Game's Over: A BWWM Romance (Game of Chance Book 3)

by Sasha

  Comprehension dawned in Wes’s eyes just as Grant slid his stool closer to them, raising his glass as though toasting them.

  “Long time no see.”

  “Hi.” Zenobia’s voice sounded foreign to her own ears, as though she was speaking from another time, a different place. “Um. How…how have you been?”

  “Just great. As you have, I’m assuming.”

  “She has,” Wes cut in, a possessive hand on Zenobia’s hip. “What brings you here…”

  “Grant,” Grant finished for him. “And I thought it was obvious.” He stretched his arm to indicate the myriad of people cluttering about the club.

  “You’re here for the contest, then?” Zenobia asked, and she didn’t quite manage to keep the hopefulness out of her voice.

  Grant’s smile sort of faltered. “Why, you’re not glad to see me?”

  “What would make you think she would be?”

  Grant looked from Wes to Zenobia, then to Rose, who had stopped shaking a Martini and was looking over at the three of them with a raised eyebrow. Zenobia found herself wishing, not for the first time in her life, that the floor would open up and swallow her whole.

  The awkwardness stretched on for a few seconds, but it might as well have been hours from where Zenobia was standing. She hated to admit it, but for the first time in her life she was glad when Tasha popped up from behind the bar, an earpiece plugged in and a clipboard in her hands.

  “Grant Klent? You’re first. Come on back, gorgeous.”

  Grant smirked. He put a ten dollar bill down on the counter and downed the rest of his drink in one go.

  “Enjoy, darling.”

  ****

  Wes watched Grant go with disgust written so plainly on his face Zenobia was worried he’d pull him out of the contest on principle.

  “So that’s your speed date?”

  Zenobia sighed and rubbed the back of her neck. “I…well. Yeah.”

  Rose pretended really hard she wasn’t listening in and went on mixing cocktails.

  “Bit scrawny.”

  “I didn’t notice,” Zenobia muttered, looking down at her feet, the tips of her ears burning.

  “You didn’t, did you?”

  “I was too preoccupied wondering about you thinking I was such a loser for not having a date.”

  Wes’s glare softened, and he had the good grace of looking sheepish. “Sorry,” he whispered as he leaned in to nuzzle the side of his neck. “Guess I haven’t got much room to talk, given my past relationships.”

  Zenobia said nothing. She tried not to think about Wes’s previous relationships because she really didn’t know how she felt about them, and she kind of liked the not knowing part. Jealousy never looked good on her.

  Before they could further delve into that maybe-argument, the lights dimmed, the music slowed down to a stop, and a bright cone of light flashed on the stage. Tasha walked on it, looking completely at ease and relaxed as though she was born for it, enjoying the tumultuous applause from the eager crowd and bowing graciously before silencing them with a wave of her hand.

  “Ladies, gentlemen, you’ve all come together tonight to celebrate with us the hottest summer you’ll ever remember.” Applause. “And I’m not just talking about the weather.” More applause, laughter. “So without further ado, let’s give it up for the first round of this year’s Summer Bombshell contestants!”

  Grant strutted out on stage like he owned it. Zenobia felt incredibly awkward watching him sway his hips as he positioned himself in the middle of the stage, his back to the dancing pole. She could feel Wes’s eyes burning holes through his skull and she bit her lip, picking up a washrag at random and starting to clean up the bar.

  The music started, some rock song Zenobia hadn’t heard before. She tried to keep his eyes on the bar, looking indifferent, but at the first loud cheer she slipped and lifted her eyes, looking straight up into one of the monitors that were scattered around the club, broadcasting the show for every patron. Grant had taken off his shirt. His broad chest was tanned and sprayed with glitter as he thrust his hips against the pole, his hand skimming down his own chest as he reached for his belt buckle.

  I’m gonna give you every inch of my love…

  The song continued as Grant matched the lyrics move for move, getting increasingly wild cheers from the crowd. Zenobia was pretty sure her face was on fire, and she could feel her knee burning with phantom bruises. Her unwelcomed arousal added to her shame and confusion.

  Fuck, what a mess.

