Gambled - A Titan Novella

by Harber, Cristin

Sugar bounced up. “J-dawg.”

  “Baby cakes.” He hooked an arm around her. “Didn’t know you packed a bikini.”

  “Yup, did that while you were running around, placing C4 charges in their kitchen.”

  He glared at her. “Sorry about that, Sarah.”

  She shrugged. “I’m good.”

  Brock’s jaw dropped. “You’re good?”

  She nodded. “Gives us an excuse to move closer to GUNS. I work there now.”

  “What?” Both men were in unison.

  Sugar laughed. Sarah did too. Talk about shocking two guys who thought nothing fazed ’em. As if on cue, the pool boy walked up and offered pink frozen drinks. Jared took his. Brock waved his away.

  For the first time, Sarah was completely relaxed. She kicked back on her lounger, grabbed her daiquiri, and closed her eyes. All would be okay.

  EPILOGUE

  Three months later

  This was Sarah’s second trip to Saint Lucia. Last time, she’d been nervous, unsure, and a little crazy. Maybe a lot crazy. Who knew? But this time, she knew what she wanted, and it was her man to come back from his shopping excursion. She checked out the clock again. Brock should be back any minute.

  Tonight they would renew their wedding vows. Their kids were with Grandma now. A slew of Titan and GUNS friends were on the island too. But right now, Brock and Sarah had the afternoon alone and were revisiting their shopping list. They’d intentionally skipped ropes and ice cream on their at-home to-do list, waiting until they came back there. Seemed corny at first, but at this moment, it seemed hot.

  The door lock unlocked, and her stomach jumped. Sarah sat on the bed, legs tucked under her, with nothing on but a grin. “Took you long enough.”

  “Turns out, I had to go to two different stores.” He held up a container of vanilla ice cream and a bundle of rope. “And you, angel, get to pick which one we play with first.”

  “Ice cream.” She giggled and bounced on her knees. “And rope.”

  His eyes were trained on her chest then drifted downward. “Whatever you say.”

  Brock tossed the rope onto the bed and ripped off his shirt. His erection pressed evidently into his pants, and she reached for him, stroking him.

  “On your stomach.”

  “Stomach?”

  He raised his brows. “Do it.”

  She flipped over but kept her gaze trained on him. He smiled and used a tactical knife to unbind the rope then cut the rope into strips. Methodically, he laid them at the foot of the bed. Excitement buzzed through her body as she stared at the four-poster bed. Her heart beat faster with each second she waited for him to pay attention to her.

  Brock climbed onto the bed, straddling her naked legs, and walked his hands up her thighs, her bottom, her back. His palms flattened against her shoulder blades, and their heat burned clear into her heart.

  Arousal pounded inside her, waiting for his next move. Both her arms were tucked by her side, and he took her left arm, slowly moving it to reach in front of her, then did the same with her right.

  He leaned forward to kiss her neck. She shivered from anticipation and would kill to have more contact. But that was also part of the fun. His hands snaked up her biceps then forearms. One hand grabbed both her wrists while the other wrapped a line of rope around and around, securing her hands together.

  “Such a beautiful body,” he growled, still hovering over her.

  Brock shifted off of her, opening the ice cream container and unbuckling his pants. The two sounds stole her breath. Wetness dampened between her legs, and a throbbing need for his touch made her almost delirious.

  Sarah turned her head to face him.

  “Close your eyes, angel.” A devilish smile flashed. “Or don’t.”

  A second later, he had pulled a silk pillowcase off a pillow and tied it over her eyes. His rough hands drifted down her back, stopping on the swell of her bottom. Strong fingers flexed and massaged. He bent over her, his tongue tracing an imaginary pattern on her skin. His teeth scraped along her side. Her skin reacted, so sensitive and aching for whatever he would do next.

  A frozen surprise touched her calf. A heavy spoon ladled with ice cream dragged up the back of her leg. Melting streams slid on her skin. Larger scoops stayed in place, slowly melting ice cream drops on either side of her calves and thighs.

