“I don’t play these games, Sylvan Connor.”
His nostrils flare as he inhales, and I wonder what kind of effect I’m having on him and if it’s the same he’s having on me.
“I don’t usually need to beg, Neve.” His voice is cold but throaty.
“You usually makethembeg, right?” The condescension is clear in my tone.
His throat rolls as he swallows and he’s digging his fingers so deeply against my thighs that I’m sure he’ll leave a mark.
“Sit on my lap, Vee.”
Vee.
No one has ever given me a nickname, and I don’t know if I like it, but coming from his pouty lips, it’s sexy as hell.
“Please,”he adds, his eyes searching mine.
It’s a show, the openness he seems to switch on. Based on what Tasia told me, and what I’ve seen myself, even how he plays on the ice, every move Sylvan Connor makes is calculated.
But it doesn’t make it less hot.
Still, as fond as I am of sleeping with strangers, I’m not adding a psychopath to my list. The last two were relatively normal—at first—and look where that got me.
Gotus,because Sylvan is as involved in Jackson’s death as I am, if not more so.
“Tell me what it is you want to tell me or let me go.” I keep my voice strong, commanding, but my heart is a thrashing butterfly inside my chest.
He clenches his teeth. I can see it in the way his jaw moves.
A smile comes to my mouth. “Am I making you mad, Sylvan Connor?” I tug harder on his hair and his brows pull together but he doesn’t release me. “Are you not used to meeting your match? You thought you could lie about me, about the privilege offuckingme, and get away with it?” I yank harder, loving the sensation of control.
He blinks. It’s a subtle thing, but it’s the only change to his facial expression I see before he tugs me down on top of him with a forceful pull. A low exhale leaves my lips as my knees unwillingly come down on either side of him.
My hands drop from his hair to his broad shoulders so I can keep my balance, and he jerks me close to him, hands on my ass now, gripping my flesh so hard, I really don’t think I could get away. My center is over his groin and he’shard,his cock thick between us.
I push back, trying to create distance, but he bands an arm around my spine and tugs me close, then slides his hand to the back of my skull, forcing my temple down to his.
“Don’t fight me, Vee,” he whispers, his breath between us, clean like he’s just brushed his teeth. No minted scent, justfresh.
“Let me go, or I’ll ruin your life.” My nails dig into the fabric of his shirt, but he seems completely unaffected despite the fact I’ve accidentally punctured through gloves thanks to how long my nails are.
He nudges his nose against mine and my heart feels as if it’s going to fly out of my fucking chest. “Are you?” he whispers. “Going to ruin me?”
“Seriously, fuckoff.”I try to push away from him again but he tightens his grip on the back of my head and keeps me still, his other hand still holding my ass in place.
He lifts his chin and his lips ghost over mine.
The action makes me go completely still.
It’s too intimate. Too… much.
“I don’t want to, Vee.”
“I don’t give a fuck what you want.”
“You spit in my face last night.”
My face grows warm at the memory, but I don’t apologize. I’m not fucking sorry. And now I’m wondering again if, despite the fact it seems to make zero sense in terms of a timeline, he was involved with Jackson’s death.
