by Tracy Wolff
“I was chief financial officer of one of the largest charitable foundations in the world. And real life works however you want it to work.”
“Yeah, right. If that was the case—” I break off before I say too much. But no wonder he’s so naïve. He’s spent years working for a charity while I’ve…I’ve lived my life doing pretty much the complete opposite.
But Sebastian’s not about to let me get away with leaving my thought unfinished. I can see it in the predatory gleam in his eyes and the rigid set of his shoulders long before he prompts, “If that was the case…?”
I scramble for an answer that will satisfy him but will still let me keep my secrets. “If that was the case, I wouldn’t spend my nights in four inch heels, fending off men with more money than manners.”
“You know, you don’t have to do that.”
Warning bells go off all over the place and I find myself watching him warily. “What does that mean?”
“It means this is a casino. There are other jobs you can do.”
“Not that pay me a few hundred dollars a night in tips. And, for the record, I don’t need you to swoop in on some white charger and fix my life for me. I’m doing fine on my own.”
“You absolutely are.”
He sounds perfectly sincere when he says it, but I still search his face for any sign of ridicule or sarcasm. I can’t find any, but that doesn’t mean I trust him. He might be all pro-employee rights, but he’s still a rich guy with an Ivy League education. I went to school with a bunch of them—I know the type. And none of them would believe that working as a cocktail waitress in a casino is a job worth fighting for.
Sebastian takes another sip of his beer, watching me over the rim of his glass. “You don’t believe me.”
“I don’t not believe you. I’m just trying to figure out how much of the bullshit you spout you actually believe.”
“Most of it,” he tells me with a grin.
“Well, that’s honest.”
“I’m always honest. Lying is for the weak.”
“Or the desperate,” I feel honor bound to tell him.
“Perhaps.”
There’s no perhaps about it. Never has been. I wouldn’t be here, living the life that I am, if I had any other reasonable alternative.
“Look, can we cut to the chase here? I only have a few minutes before I have to get back to work.”
“Absolutely. Let’s cut to the chase.”
I wait for him to say something more, for him to tell me why I’m really here, but he just leans back in his chair, ankle crossed over the opposite knee, and watches me with eyes that see far too much.
I recognize what he’s doing, try to wait him out, to prove that I have as much self-control as he does. But the clock is ticking and with every minute that passes, my stomach grows tighter, my palms damper. I hate the feeling, hate the loss of control that he’s forcing on me. But I hate even more the fact that I might have to leave here without the answers I so desperately want.
“I already told you I’m not going to sleep with you,” I tell him after the silence stretches longer than I can handle.
“You did.”
“So why am I here? Why are you even bothering with me?”
“Does everything have to be about sex?”
I laugh then. I can’t help it. The question is ridiculous, especially considering the sexual tension between us burns hot enough to light up half the hotels on the Strip.
“It doesn’t have to be, but in my experience it usually is.”
Displeasure flickers in his eyes, on his face, but it’s gone almost as soon as I register that it’s there. And then we’re back to waiting and watching each other silently.
“You like your job,” he finally says. I’d congratulate myself for making him break the silence, except I’m learning that Sebastian never does anything he doesn’t want to do.
“I like the money it brings in.”
“Is that all you like about it?”
I’ve never really thought about that before, about whether or not I like the job I’m doing. I like not being under my father’s thumb. I like being away from the violence and the darkness that is a way of life for my family. I like making my own way in the world, even if it is precarious. But the job itself? Do I really like it?
“It’s not bad,” I hedge. “It pays the bills and I’m good at it.”
“You are good at it,” he agrees. “But you could be better.”
“Oh, really?” Now I’m insulted. Maybe it’s the overachiever in me, the girl who always made top of her class—even at one of the most competitive universities in the world. “And how is that?”
“You lack control.”
“Excuse me? I’ve worked here for over a year and last night was the first time I ever lost my temper.”
“I didn’t say you lacked self-control.” He inclines his head, narrows his eyes at me until I feel like I’m being toyed with. “I said you lacked control.”
He drains his beer, sets it aside. Then he stands up and reaches a hand out for me. I start to refuse—I’m annoyed and the last thing I want to do is touch him right now. But there’s something in his face, something in the way he looks at me that makes my stomach flip and my breath catch in my throat. That makes me think it would be a very bad idea to refuse the hand he extends to me.
So I take it, allow him to pull me to my feet. Then I let him walk me over to the huge picture window that makes up the entire back wall of his office. It’s nine o’clock and darkness has finally come to the desert. Not that you would ever know that if you were thirty flights below us on the Strip, where the lights burn so brightly that most days it feels like you’re at the top of the world where the sun shines twenty-four/seven.
Sebastian is behind me again, his long, powerful body pressed to mine from shoulder to knee. He’s warm and solid and—despite everything I’m thinking—it feels so right to lean against him. To bask in the warmth and command that roll off him in waves.
