Page 42 of Wildcard's Wager

“1%. My assistant manager cut his hand and is heading to the hospital. I need to fill in until Trouble can get one of his men to take over.”

“Trouble? Is he a member of the club? I haven’t met him.”

“No, he’s not. He’s the President of the Shadow Borns. They’re part owners of 1%. His guys and ours take turns covering the hotel.”

He fills the palm of his hand with shampoo before sliding his fingers through my hair. I melt when he massages my scalp. So good. He rinses out the shampoo before grabbing the conditioner. He glides his fingers gently through, detangling any knots with great care. I collapse into goo when he switches to soap and caresses my body with his powerful hands.

Once I’m clean, I return the favor. I think washing Wildcard is now my favorite activity, next to fucking him, that is. Hismuscles jump under my administrations and I feel all-powerful when I stroke his dick until he explodes.

“Oops, made a mess. Guess I’ll have to start over,” I purr.

He takes the soap from me. “You do that again and you’ll have to carry me out of the shower. I’ll finish cleaning myself. You can’t be trusted.”

I pout until he gives me a kiss before ducking under the spray to rinse off.

We dry off and return to the bedroom to dress.

“How long will you be gone?”

Wildcard pulls on his shirt and watches me. “You could come with me? I could give you a tour of the hotel.”

“Is it safe?”

“My shoulder’s healed enough,” he says, rotating his shoulder. “We could take the bike. No one can see you under the helmet. We have a private underground parking garage we don’t use very often. There’s an elevator that will take us up to the executive floor. What do you say?”

“Where you go, I go,” I reply.

We check on Colt and then tell Puma where we’re headed. Wildcard makes a detour downstairs into the basement. He’s back up in minutes, holding the helmet he bought me for our escape to Boston.

“You still have it?” I ask. My eyes mist as I take it from him.

“I hoped that one day you would need it again.”

I hug my helmet with one hand as he takes the other. He leads me outside and stops next to a bike I’ve never seen before. “This isn’t your bike.”

“It is. I still have the one you rode to Boston. Couldn’t part with it. I bought this one five years ago. Bought it the day I met Puma. He was in the store buying a bike and we got to talking.” He gestures toward the largest motorcycle I’ve ever seen sitting next to his.

“He’d need a bike that big, wouldn’t he?” I ask. It’s almost twice the size of Wildcard’s bike.

“Custom order. Well, it would have to be. They weren’t expecting a giant to be shopping for a bike.”

I laugh as he helps me put my helmet on. Flashes of the times he did this on our trip pass through my thoughts. I sigh when he finishes.

“What was that sigh for?”

“Memories.”

He grins and swings his leg over the bike. I take his offered hand and brace my free hand on his shoulder to slide in behind him. Snuggling up close, I wrap my arms around his waist and hold on tight. This is my happy place. Memories slide in and out as he revs the bike and flies through the gate. The Strip looks entirely different when you’re on the back of a motorcycle. The buildings feel closer and taller somehow. Even the lights seem brighter. Cool air passes over my exposed skin, making me grateful for my jeans, boots, and jacket. Too soon, we’re pulling into a familiar parking lot. But instead of driving to the entrance like my cabbie Jason had done, Wildcard drives around to the side and down a small ramp. He slows to a stop in front of a gate and leans over to key in a series of numbers into a keypad. The gate opens, and he drives through. The parking garage isn’t large. There are only a dozen parking spots.

He parks near the elevator and waits for me to climb off. I remove the helmet. My face hurts from smiling. I’m bouncing as he takes my helmet and hangs it on the handlebars.

“You enjoyed that, didn’t you?”

I bob my head up and down. “I missed riding. Didn’t realize how much until now. That was the best trip yet.”

“Why?” He asks as he takes my hand and pulls me toward the elevator.

“Because you’re mine and I’m yours,” I reply.

---