Page 132 of Don’t Say Mafia

“You’re comfortable,” I observed.

“You’re predictable,” she shot back.

“Am I?”

“Yes. When you’ve got a strong hand, you get quiet.”

I almost laughed at that. I’d been quiet all night.

I met her bet and then raised it—enough to make her have to prove whether she believed in herself.

She didn’t hesitate. “All in,” she said, sliding the rest of her chips forward with a lift of her chin.

There it was. The boldness I’d been building.

I leaned back, studying her. “You sure?”

“Very.”

I turned my cards over first this time. Three of a kind.

Her eyes dropped to the table, then slowly to her own hand. She flipped them over, revealing two high cards but no pair.

She blinked and let out a disbelieving huff. “You’re kidding.”

“I’m not.”

She looked back up at me, accusation flickering there. “You were baiting me.”

“Maybe.”

She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms, the fabric of her dress shifting just enough to remind me what was about to happen.

“Strip,” I rasped.

Eden exhaled through her nose, cheeks pinking, but she didn’t argue. She stood slowly, her fingers fumbling for the zipper at her back. The quiet brush of it sliding down filled the room, and her dress slipped off her shoulders, down her arms . . . over her hips. The dress pooled at her feet in a soft, blue puddle.

And there it was—the black lace lingerie I’d caught her in at the boutique, the one I’d assumed she’d taken off in the dressing room.

All the blood in my body rushed straight to my cock.

I had to shift in my chair to keep from groaning out loud. My mouth went dry. My vision narrowed until all I could see was her—her flushed cheeks, the way her nipples tightened further under my stare, the soft quiver in her thighs as she tried to press them together like that could hide how wet she was.

She flushed deeper and tried to pretend she had some dignity left, crossing her arms briefly over her breasts before dropping them again, her chin lifting as she tried to refuse to be shy. Her eyes betrayed her, though, glittering with the same heat I felt scorching through my veins.

Eden tilted her head, a teasing little smile suddenly tugging at her lips. “You going to be able to play like this?” she asked mischievously. “Or should we stop before you embarrass yourself?”

I grinned, letting her see every ounce of hunger I wasn’t bothering to hide anymore. “Oh, I can play, baby. The question is, will you be able to win even one more time when I’m not holding back?”

Her smile faltered for half a second before she forced a grin. “Let’s go, Thatcher.”

We did . . . and she lost again. Her garters were the next victim.

She stood, her hands clearly shaking as she reached for the lace garter circling her thigh. It wasn’t attached to anything—just a delicate band of black lace hugging her skin. She slid her fingers beneath it and eased it down, inch by inch, the fabric dragging lightly over her leg.

When she finally let it fall to the ground, she met my eyes, and I adjusted myself openly, palming my cock through my jeans and making sure she couldn’t miss the way they were straining to hold me in. “I’m dying thinking about your wet pussy gushing all over my leather chair,” I growled, nodding my head at the dark spot blooming across the front of her black lace thong.

The thin fabric had turned sheer where her arousal soaked through, clinging transparently to her swollen folds, outlining the shape of her lips and the little hood of her clit pressing against it. Slick glistened along the edges, a thin trail already threatening to drip down the inside of her thigh.