Inside Bet: Vegas Top Guns, Book 2 (5 page)

“What’s this?”

“Came complimentary,” he said.

“A nice touch.” She showed off her cheesecake prize. “I don’t know what you’re having because this is all mine.”

Jon sipped his champagne. “That’s hardly fair, Ms. Morris. I insist on the whipped cream, if nothing else.”

She was already beginning to realize his pattern. He called her Ms. Morris when he was playing games. His slip-ups were becoming more frequent. When convincing her to leave the blazer, or when reassuring her as that final spin wound down—then, he’d used her given name. The former ratcheted her anticipation while the latter kept her from panicking.

Deciphering even that small facet of his behavior should’ve been enough to break the spell. Instead she wanted to hear which he used next.

The elevator was crowded at first, but they were alone together after the eleventh floor. Jon leaned against the mirrored wall, arms crossed, apparently lost in thought. Until then she realized his gaze was fixed on her ankle.

He shouldn’t notice so much. Not about her. Not beyond the intentional mysteries she’d dangled in an effort to set him off balance. That he could be studying something as innocent as her ankle seemed far too intimate. Wiggling her ass against his cock was positively gauche compared to his deliberate elegance.

He saw her looking. A smile touched his lips. “You’re thinking, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” she admitted.

“A good friend of mine does that way too much. You know how he found a way around it?”

“I have a guess.”

Jon looked up, his grin devilish. “Tell me.”

“Fucking.”

“The lady wins a prize.”

The elevator opened to their floor. Jon escorted her down the hall. He smoothly inserted the keycard and opened the door. “After you.”

Heather stepped inside…and dropped her jaw. The suite was
massive
. To the left of the marble entryway was a half bath and a coat closet. Beyond there waited a full dining room and living room. The far wall was made almost entirely of windows. She walked deeper into the white, cream and gold opulence. The bedroom and master bath adjoined the living areas, with a graceful chaise situated beneath another bank of glass. They overlooked the pool deck far below.

She’d seen such suites as part of her work. The casino heads liked to show off their properties as a special treat to her firm.

To stay in such a place…?

No, she reminded herself. She wasn’t there to stay the night. The wager had been for a quickie. It seemed such a waste.

Jon shut the door. The click barely registered over her racing pulse.

“Sorry,” he said casually. He still carried his tie. “The penthouses were booked.”

“You can stop showing off now.”

“I like to.”

“So I’ve gathered.”

She realized then what had cooled the fire. She’d fastened them with restrictions. The play that had flavored their turn at the table was gone.
Straight missionary
, she’d said.
We won’t spend the night
, she’d said. That meant curtailing every impulse to do more, to go further—to lounge in bed until noon tomorrow and start all over again. It seemed a crime to hamstring their potential.

For the second time, she felt she was living in the midst of a future regret.

Heather kicked off her pumps. A sigh escaped her as she dug her toes into the carpet. Jon missed none of it, his poker face in place as he lounged against the entryway wall.

Such a waste on so many levels.

After placing the cheesecake in the fridge and downing her champagne, she returned to where he stood. Taking the tie from his hand she said, “You remember how I said my birthday is on the seventh?”

“Uh-huh.”

“So we missed that particular inside bet by, what, thirteen days?”

“Looks like.” He reached around her nape and let her hair down. That was nice—gentle, even. Then he knotted his fingers, tugging.

Her decision made, her breath suddenly calm, Heather draped his tie over her shoulder and began to unbutton his suit vest. “Seems a shame. But the nice thing is that it provided some inspiration. Now I know what you can get me as an early present.”

“Oh?”

“Forget the moon and the stars, flyboy. I want to pretend we won that inside bet.”

His nostrils flared on an inhalation. He tightened his fist in her hair. “Be sure, Heather.”

“I am sure. I want this weekend. With you.” She stood on tiptoes, ready to kiss him for the first time. “With no limits.”

Chapter Six

With one hand loosely twisted in Heather’s hair, Jon wondered if she had any idea what a gift she’d handed him. Limitless possibilities that spun out before them. So many directions they could go. So many choices.

