Playboy

  My mouth opens and closes with each swift and firm impalement.

  He wears a naughty expression and it goes darker as he replaces his fingers with his cock. “You’re mine, Wynn.”

  The first thrust is hard and virile and all male.

  “Say it,” he whispers.

  I whimper as he pushes my hands above my head, clasping them on either side of the pillow. His hips move side to side as he screws me slowly and meticulously, driving inside me without one hint of speed.

  I want to go wild with him, lock my legs around him and drive the passion but he’s trying to tame me, trying to keep me grounded underneath him.

  “I didn’t hear you . . .” His mouth skims mine. His teeth nip at my tits as he pulls out, screws in again.

  “Yours,” I whisper, refusing to think of what this means. What he wants it to mean.

  My breast is in his mouth. His tongue circles the tip as he watches me intently, stirring this frenzy.

  “Give me more, Cullen.”

  “My greedy little angel.” His crooked smile is destroying me as he keeps playing and teasing, pumping his cock inside me, withdrawing enough to kill me. He holds me down, eliminating my free will, but I don’t want it. Don’t need it. I’ve already conceded. This night he’s in control, guiding the actions, plotting each stroke and every single move.

  My body is quivering, quaking. I rise up, stretching my neck to his kisses. I want to come. I’m dying to come as he drives inside me and takes me again and again.

  But he’s not ready.

  He leaves my lips and his impassioned kisses speak to me in a feverish manner, in a way that I easily translate into love and longing, acceptance and beauty.

  What is he doing to me?

  He’s having his way with me.

  He’s letting me have my way with him.

  The fucking changes in an instant, the sensuality of our bodies smacking together quickens. We’re in the throes of it, the heated beats of passion. The pleasure is . . . I’m . . . he’s . . . we’re . . .

  One.

  “Fuck,” I moan, not even aware that I’ve spoken until . . .

  “Definitely, and you’re damn good at it,” he rasps, rolling to his back and sliding to my thighs again. Once he’s there, his tongue is all over me as his fingers spin around my clit.

  He sets me on fire. I’m ready to explode.

  Under his touch, this touch, the one before and the one that will soon follow, I lose control.

  He’s mine. I’m his.

  God, this is us.

  We’re rolling across the bed and fucking like we’ll never stop and I can’t stop. I’m at the end, rising to the peak, over the edge, DYING as he’s loving me.

  “Don’t ever stop.”

  “I won’t.” He takes a serious oath and tone as we settle down and curl up together. “I can’t.” The silence is sending me into a heavenly and waiting sleep. “I love you, Wynn.”

  And just like that . . . I’m wide awake.

  * * *

  We’re fucking at two o’clock and three, four o’clock and five.

  I’m half here and half dreamy at eleven a.m. when he parts my legs and I guide him inside me. We’re impossible together, so into one another that I can’t help but wonder if my body will go into major withdrawals once he leaves for Vegas again.

  It’s then when I notice the time with wide eyes. That’s why he woke me once again. That’s why he’s loving me like he’ll never let me go.

  Because he is . . . going.

  And he will . . . leave.

  He’s leaving and I’m empty inside only I’m not . . .

  I cry out in pleasure as he fires me up, rolling me into primal chaos, a carnal world of explicit and extreme satisfaction.

  “What time do you go?” I ask breathlessly.

  “Now,” he whispers, dragging me into his arms and holding me tighter than I’ve ever been held.

  “I’ll . . .”

  “Come with me.”

  “I can’t. I have the gallery and . . .” I swallow back the realization that his world doesn’t run parallel to mine. Nevada isn’t over the state line. Las Vegas isn’t down the street.

  I’m quiet as I remember his last words at midnight.

  He loves me.

  He said it as if he thought it landed on deaf ears but I heard them. And savored them.

  I savor them now.

  He props his head on his hand and stares down at me. “I love you.”

  “No fair,” I say, dragging my finger down his chest.

  “You love me too.”

  I tense at that, and sit up in bed, pulling the sheets up to my chest. I can feel his gaze on me, and my eyes sort of feel a sting, but I don’t want to cry right now.

  “I can’t have kids, Cullen! I can’t give you a son or a daughter or a family. I can’t give you what you need.”

  “Why? Fucking why?”

  “Because I can’t. I’ve seen several doctors, they all agree.”

  He shifts forward. “I knew this. I went all in with you from the start.”

  “What?” I’m shocked. “How could you possibly have known?”

  “I’m a poker player. I’m good at reading people. I’m an expert at body language. You think I didn’t notice it, clear as day, the day you told me about Emmett? You couldn’t look me in the eye, you looked away. The way you phrased it, the way you moved was enough for me to know. You don’t take a pill, you never once worried about a condom. You wanted me in you, and you didn’t have to worry about anything else.”

  He reaches out and tips my face back, his voice raw.

