I’M DEFINITELY ON board for whatever game she’s playing. She’s so damned sexy, she smells fantastic and she’s been shooting me signals ever since we finished our meeting. That feels like aeons ago, so thinly stretched is my restraint.
Her teeth sink into her bottom lip as she shuffles the cards. I shouldn’t notice those telling gestures. Just as I shouldn’t be sneaking surreptitious glances at her cleavage through the open vee of her blouse. But she went into the bathroom earlier with two buttons undone and came out with three open.
I’m only flesh and blood.
The memory of the last time we crossed the line is as fresh as if it happened yesterday. Our chemistry is pretty incendiary. I had to ignore it when we first met, when she and Sterling—a ballsy, engaged business duo—approached me to form a partnership that would go on to become Bold.
Monroe and I are similar. We’re both combative and we both hate to lose, which is why in our game of Texas Hold ’Em I’m fifty yen down, according to my diminishing pile of paper clips—a substitute for poker chips.
‘You are so bad at bluffing, so don’t even bother this time,’ I say as she deals the cards and I examine my hand.
‘Am I? Or are you just bad at guessing what’s on a woman’s mind...?’ She peers up from her cards, her eyes fringed with long lashes.
I grin; we both know I do all right with the ladies. But, damn, she’s laying on the innuendo pretty thick. I’m starting to think my halo and knighthood must be in the mail, because I bloody deserve them for my stellar display of self-control. Yet the night is young. The weather is wild. We’re going nowhere.
I glance at her long shapely legs, which are clad in sheer black stockings. The idea of a long night alone with her sends a kick of lust to my groin. We’d be stupid not to take this to the next level. We’ve exhausted our supplies of both conversation and Scotch. I’m done losing my hard-earned cash. And we know we’re good together. Last time we rushed it. I never got to explore her phenomenal body the way I wanted. This time would be different.
I take a cursory glance at my cards, so distracted by the thought of seducing my business partner that I don’t need to fake indifference for the hand I’ve been dealt. Edginess creeps over me. If Sterling had made the trip I wouldn’t even consider it, just like we’ve avoided a repeat for the past three years. Lying to Sterling through omission leaves a nasty taste in my mouth. He’s a friend. One of very few, and perhaps my closest.
But risk is what makes this so damned irresistible. All three of us live for that adrenaline rush—the thrill of spotting a good investment and watching our instincts come to fruition. Just because I haven’t touched Monroe since that one time doesn’t mean I haven’t thought about it—like, every time I see her. Don’t I betray Sterling in thought whenever Monroe and I meet?
I place my bet and watch as she reveals her hand—four of a kind—her eyes alight with triumph. I toss down my straight in disgust. ‘You win, Dove. I’m done.’
Her playful chuckle twists my gut with hunger. ‘Oh, don’t be a sore loser.’ She scoops the paper clips into a pile and returns the cards to the box. ‘I won’t even hold you to the bets.’
I’ve often wondered if she’s the female version of me. Sterling used to call her ‘the terrier’—she’s relentless, and works almost as hard as I do.
But not quite, because unlike me she comes from a large, loving family. She has dreams and aspirations outside of work and lacks the demons snapping at her heels.
‘You know me. I hate to lose at anything.’ My voice is thick with tension and anticipation. We’re alone with our unavoidable attraction while the storm rages outside. What am I doing? There are multiple reasons to avoid Monroe’s brand of temptation, the most crucial being our invaluable business.
My life is a true rags-to-riches tale. I’ve been hungry, scared and alone. I’ve wondered where I’d be sleeping and how long my current set of foster parents would tolerate an angry kid no one else wanted.
Now, thanks to Bold, my life is the complete opposite. I control everything. I have everything I need. Money and success have removed every scrap of uncertainty from my life. There’s no way I’d allow sex to jeopardise that. Bold is my life. My security blanket. In another ten years I can retire early and maintain my lifestyle until I die without ever needing to worry again.
‘What shall we play now?’ Monroe flicks her hair over one shoulder and the neck of her blouse gapes open, flashing a tantalising glimpse of cream lace.
I ignore her question—there’s only one game I want to play with Monroe.
Under normal circumstances I could walk away and go for a run until I’m too exhausted to want her. Somehow knowing there’s no escape makes me crave her more.
