The Player (The Game Maker #3)(23)

Dmitri’s fists were clenched, his eyes glazed with lust. His cock was hard, and he made no attempt to disguise that fact. He looked like he might grab me and rail me against a speaker.

My nipples stiffened. Wondering if my eyes were begging for it, I moistened my lips.

He must’ve reached his limit. He strode onto the dance floor and grasped my forearm. “Come with me.” He had to yell over the music. “We’re leaving.” As he ushered me through the crowd, people stopped and stared at him, but he seemed oblivious to their attention.

“I came here with friends.” I couldn’t see my crew! “I don’t want to leave!”

He faced me, lips drawn back from his teeth. “Were you going to f*ck that man?”

“Are you a jealous kind of guy, baby?” The absolute best type of mark for a milk-cow con. Of course, he’d never admit it.

“With you? Yes! I wanted to kill him!”

Oh boy. Had Dmitri meant that . . . literally? “Yet you didn’t contact me today?” Could I revive this con?

His eyes darted. “I need to talk to you.”

We couldn’t continue this conversation over the music, but I wasn’t prepared to leave with him yet. “I know a place. Head toward the back.” Taking my hand, he walked in that direction, stopping at what looked like a solid black wall.

“Here.” I ducked behind a dark drape into the club’s secret area.

He followed, drawing up short. “What is this place?”

“The Carousel. It used to be a speakeasy.” Carnival decorations from bygone fairs lined the walls. Strings of lights cascaded over ceramic horses from one of the first steam-powered carousels. Drums that still smelled of greasepaint were stacked in the corner. Bright banners and an acrobat’s net hung from the ceiling. “Now only locals know about it.”

The management opened it for friends’ parties, so I’d been here several times. I found the place magical. On slow nights, people hooked up back here since there were no cameras.

“And it’s simply . . . here.” He surveyed the area, murmuring, “I need help with things like this.”

“Like what?”

His gaze held mine. “I need curtains drawn back. I need to be shown things I never would see on my own.”

His strange words—plus my cocktails—equaled zero comprehension for me. “How did you find me?”

“This club is popular with Calydon staff.”

I scooted into a booth. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

He slid around the table to sit beside me. “I am struggling to . . .” He closed his mouth. Another try: “I want to . . .” His eyes were fierce with some pent-up emotion, but he also looked frustrated, like he was trying to read my mood and knew he was failing. “Are you angered with me?”

I traced the gathered edge of one of my boots. “After what we did, I thought you’d get in touch with me.” Like a grifter, he’d given me a taste, then he’d become elusive.

“I went downstairs tonight, thinking you would be at the casino, or that Peter would be.”

I had told Dmitri I might be working. “But no call?”

“The day slipped by me. I was very . . . distracted. I did call three hours ago.”

We’d probably just gotten here. My phone was in my purse. “Do you want a drink?”

He eased even closer, as if he couldn’t help himself. “No. I have to keep control.”

“Why?”

“Last night I considered doing things to you . . . things that would’ve unnerved you even more. Had I been drinking, I would have.”

“Like what?” I asked, intrigued.

“I wanted to get my mouth on you and prove that you would love oral sex. I wanted to whip you even harder, to make you feel me for longer. I wanted to sink inside the flesh I stroked and f*ck you till you screamed.”

My breaths shallowed.

“I was nearly overpowered. I hadn’t been with anyone for some time, and all of a sudden I was with you.” His penetrating eyes said so much, but my buzz blurred the message.

“How long had it been?”

“A very long time. I could argue that I had been waiting on you.”

Guh. “What do you want from me, Dmitri?” I met his gaze as I closed the last little distance to him. “Just tell me, and we’ll see if we want the same things.”

He stared into my eyes, his pupils dilating. “You make it sound so simple.”

“Then don’t make it complicated. Just bottom-line it for me.”

“I must have more of what happened last night,” he said, his words laden with raw need.

I leaned in and drunkenly whispered, “You want to drench my tits again?”

He hissed, “Mercy,” then yanked me across his lap, settling me over his hard cock.

The heat of his erection reached me through our clothes, and my lids went heavy. “I’ll take that as a yes.” I wriggled on him.

He inhaled sharply. “I want more of you. More access to you.”

His words reminded me of my earlier loneliness and turmoil. “But you didn’t call me?” I murmured, sounding drunk and sad. “If you’d called, we could’ve talked. We could’ve gotten to know each other better.”