“Do you like what you see?” I ask, playing with fire. “No.” “Oh.” I turn my cheek, embarrassed, only for him to curl his fingers around my chin. He tilts my head back until our gazes meet. Dallas bends down, and his mouth brushes against my ear. “I love what I see,” he says, dark and low. “Maybe I wore this outfit for you,” I find myself saying, and this isn’t part of our game. This is real, honest truth I want him to hear. “Maybe I wanted you to miss me while I’m gone.” “You could wear a sack, Maven, and I’d still miss you.” His hand drops to my hip, and his fingers press into the small
...more
