Games Boys Play Read Online Free PDF Page B

above his elbows slacked.
    Drooped a little.
    Brushed, loose, against his elbows.
    God damn it.
    He shifted his arms, and the rope dropped a few inches more.
    God- fucking -damn it.
    He wriggled. If he could get loose, he could redo everything and start again before the ice had too much of a chance to melt.
    With his elbows given more play by the loosened rope coils, he had more leeway, but the handcuffs connecting his wrists to his ankles presented a problem. Still, if he could get to the knots on his legs, he could stand up and get the spare keys from the kitchen. Get himself free. Start all over again. He leaned his weight to the side to topple his body onto the rug, wincing as his shoulder hit a little harder than he’d planned.
    Arching his back, he tried stretching his fingers past his ass to the insides of his thighs, but he came up four or five inches shy of the ropes. Trying to reach around the outside of an ankle put him at an even greater disadvantage.
    God damn it!
    He lay on his side with the loose ropes from his elbows pooled around his wrists. His breath rasped against the rug as he stared at a dust bunny under his bed.
    It was stupid. The fact the he couldn’t get free should be a good thing, but the loose arm ropes… The loose fucking arm ropes. He rubbed his forehead against the rug. The goddamned loose arm ropes.
    He’d have to wait out the ice and then start all over again.
    He fought with the loose ropes. The ends tied around his chest were still in place, the knot still against his sternum. Pulling, tugging, and coaxing at what ropes his fingers could reach did little to change that. All he could do was try not to think about it for the next however long he was stuck lying on his side on the fucking floor.
    He hated when shit went wrong.

Chapter Six
    By the time the keys dropped, his mood was too sour to bother going through the whole thing again. He stashed everything back in the closet, then stalked off to the shower to get the sweat off. Afterward, he went out to the living room to try to get something productive done. People writing to him about guitar and bass lessons needed answering. Distribution problems needed to be addressed. A bad batch of T-shirts in the latest restock order was becoming a headache. His sour mood carried through all of it.
    He ate a tasteless dinner, then sat on the couch until three in the morning, staring at movies he didn’t give a shit about. Finally he forced himself to go to bed—where he lay in the darkness with the one thought he’d been trying to keep out of his head bubbling to the surface like air escaping hot water.
    It doesn’t have to be that way.
    Don’t.
    The ropes that slacken, the knots that slip undone or turn out to be within easy reach, the things you can’t do because it’s not possible to do them on your own—the things you can’t do because it’s not safe to do them on your own…
    Seriously. Don’t go there.
    Dylan could tie the ropes and make sure they’re right. Fix them if they start to come loose.
    No.
    Dylan could stuff your mouth and tape it shut. He could put you in a hog-tie so restrictive you couldn’t roll onto your side—and he’d be there to get you out if anything went wrong.
    Lying on his stomach, his cock pressed between his body and the mattress, he covered his head with his arms.
    He’s offered, for Christ’s sake , the voice in his brain said, disgusted with him.
    That doesn’t make it a good fucking idea!

Chapter Seven
    He made himself jack off— not thinking of Dylan, putting some faceless stranger there instead—and try to get some sleep, but the possibilities had a hold of him, the fact that he could , if he wanted, have someone help him out, have someone do it for real.
    He had to jack off again as the sun was coming up, before he could snatch a few hours of sleep, certain that when he woke up, he’d be over it. That the light of day would shine on what a terrible, bad, fucked-up idea it was.
    The last