Try and Play Me, Boy (The Playgirls #2) (2 page)

Chapter 3:

Colt knew it was going to be a shitty day, so he grew a pair of balls and did the only thing that could possibly make it better.

That had been two hours ago; only now did his text inviting Alice for dinner receive a reply.

Is that a booty call?

No,
he quickly typed.
There’s just a restaurant I’d like to try out.

That didn’t make him seem totally desperate, right?

The answer came immediately, this time.

No thanks.

Alice had been true to her words, and she’d also lied through her teeth. The previous week, he’d seen her twice, and twice, she’d fucked him.

But she’d lied, because they hadn’t gone back to their previous familiarity; before, they would have spent some time fooling around, watching movies, speaking about their days, but there had been none of that.

After coming, she’d run out of his flat like her butt was on fire. Well, it probably was, considering the way he’d rammed inside her flesh, desperate to own her like he used to, but she’d shut him out.

He forced all thought of Alice off his mind when a knock resounded on his door.

It was the first Monday after the holiday break, and he’d summoned Kim to his office to get it over and done with right away.

He’d also called his mother, and a HR assistant, as he’d decided right when Kim was plastering her lips on him.

Only, the conversation wasn’t going to be quite what he’d planned at first.

As the woman’s face fell upon entering, she’d obviously understood where that was going.

“Colt, I’m sorry…”

“No,” he replied, cut, final.

His mother had cautioned him, asking him to remain calm and professional, but his anger leaked from his tone.

“No. Sorry doesn’t cut it. Not this time. You’ve repetitively acted in a manner which was completely unprofessional, and given your outstanding performance as our CFO, I have turned a blind eye until now. No more.”

He knew firing her wasn’t going to immediately get Alice to reconsider their relationship, but hopefully, it would count in his favor.

Regardless, he couldn’t work with that woman; not anymore.

It had taken a while to see what his siblings had hinted at for years, but now he acknowledged it, he was disgusted by her, and by his own behavior.

Most functions, Kim had gotten tipsy and used it as an excuse to touch him. He’d fallen for it a few times, because he wasn’t adverse to casual sex, and she’d always seemed conscious enough to know what she was doing.

She’d also occasionally done it when he had been attached; not as blatantly, but she’d displayed their familiarity and each time, it had created a drift with whatever woman Colt saw at the time.

Only now did he actually see the manipulation behind it. She’d used alcohol as her excuse. She wasn’t an Alice, a woman who could stand in front of him and tell him what she wanted or expected. Kim was a coward; a coward whose latest antic had cost him everything.

“You’ll have a reference,” Colt said. He was being generous, but her work wasn’t the issue; he wasn’t about to prevent her from finding another job. “And we’ve drafted a healthy severance package. You can work your three months notice away from me or leave right now. I don’t care.”

Colt turned towards the window, dismissing her, but instead of taking the hint, the woman stomped her foot like the spoilt child he now saw she was.

“That’s bullshit! Ten years, I’ve worked here. Ten, Colt! You can’t fire me because some slut isn’t happy I…”

She stopped, interrupted by the sound of the vase he’d thrown across the room.

If she’d been a man, he would have punched her in the face rather than taking it out on the poor by standing decoration.

“Let’s get one thing perfectly clear. I’m firing you because your infatuation with me makes you unprofessional, as well as pathetic. You know where the door is.”

How about a bootie call, then?
He’d sent before he could stop himself.

Hell to it, he needed to see Alice.

The swift response made him want to break something. Apparently, while Alice couldn’t possibly clear her schedule for dinner, she was free for a quick fuck.

Dammit.

•

Alice had never been as wet, and it had very little to do with the low, rumbling voice saying all of those dirty words, or the way she was pounded from behind.

Ok, bullshit, all of the above helped, but her arousal was off the chart for other reasons.

Each time she turned around, she saw it. Colt had purchased a top of the range camera for their video, and it was pointing straight at her, her ass, her back, sometimes her face.

She tried not to panic about that. Her black bob was hidden under a red cosplay wig she’d bought online, and the long asymmetric fringe fell on her made-up face. There was no way anyone she knew would recognize her; not only because of the hair, though.

