Chapter 3
Same elevator. Same hallway. Same plush carpet muffling my heels. Same brass nameplate on the door at the end: Antonio Ricci—Private.
But I’m not the same.
Last time, I stumbled down this hallway in a fog of desperation. Barely knowing what I wanted. Terrified of what I might find.
Tonight I’m walking with purpose. Shoulders squared. Chin up.
I know what’s behind that door, and I want it.
I knock.
“Come in.”
His voice lands somewhere low in my body, and I can feel my panties growing damp.
I push open the door.
Tony’s behind his desk. Wearing a black polo, sleeves straining against his muscular arms. That expensive watch on his wrist. Silver threading through his dark hair at the temples.
Same skyline through the floor-to-ceiling windows behind him. Same photo on the wall—Tony with the senator-looking guy.
He doesn’t smile when he sees me, just looks me over, slowly.
“You came back.”
“Yes.”
He stands and moves around the desk toward me. When he stops a foot away, he’s close enough that I can smell the woodsy pine of his cologne. Close enough that I have to tilt my head to meet his gaze.
My mouth goes dry and my breasts ache. My body knows what I’m here for.
“You dressed up.” His attention drops to my cleavage. “For me?”
“Maybe I dressed up for myself.”
He laughs. “I like that.” His fingers come up, brushing my jaw. “If you came back, that only means one thing.”
My breath catches at his touch, and I lean into it. Getting him to fuck me is going to be easier than I expected, but something inside me rebels at being so transparent.
“I could be here to gamble.”
“I’m just saving you the hassle of having to lose money to get fucked.”
He smirks, and I wish it wasn’t true. I just want him to bend me over his desk again and call me filthy names. If he spanked me again, I’d just beg for more.
“My mark faded.” His thumb skims my collarbone where his mark used to be. I notice a thin scar across the ridge of his knuckles. A story I don’t know, and probably never will. “I’ll have to fix that.”
“Tony—“
“Unless you really did come here to gamble tonight.” He circles and stops behind me, his breath warm on my skin. “Does the slut wife want to run up another tab she can’t pay?”
The fiction. The game we’re playing. He thinks I’m pretending to be wealthy when really I’m pretending to be poor.
“Depends on what happens afterwards.” My words come out breathy.
His palms land on my hips. Hard enough that I’ll have bruises tomorrow. New marks to show Robert. “The real question is what’re you willing to bet.”
He pulls me against him. His stiff cock presses into my ass through his slacks, and I fight to hold in a moan. God, I’m dripping from nothing but his hands on me. Why do I want this so bad?
“What’s the stake?”
“Everything.” His mouth finds my neck. Teeth scrape skin. “I want you to walk out of here owing me so much you’ll spend weeks paying it off with your pussy.”
Mmm, why is this so hot?
His fingers curl possessively around my waist. “I have your panties from last time in my desk drawer. I knew you’d be back.”
Holy fuck. My panties. What’s he been doing with them since then? The thought makes me dizzy.
His hand slides along my thigh and up under my dress. He presses his cock harder against my ass as his fingers brush the silk of my panties.
“You’re drenched.” There’s satisfaction in his tone. “You walked in here dripping for me.”
“Yes.”
“Say it louder.”
“Yes,” I cry out as my head falls against his shoulder and my clutch slips from my fingers and tumbles to the floor. “I’ve been thinking about this all week. About what you did to me.”
“Tell me.” His fingers slide under my panties and between my wet folds. I shiver in pleasure as he rubs my clit. “What have you been thinking about?”
“Your hands. Your mouth.” I’m panting now and rocking against him. “You fucking me on your desk.”
“Good girl.” The words hit me like electricity. “Keep talking.”
“I thought about it at dinner with my husband. On the phone. Lying in bed at three in the morning pretending to be asleep.”
He speeds up his fingers, and I gasp and rush out, “I touched myself thinking about you.”
“Fuck.” His hold on my hip tightens. “You’re a hungry little slut who can’t stop thinking about my cock.”
There’s a knock at the door, and I jump.
Tony’s fingers go motionless between my thighs, and he growls, “Not now.”
The door opens anyway.
I freeze. For one sick second, I imagine being caught. Exposed. Dragged out of here and then seeing it splashed all over the media. Rich wife fucks casino manager behind her husband’s back—but no, Tony’s running this. I’m safe.
And the fear curdles into an illicit thrill so strong that it’s impossible to think of anything beyond this moment.
“Sorry.” The newcomer’s tone is deep and male. He doesn’t sound sorry at all. “I didn’t realize you had company.”
