She – with help from the rest of their friends – had cleaned him out. He barely had two nickels to rub together. Damn good thing he wasn’t trying to make a living doing this kind of thing.
He pushed her silver to one side. “I don’t want to bet money.”
Those deep blue eyes seemed to darken to almost purple as they widened and she leaned over the table, her breasts squashed tantalizingly against the green felt. “Then what are we betting?” she asked in a stage whisper.
Forcing himself to stop staring at the lightly tanned, fully ripe fruit that was inches away from his already-watering mouth, Rod met her eyes with his. “Submission. Complete submission.”
He would swear for years afterwards that he watched her become instantaneously sober in that second as he saw her gasp softly. He watched her teeth begin to nibble her lip, as he’d noticed she did on the rare occasions when she was unsure of herself.
He seemed to have caught her off guard with his suggestion, and he considered that to be an advantage.
Sunny didn’t have a wishy washy bone in her body. She was a leader, a doer, a force of nature who shot first and to hell with the questions; much closer to his personality than any other woman he’d ever been attracted to. There was no denying that attraction; it was bone deep. He’d been hard since they’d met almost a year and a half ago. Any time she was anywhere near him – even just in the same room, not even interacting with him – somehow his errant libido could sense her, and he became instantly, painfully – in some cases, such as their friends’ weddings – embarrassingly hard.
Every fantasy he’d had from the moment he’d been introduced to her had been about the depraved things he was going to do to her. There had never been any doubt in his mind that he’d have her one day, and – despite the fact that his body made him feel as if he was going to die every time they said goodbye. Instead of dragging her by the hair into his bedroom or taking her on the spot, he had deliberately waited until both of their jobs had calmed down and neither of them was involved with anyone to make his move.
Tonight was the night. He was going to tame her, to bring her to heel. He didn’t want to crush her spirit – it was one of the things he found most attractive about her, since he was so reserved - but he would curb it. Severely - and he’d enjoy every single minute of it.
He’d deliberately encouraged his guests – including Sunny – to drink more than they might have, offering his limo and driver to bring everyone home safely, of course. It was a Friday night – or rather, Saturday morning, now - and they all had kids to haul to various games or practices or commitments of their own to get to; he knew they would begin dropping like flies eventually.
It had worked. It was only about one in the morning, and he and Sunny would have the whole rest of the night and another whole day together – longer, much longer, if things worked out the way he’d planned.
“Submission?” she parroted back on a gulp after a bit of a delay, as if she really hadn’t wanted to even say the word in front of him, and she definitely didn’t. That one word – more so than probably any other he could have uttered – had the same effect on her as if he had reached out and stroked her intimately with one bold, male finger, but a corresponding fissure of something dangerously close to fear also danced up her spine, leaving a trail of goose flesh on her skin, and a very real concern about the fact that she was probably not going to be able to resist this challenge.
Another breathlessly sexy not-quite smile. If the man had any idea what he was doing to her with those, he’d cut it out or find himself flat on his back on the luxuriously carpeted floor of his den with her finally riding cowgirl above him, a position which she purported to prefer, with her legs – and other more delicate parts – spread wide to accommodate him . . .
Her mind lived quite happily in the gutter most of the time and the tequila managed to emphasize that, loosening her tongue, too, in a dangerous combination that she’d – so far – been able to control around Rod Salem.
Not so much tonight, though, apparently.
“Yes, submission.”
Another deliberate flick of his imaginary finger over the swollen tip of her clit, so much so that she felt compelled to squeeze her legs together - which only seemed to make things worse, if that was possible.
“What do you mean, exactly?” she asked, proud of how sober she thought she sounded. It wasn’t often she allowed herself to explore the . . . distinctly less dominant impulses she had spent her life trying to bury, and it didn’t seem at all prudent to let them out to play in front of him.