Playboy

by Katy Evans

  “If you can’t, third door on the right is the guestroom,” Rachel teases. “Locks and everything.”

  “Does it have its own bathroom with running water, too?” I tease back.

  The double dings announce another arrival and when the door parts, the happy couple enters.

  We all cheer as Callan and Livvy gravitate to the center of the room. Everyone wants to hear about the honeymoon. They had a great time and want to share pictures and stories. We’re all bewitched by Callan’s new storytelling skills. Typically one who doesn’t say a lot, he seems eager to share some of their tamer memories.

  We’re about three minutes into their arrival when Cullen’s at my side, locking his hand around mine. Rachel glances down at our union and smiles and mouths, “Running water.”

  I laugh and Cullen asks, “What’s that about?”

  “I’ll tell you later.”

  He nods at Saint then and I get the feeling that their insider secrets are similar to mine and Rachel’s.

  “What’s that about?” I tease in a gruff voice similar to the one he just used.

  “Why don’t I show you?” he easily teases back.

  “What do you need to show me?”

  “Something you’ve never seen before.”

  “Oh, I’ve seen plenty, Mr. Carmichael.”

  “Not this.” He takes my hand and drags me to the third door on the right. He holds out his arm. “After you, lovely lady.”

  “This is so inappropriate.”

  As soon as the door closes behind us, he’s all over me. His eyes. His hands. His lips.

  Good god, those lips.

  “Cullen, we can’t.”

  “We can but we won’t,” he whispers, his forehead resting against mine as he fumbles for something in his pocket.

  “What are you—”

  “Turn around.” He hits the switch on the wall and the room lights up. We’re in front of an oval mirror. He presses his lips to my shoulder and whispers, “I went shopping today.”

  “Did you?” I’m already so turned on from the kissing and groping that I’m only vaguely aware of his arms sliding around my shoulders.

  “And I found a necklace that needed a woman.”

  “Cullen. You shouldn’t—”

  “Shh . . .” His lips brush my nape before he latches the necklace and stands back.

  I’m touching a gorgeous diamond pendant set in a sea of emeralds. The platinum chain shimmers like it’s been brushed in white gold or diamonds. I can’t tell and it doesn’t matter. What matters is the chain reminds me of Cullen’s gorgeous eyes.

  “It’s beautiful.” I touch the pendant and stand enamored, not with the jewelry, but the man. I face him. “I’ll wear it everywhere and it’ll always remind me of you.”

  His look turns serious. “You say that like you don’t plan to see me after tonight.”

  “Don’t be silly.”

  “I’m not a silly man.”

  “Where have I heard that before?”

  His smile fades and he turns me to the mirror again, forcing me to watch him as his hand skims up and down my side, slower at the swell of my breast.

  Fire settles in my belly.

  Fire sizzles at the base of my spine.

  Fire is in his kiss.

  And his mouth is everywhere.

  I curve my arm around his back to hold him closer as I arch against him.

  “We can’t.”

  “Oh, but we could,” he whispers, nipping my earlobe while holding me against his straining cock.

  “This started over a bet,” I tell him.

  “Fuck the bet,” he growls, watching me.

  And I see something in his eyes that I’ve never seen in him or anyone else. I giggle, go up on tiptoes, and give him the hottest kiss of his life. “I love it. I love—” My eyes widen when I realize what I was about to say. I start blushing.

  Cullen is staring at me intently.

  I can’t believe I was about to say the L word!

  There’s passion and need, seduction and . . . oh god, I’m so in love with him I can barely take it.

  I swallow as his mouth holds me captive. His eyes seduce me. I won our bet but I also won something more.

  I won the man, a man who chose me, a player who should’ve been back in Vegas by now.

  He’ll still go back, Wynn.

  He has to go back.

  Knowledge is a bitch but passion is power and I’m not about to spoil the passion now by thinking about tomorrow. I’ve never loved a player but I’m falling for Cullen over and over again.

  It’s like we’re new every time we’re together.

