Games
Flicka von Hannover
The difference between games
and the real thing.
Sometime during the night, Flicka was watching the stars over the Mediterranean Sea, and she realized that Raphael’s breathing wasn’t the deep, restful tides of sleep.
He rolled over under the sheets and wrapped her bare skin with one naked arm and leg.
“Again?” she asked.
He chuckled inthe dark. “Are you up for it?”
“Um, sure?”
“Or we could go back to sleep,” he whispered.
“Yeah, okay.” She stared at the stars some more.
He asked, “What are you thinking?”
She probably shouldn’t even say it. “Just that it’s funny. In London, we playedgamesall the time.”
“When Wulfram left for Chicago, the poker games with the Kensington Palace guys moved to their ready room instead ofour apartment. I don’t remember you sitting in more than a couple of times.”
“I mean the other kind of games.”
“Oh.” He cuddled closer to her, and his voice deepened. “I liked those games.”
Just that tone in his voice sent an erotic shiver through her. “We don’t play those games anymore.”
“Time,” he mumbled. “And Alina. Kind of difficult, with Alina.”
“Yeah, I suppose.”
“It’s more than that,though.”
“Yeah?”
He nuzzled her shoulder, running his lips over her skin. “In London, we were safe, so we played at danger. We pretended that I was dangerous, and I was controlling you. It was just a game, there.”
“Oh,” Flicka said, “yeah.”
She moved closer to him for comfort, huddling in the strength of his arms and against his muscular body, feeling safe for just a few minutes.
The dangerwasn’t just a game anymore.
They pretended they were safe, instead.
