Page 107 of Roulette: The Madam

Almost everything around me blurred. As if he felt the potency of my presence, Israel’s eyes cut across the dining room.His mysteriousness locked me in place. However, from my peripheral vision, I witnessed the movements of his guest.

His nostrils widened as he rubbed his hand down his beard. His chin lowered as his lips straightened across his face. He was experiencing less than pleasurable thoughts and feelings, simultaneously. The disturbance they caused, that I caused, was written over his handsome face.

My lips curled as my lashes batted. I nodded my head toward him, minding the manners my mother had instilled in me. He returned a nod, but his head didn’t stop moving after the first bow.

Once.

Twice.

A third.

And, a fourth time.

“Daniella,” Fidel called out, petitioning for my attention.

It was elsewhere. So were my thoughts, eyes, and entertainment.

“Yes.”

“It’s so good seeing you again. You’re such a busy woman. I thought it would be months before you made time for me.”

We’d met three days ago during happy hour.

“Well,” I tittered, “Here I am. I cut a few things out of my schedule to make this date happen. Don’t disappoint me.”

“I won’t.” He promised.

“Or bore me either.”

“Ahhh.” He chuckled. “I will try my hardest not to.”

My phone vibrated against my lap. I didn’t have to check the screen to know who was attempting to contact me. I turned my head in Israel’s direction and nodded toward the pretty, medium-brown skinned woman sitting across from him, advising him to keep her entertained as I did the same for my date.

He held up his cellphone, demanding I check mine. Instead, I turned my attention to Fidel, again.

“My apologies. You were saying?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all. Just admiring the woman in front of m–”

“Tell him goodnight.”

The baritone barked. It was low and discreet, but it was boisterous and demanding at the same time. My nipples pressed against the silk dress that hung onto my body loosely. It gave my skin room to breathe, keeping my temperature at bay–until him.

It felt as if I’d been pushed into a furnace. Everything was on fire. I worried my dress would stain from the sweat beads forming on my skin.

And, it wasn’t the demand that had me suffering from hot flashes. It was Israel. Simply put. It was him. All of him.

Fidel’s discomfort didn’t bother me a bit. The fact that I wanted to clear the table and lay against the linen as he drove his hammer into me was the issue.

“Your date is waiting for you at the table, Israel.”

“Fuck her.”

“I’m sure you have. And, those are my plans for the gentleman in front of me. I’d appreciate it if you would let us be.”

“Tell him goodnight, Roulette.”

We weren’t committed to each other. That message was clear. Israel held a place in my mind, but it wasn’t a significant enough portion to change my world to accommodate him.

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