3. KISMET
THREE
kismet
Hudson
The only thing worse than the cards in my damned hand right now is my shit luck tonight—and that’s saying something.
I’d be more annoyed about losing my money if I didn’t know it was lining my best friend’s pockets and would eventually find its way back to me.
Technically, I’m in his employ, as well as the government’s.
If anyone from law enforcement recognized me here, they’d assume I was on a case.
Heading the organized crime unit at the FBI has that effect.
It’s my actual job to have a pulse on the illegal establishments of men like Enzo Luciano.
That must be why I’m always in a good mood at this underground casino—I can’t fucking lose.
I always have fun blowing off steam at the tables and I never go home alone.
Plenty of DC’s finest women and men frequent this establishment, and most are willing to warm my bed.
I scan the room to see who piques my interest for the evening, and as if on cue, in walks the woman who’s occupied my dirty thoughts for the past year. Wild, bright red hair, legs for days, a walk like she owns the room, the floor, and the air we all breathe.
Suddenly, I’m all in again, because my luck just turned around.
The woman calls herself Jane. We both know that’s bullshit, but I don’t care. My name isn’t John, either, and she knows that, too. After the nights we’ve shared, I’d let her tell me sweet lies forever.
When we make eye contact, she smiles and heads my way.
I pick up my burner phone and shoot a quick text to Enzo, letting the fucker know he didn’t jinx me and my Jane just arrived.
My Jane? Where the fuck did that come from?
Enzo and Eva have teased me relentlessly about my obsession with this damned woman, but I enjoy letting them. Because it means I get to talk about her, think about her, dream about her.
“Hey, John. How’s the table treating you tonight?” Jane asks as she sits across from me.
All the men stop and stare. I don’t blame them. She’s a stunner, impossible to overlook. And Christ, tonight she’s wearing black, painted-on jeans, a sheer black top that allows her red-lace bra to peek through, and matching red heels that look like sin on stilts.
“I’ve been losing all night, Jane, but you always have a way of turning my luck around,” I say with a seductive smile as I look her up and down, unapologetically.
She winks at me. “Good, I was hoping you weren’t leaving just yet.”
“No chance of that now.”
We share a knowing smile while the dealer deals her in.
She’s got that edge tonight, like she often does.
Jane shows up here once a month or so ready for danger.
High-limit poker only being the start of what she needs to let loose.
I may not know her real name, what she does for a living, or a damned personal detail about her…
but I can read her body like a well-loved book.
And she’s amped tonight.
Fuck yeah. I’m here to help, beautiful.
She’s one of the first people in a long time who makes me want to ask more questions.
To get to know the real her. Given my life as an FBI agent on the inside for the Italian mob, I don’t let anyone get close.
Evidently, neither does she, because after a dozen or so hookups that live rent-free in my brain, I know nothing about her.
Nothing. And I work for the FBI and the mob, for Christ’s sake.
It’s not that I haven’t tried, but she has never once given me any information—not a single tell. Which means whatever she is hiding is more interesting than I can probably imagine. And my imagination is very fucking vivid.
Jane wins the first few hands. While I’m still losing, my improved mood is worth the ante. Her poker game reflects her persona: calculated, risky, and impossible to ignore. The table grumbles, guys cash out, but me? My ass is staying right here.
“Well, look at you, Jane. Walking in and bleeding these poor bastards dry. Where’s your sense of mercy?” I grin, leaning back casually, as if I’m not wildly turned on.
“You know I don’t do mercy,” she says, licking her thumb before spreading her cards to see what she was dealt. “Especially not for men.”
“No, gorgeous, mercy definitely isn’t in your DNA. It’s one of my favorite things about you.” I wink. “So how long do I have to sit here losing my money before you’re ready for your next release?”
That gets me a small smile. Damn if that tilt of her lips doesn’t send a jolt right to my crotch. Fuck.
“Depends. I’m staying right here until I see a better offer on the table.” Her voice deepens to show she definitely wants me to give her that reason.
“I mean, I can offer alcohol, bad decisions, and a solid seven out of ten performance. Eight if you do most of the work.”
She graces me with a real deal laugh.
Victory.
“You’re lucky I have a thing for hot men with a sense of humor.”
“And you’re lucky I have no fucking shame. So, what do you say? Cash out while you're ahead, and we take this party somewhere with fewer clothes?”
