He moved. Thrust after thrust, he threw her higher into the unknown. He claimed her with his mouth and tongue and cock and fingers. Her sensitized clit burned and throbbed under the steady pressure, but he never relented, cranking up the excruciating tension. The wet slap of their bodies echoed in her ears, and her walls held tight and milked him hard, until the second orgasm grabbed her and tossed her over. She flew and he stayed with her, his solid, muscled length anchoring her to earth and to safety.
* * *
Sloane watched her sleeping lover. His chest rose and fell with even breaths. His face relaxed in slumber, like a wolf napping after a long night with his mate.
The knowledge she belonged to him vibrated in every muscle of her body. He’d wrecked her for anyone else. Yet, the terms of the agreement stated one night only. Would he want to see her again? Or was her lifestyle not suited to the future he craved?
Her thoughts jumbled. She traveled constantly. She played all night and slept during the day. She made a ton of money and her job required her to meet a wide range of people, especially men. Not one of her previous lovers could handle it.
So why did her gut whisper she’d found the one?
There wasn’t a man alive with enough balls to order her, spank her, and give her pleasure to the limits of his own. In a few hours, he’d made her feel precious and cared for, like the woman she was meant to be—both inside and out.
His eyes flew open as if he heard her thoughts. She reached out and traced the stubble of his beard. He grabbed her hand and nipped at the pad of her finger in mock punishment. She fought not to show the hope on her face that morning wouldn’t turn him into a pumpkin.
“I thought you were asleep.”
“Not with an hour left before dawn.”
She turned her head so he wouldn’t glimpse any weakness. “I know,” she said softly. “My turn for a question. You never told me how you ended up as a dealer.”
“Must be in the blood. My father dealt in Atlantic City his whole life. We grew up by the shore—good old Jersey boys. My mom brought us up as strict Catholics. Hysterical, of course, since gambling is a sin. Surprised the church didn’t catch on fire when all of her men tidied up nice and went to Mass with her on Sunday mornings.” His face reflected an open affection and love when he mentioned his family. The hunger to belong to his inner circle clawed at her gut in an effort to be freed. “Dad still works, mom teaches high school, and my brothers and I took up the reins. Rick’s been wanting me to join him out here for a while now, but we get back on holidays and other occasions. My little brother, Rafe, is in the military. And my two best friends keep their eye on my mother since she practically raised them.”
She smiled. “You sound like you have a close family.”
“I had nothing to complain about. I had a solid childhood. I learned to live hard and play harder. I like money, and travel, and casinos. But I love an evening in, with a cold beer and my Lab at my feet.”
“You have a dog?”
He nodded. “Golden Lab. Name’s Bella. She’s not as bad as Marley, but close. I have a good friend who looks in on her when I’m on a long shift.”
She thought about coming home after a hard day to warm affection and furry loyalty. Imagined coming home to Rome to share every bit of her day. Yearning permeated every pore. “I always wanted a dog. But I’m not home enough, and I never stayed in one place for too long.”
He studied her face as if he spotted her secret thoughts, memorizing every feature. He didn’t say a word. Just pulled her head down and kissed her.
Sweet. Deep. Complete. She sighed and gave it all back to him. He dragged her hand to his evident arousal and she squeezed. He groaned. His cock felt like iron coated with silk.
“You’re finally going to let me touch you?”
He grinned with male satisfaction and propped himself up on the pillows. “For now.”
Her eyes narrowed and her temper surged. He consistently kept her on edge, which only added to her arousal. Making a vow to invoke her revenge, she gave a fake simper and batted her eyelashes. “May I give you pleasure, sir?”
He nodded. “Go ahead.” His gaze challenged her to give her best shot.
Bastard.
Let’s see how he likes to play my way. She dropped her head over his chest and let her hair tickle his skin while she explored with her tongue. He tasted like salt and musk and man. His muscles jumped under her hands as she massaged every inch of him, sinking her teeth into his hard belly and laughing low at his muttered curse. His cock grew longer and harder, pushing against her thigh in demand, but she ignored him, concentrating on other parts: the sharp curve of his hip. The meatiness of his thigh. The flat nipples surrounded by dark hair.
