Wicked Bet: A Bad Boy Romance (10 page)

I barely managed not to laugh. Not likely. His hands felt like electric current. He wasn’t pressed against me, but I could feel the heat from his body behind me all the same. Having him so close to me made it harder to draw my arm back and aim, but I didn’t want him to move.
 

My second shot was closer to the center this time. But then Ian started rubbing his thumbs across my back, his strong hands still gripping my waist. It felt so damn good. I threw my last dart and it didn’t even stick—it just hit the board and fell to the floor.
 

“Nice job,” Ian said, his mouth close to my ear. I don’t think he’d even seen my last throw. “Your hair smells so good.” He swept it aside and leaned over my shoulder to nibble on my ear. “Are you still wearing the lingerie from this morning?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said. “And it’s your turn.”
 

Reluctantly, he let me go. He stepped up to the line, but then looked at the board. “Where’s your last one?”
 

“It fell.”
 

“Try it again.” He started to move towards it, but I put my hand against his hard abs and stopped him.
 

“Let me.” Turning, I walked to the board, feeling Ian’s eyes on my black stockings and the swoosh of the hem of my dress. With a glance back at him, I bent at the waist, keeping my legs straight. Slowly, I folded my body down, feeling the skirt rise to my upper thighs. Cool air across my bare skin told me that he could see the tops of my stockings and the strings holding them up. Ian’s gasp was extra confirmation.
 

Still moving slowly and fluidly, I picked up the dart, straightened back up, and turned. I looked him in the eye as I ran my hand through my hair, flipping it back into place. Then I walked to my husband, who wore a dazed look of desire. He was practically drooling. Turning on my heel, I threw my last dart. It landed about an inch from the bull’s eye.
 

“Not bad,” Ian managed, finally finding his voice. Them he blinked, shook out his arms as if to loosen up, and took aim. All three of his darts landed between mine and the bull’s eye. “Let’s go get a table,” Ian said, grabbing my hand and hurrying me out of there.
 

* * *

We sat side by side, in the corner booth. I was inside, and Ian’s large body was between me and the rest of the restaurant ... which was a good thing since he had his hand under my dress, running his fingers along the top of my thigh-high stockings. I was profoundly grateful this restaurant used tablecloths on the booths as well as the tables. Two plates of uneaten appetizers sat on the table in front of us.
 

“Tell me more about yourself. What’s something you’ve always wanted to do?” Ian said in a relatively normal voice, as if he didn’t have his hand between my legs.
 

“Well, I’ve always dreamed of honeymooning in Europe,” I began, but Ian frowned and slid a finger under my stocking, stretching it out and letting it snap back in place. Ouch. That stung.
 

“Be good,” he warned, and I wondered why he thought that he suddenly got to be the one in charge. But then he tickled the soft skin of my upper thighs with his fingertips and I forgot to be mad. “Tell me something sexy you’ve always wanted to try but never have. In the bedroom ... or out of it,” he added with a cheeky wink. We certainly weren’t limiting our play to the bedroom today.

Hmm ... how should I answer that? I thought for a minute, but then his hand on my thigh gave me an idea. “I guess lately I’ve been having some fantasies about being submissive. Might be fun to experiment with that a little. With the right man, I mean.”
 

His eyes twinkled. “I was hoping you’d say that. You look like you’d be good at following orders.”
 

“Hey,” I said, getting irritated in spite of the fact that I’d just admitted to fantasizing about it. “I’m a lawyer—um, I mean, I’m in advertising. At work I’m the one in charge.”
 

“Clearly. But I think that at home, you might like being at someone else’s mercy.”
 

“You mean like at my cat’s mercy?” I said, glaring at him, but the humor of the situation was getting to both of us, and I couldn’t hold my stern expression for long. We were weaving so many fictional elements into our backstories it was hard to keep it all straight. And to keep a straight face.

“I just mean that you look like the kind of woman who might do something risky if she was ordered to do so. Or
challenged
to do so, if you prefer.” He grinned. “Like perhaps, if someone dared you to go into an adult toy store by yourself, you just might do it.”
 

