Troublemaker: Rascals: Book Five

by McCoy, Katie

  I escorted guests out, watching out of the corner of my eye as Dante divided money into envelopes and began to pass them out to the staff, just as he had been doing after the last poker game, when I had returned to see him. When he had kissed me.

  My entire body seemed to buzz with anticipation as the final remaining staff packed up their stuff and left. I waited as the door closed behind them, pausing until I heard the click of it completely closing.

  Dante was standing at the table, his hands flat on the surface, his head bowed.

  “Good night?” I asked, unable to bear the tension.

  He lifted his head and his eyes were full of fire. Angry fire.

  “What the fuck were you doing?” he asked, practically spitting the words.

  “What?” I asked, taking a step back at the venom in his voice. “What are you talking about?”

  “With Nicky.” Dante looked furious. “You can’t play with a guy like that. You can’t tease him or flirt with him. What were you thinking?”

  Immediately my trepidation shifted to anger.

  “What was I thinking?” I asked, coming towards him. “I was thinking that someone had to get him the hell out of here before he distracted you again and ruined the game. Instead of yelling at me, you should be kissing my feet in thanks.”

  “You’re playing with fire,” Dante shot back, practically vibrating with anger. “Guys like Nicky are bad news. They’re dangerous.”

  He had come around the table, the heat of him wafting towards me like furnace. And I was a moth drawn to that flame. Even though Dante was furious, even though I was furious, I couldn’t help moving closer.

  “I’m a grown woman,” I told him, close enough to stab my finger into his chest. “I know what I’m doing.”

  “Not with Nicky, you don’t,” he countered, leaning over me. His eyes burned with rage—and desire? “You have no fucking idea what he’s capable of.”

  “And you have no clue what I’m capable of,” I shot back. “You and the guys think I’m some delicate flower, but I’m not. I can take care of myself. I’m not going to break into pieces because some creepy guy looked down my dress.”

  “He did what?” Dante looked like he was ready to murder his foster brother.

  “Yeah, Dante.” I glared up at him. “He looked down my dress because he noticed I’m a woman. Not a fucking figurine that needs to be protected. That needs to be handled gently.” I leaned even closer, my pulse racing. “You have no idea how I want to be handled.”

  “Don’t I?” he asked, his voice getting dangerously low. Those eyes locked on me, burning up. “Don’t I know exactly how you want to be handled?”

  My breath caught in my throat. Was he saying what I hoped he was saying?

  “Then show me,” I managed. “Handle me. Handle me the way I want.”

  Dante swore once more under his breath and then that same mouth that had issued that filthy, thrilling language, was on mine.

  Hard. Fierce. Perfect.

  It wasn’t like either of our kisses. It was more. So much more.

  He took control of my mouth, his tongue thrusting inside, tasting me as if he was desperate for me. I could feel his desire, could feel his control slipping away as he pulled me into his arms. His grip was rough against my waist, his fingers digging into my skin but it wasn’t enough. I wanted more.

  Slipping his hands downward, he cupped my ass, pulling me hard against him. I could feel how much he wanted me—his hard cock pressed against my stomach as he devoured my mouth. I kissed him back and he groaned in response.

  Then, I was being lifted into his arms before he perched me on the edge of the poker table, my legs dangling in the air. It was so hot, the way he took complete control of the moment, his hands everywhere, his mouth everywhere.

  I sank my fingers into his hair, loving the way the silky strands felt against my palms as he kissed the side of my neck. My head fell back, my eyes closed as I gave myself up to the sensations he created.

  “This dress,” he growled, pulling his talented lips from my heated skin. “This fucking dress.”

  He gave the neckline a tug and the entire thing slithered off of my shoulders, revealing that I wasn’t wearing a bra. I thought that Dante’s eyes might pop out of his head, the way he was staring at me.

  “I wore it for you,” I told him, arching my back so he could look his fill.

  His gaze went positively primal, a wicked smile curving his lips. Then, he dipped his head and captured my nipple in that same wicked mouth.

  I gasped as he swirled his tongue over the taut peak, his teeth scrapping against it—rougher than I was used to, but I loved it. I loved how raw, how intense he was. He wasn’t going to coddle me. He wasn’t going to protect me. He was going to take me. And I wanted it. I wanted it so badly I was practically shaking.

  He lavished attention on both breasts until I was gasping with pleasure. His hands were tight on my hips, and when he leaned forward, I let his body push mine back down onto the poker table. I could feel him, hard and throbbing between my legs, and it made me even hotter. He wanted me. He wanted me badly.

  Then, without warning, his hands dragged down my thighs before he roughly shoved my dress up past my hips. My soaking wet black thong was now revealed as I lay back on the table, my dress bunched around my waist, my upper and lower body exposed.

  Dante braced his hands next to my shoulders and kissed me deeply. Intensely. His tongue fucked my mouth, and I responded in kind, writhing beneath him as his hands skated up my thighs.

  “You’re so fucking wet,” he growled as his hand cupped my mound.

  There was no denying it. I was wet. I was soaking wet. For him.

  He curled his fingers around the waistband of my thong and with one sharp jerk, he had ripped the thing clear off me.

