3
STEPHANIE
I stood in the staff bathroom, one dingy hallway away from the opulence of the casino floor and stared at my reflection in the mirror. Did I really want to do this? I’d only had one sexual partner before—John. That three-year relationship had started in a freshman dorm party at LSU and ended with a phone call from Cancun our junior year. Sorry, Steph. Things just didn’t work out. I’m not sure what didn’t work out on his spring break, but if I had to guess, judging from his cleavage-filled social media posts, the situation involved lots of alcohol and drunken sex. I had skipped spring break trips to interview for summer internships and spent the remainder of the week watching daytime soaps on my mother’s couch and drowning my sorrows in a tube of raw cookie dough. That decision had put me in the hospital with food poisoning, and I’d come back from spring break pale and ten pounds lighter, thanks to my stint in ICU.
Sex with John had always been an unremarkable affair. Short and sweet. Sometimes short and dismissive. Mostly I’d begged off the act and laid my head in his lap and watched him jack off, silently urging him to finish so I could study or sleep. I had never once come from him, only from myself, often after he’d fallen asleep with his mouth half open in a snore.
After John, I’d spent the following five years with the hope that Dario Capece would be my next lover. That possibility had crashed on our second date when he’d seemed to suddenly lose interest—and burned when Gwen Hawk had shown up. I’d heard the whispers of our visitors—a rich casino owner from Vegas and his beautiful daughter. I’d watched Dario walk through our office with the pair and had carefully studied the woman. She had been beautiful. Very graceful. Obviously from money. I’d curled my toes against my cheap hose and avoided Dario’s eyes when they’d passed by my desk. That evening, they’d all gone to dinner at Filet House.
The next morning, I’d reviewed their restaurant bill on his expense report. Five lobsters, eaten between the three of them. Three steaks. A bottle of nine-hundred-dollar wine and four desserts. Housekeeping records showed that she never slept in her bed, and I’d had a sneaking suspicion where she ended up. Three days ago, my fears were confirmed in the worst possible way: Dario’s announcement that he would be leaving us and moving to Vegas.
I straightened before the mirror, my anger still simmering and pushed my hair away from my face. I needed to get my act together. Dario was leaving. Any future between us was dead. Would going up to Tripp’s room really solve anything?
I picked up the key card and examined it, thinking over his last words, husky against my neck. “You know my room number. I’ll be up there. Waiting.”
Sleeping with Tripp wouldn’t solve anything. It wouldn’t win Dario back and would cause Tripp to toss away any respect for my accounting skills. The prudent thing to do would be to toss his key card in the trash, get in my car, and get the heck out of here before this storm hit.
But I didn’t want to go, and that was the scary thing. I wanted more of Tripp. I wanted to know if his dick matched his long and lean build. I wanted to feel those lips. I wanted those intense eyes burning down the length of my naked body. I wanted to be—for just one night—someone other than Goody-Two-Shoes Stephanie. I wanted to live, and be desired, and get my brains fucked out by someone who knew how to do it.
I hitched my bag on my shoulder, my decision made, and moved into the hall and toward the service elevator.
* * *
In the elevator, I jabbed the button for Trip’s floor, impatient when the car didn’t move. Reaching out, I hit it again, frowning when it didn’t light up. Oh. I dug for his key card, inserting it into the slot and tried the lower penthouse floor again, letting out a breath of relief when the car began to move. With any luck, I’d make it all the three floors up without running into anyone.
While the high-rollers occupied the top three floors of the tower, the fourth floor held the more executive-style of penthouses. No six-person hot-tubs, but big walk-in closets and full-sized kitchens. Dario and Tripp both held residences on that floor, along with some out-of-town owners and three other execs. In addition to their giant suites, they got 24-7 room service, daily housekeeping, dry-cleaning, and a company car. Who knew what they spent their salaries on.
The ride was slow, the soothing background music doing nothing to calm the avalanche of thoughts that ran through my mind.
