Love in Lingerie(25)

I look back down at my wallet, pulling out a handle of hundreds and buying myself a second to think. I close my wallet and stick it into my pocket. “What? I told you I knew her.”

“Knew her? Yes, that’s a bit of an understatement. Did you fuck everyone at Bloomingdale’s?”

That earns her a smirk, my eyes taking a greedy trip down her body, lingering on the way her dress clings. “I managed some restraint at times.”

“Don’t,” she warns, and God, I love it when she gets worked up.

I turn to the closest slot machine, feeding a bill into the machine in an attempt to keep myself from touching her. “It was a long time ago. She’s married now. What difference does it make?”

“Her marriage didn’t stop her from eye-fucking you across the table.”

I glance at her, then push the button and watch the reels spin. “Easy, Kate. Your jealousy is showing.”

She growls. “I’m not jealous, I’m intelligent. Our client is her husband. Are you too stupid to realize that he’s not going to stock anything from someone his wife is attracted to?”

“I think you’re wrong.” I reach down and grab her hand, pulling her toward the machine, her struggle cute in a way that gets me hard as a rock. “Stop fighting me. I’m not fucking you against the reels. I just want you to push the button. Give me some lady luck.” I slide my hand atop hers and gently push, the machine coming to life. She pauses her fight, watching the roll of lights, and slumps slightly when they come up mismatched. She goes to move away, and I move closer, trapping her, my chest against her back, her ass against me in a way that lights my senses on fire. “A few more.” I speak against the back of her neck, her hair tickling my nose, my mouth close enough that, if I wanted to, I could drive her insane with just the brush of my lips against that skin. My hand still over hers, I give it a bit of pressure, using the excuse to push against her body, my cock pressing along the perfect curve of her ass, her inhale one that I will replay a hundred times over. “Watch it,” I order.

“You’re too close to me,” she says, and her voice is husky, all fucking woman in every syllable of the words.

“You want me to move back?” I press the button under her hand, my hips thrusting again, and she sags back against me. God, she’d be so easy to please. In five minutes, I could make her mine. In ten minutes, she’d be calling me her god. In twenty, I could propose and she’d beg me for a lifetime more.

“Tell me, Kate. Tell me and I’ll give you all of the space you want.” Her hand moves beneath mine, slowly pushing the button, her ass arching against me, and I close my eyes in reverence, sending a thank you up to the God who created this perfect woman. She stiffens, and I open my eyes, almost falling forward as she spins toward me, all sexuality gone from her eyes, and I flinch when she shrieks, her arms flying into the air.

“We WON!” she yells, and if that is all it takes to get a woman out from under my touch, I need to up my fucking game.

I step back, glancing at the slot machine, which shows a trio of treasure chests. “Great,” I mutter, watching her spin back to the machine, her chin tilting back, her finger raising as she finds the prize display.

“A thousand credits!” she shrieks again, her voice at a pitch that fighting cats frequent. “How much is a credit? Twenty-five—Trey, we won twenty-five thousand dollars!!!”

“Yippee,” I say dryly, and I’d give all of it up to have her ass back where it belongs, flush against my cock. I glare at the machine, which blinks and dings with annoying cheer.





Room 1472. I stand at the double doors and contemplate my options. Mira isn’t the type to lord sex over a sale, she’ll have Edward order whatever we want, despite my cock’s activities, or lack of it. I can certainly decline her offer, but that’d be a little ridiculous, given the rare times that our paths cross. I haven’t been with her in two years, our last time in San Diego, three hours spent in every position known to man. She is my easy fix, the non-complicated sort that never pulls out a gun and steals my car. I eye her door and consider, one last time, returning to my room, to a jack off session and sleepless night, all one thin wall apart from Kate. I groan and reach forward, quickly rapping on the door, before I can change my mind.

A release will be good for me. It will get my mind off her. It will flush my system, and remind me of all of the reasons that Kate and I can’t—won’t—ever work.

The door swings open, and Edward stands there, his jacket and tie gone, his shirtsleeves rolled up, his feet bare on the plush carpet. “Trey.” He steps back. “Come on in. Mira is waiting for us.”





Two hours later, I close the door to the suite and walk down the hall, my jacket over my arm, my shirt rumpled from her nails, a button near the top cleanly ripped off. I examine the loose thread and grin, shaking my head at the thought of her. God, I forgot what a hellion she is, how she can pounce on your body and ride you like a fucking bull. I step on the elevator and press the button for my floor, catching my reflection in the metal doors. I look like a mess. I step closer to it, tilting my head to the side to examine the hickey that runs along my collarbone. I pull up my collar and frown, the mark not entirely hidden. Damn woman. I’ll have to button up and wear a tie tomorrow. I am smiling as I step onto my floor, my mind in a better place than it had been two hours earlier. That’s the value of Mira and Edward, even more than the orgasms. They are a reminder that there is nothing wrong with me, that we are all consenting adults who enjoy pleasure, in whatever form brings the most of it. If Mira likes getting two, or four, or ten cocks at once, that’s her business and nobody else’s. If I like a husband to watch me fuck his wife, or I enjoy competing for orgasms, why should society judge me for it?