Page 88 of Nest of Thieves
“How’s that ass, mami?”
I tip my head back to meet his hungry gaze. “It doesn’t even hurt.”
He shakes his head. “Mentirosa.”
I frown.
“Liar,” he whispers. His hands drop to my ass and he squeezes.
I suck in a sharp breath. I’m a little sore, but in the best of ways. In the most torturous of ways. As if remembering the aching need he and Mac had left me with, my body warms and primes for his knot. My vanilla perfume fills the room, and Vette answers with an orange and cinnamon scent. We drown in it, locked in a battle of following through with a job or forgetting about all our responsibilities and fucking on the floor like animals.
“Vette.” A soft warning. If he doesn’t stop, we’ll fuck up the job.
“I know,” he says with a growl. “The guys are counting on us.”
I nod.
“I hate those fuckers.”
Laughing, I shake my head and put my hand on his chest, easing him back a few steps. His fingers reluctantly leave my ass. “No, you don’t. Don’t let pussy fuck with your head.”
He rears back. “¿Mande? What?”
“You heard me.” I give him a look before turning and opening the door. “Think with your big head, papi.” A low growl that makes my core clench in feverous need follows me to the car. I chuckle under my breath, grinning at my triumph. In a matter of seconds, I’ve taken back some of the power I willingly gave to him last night.
Time to focus.
* * *
Vette and I strut into the Borgata like a couple meant to be known. Him in the tux that screams money and me in my arm candy dress. To the unknowing, I’m nothing more than a pretty toy for him to play with. Eyes slide over us, lecherous and leering, curious and inquiring.Who are they?The onlookers seem to ask with their gazes. It’s exactly what we wanted.
We grab drinks from the bar, and Vette leads us to a blackjack table, dropping three hundred-dollar bills on the top and nodding at the dealer. The man in a white button-down shirt and vest eyes the money, collecting a handful of chips and placing them in front of Vette.
“Three hundred.”
Vette quickly checks the chips.
I scan the room and sip on my martini, searching for Lark and Mac. The dealer goes over the rules of the game with Vette, but I don’t bother paying attention. I’m more interested in watching the men work. The game begins, and Vette drops his hand on my thigh, pushing the skirt of my dress up. My skin heats at the contact, and I swing my gaze toward him. He’s not looking at me, though. To anyone else observing, he’s focused on the game, but the way his fingers carefully knead my skin tells me all I need to know.
Fuck the game. He’s paying attention to me.
For the benefit of the both of us, I focus on the game and patiently wait for my cue. We went over the plan a few times in the car. Vette will lose over and over. I’ll drink more and more, getting more obnoxious with my insults and disdain for him. The grand finale is going to be the best, though.
Vette places his cards down, and the dealer takes the chips he bet. “Fuck,” Vette says.
I pat his arm and polish off my drink. “Next time, dear. I’m going to get another.” I raise my glass.
“Hurry up,” he growls at me. Another part of the plan. Every word between us is crafted to build up to the fight.
“You’re not coming with me?” I pout.
“Fuck no, you can take care of yourself.” Vette scoffs and rolls his eyes at the dealer. “Fucking omegas, right?”
If he were serious...well, he’d be down two precious jewels and perhaps an eye.
I sniff. “Fine, I’ll go on my own. Maybe I’ll find another alpha.”
“Yeah right,” Vette mutters.