Her fingers coasted down his shins and she huffed her warm breath over his throbbing length. He tensed in anticipation and power surged in her blood. Finally, she was free to bestow pleasure on her own terms. Her hands cupped his balls and stroked, exploring the iron length of him, collecting the drops of moisture around his tip as she rubbed with teasing strokes up and down.
“Take me in your mouth, now.” His sharp command shot straight to her clit.
Her pussy clenched in response and she opened her mouth to slide him in. She took his cock deep in the back of her throat and slowly sucked. Used her tongue to pleasure, swirling around the tip as her hand clenched him at the base. He thrust his hips up and silently asked for more.
Excitement pulsed and pounded in her blood, and moisture dripped down her thigh. She wanted him to come in her mouth, wanted to give him the mind-blowing pleasure he’d bestowed for hours, and she became frantic as she bobbed her head up and down, licking, sucking, until—
“No!” She cried out when he hauled her up and on top of him. She struggled to get back to her original position, but he stilled her with firm hands on her hips.
“Ride me. Ride me and make me come, Sloane.”
A new lust burned within, and she quickly sheathed him with a condom, parted her legs, and sank deep. “Rome!”
She moved up and down, setting her own pace, her clit throbbing against his shaft, and she matched him, demand for demand to make him come around her. His hands rubbed her breasts and tugged her nipples, and she bucked and arched into the delicious, tightening tension. With one last thrust, she scraped her clit against him and shattered.
His fingers dug into her hips with male satisfaction. She cried out his name, riding the wave and crashing, and he followed behind her. The orgasm went on and on, shaking her body like a tree in a hurricane, until she collapsed.
His ragged gasps stirred the tendrils of her hair. His heart thundered against her ear. A sense of completeness swept over her.
A feeling of home.
“What have you done to me?” he murmured. She didn’t answer. Let herself slide into the silky darkness, held tightly by the man she’d fallen in love with.
The rising dawn leaked from behind the blinds. He closed his eyes and fought with his decision. She had a big tournament today. He wanted to wake her with a deep kiss and slide his cock into her wet heat. The image of her wet and naked in the shower as he washed her flickered past his vision. Rubbing cocoa butter into every sore muscle, especially her ass. He craved to stamp his possession on every part of her body, along with her soul.
She’d given him many gifts. Her body. Her past. Her secrets. Most of the time his heart beat steady. But in the pause between heartbeats, he realized he’d fallen in love with Sloane Keller.
His gut said she felt the same. Still, in the hard light of morning, most women would run. Fast. He’d pushed her limits to the edge. He had to let her go.
For a while.
Her widely publicized tournament started in a few hours. She needed some time and space to re-focus, slide into the safety of her control, and win.
He had enough confidence in her to wait.
Time to make his final bet. The bet of a lifetime.
He smoothed the dark cherr
y strands away from her brow. Dropped a tender kiss on her lips. With one last glance, he left.
Epilogue
Sloane eased her way through the crowd. She paused and made polite conversation with the bigwigs, had some laughs with some good friends, and schooled her face for the tournament. In usual form, she wore her standard attire of black—a high-necked black dress that fell right above her knee, with black ankle boots. No jewelry adorned her outfit, and her hair swung free, masking her face when she bent her head.
She ordered a seltzer at the bar and went to take her seat. The cameras whirred, but she clicked into the zone until the crowd was a distant murmur in the background. The clink of ice cubes against glass drifted to her ears, and suddenly she stiffened as the memory hit full force.
Roman.
A hot, wet tongue on her nipples. Sliding down so close to her aching pussy. Trapped from any visual stimuli and dependent on his breath and his touch to guide her. A long plummet into heat. Then icy cold slamming her back and wrecking her defenses. Again. And again.
His fingers and mouth on her clit, teasing, stimulating. On the edge of orgasm as she waited for his next move. The slam of painful cold against her throbbing nub, hurtling her over the edge. Her scream told him she belonged to him.
But when she woke up in the morning, he disappeared.
