Page 45 of Gamble with Me
"Why can't I see your face?" My fingers gently traced the contours of his jaw, nose, cheekbones, and lips, finding nothing else but smooth painted skin. No scars, marks, or other things could disclose his identity. He was clean-shaven, and the shades, made with the skillful hand of an artist, deformed his natural features. There was no way for me to uncover who was hidden under the black and white skull.
"Is my face that important to you?" The evident sadness in his voice made my heart clench, and I slowly moved my fingers to his lips. Delicately, he took hold of my wrist and tenderly kissed my fingertips one by one, waking up butterflies in my stomach.
"At least, tell me your name," I pleaded, moving my hand down his neck and to the buttons of his black shirt. "I don't know what to call you."
"You can give me any name you want," he replied, placing soft pecks on my open palm and continuing to my wrist. My skin tingled every time his lips connected with it, and my pussy impatiently clamped. His touches were torturous yet enchanting to my clouded senses.
"Please, tell me your name," I whispered, pressing my heated core to his groin, desperately trying to ease the ache between my legs. He let go of my hand, and I grabbed the sides of his shirt, baring his chest and sneaking my palms down to the hem of his pants. "Don't you want me to scream it when I come?"
I kissed his neck, feeling his rapid pulse under my tongue. His hands squeezed my ass, and he pressed me against his rock-solid erection. I continued kissing his jaw, nose, and the corner of his mouth. He slightly turned his head, and then, unexpectedly, it happened—our first real kiss.
In the beginning, it was just a gentle brush, as tender as butterfly wings, yet my body buzzed with excitement anyway. Our mouths moved together, and my tongue darted out to taste him, meeting him halfway and turning it into a passionate make-out session. My fingers entangled in his hair, tugging on it because I felt as though I needed something to hold on to. The world around me shattered. Nothing existed but him and me.
My entire being craved more of him, more kisses and touches, more everything, and as if he could read my thoughts, he gently entered me, making me whimper at the sudden intrusion.
He was huge but fitted perfectly in my tight pussy. I felt every inch of him, and when he withdrew a little and my inner walls adjusted, the feeling of him filling me was otherworldly.
I disconnected our lips, grasped his shoulders for support, and circled my pelvis to intensify the pleasure. My mind couldn't focus on any questions or ideas to get answers from him when he lifted me a little and slid me down his cock. My moans resonated through the small living room and grew louder with every move I made.
"Fuck! It feels so good!" I cried out when he licked and sucked my nipples. My hand found my clit, and the additional pressure almost shot me into the stratosphere.
My climax was already so close when he stopped me in the middle of my ferocious bouncing on his cock, and grabbed my throat tightly, forcing me to look into his eyes.
"My name is Zefarin," he said breathily, and my lips stretched into a wide smile. “Remember that, mon cœur.”
He kissed me, grasping my hips and pounding into me while I met him mid-way. The whole world was a blur; my head tilted back, and my eyes rolled when my body exploded in bliss.
He finished soon after me, moaning into my neck. I wrapped my arms around him, keeping him as close as possible.
It was only the slightest change, but I had scratched the wall he built around himself. It wasn't much, yet I at least knew his name. He gave me something, the tiniest hope that I might know him one day.
Of course, he could be lying to me, but I decided to believe him. I made a bold and probably stupid choice and chose to accept him as he was. Hopefully, along the way, I will accept this new version of myself that I liked much more than the previous one.
-22-
Valeria
What was the best thing about having a stalker? I could imagine anyone under the mask. And right now, my mind was preoccupied with watching Zyon talking to the diamond-class customer and comparing him to the dark-masked man with whom I experienced the best sex ever.
Half-sitting on the bar stool with my arms crossed, I studied Zyon's elegant movements, gestures, and posture, noticing a few similarities here and there. But it wasn't anything significant. I couldn't confirm or deny my suspicion, yet fuck, I madly wanted him to be my secret admirer.
"You know, Mrs. Kellerman," a pretty young waitress cut through my thinking, and I cast her a glance, "people are scared to look at the boss for a second, but you've been staring at him without moving for more than two minutes. It's getting weird." She winked at me playfully, and I snickered, trying to hide my embarrassment about getting caught.
"I'm thinking about the triplets’ birthday party," I said, taking the cup of coffee she had prepared for me. Daria leaned into the bar, her perky tits pressed in the tight uniform, almost bursting through the thin black fabric. She tucked her lavender-colored hair behind her ear, staring at Zyon.
"The last woman who was able to stand up to him was married to him for six years," she pointed out, ignoring my remark about the upcoming event. She clearly noticed my interest in the boss, which worried me. I didn't need people gossiping.
"And you're telling me this because?" I lifted an eyebrow at her, adding milk to my delicious-smelling concoction.
"You have all the predispositions to become the next Mrs. Zee," Daria chirped; her wide, playful grin was too excited for my liking.
"Is it normal for you to talk with your supervisor like this?" I asked, watching her smile broaden.
"You can't fire me, honey." She shrugged nonchalantly, and I blinked in confusion. "My last name is Zhumagulov."
With that said, she took beers and lemonades on a tray and left to serve the customers. From what I knew, none of the triplets—or their youngest brother I’d found out about online—was married, yet I didn't find anything about them having a sister. Was she a cousin?
Frowning into my coffee, I turned back to look around the space, yet my eyes again landed on the devilishly handsome owner. Zyon leaned against the roulette table, gesturing and explaining something to the two men intently listening to him.