  The sensations tickled down her leg, making her toes flutter and fan. A shiver ran up her spine. Icy coldness heated her mind. Then his tongue licked a liquid tendril off her calf. Strong, hard hands bent her leg at the knee, bringing her ankle to his mouth. Brock kissed, licked, and lapped at ice cream as it slid down to the backs of her knees.

  “So sweet.” He bit and nibbled when his mouth came to a torturous stop. Languidly, he placed her ankle back on the bed. His tongue swirled behind her knees.

  Shivers erupted on her legs. A moan escaped her lips. His name fell from her mouth, aroused and husky, and her head twisted on the bed.

  He smiled against her skin. His tongue snaked up the back of her thigh, cleaning away the ice cream, replacing the sticky cold with his mind-bending hotness. His branding kisses caressed over her cheek then skipped to the other side.

  “Please, Brock.” She turned her head again, hoping her urgency would be conveyed. But he trailed his lips down her thigh, slowly, as the ice cream melted on her body.

  “Feels good, doesn’t it?” And again, he repeated the ankle lift. The gentle sucks, the insane laps, clearing away the coldness and nuzzling into the sweet spot behind her knee. His lips were chilly but his tongue so warm. “Tastes even better.”

  I had no idea that could feel so… amazing.

  “There’s a new spot.” Cold lips dragged.

  Her breathing was erratic. “Uh-huh.”

  One hand smoothed the back of her legs, nudging her open, then swept across her wetness. “You like it.”

  She nodded. “A lot.”

  “Good to know, angel.”

  Somehow, having her wrists tied together, her eyes blindfolded while his fingers explored her, made angel sound sexier than ever before. She pictured herself sprawled inches from the massive wood headboard. The carved bedposts feet away. Her body clenched, wondering how and when Brock would make use of the ropes he had cut. He wouldn’t be delicate with her. Not now. Not when she’d be crying out his name.

  “No more teasing. I was wrong.” Broken breaths barely allowed for complete thoughts. “I just need you.”

  His fingers drifted over her bottom, damp from her juices. He feathered his hands up, moving his muscled body between her legs. “The buildup’s too much? My sweet angel needs relief?”

  “Yes.” She pulsed, needing his tantalizing touch again. But he tormented her instead and laid his heavy shaft along the ridge of her rear, stroking up and down. She widened her legs, searching for friction against her clit, but the position she wanted seemed painfully out of reach. Completely impossible.

  “Want some help?” His voice was guttural. Antagonizing.

  “Yes.” She nodded, wanting to see and loving that she couldn’t. “Touch me. Tease me.”

  His chest pressed against her back while his lips toyed with her earlobe. Brock’s hand slid down her sides, cupping her hipbones. “You sure about that?”

  “Yes.” Her hands jerked at the ties. “Brock, please.”

  The pads of his fingers smoothed forward. He toyed in the damp curls, curving and caressing until he found her clit. The tease was so needed, so unexpected. It stole her breath, revived her need. She felt swollen and ready.

  He sucked down the back of her neck. His weight crushed her to the bed until he slid to the side. One quick move and she was flipped over. Arms still overhead and bound, legs free, and knees bent. He had to give her more.

  The end of a rope tickled her stomach. Electricity sprouted across her skin. Oh, how’d I forget so fast about the other ties? Her sensitive flesh went on red alert, and Brock scratched the cut end from her collarbone, down the valley
between her breasts, over her clit, then made fast work of securing a ligature around her ankle. Straightening her leg, he tied her ankle to a bedpost. The other leg didn’t receive the same finesse. It was bound and tied in a second.

  She couldn’t see him, but she could sense him. Feel his gaze and knew it was centered on her, open to him.

  “Beautiful.” He walked along the side of the bed, flipping additional ropes in his hand. Each slap made her shiver. He leaned over to kiss her lips then tied her already-bound wrists directly above her to the headboard.

  Arms together, legs spread, and blindfolded. Her body couldn’t wait for whatever came next.

  A small spoonful of ice cream landed on her nipple. His tongue followed its path as it melted and slid to her breastbone. His fingers tweaked her other nipple as he busied his mouth. With each pinch and tug, her body jerked. Her pussy clenched. “I have to touch you.”