No note. No phone number. Just the smell of him and the indent of his head on the pillow next to her. The hurt cut razor sharp and shredded delicate flesh. Her one-night stand ended, and he’d disappeared as a good one-night stand should.
But he wasn’t one night to her.
He’d become everything.
She despised herself for thinking he wanted her for more than one night. She’d shared personal truths about her past she’d only shared with one other man before him. That man had rolled his eyes at her story and verbally lashed out. How could she be whining about her past when she earned millions? He had no patience for her or her poor little rich girl story. So, she’d locked herself back up tight and vowed to never share herself with another.
Until Roman.
She carefully set the glass down and made sure the ice didn’t clink. She pushed the hurt and ache down deep and prepared to play.
It wouldn’t have worked anyway. All men ended up jealous and angry. She’d watched her relationships crumble before her eyes until she couldn’t stand to be the loser any longer. It’s better this way. For me, especially.
The tournament began.
Her piles of chips grew, steadied, and dropped. Always in it for the long game, she liked to pace herself. When others began to tire, she became alive, hungry for the kill and the lure of the win. Her senses sharpened like an animal in the night, and she smelled blood. One facial reaction or flick of the cards could be a person’s downfall. She made her way through the long hours of the play, until day blended into night and blended back again.
With her chips, she had one opponent left. She fought to stay in the zone, but a shimmer of awareness crept up her spine. She turned her head a half inch and peeked from her peripheral vision.
Roman stood in the crowd watching her. His arms crossed against his powerful chest, hip out, feet in a wide relaxed stance. His silver hair glimmered under the casino lights, highlighting the foggy blue-gray of his eyes. For one moment, their gazes met, locked and delved deep.
He smiled.
Time stopped. That beautiful, masculine smile and the warm gleam in his gaze told her everything she wanted to know. Raw pride shimmered from every carved feature of his face. The quiet confidence in her ability, the naked emotion of possession, all told her he loved her.
She turned back to her hand. Victory pulsed in her blood, her face reflecting emotion for the first time in her life under the hot whirr of the camera.
And she knew she’d won.
When the chips were counted and congratulations from the players eased, she walked across the room to stand next to him.
“Good game, babe.”
A joyous smile curved her lips. “Thanks. Why’d you leave?”
He reached out a finger and trailed it down her cheek. “You needed to get in the zone. I would have just made you a bowl of mush with too many orgasms. I respect you.”
“I know.”
“I also love you. One lousy night and you got me. So, here’s what we’re going to do.”
She raised one brow. “Being bossy again, huh?”
He sighed with deep regret. “Why do you have to make everything difficult? Thank God I already have the necessary equipment to tame you.”
She stared at him with suspicion. “Equipment?”
“Handcuffs, blindfolds, whips, etc. So, here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to cheer you on every step of the way while you make a shitload of money. Then you’re going to move in with me.”
She raised her chin. “I like my place better. You move in with me.”
“We’ll argue about which place is better later. In the meantime, you need some food and water and relaxation.”
“You don’t always know what I need, Mr. Roman Warrior. I had a hell of a day and I’ll tell you what I need.”
“Go ahead.”
She raised herself on tiptoe and spoke right against his lips. “I need an orgasm. So get your ass back up to my room and take care of it.”
His eyes heated with warning. A thrill raced down her spine.
“Good girl.” He lowered his head and kissed her deeply. “Let’s play.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Jennifer Probst wrote her first book at twelve years old. She bound it in a folder, read it to her classmates, and hasn’t stopped writing since. She took a short hiatus to get married, get pregnant, buy a house, get pregnant again, pursue a master’s in English Literature, and rescue two shelter dogs. Now she is writing again.
She makes her home in Upstate New York with the whole crew. Her sons, one 4 and one 6, keep her active, stressed, joyous, and sad her house will never be truly clean.
She is thrilled to contribute to the 1Night Stand series with her Steele Brothers stories, Catch Me, Play Me, and Dare Me. All of her books are available at her website or Amazon.
You can visit Jennifer at:
http://www.jenniferprobst.com
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