“I’ve spent too many hours today looking at the video of you from the other night,” he whispers in my ear as his fingers gently stroke my hip, my stomach, the outsides of my thighs. “Too many hours today watching you work.”
“You’ve been spying on me?” I try to sound offended, but it’s hard to pull off when I’d felt his eyes on me all evening. It’s even harder to pull off when my body is literally melting into his.
“I’ve been observing you.” He bends his head until his lips are only an inch or so from my ear, his breath hot against the nape of my neck. “And do you know what I saw?”
“What?” I can’t stop myself from asking any more than I can stop my body from responding to his. Nipples peaking, blood pounding, sex aching. I don’t know what it is about him that revs me up so much, but it’s like my body recognizes his. Like it knows something that I don’t.
“Someone who craves control as much as I do. Someone who wants control over herself, her life, her world.”
“That’s—that’s not true.”
“Isn’t it?” he whispers.
“No. I just—I don’t want to be at anyone else’s mercy. I want to live my life the way I want to live it and answer to no one.” Why is my breathing so erratic? My heart beating so fast?
“Control,” he tells me again. “Discipline. Restraint.”
The words frighten me even as they turn me on. Or maybe that’s just the way he’s holding me, touching me. The way his lips skim up my neck and across my jaw.
“I don’t—” My voice breaks. “I don’t know what you want from me.”
“It’s not what I want from you,” he says even as he presses hot kisses against my cheek, the corner of my mouth. “It’s what I want to give you.”
“And what’s that?” I force the words out of my too-dry throat.
“Tell me, Aria. How much does control mean to you? How far will you go to get it?”
Play Me #2: Play Me Hot is a work of fiction. Names, places, a
nd incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
A Loveswept eBook Original
Copyright © 2014 by Tracy Deebs-Elkenaney
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Loveswept, an imprint of Random House, a division of Random House LLC, a Penguin Random House Company, New York.
LOVESWEPT is a registered trademark and the LOVESWEPT colophon is a trademark of Random House LLC.
eBook ISBN 9780804177825
Cover design: Georgia Morrissey
Cover photograph: MarishaSha/Shutterstock
www.readloveswept.com
v4.0
ep
Contents
Master - Table of Contents
Play Me Hot
Title Page
Copyright
Chapter One: Sebastian
Chapter Two: Aria
Chapter Three: Sebastian
Chapter Four: Aria
Chapter Five: Sebastian
Chapter One
Sebastian
Aria is trembling. Whether from fear or desire I don’t know, but it’s a question I need answered before I go any further. And we are going further—there’s no doubt as to that. The only question is when. Now, if she’s ready. Later, if she needs time to get used to what I want from her, used to where I want to take her.
I want to give her the world, not make her afraid of it.
She sighs, a quiet, intoxicating thing that I might have overlooked if I wasn’t pressed up against her, my body crowding hers, the back of her head resting against my shoulder. I press a kiss to her temple and she responds by burrowing closer. Turning her head so that her face is buried in my neck. We fit together perfectly, thanks to the four inch heels she wears for work, her back resting against my front. Her sweet ass cradling my rock-hard dick.
“You didn’t answer me,” I tell her, left hand stroking her hip while my right slides around her torso, cupping her left breast. I pull her even closer.
“I don’t—” Her voice breaks and she clears her throat before starting again. “I don’t know what to say.”
Of course she doesn’t. She can take a rich bastard down without breaking a sweat, can let the most blatant, unwanted advances roll right off her back. But one glimpse of real desire, real need, and she’s lost. It’s just one more reason why I want to be the one who takes her on this journey. Who opens her eyes to the myriad possibilities and pleasures she barely knows exist.
Stroking her aching, aroused nipple, I listen for the way her breathing pattern changes. Relish the way her whole body tightens against mine. “Say yes,” I urge as I run my thumb back and forth over the tight bud, a little harder with each pass.
“Sebastian.” Her voice breaks in the middle but her back arches, pressing her breast more firmly into my palm. I give her the pressure, the touch, she’s so blatantly asking for.
“Say you want me to take control.” I slide the hand on her hip down a little, curve it around the upper part of her leg so that my fingers are stroking the soft, sensitive skin of her inner thigh.
“Say you want to learn what it means to have total command—of yourself, of your body. Of your pleasure. Of your partner.” There can be no misunderstandings. Not with what I want to do to her.
A part of me thinks I should back off, let her think, but it’s too late for that. Too late for me to just step back and let her go. Not when her every broken sigh makes my dick harder and my focus sharper.
I squeeze her nipple now, roll it between my thumb and forefinger. Not hard enough to hurt, not yet. Just hard enough to make her whimper, make her shake. To remind her of what’s coming if she says yes.
“I want—” Her voice breaks again. This time I don’t help her out. This time I push her a little further, my fingers skimming along the seam of her leg where it meets her hip. Rubbing back and forth against the lace there. Back and forth. Back and forth. Until she’s squirming against me, her breath coming in ragged fits and starts.
