Jennifer Probst - Play Me

“Now, I want you to take off that robe so I can look at you.” His words yanked the proverbial rug right from under her.

She blinked. “I said I’m more comfortable with it on.”

“Take it off.”

Temper flared. She tossed her head. “Hell, no. Get over it.”

He nodded, almost pleased with her decision. “That’s what I thought. Not adhering to the exact terms of the bet will force me to punish you.”

Her eyes widened in shock. “Excuse me? Do you think this is the Middle Ages, buddy? What are you going to do—spank me?”

His lips twitched. “Actually, yes. That’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

A strange mixture of lustful anticipation at his dominance and pure horror mingled within her. A beat passed. Two. His face reflected carved stone with an implacable determination. Her heart exploded in her chest with a rush of adrenalin. She needed to move. Quickly.

She jumped out of the seat and bolted toward the bathroom. He caught her in two seconds flat and tumbled her to the carpet. She fought like a wildcat, but he managed to rip off her robe with one quick tug. As if handling a china doll, he rolled her over, pulling her over his thighs while his hands held her in place. With her ass in the air and bands of steel pinning her to the rug, the sheer vulnerability of her position stole her breath. Panic flared.

“Let me go, you bastard!”

He chuckled, obviously enjoying her predicament. “I asked you nicely, but you insist on fighting me. A little pain can sometimes elicit the greatest pleasure, Sloane. Especially with strong women who don’t let themselves go.”

“Fuck you.”

His hand came down hard on her bare ass. The breath whooshed out of her lungs and her tender flesh stung under the slap. She cried out. He’d done it. He’d actually spanked her. She was going to kill him, tear him to pieces, sue his ass and Madame Eve’s company and kill Castillo and—

Suddenly, that same hand massaged the stinging flesh and slipped downward. He glided over and pushed one finger inside her, testing. He laughed low, using her moisture to coat her clit and coax it to a throbbing nub.

“Very nice,” he murmured in approval. “You, my gorgeous one, need a little push. The men you slept with were total assholes and completely unworthy of you.”

His hand came down again, harder than the last one. She bit back her cry, but the treacherous response of her body begged him to sink into her heat and take her hard. Again, his hand slid between her thighs to play. While her ass burned, other parts of her burst into flames. Her nipples stabbed into the thick carpet, the cool air on her naked skin like a gentle kiss, and he slipped another finger in, moving in a slow pace that tortured her.

“Strong women need a reason to let go. Only one with a will like yours could survive, but you took your body with you for the ride. In order for you to feel completely free, you need someone to take away your ability to control.”

Another slap. Another. She bit her lip and the stringent barriers around her body and heart and mind wobbled, tilted, then fell.

He thrust four fingers into her, rubbing her clit, while his other hand came down hard for one final slap.

She came hard, bucking over his legs as she let go under the demands of another orgasm. It washed over her without mercy, and she rode it, sobbing his name. She heard the rip of a package. He flipped her over, spread her legs, and dove deep.

He filled her aching, pulsing body. She shook her head and pushed at his shoulders, her last orgasm too intense to even want another. His low laugh raked across her ears as he pinned her wrists against her head.

“More. I want more.”

“I can’t. Roman, I can’t.”

His gaze seared with blue fire, forcing her to surrender it all. “You can, baby. Give it all to me, I can take it. I want it.”

He moved. Thrust after thrust, he threw her higher into the unknown. He claimed her with his mouth and tongue and cock and fingers. Her sensitized clit burned and throbbed under the steady pressure, but he never relented, cranking up the excruciating tension. The wet slap of their bodies echoed in her ears, and her walls held tight and milked him hard, until the second orgasm grabbed her and tossed her over. She flew and he stayed with her, his solid, muscled length anchoring her to earth and to safety.

* * *

Sloane watched her sleeping lover. His chest rose and fell with even breaths. His face relaxed in slumber, like a wolf napping after a long night with his mate.

The knowledge she belonged to him vibrated in every muscle of her body. He’d wrecked her for anyone else. Yet, the terms of the agreement stated one night only. Would he want to see her again? Or was her lifestyle not suited to the future he craved?

Her thoughts jumbled. She traveled constantly. She played all night and slept during the day. She made a ton of money and her job required her to meet a wide range of people, especially men. Not one of her previous lovers could handle it.

So why did her gut whisper she’d found the one?

There wasn’t a man alive with enough balls to order her, spank her, and give her pleasure to the limits of his own. In a few hours, he’d made her feel precious and cared for, like the woman she was meant to be—both inside and out.

His eyes flew open as if he heard her thoughts. She reached out and traced the stubble of his beard. He grabbed her hand and nipped at the pad of her finger in mock punishment. She fought not to show the hope on her face that morning wouldn’t turn him into a pumpkin.

“I thought you were asleep.”

“Not with an hour left before dawn.”

She turned her head so he wouldn’t glimpse any weakness. “I know,” she said softly. “My turn for a question. You never told me how you ended up as a dealer.”

“Must be in the blood. My father dealt in Atlantic City his whole life. We grew up by the shore—good old Jersey boys. My mom brought us up as strict Catholics. Hysterical, of course, since gambling is a sin. Surprised the church didn’t catch on fire when all of her men tidied up nice and went to Mass with her on Sunday mornings.” His face reflected an open affection and love when he mentioned his family. The hunger to belong to his inner circle clawed at her gut in an effort to be freed. “Dad still works, mom teaches high school, and my brothers and I took up the reins. Rick’s been wanting me to join him out here for a while now, but we get back on holidays and other occasions. My little brother, Rafe, is in the military. And my two best friends keep their eye on my mother since she practically raised them.”