Maybe this wasn’t a mistake. My self-confidence, which had been crushed by Dario’s snub, had bloomed in the bar. My body was still humming from my orgasm. The doors were opening to Tripp’s floor and I was about to—
Holy shit. The doors were opening to Tripp’s floor and I wasn’t ready. I hadn’t emotionally prepared for—
“Hello, Stephanie.”
* * *
I had two playing cards in my hand, my bare pussy against a stool in Tripp Reinhart’s kitchen, and a shot of tequila in front of me. Depending on the next card, I was either going to shoot the tequila or he was. Next to the golden bottle of liquor, was a plate of chocolate-covered strawberries we’d already worked through most of.
He flipped over the gold card and I eyed the three. Without waiting for him to reveal his hand, I reached out and downed the shot.
“Easy, Steph…” he murmured, taking the empty glass from me and skimming it down the bar. “You’re going to pass out if we aren’t careful.”
“Please,” I scoffed. “You grew up in these swamps, same as me. You know what our upbringing was like. I can drink a grown man under the table.”
He unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt and regarded me with a slow smile. “Not this grown man.”
I rolled my eyes away from the toned flex of his forearms.
“Another hand,” he proposed. “Different game, different stakes.”
“What do you have in mind?” I picked up the cards, stacking them up and shuffling through them, the cards stiff and unused, like they were just pulled from the plastic.
“Rummy is the game. And the stakes…” he pushed his sleeves up to his elbows and settled back down at the bar. “Three kisses.”
“Three kisses?” I curled up a lip. “First you take away the alcohol, and now we’re back in kindergarten?”
He chuckled, his eyes pinned on me, and it was the sexiest look I’d ever seen. “Play my childish game for a moment.”
“Fine.” I cut the deck and shuffled again, then passed him the stack. “Three kisses. Though I must tell you, I had bigger expectations, given your reputation.”
He dealt us each ten cards, then flipped over the next card, the seven of hearts. I picked up my hand and glanced over the lot.
“You know,” he said quietly, from behind his hand. “You never did have a chance with Dario.”
I picked up the seven of hearts and tucked it beside my six, glancing at him as I discarded a King. “Why do you say that?”
“Because I talked to him, the night he took you to dinner.” He picked up a stock card and met my eyes.
“And...?” I hadn’t thought that anyone knew about our date. I’d wanted to keep it under wraps, given our jobs at the casino. But Tripp and Dario were close, as close as brothers. So, I wasn’t entirely surprised that—
“I told him not to date you.” He tossed down a card and folded his hand into a stack, leveling me with his gaze. “I told him that you were mine.”
“You WHAT?” I wouldn’t have been more surprised if he had confessed to being gay. “But you hate me.”
“Did it seem like I hated you in that bar downstairs?”
“Well, no. But—” I scrambled through the memories of the last four years. “You fired me last year. You told Rand I was incompetent.”
“I didn’t fire you. I had a bad day, and you happened to be the closest thing to me when it happened.” His mouth quirked up in a half smile. “Plus, I like it when your temper flares. You get a look that makes me hard.”
“Am I giving you that look right now?” I growled, fighting the urge to throw my cards i
n his face.
“Why don’t you come over here and see?”
Heat hit my cheeks, and I fell back on my stool, my heart beating faster at the thought of him, stiff in his pants, and all over a look. I picked my hand back up and stared down at the cards.
“I couldn’t let him have you.”
I drew a card. “Did it ever occur to you to ask me what I thought of things?”
“I could tell what you thought of things. You thought Dario Capece was a knight in shining armor. You tripped all over yourself, trying to get his attention.”
I glared up at him. “If I was so pathetic, why did you want me for yourself? And at least I tried to go after who I wanted. You just sat over there, keeping people away from me and acting like a teenage boy.”
He lifted his chin. “Seems to have worked out pretty well for me, considering I’m about to fuck you ten ways to Sunday.”
“You got lucky,” I countered. “And I’m not entirely sure we are having sex.”
“You came apart from my finger in the middle of the bar. I’m entirely sure that you aren’t up here for free tequila.”
