Page 65 of House Rules
I let it go. Fuck, she’s so wet, and my cock is aching, throbbing in my pants. I’m not alone in my misery. Phoenix needs this nearly as much as I do, her thighs spread open before me in blatant invitation.
But she’s not begging me yet—not with words, anyway. And if she’s not saying the words, there’s not a goddamn thing I can do about it.
Not without losing the stupid fucking bet.
I straighten, my gaze searing as I stare down at her, willing her to give me what we both crave.
Beg me. Just fucking get on your knees and beg for my cock, I silently plead. But I don’t just want her to beg—I want her to need me more than whatever truth she’s hoarding. I want to become the lie she tells herself instead.
Her restless movements on the table still as she opens her eyes and looks up at me. A question forms on her lips, but she doesn’t ask it. Resignation settles over her, and she presses those lips tightly together, looking away from me.
Goddamnit.She’s hurt.
I grab her by the hand and pull her to a seated position. Taking her face in my hands, I kiss her with allthe fierceness I can muster. Then I pull her off the table and tug her dress down over her hips. “Leave, Phoenix.”
I sit back down in the chair, watching from the corner of my eye as her spine straightens and she takes a deep breath. Then she walks out of the room.
I curl my fingers into a fist, letting my nails cut into my skin to prevent me from calling her back.
I can’t be trusted to be alone with her right now without shoving my cock so far inside her we wouldn’t know where one of us ended and the other began…but I’ll be damned if I lose this fucking competition because I can’t keep my shit together.
21
Con
Phoenix is up to something.And I’m going to find out exactly what.
Since Maverick took her down to the boat, I figure now’s as good a time as any to go through her room and see what the fuck she thinks she’s doing.
Before he left, he mentioned overhearing her talking to some chick named Sienna about girls disappearing.
Disappearing? They’re not disappearing—they’re quitting.
Every resort, every casino—hell, any place built on service jobs—has high turnover. That’s not a mystery.It’s math.
Phoenix’s room is clean. Too clean. And honestly? Kind of a bummer.
We didn’t bother decorating it when she got here—didn’t know what she’d like and didn’t care enough to ask—so we left it as-is. Standard hotel issue.
And she hasn’t added a single personal touch.
It’s nice, sure. But it’s cold. Empty.
I scrub a hand across the back of my neck, scanning the place, and I don’t like the feeling that creeps in.
It’s like she doesn’t plan on staying, and I don’t know why that even bothers me.
I shove that thought aside and get back to the reason I’m here.
This room’s so bare and hotel-sterile it’s practically a glass box. No clever little hiding places. Nothing subtle.
So I check the obvious first—drawers, desk, couch cushions.
Nothing.
I even look under the bed in case she stashed something in a rush, thinking we’d never bother to look. Still nothing.
Not that I expected her to be that stupid. Phoenix isn’t dumb. But the first ceiling tile I check proves she’s not as original as she thinks she is.
