Asshole.
So what that he has abs carved from stone or that delicious V, a light splattering of hair leading down to his joggers and across his seriously impressive chest? Or that his shoulders are so wide that all I can imagine is raking my nails across them as he moves above me? Pinning me to the sofa and letting me feel all those muscles…I forgot my train of thought.
Fucking joggers and their magical abilities.
At least it’s more material for my spank bank.
He grabs two ice-cold waters, and I watch the droplets of condensation race down his arms. Lucky bastards. Strolling my way, he leaps over the back of the sofa in a really impressive display of strength and hands me one. I snort and take it, trying not to reveal how much his showing off is getting to me.
No, stay strong. Pussy power…that came out wrong.
I turn away to stop myself from staring at him, and try to focus on the movie, but I keep glancing at him out of the corner of my eye. His arm is stretched across the back of the sofa, his fingers almost touching me. He’s leaning back with his legs spread, and his other hand is tucked into the waistband of his joggers, pushing them even lower.
Fuck.
It’s like one of those thirst trap images you see online that makes you go ‘dayummm.’ I’ve definitely liked a few Instagram models’ photos that don’t even touch him right now. The worst bit? He knows it. There’s a smirk playing around his stupid lips, and he turns, catching me staring. “Don’t you want to watch the movie? Because if you want to do something else, darling, I’m down.”
“Shut the fuck up,” I snap, tucking my hands under my ass to stop myself from reaching out and petting his muscles. That’s right. Petting them.
He chuckles and leans closer, his mouth almost at my ear. “You sure? We could wager on it…”
“You fucking gambling addict,” I mutter.
“Only when you’re involved. What do you say, darling? Want to play a game?” he whispers seductively.
“What would I win?” I hedge, while internally shouting at myself.
“The thing you want most…” My eyes go to his cock, and he laughs harder. I should take this bottle of water and ram it down his charming fucking throat. But then his next words have me perking up and forgetting about making the snake deep throat a bottle. “Your freedom.”
My gaze snaps to his. “You’re messing with me.”
“I could be, or maybe I’m just that sure I’ll win.” He shrugs, watching me with those dark eyes.
“So what do you win?” I ask, scared if that’s my prize, then his is something worse.
He leans closer, dropping all pretense of charm. His eyes are hungry as they dip to my lips then to my body, caressing every inch of me and leaving me almost trembling with desire. “You,” he rasps.
Fuck.
Fuck on a stick.
Why does my pussy clench?
“The game?” I question, and my voice is more breathless than I would like.
“Poker,” he answers, and I snort.
“Hell no, you’re a fucking bookie. I’m betting you’re amazing at that.” I roll my eyes.
He sighs, but that smirk covers his lips again. “Not the only thing I’m amazing at…but smart, darling. Fine, you pick.”
I run my eyes around the apartment, trying to think of something, anything, I could win against this man, this Viper, who’s right next to me, coiled to strike and eat me whole. Bar games, think, Rox. I’m good at them. “You got cups?”
Fuck, why is that the first game I can think of? Because he’s too close, smelling like all man, and I want to taste that, to feel him, and he’s distracting me.
“Yes,” he replies. I nod, and he motions to the kitchen. I leap up and run into the kitchen, opening cupboards until I find what I need. Am I really going to do this? Gamble my freedom and body?
Yes.
Grabbing some beer from the fridge, I head to the table and spread them out opposite each other. “Really?” He snorts. “Are we teenagers?”
“Scared you’ll lose?” I smirk as I pour the beer.
“Nope, bring it on, darling.” He grins.
I pick up the first cup, and he copies me. “First one to finish them all wins. Simple. Not easy to cheat. Three, two, one, go!” I shout, and down the cup. Wiping my mouth after, I flip it and it lands top down, he gapes at me when he finishes his. “I own a bar, darling,” I taunt, before moving onto my next.
He swears and flips his, but it doesn’t land the first time, although he gets it on the second. I carry on drinking before flipping. I’m on my third, and he’s on his second, but I can’t get the bastard to flip. I try again and again, watching nervously as he catches up, lands his third cup, and moves onto the fourth. Shit.
Fuck, he’s winning. Desperation fills me so I cheat. I lean down and flash my tits, and he chokes on his next sip, giving me time to knock back that cup, flip it, and move on.
What’s the worst that could happen? He already owns me, so if there is a chance at freedom, I have to take it. It keeps floating through my head as I drink, my eyes on him.
I down it and flip it, but we’re neck and neck. On the last cup. Our eyes lock as we chug it, then he yanks down his trousers, flashing me his cock. I actually choke on my beer, and it gives him the time he needs to flip it.
I stare at him, the cup still held to my lips, beyond shocked. I lost.
I lost.
He smirks and wipes his mouth. “I think I’ll collect now,” he murmurs, and prowls around the table towards me. His eyes are hungry, his body flexes, and his cock is hardening and pressing against his joggers. I back away, fear and desire blooming within me.
I didn’t think I could lose, and if I did…I thought I could handle it. Now I don’t know if I can. I want him, sure, my pussy is already wet from the thought, but Kenzo… Fuck, any of the Vipers are dangerous to more than just my body.
Like an obsession. Or a drug.
“Rematch?” I offer, keeping the table between us, but he leaps over it, landing right in front of me.
“No, fair is fair. Pay up, darling.” He chuckles.
I stumble back and dart away, but he catches me, his hand sweeping out and throwing me over his shoulder. I squeal and slap at his back, but he just throws me onto the sofa where I bounce, gasping. Looking up, I push the hair from my face as I find him staring down at me. He must see my fear, because he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his dice.
“I’ll give you a different game, though, guess the number. If you’re right, you’re safe, and if not, you have to take off an item of clothing.”
“What?” I gape.
He steps closer. “Unless you just want me to rip them from your body.”
Erm, yes please.
But also, fuck no at the same time.
“Fuck you,” I snarl.
“That’s the plan, darling. Guess.” He grins.
I panic. “Seven”
He throws the dice, catching them expertly. With a wink, he shows the dice. Fuck. “Top,” he demands.
“No,” I snarl, but reach down and yank off my shoes, throwing them at him. They hit his chest and bounce off, making his grin grow. “You fucking bastard! Is this the only way you can get a woman?”