Page 25 of Graveyards & Greed

Suddenly, I wondered if it was foolish to take his bet. We lived in Las Vegas, and I knew how stupid it was to gamble unless you could afford to lose. Could I afford to lose this bet? He gazed at me, the tension sparking between us sizzled like a charged current.

“What’s the matter? Don’t you think you can win?”

The smug, arrogant fucker. “Fine.” Fucking attorneys, always negotiating.

I studied the board for exactly one minute and forty-two seconds, and this time I started with the Ruy López strategy, a classic opening move named after the Spanish priest from the 1400s. The strategy was designed to ruin the black player’s pawn structure.

Four plays later, I took one of his pawns, and he removed his belt without saying a word. We traded pawns and casual quips for a while, each capture bringing us closer to taking off actual pieces of clothing. I slipped off an earring and set it on the table. A few minutes later, he took a shoe off. We played for almost an hour, each analyzing the other’s style and skill level.

“Knight to E5,” he announced, finally capturing one of my rooks. The challenge in his eyes burned hot.

“Fine.” I slipped off my other boot, tossing it aside with feigned nonchalance.

He watched intently as I made my next move—queen to D7, a defensive stance to protect my king.

“Queen's Gambit,” I murmured, studying his slight frown. “You didn't see that coming, did you,darling?”

“Maybe, maybe not.” His watch hit the table after I took his bishop with my knight. The metal clinked softly, and I couldn't help but glance at the sinewy forearms he’d exposed when he’d rolled up his sleeves several moves ago.

“Got anything else to lose besides your pants and shirt, Creed?” I asked, smirking despite the flutter in my chest.

“Plenty, Spade.” His gaze ran down to my chest and his eyes became more focused.

When I took my jumper off several moves later, his jaw clenched, and when he peeled off his shirt, my insides tightened. We’d stopped trading quips.

I captured a bishop with a calculated sacrifice, earning his pants in the process. Each move drew us deeper into our own little world, the only sounds were the soft slide of pieces on wood and our heavy breathing.

“Check,” Drakos finally murmured, leaning forward, the muscles in his shoulders flexing as he moved his knight into position.

“Shit.” I peeled off my lace camisole, feeling the heat rise in my face—not only from embarrassment but from the lust swirling through me. He greedily eyed me as I sat in just my underwear.

A few plays later, he leaned back with my last pawn between his fingers. “Your panties or bra?” he asked rhetorically, his voice thick with anticipation. I straightened and stared at him. He’d been sitting across from me without a shirt for the past ten minutes, and it’d been distracting as hell. That defined V leading down to his crotch made my mouth water.

I thanked God and Jesus I’d worn my favorite matching bra and panty set this morning. The peach-colored bra had strips of satin running across the tops of my globes, giving the bra a soft bondage look. I leaned back in my chair, stretching out my torso and jutting my breasts a little. Then I slowly reached around and unhooked my bra, sliding it off and giving Drakos an unfettered view.

“Fuuck me,” he murmured softly as his eyes ate me up.

I met his gaze. My own eyelids felt heavy and half-mast with heat and need, and then I gazed down at the board. My heart pounded, not just from the threat to my king, but from this sizzling connection that arced between us. This wasn't just a game of chess anymore. It had turned into a lustful, provocative duel. My wet pussy pulsed with need and I shifted restlessly.

His lip slowly curved up. “Your minute is almost up. You have ten seconds.”

My eyes widened, and I drew back, looking down at the board. My little striptease had cost me. I quickly flicked my remaining rook across the board. Drakos' eyebrow arched in response, and his striking blue eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that sent shivers through me.

He grinned slowly and leaned forward. For a second I thought he'd kiss me—instead, he moved his queen with lethal precision.

“Checkmate,” he whispered.

It took a moment to peel my eyes from his, and I gazed down at the board. “Well, fuck,” I muttered a few seconds later, the words tinged with frustration and reluctant admiration.

I tried to shake off the lust and need still coursing through me, and stood, holding out my hand. “Well played. Congratulations.”

He smiled, took my hand, and slowly dragged my upper body forward so we were both leaning across the table. Then he bent and murmured low in my ear as his thumb gently grazed my nipple. “Pack your things. The week starts right now.”

Chapter 11

Sylvie

A shiver wracked my body when his thumb ran across my peak. “Excuse me?” My voice sounded hoarse. Was he serious?

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