But Monroe and Sterling are the only real allies I’ve ever had. Losing my partners could mean losing Bold. The idea of that is enough to keep me up at night. Certainly enough to have controlled the ferocious chemistry between Monroe and me these past three years.
In that second, my phone emits a blaring alert. We both jump, laughing as I silence my device and dismiss the civil defence warning that confirms what we already know—we’re stuck here for the night.
‘I’ll relinquish my bed if you’re tired. It’s very comfortable.’ The alert has shunted my pulse sky-high, but the idea of her naked body between my sheets, leaving behind her warmth and her scent, keeps it at such a punishing rate.
‘I’m not remotely sleepy.’ She shrugs. ‘Jet lag.’ Her eyes spark with sultry heat and she shifts, bringing her into closer proximity.
My muscles tighten. I’m aware of every breath she takes. Every movement of her body. Every swoop of her long eyelashes as she blinks. But am I really willing to go there? It could be a great night to rival the last time, or a damaging liability for everything in my life that I value...
‘Besides, where would you sleep?’ she asks.
I wrap my hand around my glass, my mind awash with the hypnotic motion of her lush lips, the sexy sound of her voice and the subtext of the unspoken. ‘I’ll probably work. Or the sofa’s reasonably comfortable.’ Of course, having her in the next room will add a new dimension to the torture. Why am I resisting? We managed to move on without any fallout the first time. Why would this be any different?
She nods, her seductive stare carrying her signature boldness. ‘Or we could share...’
So we’re definitely going there.
An inferno starts somewhere under my ribs. ‘Is that wise?’ I want to rip out my own cautious tongue.
She wets her parted lips. ‘Don’t you ever think about it?’
I tilt my head, flashing her a don’t be stupid look. ‘Memorable sex is hard to ignore.’
We agreed to forget it out of respect for each other, respect for our business and respect for Sterling, who deserves better than a shitty friend like me. I sip my Scotch, hoping the burn will erase the recrimination. I should never have touched Monroe in the first place, or at least should have come clean about it. But there was no point risking our professional relationship over one rushed fuck against a wall.
‘Yes.’ She nods in agreement.
Lust clamours to be heard in the space between our bodies.
‘And I’m sure without Typhoon Kano our nights would have involved less clothes and more orgasms.’
She’s right. My ‘date’ was a hook-up. Fresh desire knifes through me. I want to act, not talk. Monroe tilts her head and the silk of her hair falls across my hand, which rests on the back of the sofa. I rub a lock between my fingers, wanting to bring it to my face and inhale its scent.
‘So...what do you want to do about it?’ I ask as my temperature soars. It’s just sex. One more time. Same rules apply.
She reaches for my glass, slowly takes it from my hand and finishes the last swallow. ‘I think we’d be foolish not to take advantage of the storm and the one bed.’ She places the glass on the table and touches her index finger to one of my shirt buttons, leaving it there to linger.
The air grows stifling with pheromones. I sit stock-still. Waiting. Weighing the pros and cons. But this couldn’t be more risk-free. We work, physically and professionally. We’re too similar to allow sex to disrupt the good thing we have. Fuck, I just want her, and can’t come up with a single convincing reason why I shouldn’t have her.
Monroe extends her hand to my shoulder as if stroking away an imaginary crease from my shirt. Her touch is considered but bold. Exactly the way I know she makes her business decisions. It’s a serious turn-on.
Even as my fingers twitch to reach for her, habit forces me to hesitate. I don’t want to cock-block myself, but we stopped after one time for a reason. I rarely sleep with a woman more than once. Monroe knows what a dead end I am dating-wise, and she’s always wanted more than I offer.
‘Stop overthinking it.’ She slides closer, her fingernails tracing a pattern through my shirt until my skin feels as if it’s been lashed by the needles of rain.
She dips her face close and runs her lips along my jaw. I suck in a breath; I’m not made of stone. Still I hold off, the pressure building. The tip of her tongue touches the skin below my ear and I close my eyes, enjoying the sensation, the anticipation, the way I’ve learned to enjoy all of life’s good things. And Monroe, like top-class liquor or luxury cars, is something to be savoured slowly.