  She wanted to. Needed to. Her fingers would latch onto him, drawing him closer. Ending this torture.

  “You will. But I’m not done yet.”

  Ice cream dropped onto her belly button. His lips encircled it, his tongue lashing into the delve of her stomach, while his fingers brought her to the brink of agony. One hand palmed her breast, massaging and tugging. The other hand curved over her mound, two fingers finally pressing in.

  “Yes.” It was all she could manage. “More.”

  Incoherent thoughts. One-word pleas. Her legs struggled against their bindings. The rope scratched into her flesh, sending lightning strikes screaming up her legs. His fingers began to fuck her, in and out, roughly pushing her toward a climax she was dying for.

  Sarah’s back arched. His hands worked in tandem. Stronger. Harsher. Everything she wanted. And then his cold lips kissed her clitoris, and she lost her mind. Her body thrashed, and she cried for her husband.

  “Come for me.” It was a command. Its rumbles pulsed against her intimate flesh. He had no intention of letting her fall away from this. His eagerness, his determination made her love him all the more.

  Her climax sealed her eyes shut behind the blindfold. Fireworks exploded, rocketing, radiating to every tied-up limb of her body. Her legs quaked. Her fingers interlaced, locking into a struggling, surviving clutch.

  Brock maneuvered over her and lifted the blindfold from her eyes. Sarah blinked. His smoky eyes and chiseled face hung above her as she focused. He stared, deep and meaningful, touching her soul, until she could semi-regulate her breath. Still tied but able to see, she picked her head up, her lips meeting his, and she kissed him until his arms wrapped under her, hugging her to him.

  His erection pushed into her, slowly, inching in. “I love you, angel.”

  His lips swept over hers. His tongue stroked hers. His arms remained around her, hugging while he stroked her from the inside out, owning her. Driving her mad with love and comfort and devotion.

  She could come again just from the sound of his voice, from knowing the profound commitment Brock had made to her, to their family and future. He still hugged her, still stroked her, but it was faster and deeper. His breath raced with hers. They were sticky, sweaty, and in sync. Her climax rolled through, and his followed. Brock moaned and bit onto her shoulder, groaning and spearing her deep.

  “I love you too.” Her superhero. Her husband. Their new life together. She loved it all. In a few hours from that moment, they’d be showered and dressed, standing before their family and friends to recommit to their promise of love. But in his arms, knowing that he’d given her more than she’d initially known she wanted, Sarah vowed to always take the risk, to be his Gamble. Brock and Sarah Gamble. Together forever, always searching for their more.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Cristin Harber is an award-winning author. She lives outside Washington, DC with her family and English Bulldog, and enjoys chatting with readers.

  Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/cristinharberauthor

  Twitter: https://twitter.com/CristinHarber

  Email: cristin@cristinharber.com

  Website: www.CristinHarber.com

  Newsletter: http://bit.ly/11aWFzM

  If you enjoyed GAMBLED, don’t forget to check out CHASED.

  I’d appreciate if you helped others meet the Titan Group also.

  LEND IT. Please share with your friends.

  RECOMMEND IT. Help other readers find this book by recommending it to your friends, to your book groups, and online discussion sites.

  REVIEW and RATE IT. Please share your thoughts on why you enjoyed this novella. If you do share a review, please email me and let me know. I’d like to personally thank you for sharing the Titan love.

  FIRST LOOK AT CHASED

  Asher McIntyre left the keys in the front door of his Georgetown row house and stared at the note taped to the mirror right inside the door. His heart thudded, more angry than apprehensive. He didn’t need to read the printed paper to know who it was from.

  He turned to his alarm system panel. It blinked disengaged and ready to arm. He had turned the pricey piece of garbage on that morning. His note-leaving friend had officially upgraded himself from creepy to criminal.

  Asher couldn’t stand in his doorway all night and growl at a piece of paper. It was safer to turn around, walk to a coffee shop, and call for investigators to sweep his townhouse, just like they’d done with his car and office days ago. But his head pounded after hours of congressional hearings, constituent meetings, and lobbyist meet-and-greets. He wasn’t in the mood to smile pleasantly if he accidently bumped into a reporter or blogger. His soured attitude would be speculated about and end up as political fodder. Every misstep would be analyzed for the next six weeks, until Election Day.

