K. Bromberg: Raced

She snorts. She actually snorts at me standing here in her elegant dress, and fuck me if that too isn’t a mix of sexy and adorable. “I’m wounded,” I say, clutching my heart in mock pain. “ You’d be surprised what my mouth gets with those lines .”

Let’s see what she says to that one. My eyes trace over the outline of those lips that I want wrapped around my cock, those fucking magnificent eyes looking at me with a trace of shock. Even after all of our interactions tonight, she still doesn’t know how to take me.

Good. Keep her guessing. Confusion is my advantage.

“I don’t have time for your childish games right now. I just had to endure humiliation beyond my worst nightmare, and I’m more pissed off than you can imagine. I especially don’t want to deal with you right now.”

“I do love a woman who tells it like it is,” I murmur to myself, unable to tear my eyes from hers. Or comprehend being told no. That’s a new one.

“So I’m going home in about ten minutes. Night’s over. I win our idiotic bet, so you better get your check and fill it out because you’re going home with lighter pockets tonight,” she rants and places her hands on her hips.

Fuck, there’s that defiance again that makes my balls tighten in anticipation. In unfettered lust. And she thinks I’m just going to write her a check and let her walk out of my life without having her? She’s sadly mistaken. I’m a take it or leave it kind of guy.

And I’m definitely taking this one. Too bad she doesn’t know it yet.

I don’t fight my smirk this time. Game on, baby . “Twenty-five thousand lighter, in fact.”

“No, we agreed on twen—” Her voice fades and I watch as it slowly hits her. The realization crashes like a tornado across her features and storms through her eyes. I can see her trying to fight it. Trying to resist the urge to throttle me.

And shit, if I thought defiance made her sexy, then anger makes her motherfucking breathtaking.

“No—uh-uh. This is bullshit and you know it!” She glares at me with every ounce of hatred I think she can muster, and it only makes me more determined to have her. “That wasn’t the deal. I didn’t agree to this!”

I tuck my tongue in my cheek, trying to bite back the grin tugging at the corners of my mouth. “A bet’s a bet, Ryles.”

“It’s Rylee, you asshole!” she hisses at me.

Testy. Testy. Ryles it is, then.

“Last time I checked, sweetheart, my name wasn’t Ace .” But when you’re screaming my name later, it can be anything you want it to be . I lean back against the wall and watch the emotions play over her face.

She’s so frustrated. Mission accomplished, buttons pushed. And now I have one feisty hellcat on my hands, and I bet sure as fuck she’s going to be fun to try and tame. Then again, why tame her? A few scratches never hurt anyone.

“You cheated. You-you-aaarrgh!”

“We never had time to outline any rules or stipulations,” I explain with a raise of my eyebrows and a shrug of my shoulders. “You were pulled away. That left everything as fair game.”

Those lips of hers that I want to taste fall open and then close again to only fall back apart. I pull my thoughts from what else I’d like them to open and close around. Sweet Christ! I force my mind to focus on the here and now and away from what exactly is under that dress. I push myself off the wall and step toward her.

I can’t resist.

“I guess I just proved you do in fact lose sometimes, Ryles .”

I have to touch her.

Irresistible.

Mine.

“I’m looking forward to our date, Rylee.”

I watch her eyes follow my fingers as they move a loose curl of hair from her cheek. I catch the slight hitch in her breath, and I know I’ve got her. Know it’s only a matter of time now.

The pull is just too great. Resistance is futile. I graze a thumb over her cheek, wanting to feel her skin. Needing to feel that spark of current that vibrates between us. “In fact, more than any other date I’ve had in a while.”

She leans her head back, my thumb still on her cheek, and “Oh God!” falls from her mouth in exasperation.

The sound of her sex-kitten voice turns my insides, calls to some part deep within me, and I don’t like it one bit. The only part of me that should be affected should be my dick and my mind counting the minutes until she’s beneath me.

Or on top of me. Beggars can’t be choosers and fuck if reverse cowgirl isn’t a mighty nice position.

See, Donavan? It’s the alcohol twisting things around making you think that feeling deep down is more than just the ache in your balls. C’mon, all you want is a quick, uncomplicated fuck and an attempt to tame the wildcat.

That’s it. Nothing else.

I swear.

Unease creeps through me at the thought of only having her once, and I force myself to stop thinking this fucking nonsense and grab the control back my dick has hijacked. I hear those words of hers echo through my mind, and I know exactly how to do it.

“Those words, oh God ,” I mimic her and give in one last time to my need to touch her by running a finger down the side of her face. “Now I know exactly how you’ll sound when you say that while I’m buried deep inside of you.”

I love the look of shock that flashes across her face. Love the insolence in her expression as she lifts her chin and glares at me. Such a fucking turn on.

“Wow! You sure think a lot of yourself, don’t you, Ace?”

Shit! She walked right into that one and I can’t resist. Just can’t fucking stop myself from pushing those buttons of hers one last time before I walk away and leave her wondering whose court the ball is really in. I slip my hands in my pocket and lean into her, the smile on my face suggesting exactly what I want to do with her. To her. For her.

“Oh, sweetheart, there is definitely a lot of me to think about .” I laugh softly, loving the look I’ve just put on her face. “I’ll be in touch.”

I forgo the urge to touch her one last time. Taste her one last time. And I force myself to turn around and walk away. To put one foot in front of the other when I’d much rather be dragging her back to that damn storage closet and taking exactly what I want.

The chance to claim her.

Game fucking on.

I walk out into the parking lot and thank fuck Sammy is already there or else I might be tempted to walk back inside. Because fuck yes her playing hard to get is a turn on, but experience has me wagering that given ten more minutes either I wouldn’t be going home alone or that storage closet just might have gotten some use.

Can’t say I have a losing track record.

I pull my phone from my pocket and laugh when I see the notifications blaring across my screen. Case in fucking point. I thumb through the ten texts from Raquel. Each one dirtier than the first.

Sweet Jesus I could use a good fuck tonight after all of that verbal foreplay and by the suggestions she’s sent to my phone, it’s gonna be a long, sweaty, sleepless night.

“Hey, Wood. Good night?” Sammy asks as I climb into the back of the Range Rover, fingers already untying my bowtie and undoing the noose of buttons closing my collar on my neck.

“You have no idea, Sammy,” I tell him and then laugh when my thoughts veer to how my evening has turned into the beginning of a good joke— so a redhead, a brunette, and a blonde walk in a bar —when I think of Bailey, Rylee, and Raquel.

He laughs and shakes his head, having been with me long enough that he knows how my life goes. Women willing for whatever I’m game for. Well except for the unexpected Ms. Thomas tonight.