Page 11 of Betting Her Curves

... her curves.

Of course, I always meant to claim them. The moment she dropped to her hands and knees on the high rollers room, I knew that she was mine. Everything about her calls to me. The sheer tenacity of her spirit. The plush pout of those rosy lips. The firein those blue eyes when she looks at me, simultaneously filled with loathing and yet undeniably attracted too.

After all, the woman literally plays poker aroused. Her nipples are tight, those hard buds pressing against the red silk. As the stakes increased, I could scent the aroma of aroused female in the air, and it was none other than my delicious, sassy blonde. Plus, I saw her shocked eyes when she caught sight of my massive cock. I didn’t even try to hide it. In my fancy tux pants, the anaconda strains if it’s lying in wait for its prey, and I made sure that the young blonde got an eyeful. After all, she’ll be on her hands and knees soon enough, sucking me off.

But that’s all for later. Right now, I want to chat with the young girl. A knock sounds on my suite door, and I call, “Come.”

One of the concierges from downstairs enters politely, immaculate in a starched Degas uniform.

“Mr. O’Lachlan,” she states. “Your guest is here.”

“Yes, thank you. Let her in.”

Then, the woman steps away and Ashley appears behind her. The young girl hasn’t changed since our filthy game earlier in the evening, and I raise a black brow at her without bothering to get up.

“Welcome, Miss Finnegan. You didn’t want to get into something more comfortable?”

Of course, I’m still dressed in my tux from earlier, although the tie and top buttons of my shirt have been pulled loose. My bronzed skin contrasts against the blinding white of my collar, and my black hair is ruffled casually. Of course, Ashley cansee all this, her pupils dilating a bit as she takes in my brazen masculine form.

“I didn’t change because you didn’t give me time to,” she hisses as the door closes silently behind the hotel employee. “The game only ended twenty minutes ago and they made me come up straight away.”

I take a sip of my whiskey, never dropping eye contact with the incensed blonde.

“That’s right, I forgot,” I drawl. “The casino’s not going to let you off the premises without making good on your bet. And it was a particularly bold bet, Miss Finnegan. I could sense you’re a woman with fire in your sweet soul, but never did I think you’d actually put something so ... ah,intimateon the table.”

Ashley stares at me, venom in those blue eyes. Her small hands close into fists at her sides, and I almost laugh. This woman is a foot shorter than me, not to mention curvy and lush. I could probably fight her off with one hand tied behind my back, and a bucket covering my head. Hell, I could fight her off with both hands behind my back, and just my cock jutting straight out. The massive hose would find her little hole for sure, and she’d slip onto it, moaning and whining with pleasure.

But I’m getting ahead of myself because obviously, my beautiful victim doesn’t know that she’s already lost. Ashley’s aware that she’s been defeated at poker, certainly, but she doesn’t realize that my dominion extends over all aspects of her being: her lovely physical self, as well as the intriguing fire and ice of her personality.

Mine, mine, mine, the voice in my head chants.

I startle for a moment because it’s not often that my conscience speaks. Like any ruthless billionaire, I’ve managed to quell any second thoughts that might alter my take-no-prisoners approach. Second thoughts? Never. The voice of reason? Only sometimes. But as I stare at the goddess before me, a wave of possession rises in my chest, making it expand with the male need to claim. This woman is mine alright ... and she’s going to deliver what she promised.

8

Ashley

On the one hand, I’m pissed that I’m even here. What the hell? What was I thinking? Why did I bet my curves, and then lose to this godawful asshole?

It’s my sassy nature that got away from me. I wasn’t over-confident because a full house is a good hand, but it’s obvious that it’s not a perfect hand. There are better ones, and higher-scoring full houses at that. Still, three queens and two fives are nothing to sneeze at, and on a whim, I put my curves on the line. Now, I have to pay the price as this assholey billionaire grins at me.

Then again, I’m not even sure what I’ve lost. Patrick O’Lachlan wants something sordid, to be sure, but does it mean that he now has a right to gaze upon my naked curves? Touch them and stroke them, like they belong to them? Will he suckle at my teats, or kiss me between my legs? A shameful heat courses through my form, pooling in a telling wetness between my legs, and it’s asif the billionaire knows. I haven’t moved an inch, and yet his grin flashes again, a blinding white in the dim light of his suite.

“Second thoughts?” Patrick drawls in a careless voice before taking another sip from his tumbler. “It’s too late, Ashley. You bet your curves, and they belong to me now.”

What a douche. He’s stating the obvious, and I don’t appreciate that. Hell, he didn’t even get up to welcome me into his suite! He didn’t offer me a drink, and merely sits there, casually handsome in his tux. Seriously, I want nothing more than to beat that handsome face in before strangling him with his bow tie.

But I manage to keep my dignity.

“I’m not having second thoughts,” I say in an arch tone, looking down my nose at him. “I’m perfectly fine, thanks. Not that you care.”

A black brow goes up at my snarky attitude.

“Quite the hellcat, aren’t you?” he purrs. “I like it. But Idocare about you, sweetheart. Come, sit down,” he gestures. “Make yourself at home and we’ll talk.”

I take a few steps to the sofa next to him and manage to lower myself down somewhat gracefully. My red column dress is tight around my waist and hips, and the fabric seams strain when I sit. Not only that, but the red column dress has a deep vee at my décolletage, and as Patrick stares, the shadow between my breasts deepens and darkens with my movement. The man’s blue eyes gleam, and I get the distinct feel of a predator. He’s masculine, dangerous, and obviously, very, very hungry.

But Patrick comes back to his senses, his blue eyes flicking up to mine. A dimple deepens in his right cheek, and outrage fills myform again. OMG, he’s not even embarrassed to be caught ogling my curves! Most men would be ashamed but instead, he just grins, flashing those white teeth.

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