  Asher cracked his neck, snagged his keys, and took a step inside. His shoe echoed on the hardwood floor, and he swiped the note off the mirror.

  Dear Congressman McIntyre,

  Still watching you. Still waiting. Time to right your wrong. Let’s meet soon.

  Best wishes,

  Maxwell

  Asher shouldn’t have touched it. Could have read the note’s nonsense while it remained taped to his mirror, but he didn’t want the damn thing mocking him until the investigators came. He shrugged off his jacket, loosened his tie, and pulled his smartphone out of his pocket. Is all this worth it?

  He scrolled through his contacts and found the special agent who had handled his previous notes and hit send.

  It rang once. “This is Murphy.”

  Asher scowled. “A new note was waiting for me today.”

  “Give me one second.” The agent excused himself from someone on the other end of the line. “On your car again?”

  “Nope. Inside my townhouse, taped to a mirror.” He paced his living room. An invasion of his privacy wasn’t anything new, but Asher had no idea what Maxwell was after.

  “Son of a bitch. Don’t touch—”

  “Too late.” Asher tugged off his tie, tossed it on the couch, and headed for the wet bar.

  He ignored the People magazine he’d thrown there the night before. It wasn’t his type of magazine, but his campaign consultant had mailed it to him. The headline stared up from the bar. A fifty most beautiful people list. Five bucks said his name was on that list somewhere, and for the next few weeks, he would have invitation after invitation to events that he didn’t care about from women who wanted to appear with him like he was their fashion accessory. Every time a list came out, the same charade unfolded, and every time, it gave him a headache.

  “Damn it, McIntyre. You know better than to touch evidence.”

  That made Asher chuckle. Murphy was formal because he was supposed to be. But they were about the same age and had the same get-the-job-done disposition. By the time they found Maxwell, he and Murphy would probably be buds.

  Asher poured a glass of scotch and shrugged. “Sorry, man. Anger got the best of me. I would’ve stood on my front porch, giving the finger to anyone interested, but then I’d have to deal with that picture
on the front page of the Washington Post. One nuisance at a time.”

  “I’ll head your way with a couple guys. We’ll be discreet.”

  Asher swirled the drink in his hand and walked into the kitchen. “Thanks, man—”

  Another note was centered in the middle of his stainless steel refrigerator. His Georgetown home was where he crashed, not really his home. That was in New York. Asher had no personal items in DC, certainly not a picture magnet of his sister and her best friend. They were younger by five years and had spent the past week in Disney World for a wedding reception. The picture on the fridge showed them posing in front of Epcot Center.

  His hands shook, and his jaw cemented shut. A harsh breath flared through his nostrils. “Murphy, send the whole goddamn FBI.”

  “Care to explain?”

  “There’s a recent picture of my sister and her best friend, along with another damn note from Maxwell. Aren’t they cute?”

  ***

  Jenny Chase tugged her carry-on bag out of the overhead compartment. The flight from Florida to DC had been bumpy, and she wanted off the plane. In the seat beside her, Molly was unfazed and casually powering on her phone and listing off where they should grab dinner before they headed home to their apartment in Eastern Market.

  As long as Jenny could grab a cocktail, she didn’t care where they ended up. Molly’s phone buzzed. Once. Twice. Then kept going.

  “Jeez, popular much?” Jenny watched her best friend’s phone continue to vibrate.

  Molly laughed. “Just Ash. I’m sure whatever it is, it’s super important, and I need to know super right away.” She slipped the phone into her purse. “Let’s have pizza delivered instead of going out.”

  Just Ash. Just the man that starred in every fantasy that Jenny had ever had since she could remember fantasizing about a guy. Of course, he was probably the star of many women’s dirty imaginations. He was Hollywood handsome and Washington powerful. That combination did wicked things to a woman’s fantasies.

  Jenny silently chanted, “It’s only Ash.” Only Ash…That was how she needed to think about him because both Molly and Jenny had given up that anything would develop.