AllFreeNovel
Share Us
We burst through a door and it’s like we never left the club. Cheers rise up from the roulette table, drunken conversations float over cocktails at the bar. We’ve re-entered from a different door, and I can see the back of Rory’s curly hair on the other side of the room. I take one step toward her, but a tug on my wrist pulls me into a booth in the shadows.
I sigh. Clearly, Raphael hasn’t finished torturing me yet.
“Don’t move.”
He disappears, emerging shortly from the direction of the bar with two drinks in his hands. He holds the whiskey glass with the tips of his fingers and slams a passion fruit martini down in front of me.
I stare at it.
How did he know it’s my favorite drink?
But there’s no time to dwell on it, not when his heavy hand brushes back the hem of my dress and clamps down on my knee. Despite every feminist bone in my body, I can’t help but squirm under the possessiveness behind his palm.
He pulls a deck of cards out his pocket. Turns over the top card.
“Higher or lower.”
My gaze slides to his profile. He’s staring straight ahead, his expression neutral, save for the telling tick of his jaw.
“I—”
He squeezes my knee. “Not in the mood, Penelope.”
I suck in a steadying breath. I know exactly what he’s doing, because Nico did it with me, and I did it with Rory. It’s how you practice card counting as a beginner. You go through the deck, guessing whether the next card will be a high or low value number. By keeping a running count of what’s been dealt, the odds of guessing correctly grow significantly higher the closer you get to the bottom of the deck.
I’m the best at this game, but by the way Raphael is gripping my thigh, maybe I don’t want to be.
I glare down at the three of clubs. Statistically speaking, the answer is obvious. “Higher.”
The walls of my stomach tense as his hand slides a few inches up my thigh. Okay, I haven’t played this version before. I look up at him, but still, his expression conveys he could be waiting for a bus.
The thawp of another card hitting the table. Four of spades.
I sigh. Flick my gaze to the rocky ceiling. “Higher,” I whisper.
Jack of spades.
My fingers curl over the edge of the booth as the cold buckle of his watch glides up the outside of my thigh, and the soft pad of his thumb trails the inside.
Heart stuttering, I look around the room desperately. The festive glow of the party doesn’t touch our corner of the cave, and I have no doubt party-goers don’t even know we’re here, let alone how close Raphael’s thumb is to the gusset of my thong.
Jack of spades, okay. Fuck. Logically, I should say lower, but the ache of anticipation in my clit has other ideas.
“Higher.”
Raphael’s eyes slide sideways, lighting with something uncouth, and he turns over another card.
Queen of hearts.
He lets out a sardonic breath. “You have got to be shitting me.”
As he hooks his thumb over the gusset of my panties, our gazes clash. By the darkness that clouds his irises, I know he can feel what’s been brewing between my thighs since his hands lifted the hemline of my dress in the cave.
His knuckle presses into my slickness, then, gripping my inner thigh, he extends his thumb so it slides under the lace and carves a maddeningly slow path between my folds.
He stops dangerously close to my clit.
We stare at each other. I couldn’t breathe even if I wanted to. The noise of the party fades as my eyes convey the desperation I can’t conceal any longer. His soften with something that raises the goosebumps along my arms.
