Play Me tsb-2

by Jennifer Probst

  She shattered in a thousand pieces with nothing but the ties holding her to earth. With a hoarse shout, he came right afterward, but her body continued to milk him hard. Moisture gathered behind her eyelids at the sheer release she never experienced, and she wondered if she’d ever be the same again.

  He slumped over her and gathered her close, untying her wrists from the bed. With a sigh of pleasure, she wrapped her arms around him and slid into sleep.

  Chapter Three

  “Hmmm, what time is it?”

  He laughed. “It’s Vegas, baby. Does it matter?”

  “You’re right. I’m parched.”

  “Let me get you some water.” He rose from the bed and made his way to the elaborate wet bar. He put a few cubes in a crystal glass, poured Pellegrino and added a slice of lemon. He brought it back to the bed and watched her gulp, then slump back into the pile of down pillows.

  He took her glass, re-filled it, and retrieved one for himself. He sat on the bed beside her and watched her plump lips suck on an ice cube. His cock grew hard as he imagined her sucking him off. She lifted a brow.

  “Do you ever rest?”

  “Not with you around. Tell me about poker.” He watched her face, wondering what had spooked her in the past. Or who.

  “What do you want to know?” she asked lightly.

  “Not many little girls grow up to be world renowned poker players. How did you get involved with the business?”

  He wondered if she’d tell the truth or lie. His gut screamed she wasn’t afraid of the truth, and reminded him of a fierce warrior—forever loyal once she belonged to a man. He wondered how many men she’d claimed, and jealousy burned like a shot of whiskey.

  “I grew up as a vagabond. My mom took off when I was young and my dad raised me. Unfortunately, my dad gambled and ran con jobs for a living. He loved it all: horseracing, slots, tables. He couldn’t drag me to the casinos until I turned legal, but he gave me an education early.”

  “How so?”

  She shrugged elegant shoulders and stared at the ice in her glass. “He taught me how to pickpocket. How to use my age to distract a mark. Got me a fake ID, dressed me up, and took me into the casinos.”

  The reality of her childhood struck him hard in the gut. “What about school?”

  “I went here and there. Mostly, I educated myself. I became obsessed with books—all kinds. Classics, poetry, business. I started reading psychology and found the art of reading people. Ticks, facial expressions, how people lied. I graduated with a street education that served me well.” She hmphed in disdain. “Stupid people spend thousands for a degree when they can get anything they need free. Anyway, something clicked with poker. I loved math, and had a photographic memory. I also got my father’s skill.”

  He raised an eyebrow in question. She gave a twisted smile. “The luck of the Irish, of course. Unfortunately, my dad liked the drink as much as the gambling.”

  “What happened?”

  Darkness stole over her face for a second. She pushed it away with an expert ease he recognized immediately. “Found him passed out in a hotel with an empty bottle at his side. He’d had a heart attack and died on the spot.”

  “How old were you?”

  “Nineteen. Old enough to get by myself.”

  He nodded as if he agreed and understood. Inside, his heart stopped, before the beats resumed. “But you still weren’t old enough to gamble legally.”

  “That’s right. I had squirreled enough money to get by. Some of my father’s friends took me in and gave me shelter. And I took the time to learn.” Her smile came fast and hard, with a glitter in her violet eyes. “By the time I walked into the first casino on my own, I made my first grand by the end of the day. I perfected my craft and got sucked into the Poker circuit.”

  “Easy to get sucked in, but hard to remain a consistent winner.”

  She shrugged again and shook the ice around in her glass. “I have my father’s luck. I don’t drink. And I’m careful with my money.”

  Her will, not to simply endure but to thrive, slammed the truth into him like a sucker punch. She made no excuses and asked for no pity. Poker required great skill and control, but in order to win, she forced back any submissive urges. Even in the bedroom. Sloane needed to give up that control in order to feel. Somehow, some way, he knew he needed to push buttons to go deeper.

  He wanted to go deeper. But she wasn’t ready. Yet.

