Page 13 of Vicious Vows

His other hand glides down my side, along the curve of my hip, sending shivers up my spine. He breaks from the kiss to nuzzle his face into the crook of my neck, his hot breath fanning against my skin, making it tingle in anticipation. His lips attach to my sensitive flesh, sucking and nipping, marking me as his own. I tilt my head back, giving him more access, and he growls in approval.

In less than two minutes he has me undressed, bouncing on the bed with a forceful push as he strips his clothing off. Hisdevouring gaze never leaves my body, and I whimper in desire of his heat against me again.

"Patience," he murmurs, his voice like dark silk as he prowls over to the bed. His body is a revelation. Every inch of him is hardened and sculpted with muscle, his skin bronzed and smooth. It’s a body that's meant for pleasure and power, for sin and decadence, and all of it is about to be mine.

My heart thuds heavily in my chest as he moves fluidly onto the bed, like a dangerous predator ready to claim its prey. He crawls over me, his searing gaze holding mine hostage as he positions himself between my legs. I gasp in anticipation, my back arching off the mattress as he intentionally brushes his lower body against mine. The friction sends a wave of pleasure rippling through me, causing me to clutch his broad shoulders.

His lips quirk into a smirk, full of wicked intentions. "Enjoying yourself?" he teases, his voice a deep rumble that vibrates through me. I shoot him a glare, but it's powerless against the amusement that dances in his dark eyes.

He slides his hands up my sides, fingertips caressing my skin as they journey upward until they cup my breasts. His thumbs circle over my sensitive peaks, causing me to gasp and arch into his touch. My breath hitches in my throat as he lowers his mouth, taking one peak into his mouth while kneading the other with his hand. Each flick of his tongue sends shockwaves of pleasure coursing through me, causing me to whimper and moan beneath him.

I rake my fingers through his hair, tugging on the dark locks in rhythm with the waves of pleasure. My actions elicit a deep, rumbling growl from him that reverberates through my core, sending shivers down my spine. I watch him with half-liddedeyes, caught between the realms of dream and reality. My world spins in heated circles, the room falling away until all that remains is him and the inferno of desire he's stoked within me.

"Enough teasing," I groan, pulling him up. His eyes darken with desire as he obliges, aligning himself with me. He grinds against me, a promise of what's to come, and I can't help but buck my hips into his, craving more. A low chuckle rumbles in his chest, and he obligingly rocks against me again, sending another wave of pleasure through me.

"Impatient?" he mocks, pressing a soft kiss to my jawline. Despite the attempt at levity, I can hear the strain in his voice, a telltale sign of his own restraint.

"Shut up and kiss me," I growl, reaching up and grabbing a handful of his dark locks, yanking him down to meet my lips. He complies willingly, his mouth crashing against mine with an insatiable hunger that mirrors my own. His hands roam over my body and explore every inch of me as if he's memorizing the soft curves and planes.

His teasing may have been maddening, but when he enters me slowly, allowing me to feel every glorious inch of himself, I can't help but think that the torture was worth it. His movements are slow and deliberate at first, our bodies locked in an intimate dance. But soon enough, the slow rhythm transforms into a fervor of insatiable hunger. His thrusts become more forceful, his grip on my hips tightening as he pulls me closer, deeper.

"Luke," I gasp, clutching at his biceps as pleasure ripples through me. He's like a drug, and I'm hopelessly addicted to the intoxicating sensation of him. His low, guttural groan vibrates against my skin, sending shivers up my spine.

His rhythm becomes erratic, each thrust sending a wave of pleasure rolling through me. I can feel the anticipation building within me like a coiled spring, ready to snap at any moment.

My head tosses back onto the pillow as I whimper his name, the syllables twisting into a plea for release. "Luke..." I moan. My fingers dig into his shoulders, leaving marks that mirror the ones he’s left on me.

With a low growl, he claims my mouth again in a searing kiss that steals my breath away. His thrusts intensify, the pace harrowing and utterly delicious. Each slam of his hips brings me a step closer to the edge, teetering on a precipice of unimaginable pleasure.

"Let go, sweetheart," Luke whispers against my ear, nipping at my lobe with teeth that are somehow both gentle and predatory. His voice, raw with desire and exertion, sends a thrill down my spine that meets the warmth pooling in my belly. And when he brings his hand down on the side of my ass in a hard smack, it sends me over the edge.

I obey his command, surrendering to the dam of pleasure that bursts inside me as sensations explode like fireworks in my veins. A cry rips from my throat as waves of ecstasy crash over me, leaving me breathless and trembling beneath him. I clutch him tighter, the name "Luke" a whimpered mantra on my lips as I ride out the aftershocks.

His pace doesn't slow, his body relentless in its pursuit. His hand crashes down on me again and again, sending paralyzing jolts of pleasure into me that only intensify my orgasm. Luke groans as he follows me over the edge, his body convulsing with the force of his own climax. He buries his face in the crook of my neck, panting heavily against my skin. His hands, previously grippingme tightly, slacken in their hold and slide up to cradle my lithe body that glistens with sweat as we pant and catch our breath together.

If this is what being married to Luke Santoro will mean for the rest of my life, I’m ashamed to admit I’ll enjoy it. I just wish there were no strings attached. I deserve better than this, a man who isn't a violent criminal, someone who loves me and cherishes me. I wish this feeling would pass and leave me in peace, but I’m stuck.

I pray to God he keeps his word about my family.

10

LUKE

The large wall full of monitors reveals every angle of the casino to me, and I stand watching the one pointed out to me by my head of security. Christopher called me down here from my office to have a look at something he finds concerning, and I believe he may be on to something. With my arms crossed over my chest, I study the two men seated at one of our blackjack tables. Their backs are to me, but I can see clearly that they have quite the collection of chips stacked in front of themselves.

I’ve been watching them for several rounds, and round after round, they pull the chips in toward themselves, beating even the dealer. We get winners all the time, but we’ve never had a couple of men win so much or so many times in a row. The only time this happens is when someone is counting cards, which we can’t prove.

“How many decks?” I ask, not even looking at Christopher. Knowing the number of decks used at any one time can help us discern if someone even has the ability to count the cards beingplayed. More than four decks and it’s almost impossible, unless the person is a savant.

“We’re at three, sir.” Christopher’s fingers fly over the keyboard, typing in a message to send the security team on the floor. He’s had his best men filtering in and out of the tables all evening, dressed in plain clothes, watching the gamblers to make sure things are going smoothly.

“Tell him to add another deck.” I give the order, and without hesitation, Christopher is on his radio telling the dealer at table seven through the in-ear microphone all our dealers wear to add another deck.

I step closer to the screen and home in on the action. The dealer finishes up the round they’re playing and then shuffles the cards, and as he does, he slips another deck out onto the table. The men chat back and forth, though there is no sound on this surveillance screen for me to overhear what they’re saying to each other. The picture, however, is high quality enough that if they get up and move around, I’ll be able to get a glimpse of their faces and see if I can recognize them.

When the dealer shuffles in the next set of cards, the men exchange glances and shrug. They stay put, continuing to play at table seven, and I continue to watch them. It’s fascinating to me how someone can even count cards, but it happens. I’ve seen it many times. They’ll come in, sit down, memorize the deck for a few hands, and play it safe. Sometimes, they even lose on purpose so it doesn’t look like they’re cheating, and then they cash in big time. These men follow that pattern.

They offer low bets, back out when their hands are weak, and after six or seven rounds on this shuffle, they begin calling repeatedly. I watch them rake in several thousand more dollarsbefore I’ve seen enough. I reach down to my hip and pull my walkie-talkie out and press the button as I hold it to my mouth.

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