Page 13 of Twisted Little Game

I freeze, spinning back around. His other arm lands on my waist, controlling my movement, and if I tried to break free now I know I couldn’t.

He hauls me around and shoves my body up against the wall.

My back slams against the cool stone, knocking the breath out of me.

He pins my injured arm above my head, then keeps the other arm low at my side. The bulk of his body is enough to keep me there.

He’s so much fucking bigger than me.

I’m at eye level with the space where his neck meets the top of the button-up blue shirt he’s wearing beneath his jacket. I can see the edges of tattoos past his open collar, and I can smell the scent of his clean laundry and a hint of something sweet and alcoholic on his breath.

The look on his face is completely calm.

Focused.

Like he’s barely even trying.

Have you done this before, you fucking brute?

“Stay,” he says, his eyes flicking down to meet mine. “Give me the towels. Stop trying to escape.”

“Damn,” I say under my breath, cocking my head to one side. “You’re pretty close for someone I just met. You actually going to fuck me this time, Roman?”

The controlled calm on his face doesn’t budge at all. He doesn’t acknowledge my joke.

I don’t know what it would take to get a reaction out of him, and now I want to find out.

Does he ever speak in more than short sentences?

Is he immune to whatever I throw at him?

Roman slides one palm down my forearm. “Going to stay put?”

“I don’t know. Let go of me and find out.”

His grip suddenly gets much stronger again, like he’s jailing me with his strength.

“I am in complete control of you right now,” he says, giving me a look that conveys pure, undisturbed certainty. “Are you aware of that? If I do not want you to move, you will not move. If I want to keep you right here for the rest of the night, I can do that. Do you want to make this difficult?”

“So you can say more than three words in a row.”

He narrows his eyes. “Are you always this annoying?”

I hum. “Two… three… yeah, I guess that one was five words now, huh? Proud of you.”

His eyes flick lower, looking from my lips to my eyes. “Are you finished?”

“Get the fuck off of me if you want to have a conversation.”

His look is still cold. “I don’t want to talk. I want you to do what I tell you.”

I’m shocked when he suddenly lets my arm go, all at once.

He backs away a step, releasing my other arm, too, and I can feel blood rush to the area where his grip was on me.

He’s giving me a moment of full trust.

“The paper towels, please.”