Page 52 of The Gambler's Prize
Grimes shoots me a look, like this is all my fault. Unfair. He’s the one who bundled me onto his lap and literally wouldn’t let me go.
“Have a good evening, you two.” The barman saunters out, openly laughing now.
Grimes closes the door behind him, more loudly than necessary. “I should’ve punched that smirk off his face,” he mutters.
“So why didn’t you?”
“Because… you’re delicate and you wouldn’t like it,” Grimes says.
I snort. “Sure.”
“Oh, just shut up, Florian. Go and sit down and stop bothering me,” he says.
I give him a salute. “Yes, Boss.”
He takes his hood down again. Because it’s only me here now. The intimacy that implies feels like it means something. My chest fills with warmth.Needy. Pathetic. I can’t help it. He starts to wash his hands with water from the basin.
“We’ll take tomorrow off work.” He glances over his shoulder at me as soap suds creep up his brawny forearms. It’s kinda hot, in a domesticated kind of way. “I’ve been working you too hard. I forgot you’re a pampered rich boy.”
Before today, I would’ve read contempt in that comment, but not since he held me on his lap. He was genuinely sorry he locked me up and caused me pain. I walk up behind him at the washbasin, and this time I make sure he can hear me coming. I don’t want another brutal elbow in the gut. He cocks his head, wondering, waiting. I put my hands softly over his eyes and kiss his cheek. His whole body shivers. He turns to face me.
Chapter 23
Grimes
Our first kiss tastes sweet and smoky and sultry. Naughty and nice. Just like Florian. He looks up at me, a shy but obvious proposition in his blue eyes. And I know I can’t resist him this time.
“Are you sure about this?” I ask.
He nods. Stands on tiptoe, reaching up for me, and when he presses himself against me, I feel his hardness. I don’t know howI got here, to this moment, this kiss. I thought I wanted to break him. And then I did it. Found him lying fetal in his bedroom, half stripped and hyperventilating and tear-stained. And stars, those scars on his torso. They cracked my hatred in two. He’d been crying so loudly I heard him from downstairs and he didn’t even realize. I held him as he slept. I’m not silly enough to think that revenge is never justified, or any of that shit. I haven’t changedthatmuch. But when he woke up and his eyes were red and puffy and his hands were twisted in my cloak like I was his comfort and not his tormentor, I was powerless. Some primal, unthinking part of myself took over. It wanted to soothe him, and I had no strength to fight it.
“Boss?” he says. His eyes are getting wary. He’s afraid I’m going to push him away. Not this time.
“Where do you want to do this?” I ask.
“Your bed,” he says at once. He smiles, looking so beautiful it breaks my heart a little.
“Look at you,” I say. “My flower.”
He blinks, looking stunned and nonplussed. This is all Breta’s fault. She put the idea of Florian as a flower into my head, back when she was making me feel guilty about working him too hard.
“Sorry,” I mutter. “I’m terrible at sweet talk. I just thought since it sounds like your name and your face is so pretty, and—”
“You’re not terrible at sweet talk,” he says.
And then he says nothing more, silent for once, as I lead him upstairs. His joyful presence fills my austere, empty bedroom. He lies gently on my bed as though it’s his own and looks up at me. My heartbeat speeds as I look at him, lying there for the taking, hair fanned out beneath his head, lips plump, eyes dark. Beautiful.
“You’re really going to take me?” he checks. The hope in his voice sends tingles through my whole body. “You’re not just playing with me?”
“Of course not.”
Stars, how sadistic does he think I am? On second thoughts, better not answer that question.
“I need to tell you something.” Suddenly, he looks shy. “I’ve-I’ve never been hate-fucked before.”
“With all the men who’ve had you? And as irritating as you are? I find that hard to believe.”
“I’m serious, Boss,” he says.
