The Games We Play
by Lorrain Allen
Genre: Romantic Suspense
Publication Date: January 3, 2020
Jada's fairytale marriage went to hell in a handbasket when her husband started being unfaithful. The last few years have been a nightmare for her. Ben doesn't hide his extra martial activities, after concluding Jada wouldn't do a damn thing about it. The wheels in Jada's head begin to turn with her best friend's words--Cheat back, beat Ben at his own game. Jada wasn't sure she had the nerve to follow through, but she wanted Ben to get a taste of his own medicine. She meets two completely different men--Wayne, a successful businessman and Elijah, a starving artist following his dreams in the Big Apple. It's all a game was Jada's thoughts when she crossed that invisible line, but little did she know her choice would cause a chain reaction causing her heartbreak. The game has begun, rules will been broken, and secrets will be revealed. There are multiple players, but only one can win. The games start in five, four, three, two, one.
Warning: This book contains graphic sexual scenes.
This is a standalone book
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Eli lives in a studio apartment with limited space and sparse furnishings. The kitchen is to the right, with a breakfast bar separating the space from the living area. To the left is a small hall with two closed doors. I look around as I walk further into his personal space. Two stools sit before the breakfast bar. There’s an old TV on a scarred stand in a corner below the window, next to an easel and chair. There’s a daybed with a clear bin next to it, a rack with some clothes on hangers, and a small table filled with art supplies. The painting of me is hung above his easel, across from his daybed. A tarp is covering most of the hardwood floor. There are dozens of photographs and paintings propped against the walls.
“Welcome to my humble abode,” Eli says.
“These paintings and photos are beautiful.”
What really jumps out at me are the abstract paintings. The different shapes and colors are gorgeous. The paintings include a black man sitting on a throne, a black woman crying, and a full moon amidst clouds overlooking an ocean. I watch Eli as he unbuttons his shirt.
“Relax. I’m taking off my shirt so I don’t get paint on it,” he says, pulling the shirt from his arms.
I’m transfixed by his well-built form. My eyes travel from his sexy V to his hard abs, then across his burly chest with a sprinkle of hair. I continue my observation to his broad shoulders, ending at his brown eyes. Before I realize what I’m doing, we’re standing face to face. My hands follow the road map of his hard angles, starting from his V. Eli’s breathing becomes labored as my hands follow the hard ridges of his abs. After my exploration is done, the paths of my hands ascend to his pectorals. Eli’s hands form tight fists at his sides. My thumbs circle his nipples. I gasp when Eli seizes my wrists firmly, pulling them back. My eyes jump to his, there’s a burning passion there. My body starts to tremble.
“I’m going to gather the supplies to paint your portrait.”
It takes him considerable effort to form that sentence. While he gathers the supplies, I go to the bathroom. My body hasn’t stopped trembling.
I sit on the edge of the bathtub then squeeze my eyes shut. After a few minutes, I slowly open them. I stand to undress, leaving my clothes where they fall. I slide my neon green high heels back onto my feet then take my red lipstick from my purse to cover my lips before opening the bathroom door. Eli has his back to me, setting up the paints and brushes. He replaced his jeans with sweat shorts. When Eli turns around and sees me, he drops the cup of paintbrushes. They scatter across the floor. His Adam’s apple visibly bobs as he swallows hard.
“I want you to paint me naked,” I tell him.
“Where do you want to be painted?” His voice cracks.
I point to his daybed.
He bends down to retrieve the cup and the paintbrushes to place on the small table he moved by the easel. He walks over to the daybed then repositions it to lie flat. I sit on the edge, spreading my legs. Eli’s eyes immediately zero in on my moist opening. It’s easy to see his control is slipping. I place my hands flat on the daybed, tilting back a little to open my legs further apart. Eli doesn’t move. He hasn’t taken his eyes off me from the moment he turned around to see me standing naked except for my neon high heels.
“Are you ready to start?”
Eli doesn’t respond.
It’s like he’s hypnotized.
“Eli,” I call louder.
His eyes unhurriedly advance from my cunt to my face. The expression on his face terrifies and excites me at the same time. He’s opening and closing his hands at his side. His body is rigid, tight as a taut wire about to pop.
“Are you ready to start?”
His answer is to sit on the stool.
“How long will it take?” I ask softly.
Maybe I’ve taken this a bit too far. I didn’t anticipate his reaction being this strong.
“I’ll be done in a few hours,” he answers as he starts to paint.
His hand is gripped tight around the paintbrush. His first few strokes are jerky and uncoordinated. He stops painting, closes his eyes then takes a few deep breaths. He wipes his left hand down his face. He replaces the canvas with a new one to start over. This time, his grip on the paintbrush is lighter; his strokes are purposeful and sure. Eli’s concentration is profound, the look on his face impassioned as he paints my body.
“The painting is done,” Eli says, standing.
Lorrain has enjoyed writing ever since she was a child and was also part of the poetry club in middle school. She loves to get away from the world and lose herself in a book. As a young adult, she became a romance book junky and was inspired to pen her first romance by the many creative authors whose books she's read. She wants to provide her fans with a suspenseful read that has a twist at the end. The subject matters of her books are a little controversial, but life is boring without a little controversy.
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