Page 65 of Christmas With The Kings
“Did Isabella draw these designs?” I asked in fascination. My mouth was moving faster than my brain.
“You’ve got an excellent eye. How do you know her style so well? Hmmm?”
For a split second, my stomach twisted. Memories pressed in. The sketches were hers; there was no doubt in my mind. I forced my lips into a small, casual smile, brushing the tension away before it could stick.
“Girls just…know,” I said lightly, with a shrug. “Besides, it’s totally her style.”
Unable to help myself, I flipped through them, my grin getting wider with every card. “How do they work?”
“Easy, when you’ve been a good girl for me or my brothers, we’ll let you pick a card. Whatever one you pick is your destiny or fate for the evening.”
“Ohhh, I like this,” I said, my mind already racing in a thousand directions, each one filthier than the last. I shimmied my shoulders, doing a little dance. The ideas playing like a loop in my head were too good to sit still for.
Then I leaned in, lowering my voice with mock conspiracy. “Although, if I’m being honest…I’m pretty sure I could figure out a way to stack the deck in my favor every time.”
His brows shot up, the corner of his mouth twitching into something halfway between amused and dangerous. “Careful,” he warned. “That little brat tongue of yours just guaranteed you’llneverget away with it. I’ll be sure to warn my brothers of your treacherous thoughts.”
“Killjoy. Doesn’t matter, I’m going to be the bestest girl ever. The Camera,” I read aloud, waving it at him. “Ohhh, you want to make a home movie? So bold. It’s a good thing I trust you all huh?”
His response was to chuckle. “Silly girl. If you pay close enough attention to the cards, you’ll see they all coincide with your recent checklist of kink acceptable activities.”
Once more, I let out a loud squeal because he was right. There wasn’t a single one I thumbed through that had me worried.
The next card had me raising my brows high. “The Whipping Bench.” I fanned myself dramatically. The third made me fake swoon against the seat. “The Headliner. Does this mean…?”
His grin stretched. “Yes, you little slut. If you pull that card then you’re the star of the night at the club. You can best believe Bash has already asked for a front row seat. But keep going.”
I did, laughing, biting my lip until my body was humming for a whole new reason. This deck spoke to every dark, naughty little corner of me.
“I can’t believe you,” I whispered, my throat tight and eyes prickling. “My Kings really do love me.”
Before I could start crying like the sap I was, Ivan reached over and tweaked my nose. “Don’t thank me. Thank the Torturer. He was the one who suggested it.”
That undid me. Sebastian. My Bashy-boy. The thought of him plotting this out made me melt in a whole new way. My chest swelled, so full of love for these maddening, impossible men I didn’t know what to do with it.
He plucked the cards from my hands, gave them a casual shuffle, and smirked. “Ready for fate to decide your evening? Cut the deck.”
I did, eager, my fingers trembling as I slid the halves back together. He once more gave them a good shuffle.
“Now pick one.”
“Just one?” I pouted. “That’s cruel.”
“Greedy girl.” His eyes gleamed.
I pulled a single card, my heart thundering, but before I could flip it, he snatched it away. With a peek, his face lit up like Christmas morning.
A feral grin split his face. His eyes went dark, hungry. “Oh, you’re in so much trouble.”
My mouth dropped. “What—what does it say?”
Instead of answering, he pulled out his phone, thumbs flying across the screen. A quick text sent off with a devil’s little hum under his breath.
“Who are you texting?” I demanded, wriggling in my seat.
“You’ll have to trust me.”
My jaw fell open. “Blade—”