  “You made your life on your own damn terms.” He spoke in a strong voice without a shred of pity. With a grin, he lowered his head and growled in her ear. “Good girl.”

  The familiar term affected her immediately. Her pupils dilated and her heart beat sped up. He scented her arousal, and he bet if he plunged a finger inside her pussy she’d be dripping wet. A few hours before dawn remained. He needed to bust down some of her remaining barriers, and teach her to trust her body. But he needed a decent plan.

  His eyes lit on the glass she held. A smile curved his lips.

  She stopped shaking the glass. He almost laughed at the combination of wariness and lust gleaming in her eyes. With slow, deliberate motions he reached out and plucked the glass from her fingers.

  “Lie back, Sloane.”

  She did, though she teetered on the edge of acceptance and rebellion. Her natural submissive tendencies wrapped up in a headstrong hellion made his dick rock-hard. Damn, her very demeanor called to his soul to complete him.

  “Now, close your eyes and don’t open them until I tell you.”

  He adjusted her on the bed with her hands by her head to lift her breasts upward. The rosy tips of her nipples thrust forward proudly. Beautiful. Pulling up her knees, he opened her pussy to his gaze.

  Her eyes flew open. “What are you doing?”

  A deep sigh escaped him.” Another direct order disobeyed.”

  “I’m not your sub, buddy.” Fire lit from her gaze.” And I like my eyes open.”

  He left her for a moment and returned with a silk pillowcase. “Again, we’ll do it the hard way.”

  “But what—”

  Moving fast, he bound her wrists again to the headboard. He rolled the silk fabric of the pillowcase into a sleek rope and placed it over her eyes, tying a snug knot behind her head.

  “Roman!”

  “Our night isn’t over yet, and you lost the bet. Now, if you say another word, I’m going to gag you.”

  Silence ensued. He smothered a laugh and sat beside her. Her body vibrated with tension. He laid his hands on the sleek, silky muscles of her shoulders and began to ease out the knots. He took his time with a deep massage until she softened beneath his touch. Slowly, he eased down to her breasts. The full mounds filled his hands perfectly, and her nipples jutted out in cranky demand for attention. “Just relax, sweetheart, and let me pleasure you.”

  “But—”

  “Shhhhh.” His mouth covered hers, gently playing with her tongue and sipping at her lower lip. He played with her breasts, wringing out a moan, and worked his way down her body. When he reached her feet, he used his knuckles on her instep and heel. Her sigh of pleasure raked across his ears. Every muscle surrendered to his touch, open to every sensation he chose to bestow. Satisfaction coursed through him.

  He plucked an ice cube from the glass. And touched it to one of her nipples.

  She arched up, but the ties held her, and he moved the ice over each hard nipple. The color turned a deep ruby red, and goose bumps broke over her skin. Lowering his head, he sucked and rolled his tongue around the tip until she moaned. When she relaxed against the heat of his mouth, he slid the cube down her belly, dipped into her navel and coasted to her inner thighs. He kept his mouth busy, alternating his hot tongue with the cold ice until she writhed under him, lit with arousal.

  Grabbing another block from the glass, he hovered it over her clit. Slowly, he slid his fingers in and out of her pussy, wringing out moisture, while his tongue worked her with long, hot strokes. Her hips bucked. A smile curved
his lips, and he pressed the cube against her swollen nub.

  She came apart, the orgasm wracking her body in beautiful form. He quickly sheathed himself with a condom and slid home.

  Her tight heat squeezed around him mercilessly. He plunged over and over, claiming her for his own, as he pinched her nipples. With one final thrust, he came hard. Her pussy clenched around his dick with her orgasm, and he rode out his release before he collapsed on top of her in a tangle of limbs. He pressed a kiss to her sweat-dampened skin, released her bonds, and gathered her close. Her scent rose to his nostrils, and the thud of her heart beat steadily against his ear. Foreboding washed over him as he gazed at her face, replete with satisfaction. She’d wrecked his world.

  He wondered if he’d ever be the same man again.