I had to smile at that. “Yeah, but that kind of thing is always more fun with a partner.”
 

“Especially if that partner orders you to wear a vibrating toy in a restaurant.”
 

“Maybe,” I said, trying to maintain some decorum—not easy to do with my legs spread wide and his talented fingers stroking me.
 

“I think you’d do that. In fact, I think you’d do that right now, if I told you to.”
 

“Too bad I don’t have any toys with me, then,” I said smugly.
 

“Alyssa,” Ian growled.
 

“What, Mr. Perfect Stranger? Do I really look like the kind of woman who walks around with an arsenal of sex toys?”
 

“You look like the type who might have one,” he said. “Let me see your purse.”
 

“No,” I said, and he made a grab for it. I was quicker, holding it out to my side so he couldn’t reach it. “I’m not about to let a man I hardly know look in my purse. Besides, there’s nothing in there,” I insisted, just as my purse began to quake, a low buzzing noise issuing from it.
 

Looking over, I saw a smirk on his face and his hand in his pocket. He must’ve kept the remote on him when he’d changed.

“Okay, okay, so I still have it,” I said, breaking character.
 

“Good,” Ian said. “Because you’re going to put it in again.”
 

I protested, mostly out of form. “This is still my turn. I’m in charge here.”
 

“And we’re doing what you wanted. Talking. Flirting. Connecting. But you can do all that with the egg inside you.”
 

I rolled my eyes, but I was getting pretty turned on. The moisture between my legs told me that once I reached the restroom, the toy would slip in easily. “Okay, let me out.”
 

“No,” he said, his grin widening.
 

“No?” I echoed, confused. He was planted across the seat, blocking my way. And then I understood. “No!” I gasped.
 

“Yes,” he said, leaning down to whisper to me. “Your legs are spread, you’re already wet and slippery,” he said, wiggling his fingers nearer my center. “So just slide it in.”
 

“I can’t,” I whispered back, tempted by his wicked grin, but not enough to do
that
in public. I folded my arms over my chest, accidentally bringing my purse back into his reach.
 

He plucked the purse from my grasp. “Fine. I’ll do it.”
 

“Ian!” I said as loudly as I dared, but it was too late. His hand was already under the table and my purse was lying on top of it, no longer vibrating. He transferred the egg from one hand to the other, and suddenly, I felt it, running up the inside of my thigh, heading toward my core.
 

Giving in, I slipped my leg up and over his thigh, opening myself up to him more. He grinned and pulled aside my panties, pushing the vibrating oval over my moist folds. I closed my eyes at the sensation, but then opened them again when he pressed it against my clit.
 

I gave him my sternest wife look, willing him to behave. Yeah, not much chance of that. He held my gaze as he kept the vibrations steady on my most sensitive spot for several long, tantalizing seconds. Finally, he moved the egg lower, slipping it inside me. The vibrations radiated out through my core, making my heart rate increase. How many times could I get worked up today without actually exploding in orgasmic bliss?

He smoothed my panties back into place, withdrawing his hand. I sat there, squirming, panting, watching his face. With a wicked grin, he brought his fingers up to his mouth, licking the moisture off of them. “These appetizers sure are good,” he said for the benefit of anyone around us.
 

Fortunately, there was no one nearby, but even as turned on as I was, I wasn’t willing to risk getting too carried away in public as we did before.
 

“Ian, do you want to—” I broke off, shaking my head. We’d said before that wanting to skip ahead would mean forfeiting the contest. No way was I doing that.
 

But he seemed to be thinking along the same lines. “Do you have more things planned for your half of the day, Lyss?”
 

“Yes,” I said.
 

“Do you want to skip them?”
 

“No,” I said. “I mean ... do you? Are you willing to forfeit the contest?”
 

He smiled and took my hand. “I think you’ll find, Counselor, that according to the legal code, it’s not forfeiting if both parties agree.”
 