  My inner hussy rears her pretty little head and whispers, “But you’re immune to love.”

  The thought makes me feel awful, because who did I think I was kidding when I thought I could resist him? I couldn’t. No matter how much I wanted to stay away.

  He picks me up and carries me to the huge cherry dresser where he steps in between my legs, framing my face with those decadent hands. His touch leaves me breathless and now . . . I want to cry.

  Why do I want to cry? Because I can’t forget the longing in his eyes when he looked at a mother and her son in Vegas.

  “What’s wrong, baby?”

  “You. Me. You don’t know what you’re doing to me, Cullen.”

  “I think I do know.”

  “Then why do you keep doing it?”

  “Because I want you.” He steps closer. It’s sweet, sexy, and intimate but not at all sex-driven. “I need you.”

  He uses his tender fingers to dry up my tears before he slips his hand down the back of my neck and presses his lips to mine. They’re firm but tender and the kiss is sweet and passive, but that tenderness turns relentless and the kiss turns into a claiming.

  “I want and need this,” he whispers in my ear. “Tell me you need this too.” He slips his hand between my legs, sliding it under my skirt as he captures my mouth and kisses the living daylights out of me. The pain out of me. The fear of whatever is happening between us out of me.

  Until there is only one giant, tingling feeling—and it’s all over my body. A fire shaking through me, under my skin, in my skin, in my veins, my tummy, the tips of my breasts, the warm spot between my legs that suddenly feels so swollen, it’s uncomfortable.

  “Cullen. My friends . . . your brother . . . they’re right outside the door.”

  He shoots me a sexy look that says they can stay there. He doesn’t care. He’ll fuck me into tomorrow, love me straight through the night. Here or at my place or anywhere.

  “We’re leaving in an hour. Until then, look at me and know that I’m only thinking of fucking you, pleasing you.” He steps between my legs once more and parts my knees, fingering the wet v of my panties. “I’ll be right here, Wynn. All I’ll see when I look at you tonight is the woman that I’ll lay down later and love.”

  I’m trembling as I grab his hand, and pleadingly strain out, “Let’s go meet the newlyweds.”

  He pulls me back against him, slapping a kiss on my temple as he whispers, “We’re not done here yet.” And then he lets me go.

  Now what do I do? I wonder. I’m in too deep, but just as I know that I’m in dangerous waters, I understand he’s treading there, too.

  What am I supposed to do?

  One of us is certain to drown. I can’t let it be me.

  I don’t know how to love a gambler. I don’t know if Cullen’s a gambler or a player and if I’m being played. All I know is that I’ve fallen for my own playboy and while he sweeps me off my feet and makes me feel all these things that I never thought I’d feel, I’m all in and loving the idea of him.

  I love the idea of us.

  * * *

  When I rejoin the party, Cullen is talking to Isaac. I pass them, determined not to look at Cullen for fear he’ll give me one of those looks that sends me to the floor on buckled knees. I hear him tell Isaac that Lucas is on fire, playing well and winning a lot.
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  I don’t want to think about gambling or Vegas or . . . my eyes meet his and as soon as we connect, the tension is there, the sizzle and the spice and the promises he made.

  He’s going to lay me down and love me.

  I turn around, practically knocking into Livvy and Gina and Rachel.

  “Uh-huh,” Gina says. “Tell me you don’t like that man quite a bit.”

  “Just a teeny bit,” I laugh off with a shrug.

  “She’s being cautious,” Livvy says.

  “And were you cautious when you fell under the Carmichael charms?” Rachel teases her.

  “Callan’s irresistible.”

  “Cullen’s . . .” I can’t bring myself to finish what I wanted to say. My eyes meet his again and the heat passing between us is enough for everyone to turn and look at us.

  “Damn, Saint. I thought you got those two a room,” Tahoe says.

  “So much for a private gaze-fuck,” I say, hugging my friends. “I need to go.”

  “You got that right,” Rachel says, laughing. “And I think you need to take him with you.”

