Page 56 of The Puppet Master
I think it’s over. That I passed.
But then the heels of his palms grind along the slopes of my breasts, massaging me into complacency. It’s assaulting, intruding, but after a minute…
“What can you tell about me?” I ask to end the agonizing silence. The weight of my voice betrays me even if he couldn’t feel my body relax.
“How much do youthinkI can tell?”
“Not a single thing.”
I hear him smile—however impossible. “Oh yeah?”
I almost laugh. Becauseyes.
But…
The room grows quiet. A bead of water slips from the faucet, drawing out a slow quarter second before the sharpplopechoes off the walls, ripples disrupting the smooth surface of the bath. I tense at the sound and watch the faucet as if fearing another drop instead of the man behind me.
He knew my ring was from a book. He guessed that we’re alike; and maybe that was an attempt at flattery or weakening my defenses, but … what if it was the same recognition I sense? What if he sees more than I know?
Sun Tzu said inThe Art of Warthat if you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles.
The mission is simple.
Learn Sawyer.
Donotlet Sawyer learn me.
He plants a soft kiss to my shoulder before ending the silence. “Do you want to bet on it?”
“A bet?”
“Mmhmm.” His hands retreat from my breasts and lower into the water—a momentary reprieve that’s cut short by sudden contact at my hips. His thumbs trace the top creases of my thighs, dipping close to my center but not quite there. Enough to throw me off balance, make my heart race, make mestupid. Stupid enough to play his game.
“How about this,” Sawyer says. “If I don’t get close, I get out and go to bed. You’re free to finish your bath in peace.”
I squirm, my eyes pointed down at the murky water where his hands hide. In the low lighting, I see little of what he’s doing but feel everything. Every back and forth glide, every curly hair smoothed by his touch, every creep toward my labia. “And if you do?”
“If I do, then we get out together and you come to bed with me.”
To bed with him…
“And what happens if I don’t want to bet anything?”
Without warning, Sawyer nips my earlobe, whooshing air through my teeth. I sit up straight, clench my legs, and accidentally shift against his growing erection. An erection he doesn’t try to hide, doesn’t explain, doesn’t even pretend to be ashamed of.
“Then we get out and go get some sleep. When we wake up, I’ll take you to the training room, and I won’t touch you again unless you ask.”
“As if I don’t know you not touching me is worse.”
He smiles against my ear. “I think you enjoyed me not touching you. I bet if I felt between your legs, you’d still be slick.”
My skin burns with a flush so deep, I feel it in my cheekbones. Sawyer waits a few seconds, letting my sizzling flesh heat the chilled water. He can’t see my face, but I know he feels my embarrassment, my unease. And he loves it.
His hands move to my stomach before he draws me into him.
“Come on, beautiful… Play with me.”
Play with Sawyer.He may as well be a box of matches. As inevitable as it may be, it’s hard to even imagine myself—willingly—in bed with him.
