This was supposed to be a bad idea I got out of my system. One night, a few orgasms, and we’d both move on. Instead, I’m lying here already planning how to make sure it happens again.
For some reason, I keep going back to one thing.
Pippa’s voice saying, “This was a mistake.”
So why doesn’t it feel like a mistake at all?
I am so, completely, fucked.
18
PIPPA
What. The.Fuck.
19
RYAN
“This is heresy,” I groan while James sets out the pieces. “A board game on my poker table. It pains me to see.”
“You didn’t have to come,” he reminds me. “I invited you out of politeness.”
“Seriously, we’re grown men,” I continue. “Some of us are goddamnbillionaires. And we’re seriously spending our night pretending to play for world domination?”
Once a month, the other guys get together to play Risk. They’ve all been obsessed with it since high school, even though the game sucks. The strategy is way too easy to master, and it takes like four hours every time. It bores me out of my fucking skull. Poker is a much better match for my obsessive mind and my well-documented ADHD.
“We don’t have to play poker,” I suggest. “We can play any other game. Just not Risk.”
James glares at me. “No.”
“Velvet and Vice is open,” says Beau. “There’s a DJ visiting from Paris who’s just your type. You could go listen to her.”
I roll my eyes. “You could at least pretend you’re not trying to get rid of me.”
“Okay. Leave,” James says bluntly. “I don’t want to play with you if you’re going to complain the whole time.”
“Come on, dudes, we need a fourth,” Luke says. “Since Nate and Cat are down in Mexico, Ryan is our last resort. So enough with the attitude, James. I’ve still got a black eye, thanks to this asshole, but I still want him here.”
I nod at him. It’s true, going by pure bro code, I messed up when I punched James. He didn’t know Pippa was off-limits when he hit on her. So I did apologize, but if I’m honest, I’m still fucking pissed at him.
Pippa might not be mine, but that doesn’t mean I want anyone else fucking touching her.
Ever since she told me that fucking me was a mistake, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her. It’s deranged. At least every five minutes, I flash back to an image from that night. Her gorgeous ass in the air as she hung over the edge of the table. My hand wrapped around her pretty neck. The sound of her screaming my name while her pussy clenched around my cock like a fucking vice.
No woman has ever felt that fucking good before.
It would be heaven, if only there was a chance in hell of it happening again.
Unfortunately, Pippa told me off even while my come was still dripping down her thighs. I’ve never had anyone dump me that quickly. Come to think of it, I’m not sure I’ve ever had anyone dump me.
Other than a quick settling of terms over hangover coffee the next morning, she’s been avoiding me ever since. I don’t know what she thinks is going to happen at Christmas, which is only two days away. I’ll be driving her to our parents’ place for the holiday. Our bedrooms will be even closer than they are in the apartment right now. Avoidance isn’t an option for her, and forgetting what happened isn’t an option for me.
Worst of all, I caught a glimpse of her on her way out to another date. I know it was a date because she was wearing those sexy fucking thigh-high boots. She only breaks those out when she’s trying to impress someone.
That’s why I’m sitting at the table right now. Even playing Risk is better than sitting upstairs by myself, trying to manifest Pippa’s date getting a sudden case of explosive diarrhea.
I take all my little green pieces and try to arrange them in the shape of a dick. Immature, yes. Funny? Not really, but I have to try and make this fun somehow.
