Survival Games Read Online Free PDF Page B

her cheek and he
slowly sank to his knees in front of her. His hand traveled slowly down the
line of her neck, his fingers tracing her skin lightly, enough to create a lava
flow that ran from his fingertips to between her legs.
    “Get your hands
off me, you son of a bitch.” Her voice shook.
    Dimples formed in
his cheeks and he pressed his lips together, suppressing what she assumed was
the beginning of a smile. Instead of heeding her warning, his hand glided down
to her nipples, pausing to run his thumb gently around the tips. Tips that
hardened under his touch and he leaned forward, taking her breast in his mouth.
    Her breath
quickened, swears pouring out from between her lips and she stared up at the
ceiling, unwilling to respond to the inferno burning inside her. The inferno he
created with the touch of his hands and the gentle suckling of his lips and
tongue. Her hands balled into tight fists, nails digging into her palms as his
mouth traveled lower, pausing to play with her belly button, rolling the tip of
his tongue inside the small indentation.
    His blue eyes
glanced up at her, sparkling with mischief and he chuckled, sliding his hands
up her thighs and pushing them apart. “Wild cat, you are my sex toy.”
    His breath
tickled, running through the small nest of pubic hair cut in Brazilian fashion.
Then his tongue found her and she clamped her mouth shut on the moan that wanted
to escape. His technique exquisitely erotic and her body responded, despite her
best efforts to squash the glowing fire in the pit of her stomach. She could
not let him win. She couldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her climax. That
would be as good as a death sentence.
    She leaned forward
and threw herself back in the wooden chair, hitting the back of her head hard
enough to see stars.
    He looked up with
wide blue eyes and his mouth dropped open.
    “Not in a million
years,” she said and threw herself back again and this time darkness enveloped
her.
    * *
* *
    Ty sat back on his
haunches, tilting his head staring at her slumped unconscious form in the
chair, watching as the blooming color in her cheeks faded.
    She knocked
herself out. Instead of cumming for me, she knocked herself out. What the fuck?
    He stood,
retrieving the dress off the floor and slipped it over her head, unlocking her
wrists and ankles and smoothing the silky fabric over her skin. Picking her up,
he carried her limp body into one of the studio rooms setting her on the couch.
He left and came back with a brush and went about gently working the knots out
of her hair.
    God, she is
beautiful. Ty looked at her unconscious face, running his fingers along the
line of her jaw. He ran his thumb over her lips and on impulse, kissed her.
    What the hell
am I doing?
    He yanked away
from her and shook his head. She is a prisoner here, not your girlfriend ,
he reminded himself and took a deep breath. Crossing the room, he unlocked the
cabinet, scanned the contents and grabbed smelling salts. He walked back and
studied her, a twinge of something he couldn’t place nagged at him and he
dismissed it, waving the smelling salts under her nose, jolting her back into
consciousness.
    Jessica sunk
deeper in the couch and looked around, her eyes wide and confused.
    The door opened
and his brother and stepbrother walked in. Chris Aris looked like the all-American
boy, light brown hair, sharp blue eyes and an enviable bronze tan despite the
long New England winter. If it wasn’t for Ty’s scar, he and Chris could pass
for twins even though they were five years apart.
    Ty’s stepbrother,
Frank, was an entirely different story. When Jessica’s gaze landed on his dark,
not quite bordering on handsome Italian face, she squirmed in the seat. Ty
glanced at him, seeing Frank’s particular brand of cruelty reflected in his
irises.
    Ty dumped the
smelling salts into the garbage and pointed her way. “Chris, Frank, this is
Jessica.”
    “She looks a
little bit knocked around already,”