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I shrug off his hand. “How the fuck does your ego fit into a room?”
“It’s very flexible.”
“If I’m the… what did you call it?” My voice drips with sarcasm. “Party favor? Shouldn’t I just strip naked now?”
“No. You’re dressed as the prize, and you look so pretty. If I lose, they can unwrap you.” Then he leans in and whispers against my ear, “I’m very good at poker, but better at reading the room, and you’re the exact distraction I need.”
Malone runs a finger over the outline of my lips, leaving a tingling path in its wake.
I fucking hate him.
Like, truly hate him with everything in me.
“Is that displeasure flashing bright in your eyes, Red?” He draws me up against him, his mouth skimming along my skin.
I should push him away. Kick him, punch him. Anything to get his hands off me.
But fuck my life, for as much as I hate him, I still want the bastard. “Fuck pretty and fuck you.”
“Do you even understand how much it turns me on when you talk like that?”
I try and pull free, but he puts just that small bit of pressure on the small of my back, and wedging out of his grip will get me nowhere fast. The girls in here won’t help. They might not like the men, but they like how much they’re being paid, and I’m betting they’re being paid a lot. “That’s too fucking bad for me because I don’t see any end of it in sight, you asshole.”
He licks and bites at the sensitive spot below my ear. Tiny little bites, whispers that send need fluttering through me. How does he always know just what to do, just what to taste? “Good. Hurl abuse. It racks up the points for punishment.”
“If they leave me in one piece.”
“If. But then again, maybe I’ll win.”
I struggle to drag in a breath through my suddenly constricted throat. “Malone… what the fuck happens if you don’t?”
He grins and shrugs. “Maybe you’ll like being shared.”
A sharp, hot spear of pain hits me, right in the heart. I know there’s no love between us. This thing we share is all sex and hormones and dirty fantasies I never knew I had. But the fact that he doesn’t care about me even the slightest bit fucking hurts. It rips parts of me out and grinds them into the ground.
One of them might even be my heart.
My eyes blur and they’re hot, and a lump lodges in my throat.
Oh, shit. I’m going to cry.
Malone sighs and looks over at someone. “I’m gonna show her around your club. You okay with that?”
“Sure, just be back for the game.”
“I’d never fucking miss it,” he says and leads me out of the room.
I stumble in the heels. I don’t like heels. And I hate him. He’s right about everything he’s said to me. About how I want the sick things he does to me. How inexperienced I am. Not that I ever saw it that way. I thought I had average experience. I wasn’t a virgin, but I also wasn’t someone who slept around.
But he knows exactly how many people I’ve slept with. What did he say? A virgin three times removed?
Because I am. Peyton was the big boyfriend, if you wanted to look at it in a sex way. We had tons of sex. But he was the second guy I slept with. And compared to this man here? It was like heavy petting at best. Never down and dirty and wild. Never up the ass. Never throat fucking type of blow jobs. We were the same age and?—
Cool air hits me as he takes me up two flights of stairs. And as we climb, there’s a reverberating booming beat of music pulsating under my feet. It gets louder the closer we get to wherever it is he’s taking me.
I’m still blinded by the tears I’m trying desperately not to cry.
Then the noise envelops us, swallows us whole. The techno beat of a nightclub. But we’re up above it, I think. I don’t hear voices, and the music is loud, but not that deafening loud that you’d experience on a dance floor.