  Grant rolled his hips and slid the belt out of his loops, throwing it around his neck as he bowed his head back, his crotch straddling the pole.

  “It’s nothing,” Zenobia muttered, looking away again as the cheers grew louder. She didn’t dare check to see what Grant was doing to generate such response. Not when Wes was looking at her hard enough to read her thoughts.

  “Was he good?”

  Zenobia sighed. There was no way they could avoid this conversation, she supposed.

  “I don’t exactly remember,” she said as she threw down the washcloth and crossed her arms over her breast. “What I remember is how I couldn’t get out of here without a date because then you’d know just how big a loser I was. And the very next day I remember coming to you, right here, and… well, I don’t remember anything before that. Only after.”

  Wes looked slightly chastised. He sighed and looked round to the stage. Grant was rolling around against the pole, clad only in sinfully tight black Speedos as the guitar solo picked up in tempo. Zenobia looked back at Wes, and her stomach jolted.

  “Do you want to watch the rest of it?” Wes asked, a forced casualness in his tone.

  There was only one good answer Zenobia could give. “Not really.”

  ****

  Grant got off the stage, still running so high on adrenaline and rock music that he nearly knocked into someone getting ready to go on themselves.

  “Sorry,” Grant said breathlessly, looking her up and down.

  She was most definitely a nine and a half. She wasn’t as tall as those Miami models he was used to, but what she lacked in height she made up for with the prettiest features Grant had ever seen on anyone. Her long, dark hair hung in waves on high cheekbones, glitter makeup highlighting her beautiful cocoa brown eyes.

  “Not a problem,” she said, glancing over at the stage.

  Suddenly Grant was way more interested in hanging out backstage rather than fucking his way through the first row. He’d seen them looking, basically drooling when he danced. He took his robe off the hook next to the dressing rooms and threw it on, leaving it carelessly open and smiling seductively at the woman.

  “You’re up next?”

  “Not yet.”

  Grant waited for her to elaborate, but after a moment it became apparent that it was all that Grant would get out of her. Grant frowned as another contestant, a man in a firefighter outfit, breezed past them to go on stage for his fifteen minutes of glory.

  “Do I know you?” the woman asked after a beat, turning around to stare at him, one eyebrow raised expectantly.

  “Not yet.” Grant grinned. He extended his hand. “Name’s Grant.”

  The woman looked at the hand, then up at him, then at the hand again as though she’d never seen one. Grant waited a beat, then he awkwardly returned his arm to his side, shrugging as though it was no big deal.

  “Should I just call you ‘gorgeous,’ then?”

  “I do not believe we’re at a level of intimacy that would allow you to do so,” the woman replied, directing her attention back to the stage.

  Grant tossed his hair back, fixing her with a liquid stare. “Maybe we should correct that, then? What do you say, gorgeous?”

  “Vivica. You’re up next, babe.”

  Tasha had materialized in the gap between the curtains, waving her clipboard at the man, and the girl nodded and walked past Grant without so much as a backward glance at him, as though he was made of thin air. Grant hu
ng backstage, peering through the curtains to watch her—Vivica, if he heard right—perform for the crowd.

  “Cold fish,” he muttered to himself.

  Grant was sure Vivica was going to suck—okay, bad pun. But no one that frigid and unresponsive could put on a good show, no matter how pretty they were. Grant felt a surge of vindictive satisfaction watching Vivica walk on stage, back ramrod straight, as though she had something stuck up her ass. He looked forward to watching her get booed off stage. He was going to enjoy every minute of it.

  An upbeat pop song Grant knew vaguely but had never actually paid attention to, blasted out from the speakers.

  So hot, out the box…

  Well. Well, fuck. Grant was pretty sure his jaw was on the floor. It surely felt like it dropped low enough. What the hell was that, and where the hell did the Ice Queen find it?

  Vivica looked like a completely different person on stage. Cocky, sexy, self-confident; every step she took was calculated, predatory. She owned the stage, owned every single inch of space around her. The song was vaguely about BDSM, and when Vivica took off her shirt, the strobe lights caught on the silver tassels on her nipples, and Grant had to shift his weight, cursing his Speedos and how little they left to imagination. He tied the robe around his waist and continued to watch.

