The engine of the black couple raved as Riley drove through the streets with her muscled hands firmly on the steering wheel. Gezza sat cowering in the rear seat. The Playbook was blazing his backpack, and its runes were pulsing flaming blood, and the sound is tingling in his bones. With an ugly voice it hissed, Bind her wholly. Pour the lust.
His cock fluttered more Gezza, the triumph in the humiliation of Mike in the gym lot still tingling in his veins, but here the emptiness stayed cold, its inky limbs waving out at the rearview mirror, its smoky script whispering his name.
The eyes of Riley, bright purple and glittering with the illusion of the Playbook, flicked at him. The passion he had infused in her in the locker room entangled her and her hands rubbed against his thighs as she drove, invasive, immense.
"Where to?" she questioned, her voice full with passion, the spell of Playbook turning her true, devoted.
Your place, Gezza, his voice revealed, the charisma of the Playbook covering up his discomfort. Nothing without that book, Mike said in thought, How did he know? Damn am screwed.
They arrived at The apartment of Riley is a small utilitarian room in a dilapidated building, the sort of place a soldier of strict discipline would afford. The sitting-room was smelling of leather and gun oil and a battered couch before a television on cinder blocks and a stack of dumbbells in the corner.
Her dog tags rattled and she knocked off her boots, as her cargo pants clutched her slim body. Gonna shower, she said, her eyes gleaming, fixed on Gezza with the hungry eyes of his. "Make yourself at home." She vanished down a narrow hall, her step hearty and martial.
Gezza was lying on the couch, creaking down to the ground, his backpack was heavy and the Playbook was hot inside. It was a dark room with curtains on the window and the air heavy with the scent of Riley clean sweat, slight tincture of leather.
The sneer in the mind of Mike--fists, that hate at being seduced by Elena. Need to figure things out, But his pervy side takes a hold He touches his cock, recollection of Riley mightiness in the meeld-holds Mike down, bashes his crew-pin, on Riley.
The running water sounded in the bathroom, and the voice of steam came out through the door. The intensity of the heat on his thigh made Gezza shake the Playbook, He stood, scuffing with sneakers, his heart racing. He swung the door of the bathroom open, the steam swirling out of it.
Riley was standing on the shower, with the water streaming down her muscled figure, dog-tags flashing on her tanned bosom. The white scar on her forearm flashed into light and her abs were tight as she swung her back and her purple eyes gleamed.
Gezza, she purred, a combination of surprise and yearning in her voice, the spell She moved nearer, wet with water dripping through her flesh, and not ungodly power in her limbs.
His jeans on the floor, Gezza tugged his hoodie, and the heat of the Playbook was probing him like a red fox when he stepped into the shower. His bruised ribs were scratched by her nails and Riley lost track of pleasure and of pain.
You are everything, she thought, and the illusion blurred it, and her lips crashed into his. Gezza bent forward and clinched her hips with his hands, and unleashed the second power. Lust spurted out of him, the book magic a burning vein in his veins, tied her farther. Riley shuddered, and her body crouched, and her eyes went dark, when the spell came, and her allegiance melted in an outburst of frantic hunger.
The warmth of the shower was blended with the fire of the Playbook, and they were wrapped in steam, and Riley pushed him against the tiles, her might was too strong. The cold of her dog tags on his flesh and her kisses, fierce, even rough. She felt her body traced by the hands of Gezza which were on her lean body and their bodies were slicked with water.
You belong to me, he growled, and the charisma of the Playbook drove his voice along, and his cock hunted agony as the hands of Riley glimpsed down, her motions exasperating, goaded by the lust, as the increase love poured.
His egos were fueled, his aggression on Mike gave him his dominance, and it became high. His hands cling all the more to Riley, and her body gives way absolutely. Her eyes went and a shadow of her proper person--strong, disciplined--battled the spell.
This... it is not right, she said, her voice shaking, but the passion overcame her and her lips rediscovered his, and her strength, gladdening and chastizing, came into her like a fantasy.
The shower beat him, the steam blufs him, his Playbook shining in his blindness through his backpack on the floor. When Riley fell full into him, breathless, her fidelity affirmed, the cold made him see everything afresh.
Gezza had bumped out of the bathroom, steam still on his skin, his greasy scalp dripping. The heat of the shower was still throbbing throbingly along his veins, the muscular figure of Riley, her leg raised, her strength curling sideways with the tiles, imprinted itself in his mind.
The infusion of lust which Playbook had poured in, had shut the door of her loyalties. The living room was dark, and he sunk down on the old spring couch, which sank in Riley, and the curtains were drawn down. His backpack sagged next to him, and the Playbook runes were throbbing.
Its hoarse voice snarled, a low growl: Shes yours. More wait. His ribs ached at the beating that Mike had already given him, his cock ached at Riley, the euphoria of his revenge faded in awe.
Again the words of Mike to him sank in,--You are nothing without that book... she was right. Gezza gripped and his fingers bit in the infected bedrock of the couch.
She was right? Who the hell was "she"? His head planted, and he could see the gym lot over and over again, the anger of Mike with his being seduced by Elena, and his gang being beaten up by the fists of Riley. How did Mike get to know about the Playbook? The question was an open splinter, harsh and inquisitive.
Gezza bent over, with his knees on his hairy, greasy hair, dropped into his eyes. Was it a guess? A bluff? He attempted to fit it together--the scowl of Mike, his confidence--but he forgot it, lost it in the Playbook murmur and the chilly blankness of the nothingness.
He heard his phone buzz on the couch and the screen was illuminated with Elena. His stomach trembled as Gezza froze. The voice in the Playbook was hissing, Answer her. He picked up the phone, his thumb poised and sweat burning his eyes.
Elena--under the spell, right, she still was? but what Mike had told him--she was right--stuck at him. What if Elena had broken free? So what would she have done, telling Mike about the book?
Elena Team Hey, I said, your voice sounded very softly, but with a touch of alarm, the spell of the Playbook making it warm. "Just checking on you, Gezza. You okay after... everything?" She was too careful in her words as though she were investigating.
His heart went on a throb, and Gezza saw Mike snarling in his thought. She was right. He clutched the phone even tighter, and the runes of the Playbook throbbed the more intensely, and the tendrils of the void, nearing, nearing.
I'm fine, growled he, and his voice was sharp, the charisma of the Playbook concealing his paranoia. "Why you asking?"
Just... worried, said Elena, with a dip that verged on to that sultry purr, however a tremore broke through, a kind of crack in the spell. "Saw Mike earlier. He was pissed."
This made Gezza rail his balls, the coldness of the gaping hollow more biting. Mike. Her reference of him, and the wavering of her voice,--sufficed.
Gezza was standing, scuffing the carpet with his sneakers, carrying his bag on his shoulder, his side scalded by the heat of the Playbook.
I need to go, I need to go," he said and interrupted Elena. He looked at the door of the bathroom with the shower on and saw the figure of Riley moving behind the glass door.
Her devotion was stamped upon, her might on his, yet the blow of the appeal of Elena had shattered his swaggering pomp. Had she broken the spell of the Playbook, had she turned it over to Mike, his empire was doomed.
Gezza picked up his phone and made his way to the door, the voice of the Playbook telling him Find her. Control her. The dark light in the living room fell long and jagged on his shadow, the runes faintly shimmering in its outline.
Elena did not live too far--just across the street, opposite his mom. He would deal with her, look in her eyes, challenge the magic. And had she been free, betrayed him to Mike, he would write her name again, pour more lust, tie her till she cries.