Page 50 of Set Play

But for what?

As if a switch is flipped, his earlier words come back to me. “You had me kneel and beg in the locker room, Chispita. Now, it’s your turn.”

So, he’s waiting for me to beg?

Our gazes lock, stormy seas and lush forests clashing in a tempest of lust and pure stubbornness. I know I’ll eventually give into his desire, but I refuse to make it easy on him. So, ignoring the generous bulge already tenting the front, I lightly drag my nails up his thighs to the waistband of his sweats.

A hitch of breath has me grinning up at him, and although the lamp by the window casts him in shadows, I feel his eyes on me. Watching but not moving, still holding himself back.

Irritation burns away the momentary joy I just felt, leaving me filled with a need to see how far I can push him before he loses his precious control. Giving him a devilish smirk of my own, I brush the skin above his waistband with my nails and curl my fingers to pull his sweats down.

Not enough to remove them, but just enough to see what he’s wearing beneath. Or what he’s not wearing, I should say.

Despite wanting to fully see him, I release his waistband, biting my lips when his own twitch in a slight wince of pain as it slaps his lower stomach.

Whoopsie.

Without breaking eye contact, I shift my hands to run them along his abs. Two….four…six…A sharp tug on my hair interrupts my counting.

“Élise.”

There’s a warning note in Mateo’s voice, but he’s still holding on tightly to the reins of his control, so I’m not done yet.

Since my subtler approach to breaking his control isn’t working, I drop my hands to my sides, pretending to heed his warning. It isn’t until he eases his hold that I move again, stroking my hand up one leg until I palm him through the material. His hips thrust, once, twice, into my hand as his head tips back in a groan. But all too soon, he grabs my wrist, stopping me.

Panting, he hisses, “You’ve had your fun, Chispita. My turn.” Releasing my wrist, he grasps the back of his shirt and pulls it off in one swift motion, revealing the sculpted muscular perfection underneath.

I inhale sharply, unintentionally stroking his ego. “Like what you see, gorgeous?”

As if in a trance, my head bobs eagerly before he even finishes his question. “Do what I told you to, and I’m all yours, gorgeous.”

If I thought the smirk he gave me when he went down on me was panty melting, it has nothing on the look of desire he’s giving me right now. “Please,” I whisper, my breath coming fast from the excitement of it all.

“Please, what?”

I grumble in annoyance, but he just laughs. “Please, what, Chispita? Use your words.”

“Please, Big Shot. Let me show you how much I liked you being on your knees for me.”

Finally, he releases my hair and circles me to sit on the edge of the bed. When I turn to face him, it’s crystal clear what he wants. Our position perfectly mirrors the one from the locker room. “Really?” I ask, just to be petulant, “You expect me to crawl to you?”

He shrugs. The smug bastard actually shrugs. “Up to you, Chispita. But I think we will both like the results if you do.” Stroking himself over his sweats with one hand, he hooks one finger at me in a ‘come hither’ motion.

“And if I don’t? You’ll what? Punish me? Please,” I scoff, rolling my eyes, “You haven’t even followed up on your threat to do that for the jersey incident earlier.”

In the blink of an eye, he’s standing in front of me again, reaching down to cuff my throat with one hand. Bent down so he’s eye level with me, he practically purrs, “I never said I’d punish you, Élise. I said you’d pay for it. However, since you brought up punishment…”

His voice fades as he gently pulls me to my feet, using his grip on my neck. Moving back to the bed, he resumes his position before pulling me down to lie across his lap.

A sound of indignation bursts from my throat at the move. “What the hell are you doing?” I try to push myself off his lap but am locked in place by a strong arm across my midback.

I want to repeat my question, but when his other hand pulls my dress up over my hips that plan goes out the window. Right along with my fucking dignity, because his hand lands on my ass with a loud SMACK. “Mateo!” I gasp, not sure if I’m shocked, outraged, or pleased.

Maybe all three.

“Remind me, Élise, what number is my jersey?”

I barely get out my answer with his hand rubbing very distracting circles over my bare flesh. “S-s-seventeen?”