Chapter 2 - Let the games begin

 

Troy looks down at his hand.

He is right. Why did she want to run away now?

Because she suddenly felt things she wasn't prepared to feel after seeing him for the first time?

Girl up, Troy. Remember who you are, why you're here.

You hate him. You do. All of that other stuff you've just felt is a product of hate!

After hesitating a second more, she puts her hand in his.

She is Troy Summers.

She has never been a normal girl, never wanted normal things.

Her obsessions run deep. Bone deep. And things would need to get a fuckload madder before she chickens out.

He finally pulls her inside and closes the door behind them. The sound seems far too loud.

"What's your name?" he asks calmly. But something feels off.

His smile is there. His relaxed posture is there. But his eyes remain fixed on her face as if he's waiting for something.

For recognition or an answer.

She shakes her head slowly, intentionally. She had planned to tell him a fake name, but she isn't going to make it easy.

A faint frown appears between his brows, and he steps closer until he is mere centimeters from her.

"I know you from somewhere."

Troy's heart skips. "Nope... not possible. I'm new around here." The words come out too quickly.

He doesn't respond immediately. Just keeps staring, studying, as if the answer is sitting right in front of him.

"Really?" His hand lifts and a lock of her hair slips between his fingers.

He brings it closer and breathes in.

His eyes shift. "You smell familiar..." The frown deepens as he searches her eyes. "...and different."

"What? That's ridiculous." Troy scoffs. "How could you smell that?"

For a moment, he doesn't answer. He keeps looking at her.

The strange concentration returns. Almost frustration. As if every second he spends around her only raises more questions.

Then, finally, the expression disappears. Almost too sudden.

A small smile returns and he gestures toward the couch.

"Come sit down."

"To do what?" She quickly glances at the girl who had her legs spread wide open minutes ago.

His gaze lingers on her a second longer than necessary before moving to the girl on the couch.

"To play a game?"

“A game? What kind?”

“We could make the rules as we go.”

She scans over him, and her chest tightens.

He beams with pure, raw masculine energy. Alpha energy. The type that lures.

Troy's head spins with questions, but she takes a small breath and walks inside, past him, looking around.

The girl on the couch smiles at her. “You want a smoke?”

Troy looks at the cigarette. She doesn't smoke. But right now, that sounds like an excellent idea.

She takes the cigarette from the girl, takes a draw, and does her best not to cough.

“Thanks,” she says and gives back the cigarette.

Dorian walks around her and reaches for a dark rolled joint in the ashtray. He takes the lighter and lights it.

Dorian draws deep, holding it in for a second, then blows out.

And she can smell it isn't a cigarette. Or weed.

It is something else. Something sweeter.

With the second draw, he blows the smoke out, then tilts his head, as if weighing something in his mind.

Troy looks away from his puzzling eyes.

The other girl giggles and shakes her head, takes the last draw of her cigarette, then stubs it out.

“I have to go, Dorian. Devi will lose her mind if she finds me here.” She stands up and lowers her dress completely. “Thanks for the... well... you know.”

She smiles at him, then winks at Troy before moving out of the room.

Dorian smiles after her. “Take care of yourself”

The moment she says the words, a crippling anxiety settles in. Even though a moment ago Troy felt an undeniable need to remove the woman from Dorian. With force.

And yet now, the idea that she will be in a room with him, alone, is suffocating.

Fuck.

She lifts her head in bravery. “What's that you're smoking?”

“This? It's too strong. You won't be able to handle it...”

He looks at her for a long while longer, smoking his joint.

Then he turns toward the window, frowning. Studying the storm brewing in the far distance, the lightning that flashes without making a sound.

He takes a draw and blows it out, slowly. “Funny thing about people...”

“What?”

“They'll spend all day talking about how they love wild things. Foxes. Wolves. Storms.” He points at the storm. “They even write poems about them.”

He turns slightly, and his gaze drifts back to hers as she comes to stand next to him. “Then they spend all their energy trying to tame them.”

Troy stares up at him. She doesn't know what to say or why he is talking about such things.

But his words make her think.

She looks over the horizon.

