Page 52 of The Killer Card

It took me a little while to get the hang of what I desired and what others desired from me, but after a few years and a decent number of teachers, I can responsibly handle just about any man who chooses to seek my company for a night.

Except tonight, there will be no men searching for me. If they do, they’ll be forced to slake their needs elsewhere when they don’t find a vibrant purple band around my wrist. Never once have I worn a red band- the taken band- nor have I ever had a man who filled out a suit quite so well as Graham Rosales willing to be teased within an inch of his life. As requested, he dutifully picked me up at exactly one forty-five in the morning, already showered after his shift and dressed in a Hugo Boss suit that would make my brother cry.

“Where on Earth did you get a suit like that?” I’d asked, climbing into his truck with a small amount of effort.

He raised a brow, looking down at the all black suit. “You don’t like it?”

“I didn’t say that,” I closed the door. “I asked where you got it.” I remember him wearing something similar the day he crashed Nelly’s wedding. Maybe it was this suit? That entire event is kind of a blur to be honest.

“Elias bought it for me,” he explained, throwing the car in gear and taking it around the fountain in the middle of the driveway. “I have another if you don’t like the black—”

“No,” I told him. “The black is… Is just fine.”

There was no need to go into detail about how seeing him in the suit, his hair artfully messy, green eyes focused, the way his veins stood out across the back of his hands as he gripped the wheel—

It was a very long drive with a lot of leg crossing involved. Could I have told him to finger me in his passenger seat? Certainly. He would have done a phenomenal job I’m sure of it, but I believe there’s something to be said for delayed gratification.

Which is why I’ve been edging the fuck out of Graham for the last hour and a half. Given the moans he’s been burying in my throat and the wet spot staining the front of his pants, I’d say he doesn’t hate it at all. I reach out, gliding my knuckles across the outline of his cock. He’s been obscenely hard since I got in his truck- thank you very much backless baby pink dress- the length of him straining against the tailored fabric down his thigh.

“You’re the devil,” he growls in my ear, teeth nipping just above my hoop.

“Patience is a virtue, Gray,” I whisper, taking a sip of my martini. “And good boys earn their rewards.” He whimpers- fucking whimpers- right in my ear. If I’d worn panties tonight they’d be ruined. “You’re being so good for me, pretty boy.”

“Coño—” His hips surge forward, seeking friction I immediately remove.

“Ah, ah, ah,” I lean my head away until he gives me enough space to look him in the eye. “Behave. You know the rules.” He’d better after all the nights we’ve spent here.

This isn’t the first time Graham, and I have come to The Cellar together. After my confession in his kitchen, we’ve made it a regular thing to play at the club twice a week. Of course, the club is not the entire encompassing sphere of our sexual encounters, it’s just a place. Somewhere we both enjoy going for drinks, friends outside of our immediate circle, toys neither of us own. We have, however, been taking advantage of him living alone and my father and brother being out of town frequently.

I don’t think a night has passed when I have not found some way to get him inside me. I wasn’t lying when I told him his cock was fucking magic. And his tongue. And his goddamn fingers. I don’t know where Graham Rosales learned the art of the orgasm, but I have been taking full advantage every free second either of us get. On several occasions I’ve been very tempted to get a quicky out of him during his smoke break, only just refraining by reminding myself that this- whatever this is- has to remain between us.

Don’t get me wrong, I am thrilled for Nelly and Elias and more recently for Rowan and Clara. They’re in love and I wish them all the best. But that is not what Graham and I have. It can’t be what we have. Because this is not where my life ends, tethered to a nobody bartender in Lightning Cove.

As much as I might hate my classes and am bored to death by school, my plan to attend Harvard- and eventually make my way into the political sphere my father has been crafting for me- is still very much in play. Graham knows this too. He knows this isn’t meant to turn into anything serious, no matter how many times he calls me his queen or looks at me like he’d crawl all the way to Boston.

We’re temporary. A blip. A brief spring fling of orgasms and light BDSM. Nothing more.

In an attempt to stave off his impending orgasm, Graham adjusts his position, ordering me another glass of wine before asking, “So, do I finally get that story about your family? I know Nathan. I know your father is the senator. Your mother—"

“Left us when I was nine,” I sigh and wave off the bunch of his brows, taking my fresh glass of cabernet. “Don’t pity me. It was a long time ago and she didn’t want either of us anyway. It’s better that she fucks her way through every beach resort in the world.”

Graham blinks. “Oh… That must have been really hard to go through. For your whole family. Naomi, I’m… I’m so sorry—"

“Don’t. I don’t need your pity, Gray.” My smile is saccharine. “Mommy dearest is quite the role model. We’ll leave it at that.” She takes a long sip before asking. “Well, I’ve told you mine. What about yours?”

“Mine?”

“Your mother?” I insist. “Tell me about her.”

His brow furrows, mouth opening several times as if struggling to pull together the right words when a posh English accent puts him out of his misery.

“Well, well, well…” Graham and I both look up to find a handsome man smirking down at us over the back of the couch. His hair is graying slightly at the temples, suit well pressed. “I could never have predicted such an unlikely pair wearing red.”

“Adonis,” Graham grins up at him. He reaches over the back of the couch to shake the other man’s hand. “Long time no see, amigo.”

“I’ve seen enough of you for several lifetimes, mate,” Adonis grins. Then turns to me, holding out a hand. “Naomi, always a pleasure.”

“You as well,” I give him my hand which he kisses like some hero in an Austen novel. “Are you looking to play tonight or…?”