The fight in me dwindles. Tomorrow a new day will dawn. The storm will have washed away today. We can go on as if it never happened.
‘Dove...’ A warning or encouragement? I pull her onto my lap so she’s straddling me. Her skirt bunches up her spread thighs, revealing the tops of lacy black stockings. I fist the fabric of her skirt at her hips and search her aroused stare while my heart thuds in time with the waves of rain smacking the glass.
‘Come on, Black, it’s just one more night,’ she whispers seductively. ‘A wild and stormy night. I’ll even let you be on top.’ She bites her bottom lip, subtly thrusts her breasts in my direction a fraction more and I give up any remaining shred of opposition.
I don’t need convincing to re-explore our chemistry in this opportunity delivered by the weather gods.
‘You don’t have to seduce me, sweetheart. I’m all in.’ I’m rock-hard, struggling to think beyond the demands of my dick.
Her eyes sparkle with challenge. ‘Good. But just remember whose excellent idea this was.’ Her fingers glide through my hair at my nape and I drop my head back, looking up at her.
I want to argue the point. To declare that a part of me hasn’t stopped thinking about her this way since the last time. But I’m strung too taut with lust.
Now I’ve committed, my pulse flies with panic—we’ve already wasted two hours playing stupid poker. How much time do we have until dawn and can I legitimately keep her awake all night?
‘Oh, fuck it.’ I crush her to my chest and taste her mouth. A mouth which, in my brutally honest moments, I’ve fantasised about a million times.
She whimpers. Laughs. Groans.
Her lips are soft and plump, her kiss just as I remember. Her arms lock around my shoulders and she shunts her hips forward to the ominous sound of ripping fabric. But Monroe doesn’t seem to care about her skirt, only about kissing me back with equal desperation.
Her fingers tangle in my hair, tugging. Her tongue meets mine thrust for thrust. I buck my hips up from the sofa, seeking fiery, hot friction between her legs.
She pulls away, panting. Her eyes are ablaze with arousal that I realise has been simmering there since we platonically embraced this morning.
‘Please tell me you have a condom.’ She pops the top buttons of my shirt and presses her mouth to my neck and chest while her delectable arse wriggles on my thighs.
I drag my wallet from my pocket and locate the foil square before sense deserts me. ‘There’s no rush.’ I want to drag out every second of our stolen time. But we’re only here because of chance and circumstance—if the wind changes again, she might leave.
‘There’s a rush in me.’ She kisses me and takes the condom. ‘I’ve been thinking about this since we closed our laptops.’
Her confession—knowing she wanted this even before the storm changed her plans for the evening—ratchets up my own urgency. I unbutton her blouse to reveal a creamy lace bra covering the perfect breasts I remember. Her nipples are hard peaks, poking through the fabric as if demanding their share of attention. And I’m only too happy to oblige. I wrap my arm around her waist and drag her close, covering one dusky nipple with my mouth.
‘Hudson!’ she cries out. Every gyrating movement of her hips on my lap massages my aching cock. Bliss and torment. But unlike last time, when we were fast and frantic, I want more tonight. I want her naked. I want to see and taste every inch.
I suck her nipple through the lace and then pull the bra down so her breasts are exposed for me. My thumbs trace the distended peaks, the darker areolas puckering in response to my touch.
I lance her with my stare, every bit of me burning hot. ‘Don’t think I didn’t notice the way you returned from the bathroom with a button undone.’ I pinch both nipples in unison, rolling them between my fingers and thumbs to let her know I was onto her flirty game from the start.
She gasps, throwing her head back and pushing her breasts into my palms.
‘You wanted this to happen, didn’t you?’ I drop my mouth, first to one breast and then the other, sucking and lapping, forcing little mewls from her throat.
She nods, fumbling with my belt as I treat her sensitive breasts to some more oral torture. ‘Yes. You know I always get what I want.’ Her challenge reminds me why we work so well together in business. Why I know I won’t regret this indulgence. Because, aside from each other in this moment, we want different things.
‘As do I.’ I abandon her breasts and take my belt from her frantic fingers, unbuckling it with speed to release my trapped erection. I allow my eyes to roam, satisfaction ramping up my heart rate. Her skirt is around her waist. Her thighs are spread wide to reveal lacy panties which match the bra. I slide my hands to the tops of her stockings and caress her bare thighs while she palms my cock.