"You can't really tame a storm."

"But they try to understand them. Give it rules within its own system."

Troy shakes her head.

“Tell me, if a fox were caught in a golden cage. Would he be sad about the cage or happy about the gold?”

He looks at her. Something shifts in his eyes.

“If you got lured into a golden cage... would you even notice you're caught?” He tilts his head.

She takes the joint from his fingers and takes a draw. A small one. Because she isn't that brave. “I would know, for sure.”

The corners of his mouth tug up, almost resistantly, as if he is trying not to laugh.

“Are you sure?” He says, raising his eyebrows slightly.

She frowns and looks away, holding the joint back to him. Was he implying she wouldn't know?

“Would you?” She asks in return. Because she suspects he has no idea.

“Would I, what?”

“Would you realize if you were the one lured in instead?”

His smile lowers. Now frowning, he stares at her as if her words need a minute to work into his mind.

Then he scoffs a disbelieving laugh. “Well, ain't that a mind-fuck.” He whispers almost to himself, takes the joint, and looks back at the horizon, but the frown and slight smile don't quite leave his face.

“Let's play a game,” he says.

“What sort of game?”

“It's called...” Dorian tilts his head as if he is just about to make something up. “Guess my treasure.”

“What's that?”

“You have three guesses. I have one treasure. Something I want from you. If you guess correctly, you get to keep it.”

“Fine.”

“First guess.” He walks closer to her.

“My name.”

“Nope. I already asked. You already decided to either withhold it or lie. No use. I'll find it eventually. Second guess.”

He walks behind her.

Troy's stomach coils, and numbness flows over her legs. She closes her eyes without thinking.

His presence behind her feels suffocating. Warm and thick and choking the life out of her.

For a second she wants to turn around to make it stop, but that would feel worse than staying still.

“I... um...” She swallows. Think, Troy. Think.

He touches the hair at her neck; his fingers lightly graze over her skin.

She almost collapses. She grabs onto the cold window in front of her.

“My number.”

“What for? You'll give it to me anyway. Last guess. Then I take what's mine.” He says, closer to her ear. And she can really feel his breath on her skin.

He lowers his hand and finds the slit in her dress.

Troy gasps. Oh Fuck.

Her nerves almost make her giggle. And yet, nothing is funny.

His fingers slowly slide into the slit and beneath the fabric, tingling and burning as they reach upward.

She can't speak. Not that she knows what to say.

Slowly, they go up until they hook around the thin band of her black lace thong.

A violent, hot pulsating ache between her legs makes her gasp for a short breath. It almost hurts.

“I... um... sex. You want... sex.”

A soft hiss escapes him.

His fingers tug and lower her thong over her ass, so painfully and crippeling slowly, as if he is enjoying the anticipation.

She stops breathing altogether.

“Not quite yet.” He says eventually.

“What?”

He slides the thong off, and it falls to the ground. But his hands remain on her naked ass for a second longer. His fingers tighten once, tightly, and then he lets go.

Then he lifts his hand and bends down. Lifting her feet with high heels one by one to free the thong from her legs.

She turns around.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“I'm taking my treasure.”

“My panty is the treasure?”

“I couldn't have taken your whole dress. That would have been weird.”

She laughs a disbelieving laugh. “So you lure me in here to rob me?”

“Robbing? Now hold on. That's quite an accusation.”

“What else would you call it?”

“I'm taking what's mine. You agreed to play the game. Those were the rules.”

He smells the thong, and his eyes shift. “You see. This is more valuable than sex.”

“What the actual fuck?”

​“Anyway, wait five minutes for the joint to work out of your system. Then you can leave. You shouldn’t leave here without underwear while you're still high. That's irresponsible.”

“Are you serious?”

He slips the thong into his pocket. Then he takes his shirt from the couch, throws it over himself, and buttons it.

“My name is Poppy,” she says eventually, crossing her arms, watching him get dressed with a bitter taste in her mouth.

Without looking up, he laughs softly and shakes his head.

“Yeah. That's a lie.”

Then he takes his jacket, looks back at her once more, winks, and leaves.

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