Page 11 of Pride: Kneel Before None

Replacing the violent thoughts, a more pleasant scenario filled my imagination—those legs of hers draped over my shoulders as I rocked my hard as fuck cock into her.

Soon. Tonight.

Watching her take a seat at her assigned table, I had hardly realized the playing card in my hand had ceased its movement, frozen between my middle and index fingers. With one slick move, I slid it back up my sleeve now that I had a view worthy of my full attention.

Genevieve sat in the chair, gracefully crossing one leg over the other as she got comfortable. Her foot lazily bobbed up and down as the tournament host made his opening remarks. He restated the rules and sequence of the night’s events. With one final reminder, he reiterated that any use of paranormal abilities would not be tolerated.

Smirking to myself, I hoped my naughty spade would break that rule. I wanted to be the one to catch her in the act and show her what happened when my rules were broken.

The first round began as players started with conservative bets and gradually grew either more or less confident as each hand was dealt. My eyes never left the table where my precog in pretty packaging played.

Show me what you got, baby.

Each hand was executed flawlessly, knowing whether she should hit or stay. She put every other player to shame at her table. There was no doubt Genevieve would be moving on to the second round, where the number of players dropped from fifty-one to ten. After that, it’d go down to two players in the third round. Expecting she would be the victor of the third round, she would have the option to partake in one final hand to substantially increase her winnings or walk away.

After the first round concluded, a fifteen-minute break commenced.

I couldn’t keep the distance between us any longer.

The other five players at her table left to mourn their losses or lingered amongst the crowd to witness the remainder of the tournament. The dealer looked like he was going to go take a much needed piss as he scurried toward the bathrooms, but there she remained, swirling the straw in her nearly empty cocktail glass.

Striding halfway across the ballroom floor, I snapped my fingers at a waitress and grabbed an Old Fashioned for each of us. With each step closer to her, the thumping in my chest seemed to echo louder in my ears. I wasn’t sure that there was any blood for my heart to pump as I closed in on my Little Spade, since most of it seemed to be trapped in my engorged lower extremity.

I took it upon myself to come up behind her, leaning over her shoulder as I lowered one of the beverages before her as an offering of my hospitality. My head dipped down so my mouth could murmur into her ear. “Looks like you could use a refill.”

There was no shame as I took this chance to drop my gaze to admire the swells of her breasts from this angle.

She straightened in her seat, startled by my sudden presence. Turning her head slightly to get a look at me, her striking blue eyes reflected how on guard she was.

Guilty conscience, perhaps? Or maybe my charm is that overwhelming.

Giving an amused smile, I wiggled the glass I held out for her, letting the large cube of ice clink against the inside as a gentle reminder of my offering.

As she accepted the drink, she turned her face away from me. “Thanks. Looks like you could use a new pickup line.”

Ouch.

I eased into the seat next to her, drawing in a mouthful of the slightly bitter booze from my own glass. She was going to have to do better than that if she thought a weak insult would deter me. Coming from her? It spurred me on like fucking foreplay.

“I thought I’d come by to let you know how nice that dress looks on you.” A pause. “Since I’m the one who picked it out.”

My eyes blatantly dropped to unapologetically soak in the sight of the curve of her body down past her hips and over her thighs.

There was a brief hesitation as she glanced in my direction, and recognition of who I was flashed across her face. As quickly as she dropped the veil, it was yanked back up as she shrugged with indifference.

“Don’t give yourself too much credit, Mr. Reynard. I can pull off any dress. It’s not difficult,” she said with the confidence of a thousand goddamn peacocks.

She wanted to get snarky with me? Two could play that game.

“So can I.” I smirked like the devil himself. “I expect to pull yours off onto my floor later.”

Her lips parted as her jaw dropped slightly. There it was, the moment when she realized she was playing with someone in the major leagues. I wasn’t like other guys; I didn’t give up once I knew what or who I wanted. And what I wanted—no, what I needed—was her.

Genevieve set her drink down on the table and leaned in close. Close enough that the scent of her perfume infiltrated each of my senses. Fuck, she smelled like a goddamn garden full of amaryllis, just like the ones I had up in her room right now.

“Keep. Fucking. Dreaming,” she quietly commanded.

That filthy mouth of hers deserved a good washing out with my cock.