Alice wore more make up than Marylin Manson on performance day; black lipstick, dramatic smoky eyes and all the Goth bullshit. To suit the persona, she’d bought a black leather lingerie set; basque, thong and all.

Colt hadn’t even bothered greeting her, which was fine with her. He’d thrown her on her bed, undone his zipper, grabbed his camera and entered her without even removing his clothes. Dammit. Remembering that was enough to make her walls contract around his cock.

“That’s it, your cunt is swallowing all of me.”

His hand reached around her legs, to her leaking pussy and stroked her clit as he pushed inside her, balls deep.

“It’s making such a mess, princess. Like a naughty, naughty little cunt. Do you know what happens to naughty cunts?”

He’d always been rude as fuck when they had sex, but when he insulted her now, a part of her wondered if he meant it.

Well, right now, she didn’t care one way or the other, but in an hour or so, laid down on her bed, staring at the ceiling, she’d consider it.

A harsh, hard, unexpected slap landed on her ass, and she moaned out loud as it promptly launched her over the edge.

Fuck. It had never been that quick, that effortless; she normally felt the climax coming – pun intended.

Ignoring her orgasm, he carried on his unyielding rhythm, both with his cock and his hand.

Shit. He was actually
hitting
her ass. Why the hell was she liking it?

“Hands above your head, princess. Hold on to your headboard.”

She obeyed without questioning it, and gasped as he bound them up there with his leather belt, still screwing her hard and fast.

“Perfect,” Colt said, his palm now caressing the sensitive flesh of her ass; then, he withdrew his length from her and she protested out loud; he couldn’t stop! Not now!

“Perfect,” he repeated, and she felt him back against her; but not her pussy. Oh, no. He was higher up, pushing right between her butt crack.

“Tell me, princess, ever had anything in there?”

He knew exactly what she’d had in there; his fingers, his butt plug, his tongue.

A harsher slap followed her silence, swiftly warming her entire body. She turned, confused as to how she could possibly feel it all the way from her shoulders, and saw his tie in the hand which wasn’t holding the camera.

“Answer me.”

“Yes,” she moaned out loud, her voice needy, unfamiliar.

“Good girl. Have you ever had a cock deep in that perfectly rounded ass, princess?”

Shit, her dripping cum was going to soak the mattress.

“No.”

It sounded like she was begging; probably because she was.

“Mhh. A virgin asshole. My favorite kind.”

His cock was rubbing again it, following her butt crack, before returning against the hole and pushing a little bit deeper each time.

“Lesson one. Virgin assholes need a lot of lube. Oops. I don’t have any with me.”

He sounded real sorry about that.

“Do you know what that means, princess?”

It meant she wasn’t going to be able to sit down for the foreseeable future.

“It means you are going to have to lubricate my dick. I know how good you are at that.”

He got up from the bed and effortlessly pushed the metal frame away from her wall, making it look like it had been made of plastic.

Before she recovered from the surprise, his engorged shaft was deep in her mouth.

This time was very different from the day when she’d blown him in his apartment; she wasn’t giving a head, today. He was taking it, screwing her mouth deep, fast, and hard.

That irrevocably proved that she was actually insane, because she became wetter, and desperate for another release; her pussy throbbed, and she closed her legs to try to get some friction. Damn him for restraining her hands!

“Good girl; look at my glistening cock. Your ass will be very appreciative.”

And it was.

Colt returned behind her and thrust hard inside her rectum as she screamed in pain, pleasure, shock and arousal.

That felt strange. Alien. Not entirely unpleasant, but she wasn’t sure why she liked it, because it was her clit and vagina which wanted attention.

Then, he moved.

Wow.

She bit her lips, trying hard to stay silent, and failed.

The new sensation was overwhelming and underwhelming, frustrating as hell, because full as she was, it wasn’t enough; she was greedy.

Alice was all but ready to beg for more when a hand moved up from her hips, towards her breast.

Colt pinched and caressed, teasing her so much she cried.

She could barely breathe when he reached towards her bedside table, and fetched a Bob.

It was Mr. Pink, her basic curved dildo; she gasped out loud when she realized what he wanted to do with it. Fuck. Fuck. Fuuuuuck.

He pushed it inside her effortlessly and rammed it three times when she became boneless, spineless, blinded, mute.

