Page 17 of Wild Card
She nodded, her breath coming in short pants. "It feels...strange. I’ve never been with a man like that.”
“And that’s the way it will stay,” he says curling his fingers slightly. “I’m the only man you’ll ever be with like this.”
"Yes," I hiss.
He smiles, working me until I am begging for more. He pulls his fingers out, replacing them with the tip of a buttplug. I tense again, but he soothes me with soft words and gentle touches.
"Trust me, baby," he whispers. "This is going to feel so good."
He pushes the buttplug in slowly, inch by inch, until it was fully seated. I moan, my body adjusting to the intrusion.
"How does it feel?" He asks, his voice low.
I look up at him, my eyes glazed with desire. "Full," I whisper. "It feels full."
Then he pulls back, eyes steady on mine. “Alright,” he says, with a crooked half-smile. “It’s going to stay in there until it’s my turn, ok?”
“Ok.” I say.
“Now let’s go get yelled at by management.”
I nod, grabbing my tablet and forcing my pulse to slow. “After you.”
As we step into the hallway, the glass doors of the Citadel close behind us.
For a moment, I can still feel the echo of his touch—small, restrained, and impossible to ignore.
Presley and I step through the revolving doors of the Jade Petal lobby, and I immediately notice the metal detector—tall, silver, humming faintly—set up just outside the main conference suite. Two uniformed guards stand beside it, scanning ID badges and bags like we’re walking into a classified facility instead of a staff briefing.
My stomach drops.
They’veneverdone this before.
I stop short. “What is that?”
Presley frowns, following my gaze. “That wasn’t here last week.”
The guard motions us forward. “All personnel entering the conference room are subject to screening.”
Presley nods easily, like it’s no big deal, but my palms go cold. I take a half step back. “We can’t go through that. The metal detector will light up like a Christmas tree. I don’t want to explain to two casino guards and a room full of executiveswhy.”
I shake my head, trying to keep my voice even. “We have to turn around. Now.”
He steps closer, his expression tightening. “No, we don’t. It’s fine.”
“No, it’s not,” I hiss under my breath. “Presley, you don’t understand?—”
He leans in, lowering his voice so only I can hear. “Trust me.”
Before I can protest again, his hand is at my back, guiding me gently but firmly toward the archway. “Just breathe,” he murmurs.
Every nerve in my body is screaming. My heart’s pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat. We step forward together. The guard waves the handheld scanner, nods once, then gestures for us to proceed. We walk through the detector.
I brace for the alarm—the piercing shriek, the flashing red lights, the embarrassment, the questions—But nothing happens. Silence. The soft hum of the machine. The guards already moving to the next person. I blink, frozen mid-step.
“What—” I start, my voice barely above a whisper. “How did that…?”
Presley’s already ahead of me, holding the door open to the conference suite. He glances back, and there’s something unreadable in his expression.