  * * *

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  He replaced the receiver on the phone and walked toward the bed. Except the man didn’t really walk. More like claimed the space around him. He was even more powerful naked, as if he belonged in the Garden of Eden and had never taken a bite of the apple.

  “Getting us some dinner. I have plans and they require energy.”

  She stretched her sore muscles with a languid sensuality she’d never experienced. “I have a big game tomorrow. At least let me walk into the room with some dignity and not hobbled by too much sex.”

  His laugh sounded low and promising. Goose bumps lifted on her arms. Halfway annoyed at her quick response to a man she’d met only hours earlier, she rose from the bed and went to the bathroom for a robe.

  “Don’t.” His voice lashed through the air.

  She stopped mid-stride. “Don’t what?”

  He closed the distance between them. “Don’t put on a robe. I like you naked.”

  Pleasure speared her belly. She’d always felt too skinny, worried about her small breasts and her lanky height. His gaze and mouth and hands worshipped every inch of her, and his impressive erection proved his desire. Still, she wasn’t so far along that she enjoyed walking around naked. She forced a laugh. “Thanks for the complement, but I feel more comfortable with a robe on.”

  He smiled slowly. “I want to look at you while we eat and imagine what I’m going to do to you later. No robe.”

  A touch of uneasiness skated down her spine, along with the familiar sizzle. Why did he turn her on so much with his demands and orders? She raised her chin up and gave him an icy glare. “Sorry, but I like to eat with my clothes on.”

  A discreet knock on the door halted the stare down. She scurried into the bathroom, relieved at the interruption and donned a luxurious white spa robe, slipping her feet into matching slippers. She cursed under her breath when she found no ties—he’d made use of them, the bastard—but she wrapped it tight like a kimono and marched back out of the bathroom.

  The table was set with white linen, sparkling china, and a bottle of chilled champagne. A solitary candle burned from the center, casting the room in romantic shadow. The scents of savory steak and herbs rose to her nostrils. Her stomach growled on cue as he lifted the silver dome and revealed buttery mashed potatoes, crisp green beans, and gravy. He handed her a flute of champagne alive with bubbles and she took a luxurious sip, noting the wonderful tones of Dom Pérignon.

  His gaze took in her appearance with obvious disapproval. She readied for battle, intent on winning one round, but he waved his hand in dismissal and pulled out her chair. “I’m unhappy about your decision to disobey me, Sloane.” His voice cut smooth as caramel, but the warning pulsed beneath. Unease slithered in her belly. “We’ll have to address that later. First, I think we both need to eat.”

  Since she had no intelligent comeback other than a curse, she glared at him from behind her bangs and dug in.

  The meat melted in her mouth. She ate with gusto and focus, until her plate was clean.

  “I see you eat like you have sex,” he said, amused. “No holds barred. It’s nice to see that famous control slip away.”

  Her back stiffened. “My so called famous control makes me an excellent gamer,” she said, formally. “I’m sorry if that bothers you.”

  He put down his fork and studied her. She refused to fidget and met his gaze head on, the stormy blue of his eyes sucking her in like an undertow. “Your control doesn’t bother me, Sloane. It’s part of who you are, and got you to the top. It also got you out of the slums and kept you alive.” His gaze ripped her polished surface to shreds, leaving her open and vulnerable. “Do you like being in control?”

  “Of course.”

  He nodded. “What about your past lovers?”

  “What about them?”

  “Did they ever try to take away your control?”

  She shrugged and kept her face expressionless. “No.”

  “Not one of them challenged you in the bedroom?”

  Her temper flared and she snapped. “No, okay? Some tried, but I threatened to cut off their balls and they backed down. I can’t help who I am, and I’m not less of a woman just because I like to call the shots. Who cares if I have a difficult time having an orgasm? It’s not my fault.” The words stumbled out of her mouth in a terrible rush of honesty.

  His calm questions continued like steady gunfire. “Have you had trouble reaching orgasm in the past?”

  “Not with myself.”

  “Have any past lovers tied you up?” Amusement flared briefly.

  “No.”

  “You seemed to have no trouble reaching climax tonight,” he pointed out.