She smiled. “You sound like you have a close family.”

“I had nothing to complain about. I had a solid childhood. I learned to live hard and play harder. I like money, and travel, and casinos. But I love an evening in, with a cold beer and my Lab at my feet.”

“You have a dog?”

He nodded. “Golden Lab. Name’s Bella. She’s not as bad as Marley, but close. I have a good friend who looks in on her when I’m on a long shift.”

She thought about coming home after a hard day to warm affection and furry loyalty. Imagined coming home to Rome to share every bit of her day. Yearning permeated every pore. “I always wanted a dog. But I’m not home enough, and I never stayed in one place for too long.”

He studied her face as if he spotted her secret thoughts, memorizing every feature. He didn’t say a word. Just pulled her head down and kissed her.

Sweet. Deep. Complete. She sighed and gave it all back to him. He dragged her hand to his evident arousal and she squeezed. He groaned. His cock felt like iron coated with silk.

“You’re finally going to let me touch you?”

He grinned with male satisfaction and propped himself up on the pillows. “For now.”

Her eyes narrowed and her temper surged. He consistently kept her on edge, which only added to her arousal. Making a vow to invoke her revenge, she gave a fake simper and batted her eyelashes. “May I give you pleasure, sir?”

He nodded. “Go ahead.” His gaze challenged her to give her best shot.

Bastard.

Let’s see how he likes to play my way. She dropped her head over his chest and let her hair tickle his skin while she explored with her tongue. He tasted like salt and musk and man. His muscles jumped under her hands as she massaged every inch of him, sinking her teeth into his hard belly and laughing low at his muttered curse. His cock grew longer and harder, pushing against her thigh in demand, but she ignored him, concentrating on other parts: the sharp curve of his hip. The meatiness of his thigh. The flat nipples surrounded by dark hair.

Her fingers coasted down his shins and she huffed her warm breath over his throbbing length. He tensed in anticipation and power surged in her blood. Finally, she was free to bestow pleasure on her own terms. Her hands cupped his balls and stroked, exploring the iron length of him, collecting the drops of moisture around his tip as she rubbed with teasing strokes up and down.

“Take me in your mouth, now.” His sharp command shot straight to her clit.

Her pussy clenched in response and she opened her mouth to slide him in. She took his cock deep in the back of her throat and slowly sucked. Used her tongue to pleasure, swirling around the tip as her hand clenched him at the base. He thrust his hips up and silently asked for more.

Excitement pulsed and pounded in her blood, and moisture dripped down her thigh. She wanted him to come in her mouth, wanted to give him the mind-blowing pleasure he’d bestowed for hours, and she became frantic as she bobbed her head up and down, licking, sucking, until—

“No!” She cried out when he hauled her up and on top of him. She struggled to get back to her original position, but he stilled her with firm hands on her hips.

“Ride me. Ride me and make me come, Sloane.”

A new lust burned within, and she quickly sheathed him with a condom, parted her legs, and sank deep. “Rome!”

She moved up and down, setting her own pace, her clit throbbing against his shaft, and she matched him, demand for demand to make him come around her. His hands rubbed her breasts and tugged her nipples, and she bucked and arched into the delicious, tightening tension. With one last thrust, she scraped her clit against him and shattered.

His fingers dug into her hips with male satisfaction. She cried out his name, riding the wave and crashing, and he followed behind her. The orgasm went on and on, shaking her body like a tree in a hurricane, until she collapsed.

His ragged gasps stirred the tendrils of her hair. His heart thundered against her ear. A sense of completeness swept over her.

A feeling of home.

“What have you done to me?” he murmured. She didn’t answer. Let herself slide into the silky darkness, held tightly by the man she’d fallen in love with.

The rising dawn leaked from behind the blinds. He closed his eyes and fought with his decision. She had a big tournament today. He wanted to wake her with a deep kiss and slide his cock into her wet heat. The image of her wet and naked in the shower as he washed her flickered past his vision. Rubbing cocoa butter into every sore muscle, especially her ass. He craved to stamp his possession on every part of her body, along with her soul.

She’d given him many gifts. Her body. Her past. Her secrets. Most of the time his heart beat steady. But in the pause between heartbeats, he realized he’d fallen in love with Sloane Keller.

His gut said she felt the same. Still, in the hard light of morning, most women would run. Fast. He’d pushed her limits to the edge. He had to let her go.

For a while.

Her widely publicized tournament started in a few hours. She needed some time and space to re-focus, slide into the safety of her control, and win.

He had enough confidence in her to wait.

Time to make his final bet. The bet of a lifetime.

He smoothed the dark cherry strands away from her brow. Dropped a tender kiss on her lips. With one last glance, he left.

Sloane eased her way through the crowd. She paused and made polite conversation with the bigwigs, had some laughs with some good friends, and schooled her face for the tournament. In usual form, she wore her standard attire of black—a high-necked black dress that fell right above her knee, with black ankle boots. No jewelry adorned her outfit, and her hair swung free, masking her face when she bent her head.