He moves into my line of sight. The guy is in his mid-thirties and wearing an expensive charcoal suit. Tall, dark-haired, with sharp features that make him intimidating. He’s not smiling.
His attention moves from Tony to me. To where Tony’s hand is under my dress. A flush creeps up my neck. There’s no way this isn’t what it looks like.
The guy’s expression is locked down tight, with no emotion. Does he walk in on his boss fingering women often?
“This is Adrian,” Tony says dryly. “My business partner.”
Adrian.
He looks me over slowly. He’s colder than Tony. Calculating.
“This the one from last weekend?”
Tony told him about me. Probably told him he fucked some desperate slut who needed to pay off her debt.
I brace for a wave of humiliation.
It doesn’t come. Instead heat flares deep in my core, white-hot and obliterating. The world narrows to the ache between my legs. I’m a desperate slut, and it’s glorious.
Before the casino, I was invisible at a charity gala. Now two men are standing here, one with his hand against my pussy, and I—what was I thinking? It’s gone.
I rock my hips, and Tony chuckles before withdrawing his fingers slowly. He makes sure Adrian sees what he’s been doing.
I shudder at the loss of contact and whimper.
“She’s my guest.” Tony moves to stand beside me, one palm resting possessively on the small of my spine.
“Sure.” Adrian doesn’t sound convinced. “The shipment’s been delayed. We need to talk about the alternative supplier.”
“Now?”
“Unless you want to explain to Hendricks why his delivery is three days late.”
A silent conversation passes between them. One I can’t read. Tony’s jaw tightens, but he nods.
“Fine. Make it quick.”
Adrian moves to the bar cart and pours himself two fingers of whiskey. He talks without looking at Tony. Running through numbers and names and logistics that sound like more than casino operations.
Suppliers. Payments. Someone named Hendricks who doesn’t like to wait. A secondary account for the overflow. Contacts who need to be handled before the next shipment. Deliveries and accounts and scheduling conflicts.
I stand frozen by the desk, trying to follow the conversation and failing. The words are ordinary enough, but there’s an underlying current that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
Tony’s photo with the state senator. The way staff straighten when he walks through the casino. The expensive watch.
What the fuck have I stumbled into? And should I be hearing all of this?
Adrian finishes his drink. Sets down the glass. Finally turns to look at me.
“You think you know what you’re playing at.” His tone is soft. Almost kind. The contrast with his flat expression makes it worse. It sounds like he’s seen women like me before, and it didn’t end well for them.
“She knows how to handle her debts.” Tony’s palm presses harder against my spine. “Don’t you, Shannon?”
“Yes.” My voice is thin and breathless, and for one small moment I wonder if giving him my real first name last time was a smart choice. Suppliers. Shipments. Secondary accounts. The words circle back, clicking into place like tumblers in a lock. Christ, why didn’t I use a fake name?
Adrian holds my gaze for one more beat before nodding to Tony and walking out. The door closes behind him with a soft click.
Silence.
I stand frozen, trying to name the sensation crawling up my spine. Fear? Excitement? Both?
Then Tony laughs, short and harsh. “I think he liked you. He’s not usually that chatty.”
“I’m not so sure of that.” That was him liking someone? I’d hate to see what happens if he doesn’t.
“Trust me. He was one second away from asking if he could fuck your sweet pussy.” He turns me to face him, closing his hands around my upper arms. “If you want him to, I’m sure it could be arranged.”
Wait. What?
“Why would I want—“
“Because you do.” Tony’s gaze is frank. “You weren’t embarrassed when he walked in. It excited you.”
“That’s not—“
“Don’t lie to me.” His fingers dig in. “If I had fucked you right in front of him, you would have loved it.”
I can’t breathe because he’s right.
The moment Adrian’s attention landed on me and found Tony’s hand between my thighs, I was so turned on I couldn’t think.
“Next time you bet more than you can afford,” Tony murmurs, “he might want to collect too.”
The way he says it—like Adrian getting his hands on me is a foregone conclusion. Like I’m a prize to be split. My entire body buzzes at the thought of being passed between them.
He releases me and walks around his desk before pausing.
“Shannon, tell me, do you want me to fuck you?”
Why is he asking me this now? Isn’t it obvious? He must be able to read the confusion on my face because he continues.
“I need to hear you say it. I don’t fuck unwilling women. You can walk out of here and nothing bad will happen. But you have to say what you want.”
My clit pulses, and I whisper, “I want you to fuck me. Use me however you want.”
Saying that out loud pings that place deep inside of me that wants to be taken and used without having to ask for it, but I also want to own this moment.