When she regained consciousness, the first thing she felt was the absence of the dick which belonged inside her body. She was disappointed, wanting it again, right now.

She was still shivering under the aftermath when Colt shifted, moving to her side in a position that was way too close to spooning.

“Your skin is the softest thing in the world,” he murmured, his lips against her shoulder, drawing another frisson.

“You know I’m just bidding my time, right? Someday, you’ll trust me again. Then, you’ll be mine.”

Enough of that nonsense; Alice moved away.

Today hadn’t gone according to plan. It had become too… personal.

“Do you want to watch it?” he asked, removing the SD card.

She did her best to stop her body from convulsing and shook her head, trying to appear dismissive.

From the way his face fell, it worked.

Good.

Right?

Dammit, it was good. She ignored the way her heart contracted; the silly organ didn’t have a clue what was good for her.

“Nah. Send me a link once you’ve uploaded it. I’ve got work to do.”

Alice was behind her computer before he’d made it out of the bed.

He lingered for a few minutes and she could feel his gaze on her; it was heated, as usual.

Then, he was gone, and she returned to her book.

Good.

Good had become her mantra every time Colt was leaving; she had to repeat it to herself and at some point, she hoped, she’d actually feel it.

Alice was grateful for the distraction of a humongous pile of work.

It had been relatively easy to transform her various notes into a story, actually. Obviously, she’d had to change the names of her characters, but she’d kept their descriptions mostly intact, which was a problem.

Linda had said she had to make the book end well; while women liked conflicts, they also were thirsty for a good happy ending. Let’s face it: everyone felt cheated by One Day kinda storylines.

But whatever way she reshaped the story, Colt-now-Tyler was a womanizing bastard. She couldn’t see a believable way to turn that mess into a happy ending, unless it involved Alice-now-Chantelle carrying Tyler’s body to an unmarked grave and becoming a lesbian.

It was possible that she might have become jaded. Just a little bit.

Chapter 4:

By the end of January, Colt was ready to murder Alice. He could count the conversations which had gone past five sentences on one hand; not that he hadn’t tried, but she’d always brushed him off, answering his questions with a shrug or a monosyllabic response.

However, they’d fucked forty two times. Forty two, in thirty one days.

Over the course of the last week, Alice had seemed unwell – paler, weaker than usual, with dark circles under her eyes. He’d enquired; he’d wanted – needed – to know what was wrong with her. Her reaction? Yep, a shrug.

Today, as she didn’t seem better, he brought it up again, while she was undoing her robe.

She always met him in a robe now; she wore exquisite lingerie underneath. He hadn’t seen her in jeans once since the Christmas Gala debacle.

Hot, sure, but all of that served to remind him of one fact: that he was nothing more than a casual fuck, to her.

Thanks, princess, I’ve had the memo.

“You’ve lost weight,” he frowned, looking down at her frame.

She’d always been slender, but it had been healthy before – now she looked like a catwalk model: undernourished, weak, ready to faint.

Her eyes narrowed.

“Don’t I make your dick hard anymore?” she asked sarcastically, glancing down towards the bulge in his pants.

He ignored what he knew was a provocation.

“Alice, tell me you aren’t on a crazy diet. Your body was perfection.”

“And now, it’s not,” she concluded flatly, her eyes flaring.

She closed her robe and turned her heels, heading towards her desk as she said:

“Go, then. If I needed an ego bashing, I’d look in the mirror. Funny enough, I’m in no mood for a fuck now.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Alice. I’m not in the mood for a fuck either, I’m just concerned about you, dammit!”

She shrugged and turned around, locking herself in her bathroom.

•

By the beginning of February, Alice was ready to murder Colt.

Every other part of her life was going well – her friends were pretty damn awesome, and after three weeks of intense editing, her novel was ready for publishing; she’d even gotten the trendy author she’d interviewed back in October to give her a review.

But there was one hiccup.

One major hiccup.

There was no denying it – not anymore. She couldn’t ignore the signs or tell herself that there had been some sort of cosmic error somewhere.

She was freaking pregnant.

As she hadn’t partaken in any sexual activity with anyone bar her various Bobs and Colt for fifteen months, it was safe to assume that the baby daddy was Colt Bloody Colburn – Bobs, for all their wonderful additional features, didn’t come with a set of sperm-filled balls.

