Wicked Game

Chapter 4

The next few days went by uneventfully. You spent most of the time inside your room or lounged at the pool, keeping your distance from Ghost. He did the same, seemingly being busy with something else. You could see how his posture and demeanor changed every time you walked past him, tensing up as if he was bracing himself.

Each step you took, each word you spoke, was carefully calculated like you were playing a wicked game of chess. Letting him off the hook for a while, giving him room to breathe for a few days. Giving him a false sense of safety before you'd inevitably go back to teasing him. You wanted to drag this out for as long as possible, enjoyed every second you could rile him up, and after a week, you decided that it was time for your next move.

"You're avoiding me," you stated with a smirk as you flopped down on the couch next to Ghost, a cherry popsicle in your hand. Ghost looked at you, eyes glued to your lips. The way they wrapped around the popsicle made him want to do unholy things to you. God, you were so obviously trying to manipulate him, and the worst thing was that he started to like it.

"I'm not here to keep you entertained," he responded, trying to drag his gaze away from you.

"What are you working on?" You asked, ignoring his snide remark.

Documents were scattered on the small living room table, and you leaned a bit closer to get a better look, your tongue licking over the popsicle to keep it from dripping. Your movements snapped Ghost out of his thoughts before he began to put the documents together, shoving them in a manila folder, and you could have sworn that there was a small, blurry picture of your father on one of them.

"None of your business."

You were nosy, he would have to be more careful around you.

"Tell me, please," you said with a smile before you wrapped your lips around the popsicle, sucking on it way more provocatively than necessary while you looked straight at Ghost. His mind was going to dark places, his body tense, thoughts loud; telling him to use your throat until you'd stop talking with that goddamn annoying voice or even better, to press your face in the cushions and take you right here on this couch.

"No." His answer was short and spoken through gritted teeth as if he had to keep himself from saying more.

"Whatever. Won't force you to talk about it," you said with a shrug of your shoulders, your gaze wandering over to the TV as you kept on eating your popsicle. You could feel his gaze on you, could see out of the corner of your vision how he shifted in his seat, adjusting himself before he put a pillow on his lap in an attempt to hide his growing bulge.

"You'd like to force me, wouldn't you?"

"You want me to force you?" You asked, a grin flashing over your lips, your tongue sliding over the popsicle. Both of you knew that this conversation wasn't about his personal projects anymore. Your eyes landed on his chest, wandering up towards his neck until you noticed the dog tags that dangled around a chain on his neck.

"I want you to shut the fuck up" He grumbled, not wanting to show you how much you already had him wrapped around your finger, only confirming that you had him exactly where you wanted him.

Slowly, you got up from the couch and walked up behind him, placing your hand on his chest. Perfectly manicured nails gently scratched over the fabric of his shirt as you bent down to whisper in his ear.

"Make me."

Everything about you made him want to pick you up and drag you back to his room; you really had a way of bringing out the caveman in him. It took a second for him to regain his composure and he almost began speaking up, but then he noticed that you were already long gone. As much as he hated to admit it, you were winning this fucking game for now.

You chuckled to yourself as you sat down on your bed. You enjoyed teasing him way too much, it never had been this fun with anyone else. That's why you had no plans of stopping anytime soon, once again deciding to keep a bit of distance.

After a few days, a dirty idea crossed your mind while you fetched your laundry from the washing machine. As you walked back to your room, your wet clothes bunched up in front of your body because who in their right mind would take more than one trip, you accidentally dropped one of your thongs directly in front of Ghost's door. It was a pretty one, the delicate black lace looking like it was made to be ripped off of your body.

You were already back in your room when you heard his heavy footsteps in the hallway, stopping in front of his door. There was a bit of rustling, followed by the sound of his door falling shut and the turn of a lock. A peek outside your door confirmed that the thong was no longer there on the floor. You smirked as you closed the door, he had done exactly what you expected.

Like a prey taking the bait.