  Vivica strutted around the stage, hips gyrating like mad, her ass peeking out from underneath the leather of her very short shorts and making Grant’s mouth water with want. God, leather. How had Grant missed that? He couldn’t wait to see what was under that leather if she had on a G-string, or maybe she was going commando and she had on nothing. Grant’s dick jolted at the thought.

  Either way, it wouldn’t have mattered. The crowd was cheering loud enough to bring down the house. Grant was pretty sure he’d have time to figure Vivica out in the following week. But first, he needed to find a quiet room to jack off because there was no way he was walking out of there without attracting way too many stares. Besides, he couldn’t leave before Vivica finished her number. It was like his eyes were glued to the stage, concentrating on those long fingers, poking out of cut off leather gloves, sliding down flat, sexy abs to the curve of Vivica’s perfect, leather-covered ass.

  Christ. She had to take off those shorts, she just had to. Grant wanted to see what was underneath all that sleek black, if the lights were tricking him or if Vivica was really as flawless as she looked from backstage. Surely, surely she couldn’t get away with only taking off her top, could she?

  Turned out, she could. Vivica bowed, left the crowd high and dry like the tease she was proving herself to be and strutted down off the stage like a cat. Or a panther. Some feline of the sort, Grant was too caught up in the moment to come up with good metaphors. Vivica walked past him, looked over her shoulder at him and fuck if that glare didn’t fuel him rather than chill him as Grant supposed she had wanted it to.

  It’s on, Grant thought with a thrill of pleasure as he stalked after her. He was on a mission, and he was not going to give up until he got what he wanted.

  Chapter 3

  Wes usually didn’t feel the urge to stake his claim. Zenobia had never given him reasons to be jealous before. It was usually the other way around, Zenobia getting hot and bothered when someone hit on Wes, woman or man, and leading to a quickie either behind the storage room, like kids with the high of nearly getting caught spurring them on, or in the office, door locked and Wes slammed against it as she proceeded to suck his brain out of his cock.

  This time, it was different. The drive home took no time at all. Wes told himself Rose had it under control anyway, and the first round of the Summer Bombshell had lost all interest on Wes’s priority scale.

  Zenobia was quiet, unusually so, eyes fixed forward as Wes sped through the Miami late night traffic, and the air in the car was thick with the unsaid. Wes knew, rationally, that he had no room to be jealous of her for having a one night stand. Especially not when it was simply a single one compared to the many he had before they got together. But he wasn’t angry with Zenobia. The jealousy he felt had little to do with her and all to do with that cocky asshole who waltzed into his club and talked to his girlfriend like he had all the right to.

  The contest was going to last a week, so Grant better fucking know who Zenobia belonged with. And if this meant spending several hours leaving bites, marks and possessive bruises on Zenobia’s skin, well then fucking so be it.

  He didn’t even give her time to lock the door. As soon as they walked in, Wes slammed it shut, pinning Zenobia against it as he attacked her mouth ferociously with his own. Zenobia moaned and flailed, finally setting her hands on each side of Wes’s neck, pulling him in close, her lips parting to allow Wes’s tongue to sneak past them and lick all the way into her mouth, Wes’s knee spreading her legs easily as Wes rode Zenobia’s thigh, cock already half hard and pushing against his zipper.

  “Gonna show you.” Wes bit his way down Zenobia’s throat, hands sliding down inside her panties to cup the firm curve of her ass. “And after that I’m going to show everyone.”

  “Fuck.”

  Zenobia bucked against the sweet friction of Wes’s knee pressed up against her pussy, and damn near whimpered when Wes brushed his finger over her lips.

  “So fucking pretty,” Wes breathed as he pulled her dress up and yanked her panties down. “Could eat you all up.”

  “Can you save the bad porn dialog?”

  Wes smirked up at her, and suddenly surged forward, biting at Zenobia’s hip, teeth sinking into the tender flesh, tongue darting out to lavish away the sting, making Zenobia moan.

  “Fuck.”

  Zenobia kicked her legs wider, both hands going to grip at Wes’s shoulders to try and keep balanced. Wes smirked and nuzzled down the curve of Zenobia’s thigh, the tip of his tongue rolling up the juncture of her thigh and hip until he pressed the flat of his tongue right up against her slit.

