“Unless you really did come here to gamble tonight.” He circles and stops behind me, his breath warm on my skin. “Does the slut wife want to run up another tab she can’t pay?”
The fiction. The game we’re playing. He thinks I’m pretending to be wealthy when really I’m pretending to be poor.
“Depends on what happens afterwards.” My words come out breathy.
His palms land on my hips. Hard enough that I’ll have bruises tomorrow. New marks to show Robert. “The real question is what’re you willing to bet.”
He pulls me against him. His stiff cock presses into my ass through his slacks, and I fight to hold in a moan. God, I’m dripping from nothing but his hands on me. Why do I want this so bad?
“What’s the stake?”
“Everything.” His mouth finds my neck. Teeth scrape skin. “I want you to walk out of here owing me so much you’ll spend weeks paying it off with your pussy.”
Mmm, why is this so hot?
His fingers curl possessively around my waist. “I have your panties from last time in my desk drawer. I knew you’d be back.”
Holy fuck. My panties. What’s he been doing with them since then? The thought makes me dizzy.
His hand slides along my thigh and up under my dress. He presses his cock harder against my ass as his fingers brush the silk of my panties.
“You’re drenched.” There’s satisfaction in his tone. “You walked in here dripping for me.”
“Yes.”
“Say it louder.”
“Yes,” I cry out as my head falls against his shoulder and my clutch slips from my fingers and tumbles to the floor. “I’ve been thinking about this all week. About what you did to me.”
“Tell me.” His fingers slide under my panties and between my wet folds. I shiver in pleasure as he rubs my clit. “What have you been thinking about?”
“Your hands. Your mouth.” I’m panting now and rocking against him. “You fucking me on your desk.”
“Good girl.” The words hit me like electricity. “Keep talking.”
“I thought about it at dinner with my husband. On the phone. Lying in bed at three in the morning pretending to be asleep.”
He speeds up his fingers, and I gasp and rush out, “I touched myself thinking about you.”
“Fuck.” His hold on my hip tightens. “You’re a hungry little slut who can’t stop thinking about my cock.”
There’s a knock at the door, and I jump.
Tony’s fingers go motionless between my thighs, and he growls, “Not now.”
The door opens anyway.
I freeze. For one sick second, I imagine being caught. Exposed. Dragged out of here and then seeing it splashed all over the media. Rich wife fucks casino manager behind her husband’s back—but no, Tony’s running this. I’m safe.
And the fear curdles into an illicit thrill so strong that it’s impossible to think of anything beyond this moment.
“Sorry.” The newcomer’s tone is deep and male. He doesn’t sound sorry at all. “I didn’t realize you had company.”
He moves into my line of sight. The guy is in his mid-thirties and wearing an expensive charcoal suit. Tall, dark-haired, with sharp features that make him intimidating. He’s not smiling.
His attention moves from Tony to me. To where Tony’s hand is under my dress. A flush creeps up my neck. There’s no way this isn’t what it looks like.
The guy’s expression is locked down tight, with no emotion. Does he walk in on his boss fingering women often?
