it comes to sex, and I want to explore all these new and carnal desires with someone I trust. And I want that person to be you.”

  God, she’d just laid it all out there for him, and he was selfish and greedy enough to want to be the man to give her any and every experience she was eager to discover and learn about. With one nonnegotiable stipulation. “I’ll agree, but our time together ends when you’re done with this project.” There had to be an end date, for both of their emotional well-being.

  She pushed back from his chair and straightened, and he could tell she wanted to argue his conditions. Thank God she didn’t. “I’ll take it.”

  What did it say about him that he was relieved she hadn’t turned down his offer? Now that the terms of their affair were established, he planned to make the very best o
f the next two weeks with her. “Now take off these fucking handcuffs, because they’d look far better on you.”

  “Not going to happen. Not this time.” She tipped her head to the side as she studied him, a wicked smile on her lips. “I kinda like you being forced to sit there, unable to touch or use your hands. Which means you’re going to have to improvise with your dominance.”

  “Stephanie . . .” His voice was a low, warning rumble of sound.

  One that didn’t seem to faze her as she lifted her long, wavy hair from her shoulders and started to shimmy her hips to the song playing in the background as the lead singer belted out, she’s my cherry pie . . . tastes so good make a grown man cry.

  “You’re still in control, and I’m even going to let you call all the shots in this scene,” she told him oh-so-graciously. “You just can’t touch me, but anything you want me to do, just demand it, and I promise to obey.”

  He huffed out an incredulous laugh as he watched her climb the three stairs that led to the stage in front of them, her ass barely covered by those tight, formfitting booty shorts. “The only time you obey me is when you’re the one who’s restrained,” he pointed out.

  She gave him a sly look over her shoulder as she grabbed on to the silver pole that was anchored to both the floor and ceiling for stability, hooked a long, gorgeous leg around the post, and spun effortlessly around it. “Then you’re going to have to make me want to obey.”

  His dick pulsed way too enthusiastically. “You realize you’re going to pay for this, right?”

  She laughed huskily as she executed another impressive move that ended with a sultry toss of her hair. “God, I hope so.”

  Jesus, that sassy mouth . . . it both aroused him and made him want to turn her over his knee for a spanking. Instead of making immediate demands, he chose to watch her strut her stuff up on that stage for a few minutes, enjoying the whole stripper fantasy. She clearly wasn’t a professional, but she wasn’t completely inexperienced, either, leading him to believe that she’d probably taken one of those pole dancing classes, because she knew enough to replicate some of the more provocative dance moves.

  She performed a graceful, seductive pirouette before undulating her body against the pole in a purely sexual way, then leaned back against the post, gripped the column of steel above her head, and slid down into a squat with her legs spread indecently wide. With her slumberous eyes on him, she touched her free hand to her stomach, then slid her fingers into the front of her shorts to touch herself.

  Even though he couldn’t see her pussy, he was fucking mesmerized as he watched her hand move between her legs, teasing him and driving him mad, which was undoubtedly her intent. Her lips parted on a moan he heard above the music, and her lashes fluttered closed as she pleasured herself. A few deep strokes and her head rolled back against the pole, and he was already able to recognize the signs that her orgasm was drawing near.

  Frustration coursed through him, because he was a man of physical action and his arms were strapped to the fucking chair. This twist of hers, this power play that wreaked havoc with his dominant nature . . . How in the hell could it make him so furious yet turn him on so much? He was breathing hard himself, his cock straining against the front of his slacks almost painfully as he watched her . . . but there was no way he was going to allow Stephanie to get herself off this way.

  “Enough, you dirty, filthy girl,” he snapped out, his strict, rough voice providing the results he wanted, which was getting her attention. “Keep your fingers off your pussy. You’re not coming until I allow you to. Understand?”

  She bit her bottom lip, almost innocently. Oh, yeah, she liked that brusque order. The flush on her face and the heat of arousal in her eyes didn’t lie. She pushed back up the pole until she was standing straight again, eagerly waiting for his next command.

  “Come here,” he said in a firm tone, and she walked down the stairs in those fuck-me heels like a pro, her hips swaying so enticingly. His gaze landed on her chest, unable to miss the way her hard, stiff nipples poked against the material of her costume.

  “Get rid of the top. I want to see your tits.”

  She did as he requested, making it a slow strip tease as she gradually lowered the zipper, until the sides finally came apart and those firm mounds of flesh bounced free. She dropped the top part of the ensemble to the floor, leaving her clad in just those itty-bitty shorts and those sky-high heels. With a shameless gleam in her eyes, she palmed and squeezed her breasts and pinched her nipples until they were red and stiff.