  I gasped, but it was a gasp of excitement. Of anticipation. I lifted my head, watching as he tucked the torn thong into his pocket. He was still fully clothed. It was unbearably hot. But nothing was as hot as watching him kneel between my spread legs. He slid his hands under my ass and pulled me to the edge of the table. My back scraped against the table, giving me rug burn against my spine, but I didn’t care. The slight pain only amplified the pleasure I knew was about to come.

  And it did. And I did.

  He put his mouth to me—his tongue as rough and demanding as it had been on my mouth. With just a few laps of his tongue, I was exploding, my entire body shaking with the intensity of my release.

  It had never been this way before. No man had ever gotten me off so easily. No one had ever made me come so hard that I nearly blacked out.

  And Dante wasn’t done. Even before I could come down from that orgasm, he was licking me again, his tongue thrusting inside of me as his hands held my legs open, giving him full access to feast on me.

  Which he did. He licked and lapped at me like I was dessert. Like I was something he couldn’t get enough of. And it didn’t take long for tension to begin to build up in me again. His tongue pressed against my clit, his hands holding my body down as I writhed against his mouth. He was completely in control and it thrilled me.

  Then, he released his grip on my hips, to tease me with one finger. I was so wet that he met no resistance when he slid it inside of me. I arched off of the table at the sensations spreading through me. I was hot. I was so hot. Then he added another finger. I was stretched tightly against his hand but I loved it. I loved the feeling of being filled up by him, but I also knew it wasn’t enough. I wanted him. I wanted his cock.

  But he wasn’t going to give me what I wanted. No, instead, he fucked me with his fingers, his mouth; his tongue and his teeth teasing my clit until I was nearly sobbing with the need for release. He brought me to the edge and backed away. Over and over and over again.

  “Dante,” I groaned, unable to take much more. “Please,” I begged.

  I never begged. But at that moment, I had no time for dignity. No time for pride. I wanted—I needed—a r
elease. And he gave it to me.

  His fingers thrust deep inside of me as he captured my clit with his tongue, licking me exactly where I needed him.

  I exploded beneath his hands, crying out, my body shaking on the poker table as I gave myself up to the exquisite release. This time, I was pretty sure I did black out, because the next thing I remembered was opening my eyes and seeing the ceiling. I sat up shakily to find Dante had backed off. He stood, looking at me not with desire, but with guilt.

  My heart sank.

  “This was a mistake,” he said.

  12

  Dante

  I was the worst kind of person. I was exactly the shitty, selfish, troublemaking asshole that my foster parents had accused me of being. Hayley had come here to help me. Kind, sweet, gentle Hayley, who would rescue a stray animal off of the streets, who would give a stranger her coat, who would bend over backwards to help her friends. She had come here to help me and I had practically mauled her on top of the poker table.

  What the fuck was wrong with me?

  I couldn’t even face her. Because I knew that if I looked at her, I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from taking what I desperately wanted. Because what I wanted to do, more than anything right now, was unzip my pants and surge into her. To take her, her wet, warm body wrapping around me as I thrust into her over and over again until I made her come screaming my name.

  I wanted her more than I wanted my next breath.

  But it was wrong.

  This had already gone too far. I had kissed her. I had touched her. I had tasted her. And I knew that no other woman would ever be good enough for me.

  But this was Hayley. She deserved someone better than me. Someone better than a brute who almost took her on a fucking poker table.

  “Dante,” her voice was soft, hesitant.

  I glanced over. That was a mistake. It was a big fucking mistake.

  Because her dress was still bunched around her waist, revealing the most gorgeous set of tits I’d ever seen. Her legs were still spread, her thighs glistening with the release she’d found. The release I’d given her. If it were any other situation, I would have felt a surge of masculine pride. But now, because it was Hayley, I felt ashamed.

  I had taken advantage of the situation and of her.

  Sure, she had wanted it. Sure, she had told me that she had worn that goddamn wet dream of a dress for me. But she didn’t know. She didn’t know what a man like me was capable of. Because I wasn’t gentle. I wasn’t sweet. I was hard and rough and raw and completely wrong for her.

  I clenched my hands in my pockets, but that was a mistake too, because my fingers tangled in the thong I had shoved in my pocket. A thong that was now in tatters. Because I was a fucking brute.

  “I have to go,” I said, filled with disgust and self-loathing.

  I didn’t even wait for her to respond—I had to get out of that room, out of the hotel, out of her life, as soon as possible. It was cold outside, but I didn’t care. I needed the reminder that I didn’t deserve things like comfort or kindness.

  I walked home. Almost thirty blocks.

  I still couldn’t clear my head. I got to my apartment and didn’t even bother locking the door behind me. Hayley would probably go home and call her brother. And if Emerson wanted to come and beat the shit out of me, I wouldn’t stop him. I would deserve it. I would deserve it all.

  I never should have let her come to the poker game. I should have told her no. Should have been the asshole I was capable of being. Should have made her want to run the other way. Instead, she showed up in that fucking dress with a smile and helped me run the most successful game I’d ever had. We’d made more than enough money to cover the down payment on the gym. And I had repaid her help and generosity by treating her like some fucking one-night stand.

