Page 66 of Jackpot Joker

A low chuckle rumbles out of me, and I tease, “What happened to your strict no-sleeping-with-your-clients policy?”

She whips my belt from the loops of my trousers with one impressive yank, then tosses the Italian leather to the ground. “Fuck that. I need you now, Dario.” She drops her hand as well as her head. “Don’t you still want me?”

This fierce woman begging me to take her is all I have dreamed about, and I internally curse myself for giving her a moment of doubt. I tilt her chin up, placing a gentle kiss against her irresistible lips. “Of course, I still want you, Jasmine. I’ve wanted you since the day we met, and that desire has only grown the more I’ve been around you. But this—” I wave my hand around our surroundings. “This closet isn’t what I had in mind, angioletta.”

She bites her pouty bottom lip and looks around the cramped space. This angel in front of me deserves to be put on a pedestal and worshiped. I’ll be damned if I allow our first time to be a rush job in a custodial closet with a corpse tied to a chair and a dirty mop in the corner.

Jasmine drops her hands from my waistline and steps away from me. I sigh, lowering my head in defeat, knowing I may have ruined my only chance of sinking into what I know is the most perfect pussy. Why is doing the noble thing so damn depressing?

“Shit.”

The muttered curse has me looking up to find Jasmine wobbling on her ridiculous spiky heels. She reaches up under her knee-length black dress that’s been teasing me all fucking night before pulling a cream-colored thong down over her thick, long legs. I stare at her, stunned at the sight. Once she’s accomplished her mission, Jasmine tosses the pair of panties I’ll definitely be pocketing aside, then moves to the body tied to the chair.

I watch in fascination as Jasmine situates herself until she is straddling the legs of the shell of the motherfucker who thought he could touch what’s mine. Facing me, she hikes her dress up over her thick thighs, putting on the sexiest, deadliest strip show I’ve ever witnessed, and I live in fucking Las Vegas. Jasmine leans back, putting that glorious cunt of hers on full display—a shrine for me to worship my goddess.

“Fuck me, Dario.”

Well, I’ll be damned.

Chapter 33

Jasmine

I’m straddling a dead man’s lap, begging my boss to shove what I felt was an incredibly well-endowed cock into my needy pussy. This is certifiably the dirtiest, most unhinged, incredibly wrong thing I’ve ever done in my life. But it feels so damn right.

Witnessing Dario strangle a man until he took his last breath should have sent me running out of this stadium and to the nearest police station. The man clearly knew what he was doing, and where I once thought Dario couldn’t hurt a flea, I now, after seeing his skill set, have no doubt his body count isn’t limited to one. Still, watching him defend my honor was fucking hot as hell.

I know. I know. It’s wrong to kill, but it’s also wrong to shove a woman with a beer in her hands hard enough to nearly knock her down while also hurling derogatory insults. Potato, pah-tato.

I am sure tomorrow I will analyze tonight’s events and come to my senses about everything. But now—right fucking now—I need Dario inside of me.

“Dario, please,” I beg, sounding nearly as needy as my dripping core. Yes, I’ve been wet since he confessed his reason for taking the man’s life. I’m sure that is something my therapist and I will need to unpack later. Much, much later. Right now, I just know I’ll burst if he doesn’t give me the relief I so desperately need.

“Jasmine,” Dario says, rushing over to me and making sure I don’t tumble from my perch. The playful Joker is gone. Instead of the suave air of confidence he always brings to the room, I detect a hint of caution in his voice. “You may be in shock. We should probably go back to the house and make sure you’re all right.”

This motherfucker has done everything he can to get me to go out with him or sleep with him, and when I finally relent, he’s turning me down? I don’t fucking think so.

“If you won’t fuck me, I guess I’ll have to take care of things myself.” I begin rolling my hips, finding friction from the man beneath me. I don’t allow my thoughts to linger on who he is, or the fact that he is no longer among the land of the living. And I definitely don’t consider all the things that happen to human bodies after they pass. I simply pray my movements don’t loosen things up in the dead man I'm currently straddling. I stare at Dario’s too handsome face. I think about how incredible his lips felt against mine and how I may be addicted to the taste of him. I remind myself of all the ways this man has protected me and stood up for me. Then, I rock back and forth, grinding myself against one man while desperately needing another. Two fingers travel down, spreading my lips apart so he can see everything he’s missing. I swipe my thumb over my clit, releasing a gasp of elation as I do.

My body is thrumming with need, but not for me. I need Dario inside of me. I need him to still want what I’m offering. I run a finger through my slit, then hold it up under the solitary, dim dome light in the room. My arousal glistens, and when I look over into Dario’s hazelnut eyes, I see them glistening as well.

“Want a taste, pretty boy?”

Dario’s tongue flicks out over his bottom lip before he pulls it between his teeth. “Jasmine, I don’t…”

I cut him off by rubbing my finger against my lips before popping it between them. I moan as I suck off my taste, noting how fucking erotic it sounds, and the way his nails dig into my thighs as his mouth hangs open, I’d say he notes it, too. “Your loss. I taste so fucking good.”

Moving my fingers back down to my core, I plunge two fingers inside, throwing my head back and moaning so loudly I’m pretty sure the Zamboni driver can hear me. “I feel so good, too, Dario. Do you not want to know how good I taste? How good I feel?”

I look at him, holding contact as I rock my body back and forth, plunging my fingers deeper inside me. It feels like heaven, but I need so much more. I need my Italian Joker to break down and give in to me.

“Please, Dario,” I beg once more, eyeing the bulge in his pants and knowing he still has to want this. Still want me.

My fingers work inside me, curling up in an attempt to reach a spot too far out of reach. As I’m about to angle myself for a deeper position, strong fingers circle my wrist. Dario yanks my fingers from where they were curled inside me, and I watch in fascination as he brings them to his lips. I want him to shove them all into his mouth, let him suck them off, and realize what he could have. Better yet, I want him to wrap them around that monster cock I know he has hiding behind his perfectly pressed pants.

But Dario somehow knows what I need more. He doesn’t move with the same urgency I’ve displayed. Instead, his tongue lightly brushes my fingertips, collecting the smallest dose of my arousal. He moans, not releasing my wrist, but not tasting any more of me either.

“What a dichotomy for a woman to be as strong as steel but as sweet as sugar.” Dario’s words are hushed, but then he flashes hungry eyes at me before dropping to his knees and spreading mine even farther apart. When he runs his tongue up my slit, a moan erupts from my body. He works that wicked tongue of his all around me, not missing a spot, paying special attention to my clit, alternating between licks and sucks. It doesn’t take long until I’m crying out his name, coming completely undone as the orgasm crashes over me.