  She strolled around him, and when she was standing at the back of his chair, she leaned into him from behind, her breasts pressing against his back as her palms slid over his shoulders to the tie at his neck.

  “What are you doing?” he asked, not opposed to having her hands on him, as long as he knew what she intended.

  “Getting you a bit more comfortable,” she said into his ear as she loosened the knot of fabric against his throat until it was undone and both sides of the tie hung down the front of his shirt. “You look a bit uptight.”

  “More like strung tight,” he muttered.

  Her amused laughter was warm against his lobe and was like a heated caress to his dick. “Yeah, that, too.”

  He watched her unbutton his dress shirt until it was completely open. She pulled the tails from his slacks so she had full access to his upper body, and she didn’t hesitate to scratch her nails over his chest and down to his abs—not severe enough to break skin, but definitely hard enough to mark him with faint red lines and make him hiss at the jolt of lust that heated his blood. The pleasure of it messed with his brain, because he was not a passive man who let a woman take control, but at the moment, he didn’t have a choice. And though being on the receiving end of pain wasn’t his preference when he’d rather dole it out, he couldn’t say he hated it.

  Like he said, the whole situation was fucking with his head.

  She kissed his neck, then followed that up with a love bite against the pulse pounding there, and he had to grit his teeth because it felt so fucking good. He instinctively tried to reach for her to flip this scene around, but the shackles on his wrists reminded him that wasn’t an option. He curled his hands into fists and growled in annoyance.

  “What would you like me to do next, sir?” she asked, much too sweetly.

  “Take off my goddamn handcuffs,” he all but roared.

  She circled back around to stand in front of him again, shaking her head. “Sorry . . . but no.”

  She was half-naked, so fucking confident, and he was rock hard and quickly running out of patience. “For every time you deny me, that’s how many times I’m going to paddle your ass once I’m free,” he threatened.

  “Mmm. I’ll risk it.” She reached down, her breasts swaying toward him as she opened his belt, unbuttoned his slacks, and lowered the zipper.

  He didn’t resist as she worked his pants and boxer briefs down. Hell, he even lifted his hips so she could pull them all the way off, along with his socks and shoes. When her fingers curled around his erection, he groaned like a dying man, because she was fucking killing him with her bold, uninhibited actions. Then, as the song in the background changed to “Pour Some Sugar on Me,” she got on her knees and added her hot, wet mouth to the mix . . . stroking him with her hand from base to root and sucking every inch of him to the back of her throat the way she now knew he liked it best.

  Closing his eyes, he dropped his head back, groaning as her lips tightened around his shaft as she slowly pulled her mouth back up the length of him, then released his dick with a little suctioning pop of sound that sent tingles down his spine. Her tongue swirled around the tip, adding to the wild need building inside of him.

  “Tell me what you want, Brent,” she cajoled, forcing him to voice his desires when he was normally the one to make those demands.

  He managed to lift his head and stared down at the beautiful woman kneeling between his legs, her tongue licking his achi
ng, throbbing dick, her own eyes a dark, lustful blue. Before she’d started sucking his cock, he would have demanded a dirty lap dance to complete the stripper theme, but now he was too desperate to have what he’d denied both of them the night of the party.

  “I want you to straddle my hips so I can fuck you . . . but clearly, you’re going to have to do all the work.”

  “I want that, too,” she said, her voice breathless as she pushed to her feet again and peeled off her shorts. Naked in front of him except for those heels, she bit her bottom lip uncertainly before addressing whatever concerned her. “There’s no condoms in here yet . . . but you know my health history and I have an implant for birth control.”

  She wanted to fuck bareback, and the thought of being inside her pussy without any latex barrier between them had his cock weeping at the possibility. “I’m clean, too.” And getting her pregnant was impossible. Literally. “The choice is yours.”

  A seductive smile lifted her lips as she made her decision. “I want to feel every single bare inch of you filling me all the way up. Hot. Hard. And as deep as you can get.”

  “Then get over here and fuck me,” he growled, done waiting.

  She closed the few feet between them, confusing him for a moment as she turned around at the last second so that she was straddling his thighs with her backside facing him and her perfect ass almost within biting distance.

  She glanced over her shoulder at him, her expression coy as she took his dick in her hand, positioned it where she was warm and slick, and slowly lowered herself a few inches down the thick length of his shaft. “I don’t believe you’ve received your lap dance yet, sir,” she said, informing him of her intent.

  She was giving him the best of both worlds . . . a lap dance and fucking him all rolled into one. But first, he needed to feel her as deep as he could go. “Sit on my cock, sweetness,” he said through gritted teeth. “All the fucking way. Now.”

  Following his order, she seated herself completely, until he was buried to the hilt and both of them groaned at how amazing it felt to be joined so intimately. Finally.