“Sebastian.” Her voice is low, husky, nearly unrecognizable and my whole body tightens as I register the tension in it. The surrender she doesn’t yet know how to voice.
“Yes, Aria?” I slip first one finger inside her panties, and then a second. She’s wet and hot and trembling and I want nothing more than to bring her off, bring her over again and again and again. But she’s not there yet, not quite ready for all the things I plan to do to her.
And so I wait, stroking my fingers softly, slowly, along the petals of her sex. She gasps then, her hands coming backward over her head to circle my neck. To hold me closer.
I like the feel of her hands on me, almost as much as I like the feel of my hands on her. I slip my thumb inside her panties now, too, as a reward. I toy with her clit even as I press one finger between her lips and stroke, stroke, stroke.
She trembles, her body jerking against my own. And then she’s burrowing her face more tightly against my neck, licking her way along the edge of my collar.
It feels good, her breath warm and wet against my skin. Her body soft and yielding against the hardness of my own. Knowing she needs the contact—and the small amount of control it gives her—I tilt my head back and let her do her worst.
She does. Jesus Christ, does she.
Her lips skim along my jaw, from my chin up to the sensitive spot behind my ear. She pauses there, sucks gently at my skin. Then bites, one sharp, clean nip of her teeth.
Fuck.
Her tongue is out now, soothing the small hurt, the small bruise that I know she will have left there. Marking me as I so desperately long to mark her.
As I will mark her, as soon as she says—
“Yes.” For the first time since we started this, her voice is strong, steady, sure.
It’s my turn to shake, something that never happens to me anymore. Relief, I realize, slowly pulling my hands from her body before she notices. A breach in my control is not what either of us need right now.
Except—
“Sebastian?” Her voice is quiet, her body searching as she turns a little into me..
I stop her with a hand on her hip, keep her facing the window. A glance at the clock on the wall tells me we have twenty minutes before she’s supposed to be back on the casino floor. And while everything inside me revolts at the idea of letting her go back down there now that she’s mine, of standing by and watching other men grab and grope the sweet body that is even now moving against my own, it’s not my choice. Not now.
Not yet.
I want to do so much to her, want to take her apart like a puzzle, until I’m holding each individual piece of her in my hand. Until I can see inside her, around her, between the cracks I recognize but don’t yet understand.
Twenty minutes isn’t nearly enough time. But it’s a start.
“Put your hands on the window.”
“What? I don’t—”
“Your hands. The window,” I tell her again, making sure to keep my voice dark and stern despite my overwhelming need to cuddle her close to me.
For long seconds she doesn’t move, as if she’s contemplating whether she should do what I’ve instructed. I wait patiently, let her decide. Other Doms, other men, would do something to persuade her—maybe even punish her for her hesitation. Setting the precedent. Beginning how they plan to go on.
But I’m not those guys and my goals are very different from theirs. I don’t want a slave, don’t want her to obey my every whim inside the bedroom and out.
No, what I want from Aria is something completely different. In the end, I want to build her up, not break her down. I want to give her control, not take it away.
I want her strength, not her submission.
And so I wait, to see how she’ll respond. To see what she’ll do. Already I have plans for her, so, so many plans. Plans that include taking her to the very
edge of cataclysmic pleasure and then hurling her over. Again and again and again.
But not until she’s ready. Not until she takes this first small but imperative step.
She’s watching me, her head turned toward me even as her body faces away, the look in her eyes dark and dangerous and delicious. She’s taking my measure, deciding how far she wants to go. How far she’s willing to let me push her—how far she’s willing to push me. Too bad she can’t yet imagine the depths we’re going to explore.
Long seconds tick by while neither of us moves. We just stand there, eyes locked. Breathing in sync. I think about repeating the command, but no. She heard me. Saying it again is a sign of weakness, a loss of control that I just won’t give her. Can’t give her.
But there’s an uncertainty in her eyes, a fear that I don’t like to see. Keeping her off-balance is one thing, pushing her boundaries, her limits, far past where she thinks they should be. But genuine fear? That’s not what either of us is here for.
I reach out, stroke the back of my hand softly down her spine. The contact must be what she’s waiting for because she shudders, arches back into my touch. And then does what I tell her, turning her face back toward the window and moving the final step forward before pressing her hands against the window in front of her.
Muscles I didn’t even know were tense relax, and I move that one extra step, too, until our bodies are once again flush against each other. She made the move I needed her to and now I can help her.
I pull her hands out a little and up, so that her arms are spread wide above her head. And nudge a knee between her legs, waiting patiently as she relaxes and opens to me.
She does—of course she does—and I slip my hands between her inner thighs, pressing outward until her legs are as open as her arms.
Aria moans a little, a deep, throaty sound that has me longing to shove up her skirt, yank down her panties and thrust inside of her. She’s close, I can feel it. It wouldn’t take long to get us both off.
But here, now, when her body is trembling and her breathing is erratic and she’s nervous, so nervous but trusting me anyway…now is the time to reward her. To show her a little bit of what her trust will get her.