  “She does,” Cullen says, tucking me at his side when he comes to say farewell. “Ladies, it’s always a pleasure.” He hugs Livvy. “Glad you made it home, sister-in-law.”

  “Behave, brother-in-law.”

  We say our goodbyes and step into the elevator. I immediately glance up at the security cameras and shake my head.

  “Why not?” he asks, his tense jaw flexing.

  “I want you all to myself.”

  “And I don’t want anyone to see what’s only meant for my eyes.”

  I blush and the heat in my cheeks runs down my neck and chest. His compliment is like foreplay, brushing against me with a whisper of electricity.

  The exquisite note of possession in his voice makes me feel alive, but I settle down when we’re in the car, driving through the city, heading to my place with our fingers entwined, our hands warm to the touch.

  We don’t talk. We don’t make promises now.

  We’re already in the moment, thinking about the forthcoming hours. And I’m also dreading the inevitable end that will send my hot gambler back to Vegas again.

  ROYAL FLUSH

  We arrive at my apartment. Cullen slings his coat over his shoulder as he walks around the front of the car. As soon as he reaches me, he slips the jacket around my shoulders and brings me against him, shielding me from the sprinkling rain.

  Everything is so easy with Cullen.

  He presses his kiss to my forehead and I feel cherished in some way, like I matter more now than I did the hour before. With Emmett, it was different. With each passing day, we were further apart.

  Cullen and I seem to grow closer.

  We’re in the courtyard when a monsoon strikes, the peppering rain so forceful, it’s like a hammering snow.

  I squeal as Cullen drags me to the only overhang, a perfect little awning for one but we make it work for two.

  “Where’s your key and I’ll run ahead and open the door!” He calls out to me as the rain slams against the concrete.

  “It’ll pass,” I tell him. “This is typical in Chicago.”

  He runs his tongue over his lip, eyeing my mouth like he’ll never be able to stand here without a heated make-out session.

  “Be good,” I say. “I have neighbors.”

  “Who shouldn’t be spying on those who are out here weathering the storm.”

  “Is that what we’re doing?”

  “Ever fucked in the rain?”

  “Um . . . no.”

  “Me either,” he says, smiling as he tilts my lips to his. His kiss is sugary sweet and oh so tender. He smiles into our kiss, taking his time before turning up the heat. “You. Me. All night.”

  “Promises, promises.”

  He holds my head as he kisses me deeper, thrusting his tongue between my lips as he cradles me against him, protecting me from the gush of water rolling off the building’s roofline.

  “I don’t care who sees me doing this.” He tastes like champagne and sways against me like he might have sipped on the whole bottle.

  Instead, he’s sipping me. Drinking me in.

  I hold him steady and rock with him as he moves us into a slow and easy grind, his cock pressing against me as my back rakes against the brick wall.

  “Cullen.”

  “Not yet,” he breathes, dragging his finger down the front of my dress. “I can’t have my way with you here but let me just enjoy kissing you.”

  The knocking sound of the rain against the patio furniture sends a shiver down my body. We’re out in the open, making out like no one’s watching.

  And Oh. My. Lord.

  He kisses me crazy.

  I’m rocking against him, dying to jump in his arms and enjoy a more primal time together. I want him taking me, plowing into me, ravaging my body, and feeding my dirty mind.

  One hand is in his hair.

  My lips slide up and down his neck.

  One hand gets busy.

  And he grins into the kiss.

  “What about your neighbors.”

  “Fuck the neighbors. They should go to bed.”

  “Then grab it,” he says, loosening the button on his slacks. But he doesn’t lower his zipper and I know it’s a dare. He wants to know how hungry I am, how eager I am to drive him a little bit crazy.

  No one can see us. There isn’t a camera around. There isn’t a window nearby. And Cullen’s broad shoulders block the view.

  “I want on my knees,” I whisper, pulling back to gauge that exotic expression on his face.

  “Then we’re definitely going upstairs,” he whispers, catching my hand before I grab hold of his cock.

  I nod once and press my key into his hand.

  “I’ll hold the door open.” He’s gone before I can grab another kiss.