For example, she expected him to kiss her. Her lips had parted and her pale eyes smoldered from under dark, thick lashes. In the hollow of her throat, her pulse fluttered wildly. Her gaze had fixed on his mouth.

Jon would kiss her. Soon.

First he wanted to taste her anticipation.

He bent his head slowly, dragging the tip of his tongue over that throbbing pulse. Her quiet gasp was an aphrodisiac of the highest quality. She tipped her neck to the side to allow better access.

That seemed the theme of the night. Access. How far she’d let him push in search of her limits.

He sipped along her throat toward the curve of her jaw. Behind one delicate ear, he fastened his mouth. Sucked slightly. She shivered when he grazed his teeth over her. This time she didn’t pull away, not like when they’d been at the table. There, it had required all of his self-control to release her graceful wrist.

He dragged his cheek over hers, purposely scoring her with five o’clock shadow. She shivered again. Her fingers clenched his open vest, and her thumbs brushed the top of his abs.

So, the lovely Ms. Morris liked a touch of danger with her arousal. He would gladly provide that.

He kissed the corner of her mouth first. Gently. A promise.

He shouldn’t have expected her to be passive. She turned her head, fighting the fist in her hair and the sting it must’ve caused. And she kissed him.

Their mouths slid together slowly. Open, but no more—until he bit the swell of her bottom lip. She released a delicious gasp into his mouth. Her hips surged, brushing his groin.

He tightened his hand in her hair, then forcibly released that fierce grip.

Deliberation was as much a part of desire as the actions themselves. Each movement should be choreographed for maximum response, or someone might go home unfulfilled. Unacceptable.

Pulling his mouth away, Jon drew her hair down over her shoulders. He smoothed his knuckles across the tops of her bountiful breasts. “Will you do something for me, Ms. Morris?”

She looked up at him from under her dark brows. “I plan to do many things for you.”

Damn, he needed to get it together.

He knelt briefly and picked up his tie where it had slipped from her shoulder. Lacing his fingers through hers, the tie dangling from his other hand, Jon led the way to an overstuffed chair that faced away from the wide bank of windows. The lights of the Strip twinkled in an omnipresent glow.

He released her hand and sat, hitching his ankle over one knee. Alive with possibilities, he draped his favorite silk tie across his lap. “I want to see your tattoo.”

“You already have.” The way she smiled said she knew what he meant but intended to make him ask.

That was fine with Jon. He had no problem asking for what he wanted. Things were simpler that way. Cleaner. No entangling strings. He’d never enjoyed how they pinched.

“Strip, Ms. Morris.”

Her eyes twinkled. “What will I get in return?”

“Immediately or eventually?”

She pushed her hair over her shoulders. Undoubtedly she knew what the move did to her up-thrust breasts. “Let’s go with both.”

“In the immediate sense, you’ll get my tongue licking your skin.” He dropped his ankle from his knee and leaned forward. He slipped his fingers in the waistband of her skirt then tugged her between his knees. “Eventually, I’ll make you come so hard you’ll forget the color of your pretty blue eyes.”

The smooth curve of her belly twitched against his knuckles. “You make a lot of promises.”

“Only what I intend to do.”

Heather studied him. Her hands covered his against her stomach until she encircled his wrists. Deliberately, she transferred his hands to his thighs.

The silk top went first, stripped over her head. Thick hair settled around her shoulders in a dark cloud. Her body only got better with every inch revealed. A scrap of cream-colored lace held her breasts up to be admired. The tiny circle of her nipple ring gleamed gold through the sheer material. Then the bra was gone too. Odes should’ve been written to her waist, all curvy femininity. Color streaming in from the grand windows dotted her lustrous skin.

She reached back toward her ass. A zipper sounded. Her gaze never left his, not even when she lowered her skirt with a shimmy. Her mound was gorgeous, with dark hair groomed and trimmed to a narrow strip. Standing with her feet barely apart, she provided a glimpse of her bare lips.

Jon dug his fingers into his knees. He blew out a shaky breath. “Christ, you’re beautiful.”

She lifted her chin a few inches but said nothing, only withstood his intense scrutiny.

Oh, he liked that.

The tattoo began at the gentle bump of her hipbone before crawling up the right side of her waist to disappear behind her back.

