Game On

“Sir, you are a blond man. Calm down”

..."Theo, this is my mother, Georgianna, but everyone calls her—”

“Georgie,” she said, shooting me a warning look.

“What’s that face for? I was going to say that.”

“Excuse me for not trusting you, but you did once introduce me as Bitchy McBitchface.”

“I was sixteen, and you had been acting like a—”

He pushed back to kneeling, head down, hands on his thighs.

“What is this? What are you doing?”

“I think I’m a brat.”

“Tyler, everyone thinks you’re a brat.”

“No, like brat kink.”

Oh. Ohhh. “So you really did like it when I was mean to you.”

“I did.” He glanced up at me from beneath his brows, his gaze hot, searing. “And I think you did, too.”

...What I felt was too complicated to be defined, and what she felt . . . judging from the look on her face, she seemed torn between wanting to choke me and fuck me.

Both please! my subconscious chimed in.