Colt deserved to die a slow, painful death for being a careless asshole, she decided, when her head was down in the toilet bowl at three in the afternoon.

Morning sickness? Ah. If only. What she suffered could only be described as ’round-the-clock oral diarrhea. Yep, it was that gross.

She couldn’t even go to work anymore; or anywhere for that matter. She felt lightheaded twenty-four seven, and most slightly strenuous activities zapped her out for hours; then, there was the dizzy spells. They came out of the blue, and made her wary of going out – especially behind the wheel of a car.

Linda had been a gem; they were too small of a team to do without her entirely, especially since her columns received more mail than any others, but Alice was only given her subjects she could research from the comfort of her own bedroom – or bathroom, most of the time.

Well, Linda had been a gem on the work front. The rest, not so much.

She, Emma and Lucy cornered her and did an intervention, as though she’d been some sort of a deviant.

They’d started with a lot of rubbish about what an amazing person she was, before launching into the ‘but’ portion.

But, according to her friends, she was being an idiot.

“Honey, you’re going to have to tell him.”

Alice crossed her arms on her chest in the international I’m a hormonal, pissed-off female stance, and hissed back: “Of course I’m going to tell him.”

But she was about four weeks pregnant. Hell, she hadn’t even taken a test yet, let alone spoken to a doctor – that would involve going out of the house. The way she saw it, she had two to three months of respite; she could wrap her head around the shit-storm before making it an ultra-mega-shit-convention by involving Cheating Ass the Fifth.

There were an infinity of potential reactions, but they all revolved around one fact: Colt would be a dick about it.

Option one: Happy Colt. After the requisite freak out, he’d realize he wanted a kid, and ask for shared custody, which meant that she’d have to see him for the next eighteen years, minimum. She’d get to see him after he’d found a socialite perfect enough to renounce his playboy way and settle down with; and she’d be the pathetic, probably single ex on the sidelines.

No. Fucking. Dice.

Option two: Grumpy Colt. In that case, the requisite freak out would follow up a
let’s ignore the problem
and she’d have no other choice than to murder him in his sleep.

Option three: Traditional Colt. He could give her the old-fashioned response to such dilemmas, otherwise known as Shotgun Wedding. There would be a shotgun, alright.

Option four: Dead Meat.
I want a paternity test.

Yeah, she’d have to get Emma to remove every sharp object from the house, when she told him.

Alice had every intention to offer a paternity test, actually, but if he demanded one, he was toast.

Option five: No One Will Ever Find the Body.
How about getting rid of it?

She was informing him because he’d been involved in the conception, and that was the right thing to do, but it was her womb, therefore, her choice.

This pregnancy wasn’t the one she’d imagined when she’d thought she’d be a mum someday – because she wasn’t in a picket fence house with a dotting husband and a dog named Pedro.

But she was a self-reliant, strong, responsible woman of twenty-six, not a high school girl.

Apparently, her friends didn’t see that by delaying the inevitable conversation, she was being nice, and allowing Colt to live a little bit longer, because they carried on telling her off.

“Alice, avoiding the matter is childish. It’s not going to make it disappear. Forget Colt. But you’re throwing up more than you’re ingesting, and you still haven’t seen anyone about it. That’s endangering you and your baby.”

She shivered at that, and her arms fell to her sides. Lucy’s tone had been sweet and gentle, but it wouldn’t have made a difference if she’d yelled.

My baby
.

She’d never thought about it like that.

Alice
was pregnant.
Alice
was scared.
Alice
was pissed off…

But what about her baby?

When they'd considered the consequences of their foolishness a few weeks back, she'd freaked out, but Colt had smiled and made it abundantly clear that he'd welcome a child of hers.

Theirs.

Her hand was on her stomach without her consciously choosing to put it there, and suddenly, she rose from her seat, making for the wardrobe.

It was a little chilly out, so she picked her leather jacket which would hide Mickey Mouse’s face; the long jumper she wore over yoga pants was more or less ok without it.

“Alice,” Linda groaned, “Running isn’t going to solve anything.”

She wasn’t running; not anymore.

“Sorry, I love you all,” she swore, storming past them. “But I need to go speak to Colt.”