Page 37 of Worth Every Game
“Yes, please,” I say, taking a seat at the island, attempting to slide onto the designer stool as gracefully as possible, but my bare thighs stick to the seat. If I make any sudden movements, they’ll squeak against the leather like a fart.
My muscles tense with the strain of staying as still as possible. I can’t have my first move in this game be letting out anenormous skin-on-leather squelch. That’s definitely not going to bring Jack Lansen to his knees.
“You look a bit uncomfy there, El,” Jack says, casting an assessing look over me. “Everything okay?”
I wince as I carefully raise my bare thigh off the leather, praying no noise erupts.Easy does it.“Fine. Yeah. I’m good,” I tell him, as I shift silently into a new position.
That was a close call.Jack, oblivious to my concerns, flashes a cheeky grin as he plates up some eggs and slides them across to me. He pours me a coffee and pushes that across too.
“You do this for all the girls?” I ask.
He chortles as though my question has surprised him. “Yeah. Nothing like morning-after eggs. When I bring someone home, we tend to work up an appetite.”
A flicker of pain slashes through my chest, but I force my smile to hold. “I thought you were supposed to be seducing me, not telling me about all your conquests.”
“You asked. I’m not going to lie to you. I’m not going to deceive you into bed.”
“You’re not playing dirty, you mean?”
Jack laughs heartily, and something deep inside me begins to glow, because the sight of this handsome half-naked man laughing is sexy as sin. Suddenly, it doesn't matter how many other people he's been with because, in this moment, it's just us. “Speaking of playing,” he says, “I wrote this out. For clarity.”
He puts a cheque on the island, made out to me. I pick it up and inspect it. It’s unsigned, but on the back he’s written, ‘I, Jack Lansen, do solemnly swear to pay Elly Carter One Hundred Thousand Pounds if she can get me to beg for sex.’ His signature is scrawled beneath it.
Despite how amused I am, I fight to keep a straight face and say, “Is it legally binding?”
He reaches over and snatches it back. “I don’t know, but I’ll sign it if you win. Which you won’t.”
So arrogant. I’m about to roll my eyes when a little voice pipes up in my head, saying ‘rightly so.’
He paces over to the shelves, which are decorated with glassware that looks like a modern art installation, and lifts down a tiny statue of a man.Oh, my God.It's the model of Priapus—the Greek God of fertility—I gave him at his last birthday, complete with an enormous erect cock that's nearly as big as the man it's attached to. It was a stupid joke of a gift, and it's totally out of place in Jack's sleek designer kitchen.I can't believe he kept it.Jack slides the cheque between the statue's cock and his torso, displaying it like some kind of lewd certificate, and balances it back on the shelf before turning back to me.
“You kept him,” I say, nodding at the tiny Priapus statue.
“Of course,” Jack announces, as though he would never have done anything else, and my insides flutter. He comes back towards me and leans against the kitchen worktop opposite. “Eat,” he instructs. “Your food will get cold.”
The eggs do smell good, but really it’s the feel of Jack’s eyes on me and the casual command in his deep voice that has me picking up my cutlery and starting to eat.
He watches me, eyes glimmering with amusement. “Nice underwear by the way. I can see your nipples.”
A shot of heat bursts through me, and my nipples, if possible, harden even more, like they’re trying to poke through the thin silk at him.
“I can see yours too,” I say, determined to give as good as I get, and he hums an amused chuckle.
He puts both hands behind him on the counter, making no effort to hide said nipples. I’m not sure I thought man-nippleswere hot until right now, but Jack’s are perfect, sitting there in the middle of his sculpted pecs.
“What are you doing today, then?” he asks.
It takes me a moment to recalibrate to such a mundane topic, but after a second, I’m there.“Same old. Shift at the Marchmont. I have a set tonight.”Maybe he'll ask if he can come.Hope flurries like confetti in my stomach, but after a few long seconds of silence, I know he’s not going to.
Conversation drifts. He tells me about the renovations they’re doing on my old flat, and I tell him about the songs I’m writing.
Just as I’m starting to feel at ease in his company, he rests his forearms on the other side of the island and leans towards me. His blue eyes darken to an even deeper shade, and the weight of his gaze is so intense that I freeze, a forkful of scrambled egg half-way to my mouth. “What?” I ask.
“You look good, El.”
The comment is casual—throwaway, almost—but the tone is jam-packed with suggestion. I take a careful breath as he gives me the sexiest closed-lipped smile I’ve ever seen. The air thickens, locking around my neck, pressing down on my breasts. My lungs shrink to a quarter of their normal size.Why is it so hard to breathe?
Jack’s eyes are still on me when he says, “Are you turned on right now?”