  And I’m standing there breathless, thinking, Good Lord, Wynn. Since when have you become an exhibitionist?

  “Wynn!”

  I peer around the wall and see Cullen waving me inside. And I run to him, splashing through puddles, and laughing aloud, loving my life even when I almost lose my balance.

  But I don’t lose my footing because Cullen is there to catch me and it’s sweet and thoughtful and loving.

  Even better, now that we’re home.

  We don’t wait one bit. I pull him inside and he slams the door behind him.

  His mouth crashes against mine and he tastes like temptation. And my body wants to be provoked. The seductress wants to be seduced, trapped by the many pleasures that he uses to tempt me, the kind I’ll never be able to resist.

  He lures me to a carnal and sinfully delicious feast with many tests and dares and oh . . . my . . . he is such a sexy and careful and diligent player.

  My sexy player.

  My Cullen Carmichael with the silver eyes and body that makes a woman, this woman, feel like a sinner because of the thoughts and desires and acts . . . good Lord, these acts.

  His mouth is working its magic. His fingers thrum and coax and wake me up to joy like I’ve never known.

  I’m free in his arms.

  I’m a prisoner in his arms.

  His body feels like an invitation to a private party, a tasty offer of sex and sin.

  And I want that taste.

  My lips and hands are busy as I slide to the floor, dragging every stitch of his clothing with me.

  “Damn,” he says, his eyes hooded. “What are you trying to do to me, woman?”

  “Woo you,” I croon, gently pumping him while admiring his wicked smile. “I dreamed of you.” I kiss the tip. “This.” Drag my fingers up and down the length of his cock.

  His hips sway. “I’d like to hear more about this dream.”

  “I’d like to share it,” I tell him, licking his pulsing head around and around. “Show you?”

  “Please,” he says, dragging his dick across the soft swell of my lips.

  He looks like sex dipped in
candy and chocolate, sweet as sin and rich and naughty.

  I slide down the length of his beautiful and strong cock, riding him with my mouth, sucking him to my throat then rising to the tip again.

  My tongue swirls and swirls. The way he hardens at my lips . . . he feels so damn good.

  His hands are in my hair. He’s wrapping my strands tightly in his hand, guiding me. He’s taking his time but I want at him.

  I’m greedy and I’m dying for a better taste, a spicy shot of his pleasure as my mouth stays with him, riding him to the finish. I want to give him what he gives me, that satisfying high that rocks with us in unmatched pleasure.

  I’m greedy as I stare up at him, noticing the firmer planes of his handsome and strong face, his tight jaw, the undeniable pleasure in his eyes.

  Sweet damn, the way he rocks against my mouth!

  I suck him gently as he slides across my tongue. This is pure ecstasy. He is pure pleasure redefined.

  I want and need him. I’m dying to feel him thrusting against me, working for that mad gratification, relishing in the seconds, moments, and oh yes . . . every last minute of pure and precious and raw friction.

  I bob my head faster when I feel him pull away from me, not wanting it to end. Not wanting to give up. Not yet. Not when I need to feel him, want to feel him, giving me the control. Letting go of his control.

  “Come here,” he whispers, dragging me to my feet and bracketing his arm around my waist.

  “I wasn’t finished.”

  “You’re killing me, Red.” He kisses me senseless. Touches me until I’m crazy.

  I need him inside me, fucking me, loving me . . . reclaiming me as his.

  My arms go around his neck as he lifts me higher and cups my ass. “You’re so damn beautiful.” He buries his face in my tits, his tongue running from one nipple to the next, the suckling and petting driving me mad, leaving me to need and ache and . . . God, I’m about to beg.

  I find an easy sway with him, wrapping my legs around his back in an effort to force the impalement. “Don’t tease.”

  “I won’t be rushed,” he says, eyeing my pussy as he takes his time dragging the tip of his cock to my center, to my clit, and back again. “Maybe I should do this . . .” He releases my hand and thrusts a finger inside me, finger-fucking me until I’m dying, literally dying.