“Come here.” His hands were already reaching for her, to curve around the hot skin of her hips.

He turned her body and traced the beautifully worked vine. The ink wound its way up to where it teased beneath the sharp edge of her shoulder blade. His fascination with it was…surprising. Maybe it was the image of Heather patiently draped over the tattooist’s chair for hours, biting her lip against the sting. Maybe it was the perfectly fashioned hourglass shape it adorned. He wanted to spend hours learning every detail.

“What does it say?”

She looked over her shoulder. A light pink blush stained her skin. “Things without remedy should be without regard: what’s done is done.”

“Lady Macbeth? So, Ms. Morris has a tragic side.”

She shrugged as if it meant nothing to her, but her hands covered his once again. “It’s really more about
ignoring
tragedy.”

“Ignoring? Funny. I hear someone trying very hard to forget.” Starting at the deep curve of her hip, he licked up the slender vine. Along the way he paused to nip softly at a bud or two. Or five. “And the flowers?”

“Morning glories.”

Jon only traveled as far as he could from the chair. He was unwilling to give up his place. A pull at her hips turned her back to face him. Her lips were parted, eyes glassy, when she faced him again. She bowed her head forward.

Such a treasure.

“Touch yourself.” He kept his voice silky smooth. “I still want to see how you make yourself come.”

“Here?” She sounded doubtful but began to. Elegant fingers smoothed over her stomach. “I don’t think I’ve ever tried while standing up. Without at least something to lean against.”

“I’ll catch you if you fall.”

“Will you?”

“I will, Heather.”

He didn’t give promises lightly. He meant every one—if only to stick his middle finger to those who’d broken faith with him. No way would he let her crumble, unless that referred to her defenses. Those would be nothing but rubble by the time he was through.

Heather started without hurry, first cupping her breasts. Her nails scraped the heavy under-swell, then circled her nipples. She wound her pinkie through the tiny gold circle of her ring and twisted softly. The entire time, she kept her gaze locked on his—not meekly accepting the challenge, but rising to it.

She was beauty and grace personified. Old-school classic, but the tattoo and nipple ring added tantalizing spice.

One hand glided down her body, pausing to dip into the shallow bowl of her navel before continuing. She covered her mound and, with her middle finger, delved between her lips. Aching pulses. Her mouth opened. Pale eyes drooped with near satisfaction, but she never dropped his gaze.

Jon found his own mouth slipping open. His hands draped loosely on her hips until he lowered them to her thighs. Her muscles jumped. He couldn’t determine whether his touch or the measured strokes over her clit caused the tiny twitches. Her chest lifted on fast gasps. The warm sweetness of her arousal was there with his every inhalation.

Letting go of her breast, Heather curled her hand around the back of his head. Fingers wide, she brushed her palm over his hair. Tingles worked down his neck, over his spine and centered deep in his balls. God, he was hard. His cock throbbed, begging to come out and play.

Like the touches she bestowed on herself, her orgasm was restrained. Quiet. Though it seemed no less powerful for it. Her belly twitched and her thighs locked beneath his touch. He filled his hands with her ass, providing extra support as her knees dipped. Only then did she release his gaze, her eyes sliding heavenward before slipping shut. Her chin dropped to her chest as she released a deep sigh.

“Beautiful,” he whispered. “Perfection.”

He pulled her hand from her pussy. A single finger gleamed with her juices. When Jon sucked it into his mouth, flavor burst over his tongue like the rich bouquet of an expensive wine. Her other hand tightened over his skull and her eyes flashed open.

“And now?” She spoke with that husky tone he was coming to recognize. “Have you learned how to make me come?”

He stood slowly. “I had no doubt I could do that.”

“Then why this?”

He scooped up his tie. After drawing Heather’s arms behind her back, he wrapped the silk over and around her wrists. Her arms formed a box shape. She didn’t protest, only watched him over her shoulder, her expression surprisingly blank. He soothed her with a lingering stroke over the line of her tattoo.

“I asked because I thought it would be beautiful to watch. One of those once-in-a-lifetime things, like the Egyptian pyramids or flying straight into the sun at dawn.” He kissed the delicate nape of her neck, dragging his tongue over three bumps of her spine. “I was right.”