I thought about that for a minute. “Works for me,” I said, and there was barely time for him to throw some twenties on the table and for me to wave at the bartender before we were rushing for the car, heading for home.

Chapter Thirteen

“TAKE YOUR CLOTHES off. Right now,” Ian said as we tumbled into the apartment after reaching new levels of inappropriate behavior in the elevator. Who knew two horny people could grope so many different body parts in fifteen seconds?
 

I undid the straps of my dress and let it fall to my waist, where Ian was more than happy to pull it off me. He paused when he saw the writing on my stomach. I’d almost forgotten about it. Slowly, he reached a long finger out, tracing over the letters. Over his name. Over the arrow pointing to the part of my body he claimed for himself. And I sure as hell couldn’t wait for him to stake his claim.
 

Ian slid his hand down, slipping it under my panties, pushing aside the black mesh. His fingers pressed between my legs, feeling the moist heat there. “For me. Only me,” he said.
 

“For you,” I agreed, and he lifted me up, one hand between my legs and the other under my ass. I wrapped my arms around the man I loved as he carried me to our bedroom.

He tossed me onto the bed and climbed on top of me, attacking my neck with his tongue. I pushed and pulled at his shirt, trying to tear it off, but in my position, I couldn’t do much. Fortunately, he helped out, somehow shedding his clothes in about seven-tenths of a second. I moaned with appreciation when I saw his naked form. I needed release so badly. I needed
him
so badly.
 

Ian kissed his way up my neck and across my cheek, getting closer and closer to my mouth. His fingertips skillfully roamed over my sides, my arms, my shoulders. “Hands above your head,” he commanded. With a moan, I complied. He was so hot when he took charge.
 

But wait a second. “I still don’t get why you get to give the orders,” my inner lawyer protested while the rest of me wanted her to shut the hell up. “You had your turn this morning.”
 

Ian didn’t cease his exploration of my body. Instead, he reached up with one large hand and trapped both of mine above my head, pinning them to the bed. His other hand pushed between our bodies, flicking open my bra and capturing one erect nipple.
 

At the same time, his mouth finally met mine, and this was no pleasant little peck on the lips. This was the complete domination of my mouth by his. He crushed his lips to mine, his tongue pushing inside me, filling me the way I hoped his cock would soon. His oral campaign to wipe all protests from my mind was succeeding. I could barely remember my name when he kissed me like this.
 

“Do you really want me to stop?” he growled when he finally came up for air. The sensations were still overwhelming, him holding my wrists down, his body pressing against me, his talented hand tweaking and teasing my nipple. Not to mention the egg still vibrating inside me.
 

“No,” I said, a moan escaping my lips along with the word. “I don’t.”
 

“Then stop arguing,” he said, and this time he attacked my nipple with his lips and tongue, swirling it around in his mouth, making my eyes roll back.
 

“I rest my case,” I said, barely able to get out the phrase.
 

“Good,” he murmured against my breast. Taking my nipple into his mouth again, he sucked hard and kneaded it with his lips, tugging at it until it popped out as he pulled away. He let go of my wrists and sat up, straddling me. “Now, fake an orgasm.”
 

“What? But ... aren’t we finally going to have the real thing?”
 

“Yes. Several times over. But you’re still going to do this. Right now. You sounded so fucking hot today—I want the visual that goes along with it.”
 

I groaned, then tried half-heartedly to pretend it had been moan. Why did men with dominant tendencies make things so difficult? I wanted to go into Ian’s web forum and give every one of the guys a piece of my mind.
 

Ian looked down at me, his expression hungry. He flicked my bra cups off my breasts, baring my chest. “Play with your nipples like you did today.”
 

Damn. Men with dominant tendencies did make life difficult, but they also made it erotic as hell. Ian’s hungry anticipation made me feel even sexier.
 

My eyes never left his as I grasped my nipples in my fingers, squeezing, tugging. My breathing started speeding up naturally, but I added little sighs and moans that made his erect cock twitch.