Chapter 17 #2
Dominic took a shot, flinching a touch, then threw down his retaliation.
“Eight of wrath. My delegate is put off by the blood on your delegate’s hands and kindly asks that the court do something about it.
Your punishment is to cover them up for the next eight turns so as not to upset the other attendees. ”
I narrowed my eyes, the tip of my tongue poking the inside of my cheek. “My king’s sloth prevents him from performing any physical tasks that are asked of him by anyone other than his queen, remember? He only moves when he so chooses, which is during his turn.”
“Then it’s a good thing he’s got his lowly attendant here to do the dirty work for him.”
“Yeah, no. I’m not letting you just make up new rules as you go.”
“I’m not. The king’s sloth prevents him from getting up or doing anything physical during the opponent’s turn but doesn’t prevent other people from servicing or punishing him.
He just can’t participate or fight back.
And the best part is”—he snatched the leather first aid kit off the floor and pushed to his feet—“you’re the one who had the idea to give the delegates traits with buffs and vulnerabilities. ”
My brows hit my hairline. “And, what, you’re gonna carry me to the bathroom, wash my hands for me, and whoakay.”
My heart did a little backflip when he swooped me up into his arms, and I was infinitely thankful he couldn’t see the deep blush it immediately inspired over my cheeks.
Resting his phone against the wall and angling its flashlight to point at the sink, Dominic proceeded to gently wash my hands before reapplying the ointment and carefully wrapping them in gauze.
It was… an overwhelming experience, sensory-wise.
I’d never felt this close to a cardiac episode while simultaneously trying to breathe as little as possible.
By the time he was halfway done wrapping my second hand, I was genuinely worried I’d pass out from the overstimulation of having him touch me as tenderly as he was, with such caring focus, or worse, do something stupid like stuff my face into his neck, trap him with my arms, and inhale until my lungs threatened to burst.
The way my body insisted on reacting to this man was so deeply upsetting. It knew better. We’d gone over it so many times.
“For the record, this was completely unnecessary,” I grumbled when he placed me back on the couch. “I wasn’t even bleeding anymore.”
I reached behind me to refasten the clip clamped over the back of my borrowed shorts, then picked up my hand and tossed my next card onto the field.
“Queen of wrath, bitch. She steps out of the crowd and demands to speak to court management about the audacity of a lowly jack standing up to a mighty king. His own mighty king, might she add. She accuses him of treason before taking matters into her own hands and cutting off his arm.”
Dominic rubbed at his twitching lower lip again.
“Congrats, idiot. You don’t have an arm for the rest of the game. How are you going to carry me around now?” Elated by my small victory, I fished out the roll of gauze again and got to my feet. “Put your arm behind your back.”
I wrapped the gauze around his wrist first, then his stomach, looping until I was satisfied with how securely his hand was fastened against his lower back.
He took his time, studying his remaining cards carefully before tossing one. “Six of greed. My jack’s envious of his king’s power, position, wealth, and lack of missing limbs, and steals six items of value off his person while he’s distracted.”
“I don’t have six items of value on me.”
“Sure you do. You’re a king.” He smirked evilly, like he knew he had me. “The clothes off your back alone are worth a fortune.”
I kept my expression steady as my pulse quickened again.
He waited, his smirk growing cockier by the second. After a minute or so, he nodded like he’d won. “Good game. Took a little longer than fifteen minutes, but I’m man enough to admit that it was fun while it lasted. There’s a charger on the desk if you still—”
“I’m not forfeiting. Take whatever you want.”
He held my gaze for a beat, his smirk fading. “You don’t think I’ll do it?”
I flipped my hair over my shoulder. “No, I know you’ll do it. I just don’t think it’s a big deal.”
His tongue slashed across his lush bottom lip, eyes thinning competitively. He placed his cards down and inched closer, reaching toward my face with his free hand. My breath hitched when his fingers grazed my right ear. He started fumbling with my piercing, trying to unhook it.
Hard to do with one hand, it turned out.
“Can you pull your hair back?”
“No, sorry. I’m a sloth.” I slumped into the squishy cushions, letting my whole body go limp. So not only did he have to remove my earring with one hand, but he now also had to do it while supporting my head.
With an exasperated sigh, he moved off his seat to stand beside me for better leverage. Trying not to laugh, he manhandled me until my back was pressed to the backrest and my head was tilted to one side so he could somewhat see what he was doing.
“What the fuck. Does this thing even come out?”
“No idea. My servants put them in for me every morning.”
He chuckled at that. Then, deciding his current strategy wasn’t working, he leaned down and nuzzled the side of my head, gently biting down on the dangling stud so he could tug at it while gripping the fastener with his fingers.
My pulse tripped, my face warming as his nose and cheek brushed my skin, his cozy, masculine scent making my eyelids flutter.
God, he smelled good.
And, somehow, felt even better.
“Got it,” he muttered once he’d pulled the earring out and dropped it into his palm. “That’s one.”
He tipped my head to the other side, repeating the process. “Two. I’m taking your purse, so that’s three. And…” He stuffed his hand between the couch and my lower back, unclasping the clip holding the shorts up. “Four.”
He added it to the small pile of other stolen treasures, then scratched at his jaw, eyeing me up and down. “You sure you don’t want to back out?”
“Yup. But you’re welcome to.”
“I’m good.” He went for my shorts first, hesitating before he stripped them off my legs, careful to only touch the fabric. “Like you said, it’s not a big deal.”
His gaze lingered on my bare thighs before he dragged it away, and I might as well have been standing on the edge of an active volcano with how sharply my temperature spiked.
My heart did a funny little trick when his fingers reached out again, this time grazing the hem of my sweater. We locked eyes, and he waited to see if I would finally voice an objection. When I didn’t, he slipped his hand underneath.
It was my fault.
I shouldn’t have assumed he’d choose the sweater as the final item. Panties had the higher shock value, and he wanted a reaction. His mouth twitched when my eyes flared, and he stilled, quirking a brow as if to ask whether I was really, really sure.
I mirrored his expression as if to ask why he’d even stopped.
His smirk grew more pronounced, a cheeky glint lighting up his eyes as his fingers slipped up to my right hip, curling around the waist of my panties.
He tugged at it before moving on to the next side, slowly working the fabric down my legs while my heart did everything it could to beat out of my chest.
“And that’s six.”
The black cotton was tossed onto the pile, and I adjusted myself on the couch when he turned around, pulling at the sweater to ensure all my important bits were covered. Lucky for me, Dominic was huge, so the sweater was longer on me than half the cocktail dresses in my closet.
“Drink,” I demanded, tossing down the ten of gluttony before his ass had even hit the seat.
“Again? You trying to get me drunk?”
“You’re stupider when you’re drunk, so yes.” I studied my hand again as he took another shot. “You could even say it’s the only reason I agreed to turn this into a drinking game.”
“That’s not why you agreed.” The five of gluttony flicked onto the field. “But it’s not a bad strategy. Drink.”