  She shrugged. “Like I said, it’s been a while. I’m backed up.”

  His eyes lit with humor, but he didn’t argue. “Did you like what I did to you tonight?”

  “No. I only obeyed because you won the bet.”

  He laughed and shook his head. “God, you’re stubborn. Don’t lie to me. Not ever again. Now answer the question.”

  She opened her mouth to tell him to go to hell, then snapped it shut. He was right. She hated liars. Grudgingly, the word popped out of her mouth. “Yes.”

  His approving smile filled her with happiness. “Thank you for telling me the truth.”

  She sipped her champagne and sulked. He’d crawled under her skin like Frank Sinatra’s famous song. How had one lousy night begun to change the person she believed she was?

  “Now, I want you to take off that robe so I can look at you.” His words yanked the proverbial rug right from under her.

  She blinked. “I said I’m more comfortable with it on.”

  “Take it off.”

  Temper flared. She tossed her head. “Hell, no. Get over it.”

  He nodded, almost pleased with her decision. “That’s what I thought. Not adhering to the exact terms of the bet will force me to punish you.”

  Her eyes widened in shock. “Excuse me? Do you think this is the Middle Ages, buddy? What are you going to do—spank me?”

  His lips twitched. “Actually, yes. That’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

  A strange mixture of lustful anticipation at his dominance and pure horror mingled within her. A beat passed. Two. His face reflected carved stone with an implacable determination. Her heart exploded in her chest with a rush of adrenalin. She needed to move. Quickly.

  She jumped out of the seat and bolted toward the bathroom. He caught her in two seconds flat and tumbled her to the carpet. She fought like a wildcat, but he managed to rip off her robe with one quick tug. As if handling a china doll, he rolled her over, pulling her over his thighs while his hands held her in place. With her ass in the air and bands of steel pinning her to the rug, the sheer vulnerability of her position stole her breath. Panic flared.

  “Let me go, you bastard!”

  He chuckled, obviously enjoying her predicament. “I asked you nicely, but you insist on fighting me. A little pain can sometimes elicit the greatest pleasure, Sloane. Especially with strong women who don’t let themselves go.”

  “Fuck you.”

  His hand came down hard on h
er bare ass. The breath whooshed out of her lungs and her tender flesh stung under the slap. She cried out. He’d done it. He’d actually spanked her. She was going to kill him, tear him to pieces, sue his ass and Madame Eve’s company and kill Castillo and—

  Suddenly, that same hand massaged the stinging flesh and slipped downward. He glided over and pushed one finger inside her, testing. He laughed low, using her moisture to coat her clit and coax it to a throbbing nub.

  “Very nice,” he murmured in approval. “You, my gorgeous one, need a little push. The men you slept with were total assholes and completely unworthy of you.”

  His hand came down again, harder than the last one. She bit back her cry, but the treacherous response of her body begged him to sink into her heat and take her hard. Again, his hand slid between her thighs to play. While her ass burned, other parts of her burst into flames. Her nipples stabbed into the thick carpet, the cool air on her naked skin like a gentle kiss, and he slipped another finger in, moving in a slow pace that tortured her.

  “Strong women need a reason to let go. Only one with a will like yours could survive, but you took your body with you for the ride. In order for you to feel completely free, you need someone to take away your ability to control.”

  Another slap. Another. She bit her lip and the stringent barriers around her body and heart and mind wobbled, tilted, then fell.

  He thrust four fingers into her, rubbing her clit, while his other hand came down hard for one final slap.

  She came hard, bucking over his legs as she let go under the demands of another orgasm. It washed over her without mercy, and she rode it, sobbing his name. She heard the rip of a package. He flipped her over, spread her legs, and dove deep.

  He filled her aching, pulsing body. She shook her head and pushed at his shoulders, her last orgasm too intense to even want another. His low laugh raked across her ears as he pinned her wrists against her head.

  “More. I want more.”

  “I can’t. Roman, I can’t.”

  His gaze seared with blue fire, forcing her to surrender it all. “You can, baby. Give it all to me, I can take it. I want it.”