She quirks a brow. “Just us tonight? Or do we want to find a third? Not that guy from last time!” she demands with a stern look in my direction.
“Hey, don’t knock Eric. He made waffles after. Very thoughtful,” I joke.
She laughs. “The waffles weren’t that good. He was way more into you than me.” She pushes her chips in to cash out. “Let’s go, John. Before I start feeling generous and let these guys win one.”
“Too late, sweetheart. You already let us all win just by showing up.” I’m nothing if not a shameless flirt.
“Stop while you’re ahead. And don’t call me ‘sweetheart’ again,” she feigns annoyance.
I grin as we step into the hallway. “Fine. What should I call you when you’re moaning my name in twenty minutes?”
She tosses a smirk over her shoulder. “Lucky.”
Jane takes me to her sleek Logan Circle condo just five minutes from the casino. Exposed brick, modern fixtures, just enough charm to sell the lie that she lives here. I know very little about this woman, but I know this is more of a crash pad than a primary residence.
We’ve used this apartment a few times to hook up—when we aren’t going to someone else’s place or a hotel. I know there isn’t one personal detail behind these walls. If there were, I sure as hell would have found them by now.
As she punches in the code to the building’s front door, my mouth finds her neck and my hands move to her hips. My brain is already short-circuiting.
Once the elevator doors close, I have her against the back wall. We are surrounded by mirrors as we ascend, and the 360-degree view of our bodies only increases my desire.
“I don’t know how to keep my damned hands to myself when you’re wearing a red lacy bra as a top, Jane.” I groan as I move my mouth to her cleavage over her shirt.
“I have a blouse over the bra,” she says as she nips my ear in return.
“This see-through number sure as shit doesn’t count.”
“Mm, good point. We should probably take it off.” She moans. “Think you can hold off ‘til we’re in the privacy of my apartment? Or should we just get started right here in the elevator?”
Ping!
“Saved by the bell. Not sure I’m in the mood for anyone else to see these perfect tits tonight, so hurry up and open that fucking door.
” I slap her ass playfully as she unlocks the door.
Inside, I turn us so her back is against the now-closed door.
My mouth crashes into her, all tongue and tension.
I pull off her top, then my own, roaming her body with my hands and mouth in between.
She pushes me down the hall to the bedroom and shoves me onto the bed. She climbs on top, but I flip us.
"As much as I fucking love to watch you take control, gorgeous, tonight I want to hear how many different ways I can make you say my name."
“I don’t even know your real name.” Her laugh is soft and gravelly.
I look up, a wicked grin already forming.
“John has never disappointed and he won’t start tonight,” I say as I pull her jeans down.
“Jesus, I knew it’d be a matching set, but what are these sexy panties?
Are you trying to kill me?” I groan at the sight of her.
I strip her jeans the rest of the way off, but I slide her heels back on.
Fuck. I have a thing for heels. “As much as I need to be inside you, I’ve been dreaming about the taste of your pussy,” I tell her as I slide her red lace panties aside, letting my hands linger, teasing her inner thighs.
“You dream of me, John? That sounds wildly inappropriate,” she whispers, already breathless.
“Mm, my dreams are wildly inappropriate,” I murmur. My tongue darts out, lapping up her arousal mid-sentence.
She moans loudly, and the sound alone nearly undoes me.
“Jane, baby, all this wetness for me?”
She mumbles her agreement, then gasps. “John! Fuck, that feels so good. Your mouth is fucking magic.”
I don’t slow. I work her right to the edge, then slide two fingers inside, pumping steadily.
Her noises are pure music. “Yes. I’m so close. Keep doing that. Fuck,” she moans.
I add my thumb to her back entrance, pressing just enough. Exactly the way I know sends her over every time.
She cries out, letting me know she’s coming.
I stay right there, holding her through it.
“Damn, gorgeous,” I say when she finally comes down, “I’ve missed the sounds you make when you’re coming on my tongue.” I grab my wallet, kick my pants down, and roll on a condom. “Now get those sexy-as-fuck legs in the air like you know I like.”
She lifts them like a good girl.
I push her thong aside, driving into her in one hard, fast thrust. I’m just as desperate to be inside her as she is to have me there.
I know I’m a bigger guy, and between my size and the Jacob’s ladder piercings lining my shaft, there’s an edge of pain I know she craves.
I grip her thighs and thrust harder, watching her take every inch.
I kiss up her legs, licking and nibbling as I go.