They Lose

"Mission Failed."

The words glared off the screen in aggressive red text. Ben groaned, throwing his controller onto the couch cushions with a sharp, impatient clatter. He turned to glare at her, his jaw tight. "For fuck’s sake, Emma. You’re dead weight. You rushed the point when you were supposed to provide cover. Can you not handle a simple controller, or are you just trying to piss me off?"

The harsh criticism bit into her, but instead of stinging with rejection, it sparked that familiar, needy flush deep in her gut. She hated the game, but she hated failing him even more. She needed him to see that she wasn't just some accessory, she was someone who could keep up, someone who could be good for him.

"I’m sorry," she breathed, her cheeks flushing. "I messed up the timing. Let me try again. Please. I’ll get it right this time, I promise."

Ben stared at her, his eyes disbelieving and unimpressed, scanning her face with a stillness that made her breath hitch. "Fine. Last chance. If you fail again, you're out."

He restarted the checkpoint, and Emma gripped the controller so hard her knuckles turned white. In the intensity of the moment, the entire reason she had marched into the completely vanished from her mind. It was as if that part of her brain had been erased. There was only the screen, the mission, and the burning need to earn a word of approval from him.

They played in total silence, save for the frantic clicking of buttons. Their thighs were pressed tight against each other on the couch, the friction sending heat radiating up her legs. She was hyper-aware of his scent; stale, unwashed, and masculine, and the way he leaned into her space, his breathing synchronizing with her own.

"Left flank, now," he commanded, his voice dropping low.

She obeyed instantly, darting her character into the cover he’d marked. They moved in perfect, desperate sync. She was so focused on pleasing him, on reacting to his every whim, that she didn't even realize how close she had leaned into him until the mission timer hit zero.

"Objective secured," the game announced.

"Yes!" Emma cried out, a surge of adrenaline and pure, unadulterated triumph flooding her system. She didn't even think she lunged forward, throwing her arms around Ben’s neck, squeezing him tight in her excitement. "We did it! I told you I could do it!"

Ben laughed and exulted as well. He dropped his controller and wrapped his heavy arms around her waist, hauling her fully into his lap.

The shift was instantaneous. The victory thrill morphed into something far more dangerous. They were chest-to-chest, the air between them thick and static-charged. She straddled him, feeling the hard line of his thigh against her crotch, and the reality of the situation hit her like a physical blow. Her heart hammered against his chest, loud enough that he must have felt it.

He held her there, his hands gripping her hips, his gaze dropping from her eyes to her lips. The silence in the room became deafening, weighted with the unspoken knowledge that this wasn't about the game anymore.

He tilted his head, his stubble grazing her cheek as he leaned in, and when he finally crashed his mouth onto hers, she didn't pull back. She opened for him, letting out a soft, submissive whimper as he claimed her, his tongue sweeping into her mouth.