Page 28 of Dirty Deal

A laugh bubbles out of me as he tugs the belt undone, slowly, savoring. And it’s funny, because yeah—I’ve noticed that my trench coat gets under his skin. Something about it makes the casino owner restless, and when my dress for each night is finally revealed, some of the tension around his eyes bleeds away.

But it’s just a normal coat, nothing especially fitted or flirty. A standard piece of clothing. And yet Weston’s chest rises with a hungry breath when he peels the two sides apart to reveal my gray dress beneath, his eyes sparking with interest.

“You like undressing me.” My voice is hoarse, but it holds steady. Whatever advantage I can take, whatever weakness I can point out, I will.

He hums, pushing the coat off my shoulders. Snaking my arms out of the sleeves, I let it drop to the desk behind me.

“Clearly,” Weston says.

Like it’s so obvious. Like he’d be a complete idiotnotto like that.

Gah!

“Seems like you don’t loathe me as much as you claim.”

Is that a desperate note in my voice? God, I hate it. I hate how exposed I feel right now, even though I’ve only lost my outer layer of clothing; hate that my arms ache to wind around Weston’s neck again and press our bodies together.

I’m as vulnerable as a hermit crab without its shell right now, and he’s only removed my coat. And what’s worse is Westonseesit. He sees everything.

His hands are soothing as they stroke up my sides. His expression is serious as he dips his head and presses our mouths together for the second time. For a long moment, I’m floating, flying, lost in his kiss, my legs sliding apart so he can step between them. He does.

Then: “I don’t loathe you,” Weston murmurs against my mouth in between kisses. “You couldn’t be further from the truth, Lena.”

My heart glows like a happy little coal in my chest, even as my brain yells about how this is all a trick.

Mayday! Mayday! Enemy attack on our defences!

“I don’t believe you,” I say, but I lunge up for another kiss. Rougher this time, with our tongues stroking together, my fingers twisting in his hair. Before we part for oxygen, I nip Weston’s lower lip and taste the coppery tang of blood.

He grunts, sounding annoyed for the first time tonight, but he doesn’t step away. If anything, he seems to get bigger, closer, pressing between my spread thighs so that the hard line of his cock nudges against my underwear.

“You’re not going to chase me away, Lena.” Weston rocks his hips forward to prove his point. “Do you feel that? That’s what you came here for tonight. That’s what you’re going to get.”

It’s embarrassing, the way relief crashes through my insides.

Yes.That’s what I need.

Not Weston’s clearly fake claims of affection; not his wondering stare, like I’m some kind of miracle. I need his cock,thick and hard and relentless between my thighs: the only part of him that can’t lie to me.

Nothing more.

But first, the bastard steps back, breaking my hold around his neck. He inhales deeply through his nose, scanning my rumpled, flush body from head to toe, then gives a vicious smile.

“Lay back, Lena. I’m going to taste you.”

Twelve

Weston

Lena’s eyes spark with defiance, her chin raising an inch into the air. She’s getting all pumped up, ready to argue with me for the sake of it, but I spread a palm over her chest before she can speak and press her gently down to the desk.

“Oof. Weston!”

Dark tresses of hair splay out on my desk, and Lena’s gaze darts around my office ceiling. She’s tense and untrusting still, even now as I sink into my desk chair and move it closer. Even as I place steadying hands on her bare thighs. Her skin is warm satin.

“Relax,” I murmur, stroking with my thumbs. “Youcantrust me, Lena.”

She scoffs, but wiggles closer to the edge. Atta girl.

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