I laid down a set and ignored the point, which could be underlined in red Sharpie by the arousal throbbing between my legs. The truth of the matter was, I’d come up here precisely for that goal … only now I felt thoroughly confused. My body was still barreling down the path toward kinky happy times with Tripp, but his comments were turning my brain into mush.
He tucked a Jack into the end of my set and laid down his own set, discarding a five and giving me a cocky grin. Game over.
I tossed my hand down. “Fine. Three kisses. Pucker up.”
“Oh… Steph.” He swiveled on his stool and patted his thigh. “It’s not going to be that easy.”
I slowly rose to my feet, coming around the end of the bar and stopping before him.
He patted his thigh again, his meaning clear.
I moved forward and carefully perched on his leg, crossing my ankles and pinning my knees together. “I’m a little too old to sit on your lap.”
“Shh…” He ran a hand down the front of my dress shirt, thumbing open a button on his way down. “Just let me enjoy this.” His hand settled on the top of my thigh and gently caressed the place where my hemline ended. “Now… for my first kiss.”
I leaned forward and placed my hands on his shirt, lowering my mouth to his.
He turned his head. “Not there.”
I pulled back, surprised when his hand ran back up my front, pulling at the buttons and exposing my chest. “I’m taking my first kiss somewhere else.” He slid his other hand up my back, undoing my bra strap.
“What are you…?”
He popped the last button free on the front of my shirt and pulled it open, skimming it down my arms. I cooperated, pulling my arms free, then crossed my arms over my chest.
He clicked his tongue in disapproval and pulled my arms open, shedding my bra. “Don’t ever cover these up. You have no idea how much I’ve thought about these. And fuck…” He lowered his mouth and brushed his lips over the left nipple, the tip of his tongue flicking over it. “They are beautiful.” He reached out and dipped his fingers in the chocolate syrup drizzled over the edges of the plate, then traced a light swirl across each nipple.
I looked down at my chocolate-covered nipples and felt lightheaded. “You’ve been thinking about my breasts?” I barely managed the question as his mouth settled on my nipple. He gently sucked, his lips and tongue working gently over the sensitive bud, and I almost came off his lap.
God, it had been almost a year, before my breasts had gotten any stimulation, other than a once-over with my washcloth. I clutched at his head, encouraging his action, and reminded myself of who he was.
Tripp Reinhart. I was sitting on Tripp Reinhart’s lap. His big strong hands on my breasts, lifting them into his greedy mouth. My bare pussy against his dress pants.
I hadn’t been coy when I’d said that he hated me. I had thought, since the day I was hired at the Beau, that he had it out for me, and not in a yank-off-my-panties sort of way. He’d always scared me, his brooding glare in place since the moment he’d walk in the door. The only time I’d ever seen him crack a smile was when he’d been talking with Dario, and in those rare moments when one would flash across his handsome features… it was like seeing a hummingbird. Fleeting. Special. It happened, and then you questioned whether it had actually come.
There was a reason I’d fixated on Dario instead, and it had had everything to do with accessibility and chance, and nothing to do with one man’s appeal over the other. He and Dario didn’t compete as much as complement each other. Dario was the flirt, the playboy, the velvet glove around Tripp Reinhart’s iron fist.
How would things change once Dario left? Maybe the two of them would grow into closer versions of each other. Dario could use some settling down and seriousness. And Tripp? He could learn to lighten up, smile more, and give a little.
He was currently giving A LOT, my crossed ankles beginning to loosen, my thighs opening up, and I tightened my grip on his shirt to keep from touching myself. His mouth moved to the other breast, his teeth scraping along my cleavage, and I whispered out his name in reverence, encouraging him. I grabbed the back of his head, scraping my nails through his thick hair and pulled it tighter on my breast.
His hands left me, and I was distracted by movement along my thigh. I heard the clink of a belt buckle, the zip of his pants, and when he lifted his head, his delicious mouth leaving me, his eyes were dark with need.
“Second kiss,” he said hoarsely. “This one from you.”