  But when she looked at me . . .

  Those big brown eyes always got me. Because when she looked at me, I saw the man I wanted to be. The man I had once hoped I could be. The man I knew I could never be. But she made it feel like it was possible. She made me feel like I could do anything.

  Fuck.

  I wanted to punch something. Or someone. Instead, I flopped down on my bed, face up, and waited for Emerson to come and beat me into a bloody pulp.

  So, when I heard the door open and slam closed, I wasn’t surprised. I sat up, waiting for what I deserved.

  But instead of Emerson stalking into my bedroom with murder in his eyes, it was Hayley.

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” she asked, standing in my doorway, looking like sin and salvation at the same time.

  I needed to burn that dress. It clung to every single curve, emphasizing her still-hard nipples.

  “You’re an asshole,” Hayley yelled at me, her face and chest flushed.

  “Yes,” I told her. “I am.”

  Getting off the bed, I crossed the room toward her. I wanted to make her leave. Needed to make her leave. The longer she stayed, the more my self-control began to fray. I was nearly out of my mind with desire for her.

  She had to go.

  “You need to leave,” I told her.

  “No.” She lifted her chin in that annoyingly stubborn way that she always did when someone told her what to do. “I’m not going to let you push me away. Not when I know how much you want me. How much you want this.”

  She gestured between us.

  I ground my teeth together, control slipping through my grasp.

  “It wouldn’t work,” I managed to mutter between my teeth. “We’re too different. You know that.”

  “I don’t care,” Hayley told me. “And I think you already proved—on that poker table—that when it comes to certain things, we’re not that different at all.”

  I was seeing spots in front of my eyes, overwhelmed with lust as I remembered how fucking hot and responsive she had been on that table. The way she curved against me, the way her hips had shown me the rhythm she wanted, the way she had arched into my rough touch instead of away from it.

  “I know what I’m doing,” Hayley told me. “I know what I want.”

  “What’s that?” I demanded. “What do you want?”

  I needed to hear her say it. Even though I knew it would lead to my destruction, I still needed to hear it.

  “I want you,” she said. “And I know you want me.”

  “I don’t,” I lied, the words almost choking me. “I don’t want you at all.”

  I expected her to cry. Or scream. Or throw something at me. Instead she just smiled. And, then, with one fluid movement, she pushed the sleeves of her dress off of her shoulders. The black fabric slid off of her onto a puddle on the floor until she stood in front of me wearing nothing but a smile and a pair of gold stilettos.

  “If you don’t want me, then make me leave,” she said.

  My self-control shattered.

  I was only human, after all. Only a man. And when a woman like that stands in front of you, naked, there’s only one thing to do.

  I yanked her into my arms and kissed her, the way I’ve been dreaming about all this time.

  Her tongue found mine eagerly as I kissed her, my hands cupping her face, her silky hair tickling my fingertips, her taste unlike anything I’d ever experienced. I wanted more.

  I wanted everything.

  I was definitely going to hell for this, but with Hayley naked in my arms, I didn’t care. Eternal damnation was worth it for one chance with her. And I was going to make sure to make that chance last all night long.

  She met my tongue, thrust for thrust, as I showed her with my mouth what I wanted to do with my cock. My cock, which was straining painfully against my zipper. I had never been so turned on in my life, and with my hands sliding up and down her soft, perfect skin, I was starting to wonder how long I’d actually last when I got inside of her. If I’d even last that long.

  Because Hayley had started making these sweet keening sounds in the back of her throat that told me that she was nearly as far gone as I was
. And that just made me even hotter. I swung her around and backed her towards the bed. When we reached it, I picked her up in my arms and tossed her onto the sheets.

  I almost couldn’t stand it. She was so beautiful and perfect, and she was mine for the night. For as long as I could hold her.

  I crawled over her body, pinning her arms to the mattress. I wanted her to feel how strong I was. I wanted her to know how powerful I was.

  She looked up at me and smiled, and I was nearly undone again.

  I kissed her roughly and she responded in kind.

  “I’m not going to be gentle,” I told her, my mouth against her ear.

  “Good,” she said. “I don’t want gentle. Not tonight.”

  I was still fully dressed, but I settled my body between her legs. I could feel her heat, her wetness, through my jeans as I ground myself against her. She moaned, loud and lustily, as she wrapped her legs around my waist.

  My hands were still holding her arms out, forcing her to arch upward, pressing her perfect, fucking breasts against my shirt. God, I needed to taste them again. I gripped her tighter as I lowered my head and took her into my mouth.

  She was so fucking sweet. Every single part of her was sweet, and I couldn’t get enough.

  I licked and nibbled and sucked as she squirmed against me, her sweet body rubbing against mine in a way that was going to get dangerous pretty fucking soon if I wasn’t careful.

  Suddenly my clothes felt too heavy and too tight. They needed to come off. I needed to feel her skin against mine. I released her arms so that I could quickly remove my clothes. It didn’t take long before Hayley’s hands joined mine in unbuttoning my shirt. But when those same hands went for my belt, her fingers brushing against the thick ridge of my cock, I had to push them aside. No way was I coming before I had the chance to make her come again and again.