Page 23 of Wicked Embers

I watch her, admiring the way the soft light plays across her skin and the determined set of her jaw. She lays down her cards,a triumphant smile curving her lips. “Three of a kind. I believe it’s your turn to lose something.”

I incline my head, acknowledging her win. “Of course.”

Rising to my feet, I stand before her, enjoying how her gaze rakes my body and the soft intake of breath she can’t quite suppress. “What will it be?”

“Your pants,” Leigh breathes, her voice barely above a whisper as she averts her eyes.

I toe off my shoes, then reach for the button of my pants. Leigh’s eyes are back on me, widening as she watches me. I take my time, deliberately sliding the zipper down. The fabric falls to the floor, and I step out of it unhurriedly.

Standing before her in nothing but my boxer briefs, my arousal strains visibly against the fabric. Leigh’s gaze darts away, but not before I catch the flicker of interest in her eyes, the way her teeth catch her lower lip.

“Don’t be shy, milaya moya,” I murmur, my voice a rough caress. “I like your eyes on me. Look at what you do to me, beautiful Leigh.”

Her gaze snaps back to mine, the storm in her eyes a mix of defiance and intrigue. Her shoulders tense briefly, betraying her effort to maintain control. “Do you want to touch me, Leigh?” I coax, leaning in slightly.

A visible tremor runs through her shoulders, her eyes darting away as she pushes the deck of cards toward me. “I... it’s your turn,” she stammers, keeping her focus fixed on the table.

The next hand is mine, a full house. I savor the moment, watching Leigh’s expression shift from hope to disappointment.

“Your jeans, Leigh.” My command is soft but unyielding.

She stands, determination pushing through her nervousness. She kicks off her sneakers and then reaches for the button of her jeans. The denim slides down her long, toned legs, revealing the matching pink lace of her panties.

I take in the sight of her, my heart thundering against my ribs. Leigh stands before me, her chin raised proudly—an alluring vision that has me almost panting with lust making my cock harden and throb. My fingers twitch, aching to explore every inch of her creamy skin—untouched by any other man’s hand.

I down another shot, relishing the burn as Leigh lifts her chin a little higher, refusing to cower under my heated gaze. But I see the rapid flutter of her pulse at her throat and the way her nipples strain against delicate lace.

The final hand is dealt. Cards slide across polished wood as I watch Leigh’s face, drinking in every micro-expression. Her brow furrows slightly—disappointment. My own hand is strong, victory assured.

I lay down my cards, capturing her gaze as she reveals her own. Understanding dawns in her eyes.

“How about another two hands?” Leigh’s voice wavers, a hint of desperation creeping in.

I chuckle. “No, ptichka. We agreed—five games. Winner takes all.”

Leigh presses her lips together, a flicker of hesitation crossing her face as I clear away the cards.

Her lips part as if she’s about to argue while conflict wars in her eyes—stubborn pride battling undeniable attraction.

Leaning over the table, I trace her jawline, gentle yet possessive. “Say it, Leigh. Say you’re mine.”

Her eyes flutter closed, a shuddering sigh escaping her throat.

“Look at me,” I command, my tone low and firm. “I want to hear you say it.”

Emerald eyes lock onto mine. “I’m yours,” Leigh breathes, but defiance flashes beneath the surrender.

Lust surges through me, hot and heady. It’s time my little spitfire learns about consequences.

“Stand up, Leigh.” My voice drops, laced with seductive steel. I see rebellion brewing in her. “Do not try to run or disobey. I’ve humored you enough tonight, allowing liberties others would’ve died for.” Fear flickers in her gaze. “Now stand, little spitfire. I want to see you.”

Cheeks aflame, Leigh rises. Her shoulders straighten, her chin lifting as she stands proud in pink lace, unaware of how her innocence and beauty are slowly unraveling me.

“Take off your underwear.” I lift my glass, maintaining a cool facade as I watch her—shock and uncertainty war across her features. My fierce minx is full of contradictions—fire and modesty.

Her eyes widen. “You… you can’t be serious.”

“Don’t make me ask twice.” My voice leaves no room for argument. “I want to see all of you.”

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