  “Umph!” Zenobia thumped her head back against the door, sinking her fingernails into Wes’s shoulders, leaving faint half-moon marks through the cotton of his shirt. Wes lavished attention on her swollen lips, thoroughly enjoying the sounds Zenobia was so desperately trying to keep in.

  He kept one hand splayed on Zenobia’s hip, pushing her further up against the door, his thumb rubbing over the sensitive skin of her thigh while he brought the other between her legs to rub her dripping wet slit.

  Zenobia always made the most sinful sounds when she was being eaten out. They were quiet, but desperate, wanton, and her hips tried to jerk uncontrollably under Wes’s hand, her fingers clutching at Wes’s shoulders and itching to a fist into Wes’s hair to force him to get on with the program.

  Easing up, Wes allowed her to rock upward. He teased Zenobia, slowly pushing in and pulling back, and Zenobia’s soft whimpers quickly became more and more incoherent. Wes carefully slid one finger into her entrance and pulled it out briefly as if to tease her, drinking in the shudders of anticipation that ran through Zenobia’s body.

  Zenobia moaned and bit her lip until it turned ruby red, one of her hands flying behind her to grab at her own hair, her hips rocking against her will against the firm grip of Wes’s hand. Her thighs trembled and shook as he continued to suck on her, his finger stroking in a teasing circle over her entrance.

  “Fuck!” Zenobia cried out, her voice breaking as both her hands tangled in Wes’s hair, her hips stuttering gracelessly in the wet heat of Wes’s mouth. Wes smiled up at her, briefly, and he slid the tip of his finger right into her hot, wet entrance.

  Zenobia gasped, low and ragged, her body tensing up as if she didn’t know what to do with herself, to rock against Wes’s hand or thrust up into his mouth.

  “Oh fuck.” Zenobia stuffed a closed fist into her mouth as she shook against the door, overwhelmed with sensation. “Oh-oh, fuck, Wes… Wes, God…”

  Wes pushed his finger in steadily, knuckle deep, before pulling out and sliding right back with two fingers. He repeated the motion a few times,
his cock painfully hard inside his jeans as he licked Zenobia’s pussy. Zenobia keened, her legs shaking, and Wes thought it prudent to shift closer, using his spare hand to slide one of her legs up onto his shoulder.

  The change in angle meant that Zenobia sank further on his hand, and she howled, clamping a hand over her mouth to keep quiet as her fingers tugged painfully at Wes’s hair. Wes pulled back with an obscene, wet sound and licked his lips debauchedly, pressing a loving kiss to Zenobia’s navel before shifting lower, and lower, the tip of his tongue trailing down Zenobia’s hip, then down her slit, until it curled around Wes’s own fingers and pushed in alongside them into her swollen entrance.

  Zenobia screamed and clenched down, hard, her legs giving way and proving Wes right. He shifted on her knees, trying to ignore how sore they were getting as he took more of Zenobia’s weight on his shoulders.

  “Fuck, God.”

  Zenobia tried to scramble for purchase against something, anything, but there was nothing in reach. Only Wes, under her, inside of her, owning her like no one else.

  “Don’t be scared, baby,” Wes soothed, licking his lips as he looked up at her from under lowered eyelashes.

  He eased Zenobia’s fist from between her teeth, stroking the reddening marks there and bringing it to his lips. Zenobia shook her head, whimpering as the finger inside her was quickly joined by another.

  “Please…”

  “I’ll take care of you,” Wes promised, still working his fingers to loosen her up. “I’m going to make you come so hard you won’t even fucking remember your name.” Much less his, he thought privately, but he didn’t want to actually say it and break the magic.

  Zenobia moaned as Wes took Zenobia’s clit back in his mouth, his fingers working furiously in and out of her pussy, spreading and scissoring until Wes could easily slide in a third, then a fourth. The combined sensations of Wes’s hand inside of her and the sucking on her clit was finally too much. Zenobia came seconds later, her scream hoarse and high and completely wrung out, sagging against the door and on Wes’s shoulders.