Our stares lock. An erotic challenge.
A thought occurs through the lust fog filling my brain. Why not apply our competitive personalities to tonight? To pleasure? A game of seduction... We’ve been playing it all evening.
Wanting to win, I glide my thumb over the damp crotch of her panties, stroking her softness. ‘Let’s make this interesting—you wanted to play and I’ve already lost once tonight.’
She gasps as I brush over her swollen clit and then she shudders, disrupting her determined tugs on my cock.
‘Whoever comes first must chair tomorrow’s eight a.m. meeting.’ With a grin, I hand her the condom she’s abandoned on the sofa next to us and then shift the lace aside, exposing her folds to my stare.
She drops her head back on a long sigh of surrender as I continue to caress her.
‘You like the idea. You’re wet for me.’ I use my thumbs to part her and then slide two fingers inside her. Her hips undulate in time with my plunging.
‘And you’re hard for me,’ she replies. Her concentration with the condom is no doubt shaken by the way I’m working her higher and higher. With a groan of frustration, or perhaps triumph, she rolls the condom onto my length at last and then braces her hands on my shoulders.
‘Besides, that’s not a fair challenge, because I want to lose.’ She rocks her hips, greedily taking what she needs.
She hates coming in last. But I guess with orgasms it’s a bit different. ‘I’d never leave you hanging, Dove, but be my guest,’ I say, cupping her breast with my free hand and toying the nipple erect. ‘I have no doubt you’ll get your own back, even if you do lose this round.’
‘Oh, I will.’ She gasps as we pleasure each other. Face to face, our defiant stares lock as we see who can get who off first. Everything with Monroe is a competition. And that’s fine by me, because I’m going to win. More than once. Over and over all night long, before the storm finally breaks and we have to pretend tonight never happened.
I look down to where my hand works between her thighs, my fingers swallowed in her tight channel and my thumb working her swollen clit. It’s one erotic sight. Her hand is around my cock, her long nails brightly polished, her delicate fingers gripping me so good in just the right spot. I can’t help the feral growl that rumbles in my throat.
As if we reach the point of no return together, we jolt into action. I snatch my hand from her pussy and grip her hips, shunting her forward. She braces her hand on my shoulder and kneels over me, directing my cock back towards her entrance. And then she sinks, impaling herself, and I push up into her, sweat breaking across my brow at how good she feels and looks and smells.
I bite my tongue to hold in a groan. I claimed to be the better bluffer—I can’t reveal how close she has me.
Our panting breaths mingle as we move together, creating our own storm with frantic thrusts, clenched fingers and the wildness of our locked stares. Arousal streaks across her face. Her dark, glossy hair is a messy tumble around her shoulders. He nipples are thrust into my face, suspended by the cups of her bra.
I bury my face between her breasts and groan out her name as her walls clamp around me. She grips my head and cries out, and the first flutters of her orgasm squeeze me so tight I see stars behind my closed eyes.
I buck up into her and she drops her head back. Her broken cry is a long, ecstatic wail of release that seems to suck in all of the tension from the room like a vacuum.
‘Oh, my... I needed that.’ She presses kisses to my face and then plunges her tongue inside my mouth before I can crow my triumph at having won.
‘You’re welcome. I know how you hate to come last.’
She laughs, but then quickly turns serious, tearing off her bra and blouse and dumping them on the floor. ‘Yes, I do, but I can come again.’
She tugs my shirt open, renewed resolve slashed across her beautiful face, and slides her hands all over my chest, brushing my nipples with her fingernails.
I grip her hips as she rides me, her pelvis rocking and her breasts bouncing. I grip tighter, aware that if her skirt weren’t there as a protective barrier I might bruise her, so desperate is my need to direct her to exactly where I want her. Because I feel as if she’s hunting me down, chasing my orgasm as ruthlessly as she sought her own. Our out-of-control need seems to match the tempest outside.
Monroe wraps her arms around my shoulders and kisses me as I thrust up into her again and again.
She grips the back of the sofa.
‘Hudson... I’m coming again!’ she cries, her face buried in the crook of my neck.
I let go, exploding inside her, filling the condom in hot jets.
Winning never felt so good.