“Second kiss?” I swallowed, the cool air of the penthouse hitting my wet nipples. I wanted more. I needed his warm hands on them, or the friction of his chest, brushing back and forth over them as he thrust, harder and harder…
“Here.” He pulled my hand from his shirt and placed it on his cock, and I dropped my gaze to it, my mouth dropping open in surprise.
The rumors were true. Tripp Reinhart was huge. Like, circus freak in a cage, huge. Like—I’m not entirely sure I wanted this inside my body—huge. I wrapped my hand around his long dick and gave it an experimental stroke. He let out a soft groan of encouragement and I did it again, my fist journeying from the base of him all the way to his swollen tip. He wasn’t just hard—he was steel. He didn’t bend in my hand, didn’t squish any when I squeezed him, and I don’t know how he didn’t rip a hole in his pants when he was just sitting here. I mean, what did he do with it all day?
“You like it?” His voice was dark and guttural, the sort that could sell a thousand erotic audiobooks, should he ever want a second career.
“I’m a little afraid of it,” I admitted.
“Don’t be. I don’t typically use all of it.” He gently pressed on my shoulder. “Put your mouth on it.”
“This is your second kiss?” I let out a strangled laugh. “There?”
He leaned back, resting his arms on the bar, and let his cock bob in between us, answering the question. I slid off his thigh, my skirt bunching up, and he hissed at the view. Still, he didn’t move. “On your knees, beautiful.”
“Just a kiss,” I countered, my knees hitting the floor, and thank God he had a kitchen mat. Closing my eyes, I pressed a kiss on the delicate underside of his shaft.
4
TRIPP
Holy fuck. He thought he had control, but when her lips hit his cock, he lost it all. His hands tightened on the granite and he tensed his thighs, restraining himself from thrusting forward into her face. His dick didn’t know what to do around her. He’d jacked off to this image a hundred times—Stephanie Wilson, on her knees, those beautiful eyes on his, her tongue swiping across the head of his cock. Just last week, after he watched her employee evaluation, he’d had to lock his door and jerk off behind his desk, his dress shoes slipping across the carpet as he’d nut all over a napkin.
There were many things he wanted out of life. A giant home on the
bayou. Kids running around, his blood in their veins. A bank account fat enough to buy all of them a future. But nothing had motivated him more in the last three years than this woman.
Dario was right, he had been a coward, and should have tightened that shit up earlier, and stopped their date before it had occurred. But he’d been in Lafayette when Dario had first hung out with Stephanie, and hadn’t had a chance to stop it until it was almost too late.
Something hit the window and Tripp glanced over his shoulder, the howling of the wind barely audible behind the thick glass. The hurricane was almost there, and it felt like fate, the storm surrounding them, keeping them together for the next few hours, damn whatever happened during that time.
She flicked her naughty little tongue over the tip of his cock and his need grew. He fought the desire to urge her on, taking his hand and wrapping it on top of hers, showing her how he liked to be stroked. He wanted to move his hips in short strokes as she pumped him to completion, that wet little mouth wrapped around his head, sucking… just the thought made him almost lose it, and he pulled away from her, gripping his cock in one hand and slowly rubbing the tip of it over her lips. “Open up,” he said hoarsely.
She obeyed without fear or hesitation, and he may have spent three years pining for this woman, but he’d also underestimated her. He gently slid just the tip in her open mouth, then withdrew it, watching as she chased it down, her hand closing around its shaft. She dove onto it, working her lips over the head, her cheeks hollowing, head bobbing as she blessed him with the most perfect five seconds of his life.
An orgasm teetered, unsure and unstable, and he pulled back before she took him over the edge. Fuck, when had he become so quick? His dick had experienced everything a woman could throw at it—yet couldn’t seem to handle thirty seconds with her mouth?
It was bullshit and he jerked his hand along its length, irritated with himself.
She waited, still on her knees, her nipples red and perky from his mouth, and tilted her head at me. “Give me it,” she demanded—and his heart fell even deeper in love.
Rolling the Dice Page 2