Sinful Desire

For some reason the prospect of going against his fashion wishes had felt like naughty mischief, and naughty mischief was irresistible.

She looked away from him and pressed the button once more on the one-armed bandit, hoping for a trio of glittery red slippers. “Over the Rainbow” played as the reel spun, and Sophie awaited her line-up, eager for a winning jackpot. No such luck. Sliding into place were a tin man, a lion, and a wicked witch, who cackled in mockery. Sophie pouted. “I guess my luck has run out on this machine. Are you a bad luck charm?” she teased as she glanced up at her too-handsome-to-be-believed date.

Ryan’s hand came down on her neck firmly, but his voice matched her light-hearted tone. “I don’t mind your defiance,” he said, returning to her earlier comment. “As long as you don’t mind having to wait longer now for all the good things I have planned for you.”

Instantly, her brain was awash with images, fantasies, and filthy scenarios she’d only dreamed of. She wanted all the good things.

“What sort of good things?” she asked, shivering as he touched her, his big palm wrapping around her neck. She closed her eyes as he traveled up to her nape. He threaded his fingers in her hair, gripping her locks. She tensed. His hand was sending a message, one that his mouth made abundantly clear when he bent his head to her ear and spoke.

“The kind that a skirt makes possible,” he said as he tugged her head back so she had to stare up at him.

“You don’t like the way I look in jeans?”

“I love the way you look in anything because you’re extraordinary to look at, and even more phenomenal to touch. But I especially like the access your skirts give me.” His lips were mere millimeters from her ear. He flicked his tongue against her earlobe, and she gasped. Then he drew the soft flesh into his teeth and bit. A burst of excitement whipped through her from his touch. Holden had never bitten her like this. Not with a sense of ownership.

Ryan ran a hand along the bare skin of her arm, on display in her black blouse with cap sleeves. The sheer material revealed a tight, lacy camisole underneath, which pushed up her breasts, showcasing ample cleavage.

“Maybe I wanted to make sure you didn’t forget about other parts of me,” she said, casting her gaze down her chest, letting him follow.

Ryan laughed deeply then shook his head, seemingly in admiration of the view. He let go of his firm hold and kissed her neck, a soft and unbearably sexy kiss. She nearly squirmed on the plush red stool parked in front of the gambling machine. “Sophie, there’s not a chance in hell I’d forget those gorgeous breasts, and I plan on getting better acquainted with them. Maybe even fucking them,” he said, as he dragged a finger along the bare flesh of her chest, and she nearly moaned out loud at the prospect of being fucked in the valley of her breasts by this dirty, dominating man. “Would you like that?”

She nodded as heat flared through her system. “I believe I would,” she whispered.

“Excellent. Because I believe I would like to do that to you. There are many things I want to do to you, and I always want you to feel good.”

“I’d say you’re meeting your goal because so far it’s all good,” she said, pausing before she added, “Quite good.”

He grinned. “And you should always tell me what you like and don’t like. Does that work for you?”

“Yes.” Anticipation bloomed inside her as they made some sort of impromptu pact, it seemed, to govern their pleasure.

“And I’ll do the same,” he said, bending closer to her head as he ran his nose along her hair, inhaling her scent. He murmured as he touched her, then kissed a curl on the side of her face. “Like right now when I tell you I really don’t like that you didn’t listen to me. And do you know what that means?”

She raised an eyebrow. She’d never experienced this sort of cat-and-mouse play before. By wearing jeans in defiance, had she violated some unwritten rule of the tie-me-up-and-take-me game? A squadron of nerves docked in her belly, and she wished she had more experience with men like Ryan. Her knowledge of the opposite sex was woefully limited, and while she wasn’t innocent by any degree, she felt a bit like a wide-eyed woman recently freed from an unusual marriage and thrust into an unknown battlefield with this intense, commanding man.

That was the point, of course. Still, she was a traveler wandering through a lush new land without a map.

Whether she’d been disobedient or not, this back-and-forth they had going was intoxicating, especially since they were in public, ensconced in the middle of the Caesar’s Palace slot machines, amid the whir and jingle of imaginary coins falling as gamblers hunted for payouts in the games of chance.

The cowardly lion roared idly from her game, trying to entice her to play another round. She ignored it.

“No. Tell me tell me what it means,” she said, turning to face him and running her lacquered fire-engine red nails along his arm. She could feel the outline of his muscles, his strong biceps, his steely forearms, through the fabric of his shirt. “I’m dying to know.”