  “You make me happy. You fill that void in my life, Wynn. Just you. Traveling, hell, playing, no longer has any appeal if I’m to do it for no one but myself. Or if I’ll share it with random strangers. I want to make you happy. It gets me off.”

  “I can’t do this. We . . . this hurts, Cullen.”

  “Not as much as being away from each other.”

  “No, no, no,” I deny, shaking my head, my heart crushed in my chest, his love and acceptance so alien I can’t even accept that it’s real, “This is over, Cullen.”

  “The fuck it is. You love me, Wynn.”

  “You couldn’t wait for me to tell you on my own terms?”

  I’m picking a senseless fight, an argument neither of us can win. It doesn’t make sense to him but it means everything to me.

  “No. Because you won’t. Because you never fucking will. I’m leaving and you’re staying here and you’re going to overthink us and reconsider my gambling and our distance and . . . the fact that you can’t give me children.” He kisses me hard on the mouth. “And you won’t tell me. And that’s all right because you show me in other ways.”

  I swallow.

  He looks at me, clenching his jaw.

  My eyes sting and sting, a tear threatening to slip.

  “I want you at the tournament, Wynn. Say you’ll come.” He looks at me, his voice low and thick and emotional. “This Saturday. My plane will be at O’Hare at two o’clock. Please be on it.”

  My voice is just as raw and emotional. “And if I don’t get in?”

  He doesn’t answer at first, but sets a kiss on my cheek and whispers, “Get in. Take a risk, Wynn. On me.”

  Before I can stop him, he slides away from the bed and goes to shower. And I feel a little abandoned and hopeless and like the world is tilting and I can’t stop the shift.

  I’m on the outside, looking in and it . . . well, it sucks. Because I see how much he loves gambling and everything he puts into being a good player. He’s dedicated because he’s really great at it.

  My eyes water as I stare at the red digits on the nearby clock. I’ll never survive without him. I don’t want him to go.

  I’m already pulling away from him even before he goes.

  I feel it in my heart.

  I feel it in my soul.

  Everything is dark and lonely.

  This is me.
>
  Without him.

  BLUFF

  I can’t eat, sleep, think, without thinking of him. Being haunted by him.

  I mean, this was all a bet. Only it wasn’t.

  I care about Cullen. Maybe even love him.

  Really, Wynn? It’s a maybe?

  Right.

  I so fucking love him. I love him from the tips of my toes. I love him when he’s with me, love him when he’s not.

  And I don’t know when or how that happened.

  I didn’t want strings, not because I’m unwilling to let him string me along but because when we’re together, we’re so connected and that kind of connection can only end in heartbreak. Right?

  He’s exactly what I need but not at all what I expected. He challenges me and makes me a better person. Cullen—Silver Eyes—Hot Gambler refuses to let me settle for a sliver of the action. He wants me to have the whole damn adventure.

  “Cullen,” I whimper, rolling around in bed, missing his heat, his warmth, his nearness.

  I don’t want to leave him behind. It’s like I’ve cut off my only source of oxygen. I can’t breathe. I can’t survive without air and HE is my air.

  I think of not going to his final. And my heart just breaks. I want to go to him, to be there for him, but we had a deal. I kept up my end and saw how he lives. I see the appeal in how he lives.

  I LOVED how he lives.

  He brought out the wild in me. With him, I have no reservations. I’m free, sexy, and yet pure. How can that be?

  He FILLS me.

  I’m more of ‘me’ when I’m with him because he lets me be the kind of woman I have always been, but changed because other men stomped on me.

  He gives me freedom.

  Makes me feel loved. Wanted. So damn wanted.

  I can’t bear thinking of not being there to give him all the luck he needs, but then what? Will one day he tire of me? I remember the way he told me he loved me. The way he already KNEW my deepest secret, a secret only my friends learned recently. He loved me still.

  Why don’t I dare seize his love and take it? Accept it?

  Emmett. He doesn’t make me feel special. Cullen, though. He makes it effortless. I thought breaking up with Emmett was one of the hardest things I’d ever do. But the hardest thing isn’t actually learning to love again. But being brave enough to let it in.

  A few days later, I’m spring cleaning my apartment, desperate to get him out of my head, when Rachel, Gina, and Livvy storm the place like women with an assignment.

  “Before you open your mouths, it’s never going to happen.”

  Rachel sighs and looks at Gina.

  “I’m getting tired of coming over here and dragging you out of a rut,” Gina says, not meaning it one little bit. “Especially when you are your own worst enemy.”

  “I second that,” Rachel says.

  “Ditto here,” Livvy says.

  “How am I self-destructing?”

  “Cullen loves you,” Livvy says.

  I wonder how she knows this. Has he said something to Callan?

  Gina narrows her eyes. “She doesn’t look surprised.”

  “This isn’t news to her,” Rachel agrees.

  “He told her.” Liv watches me. “Did he, Wynn?”

  “Yes, okay, he says he loves me.” And a tickle of excitement explodes inside me. This sexy and desirable man, a man who is every dream and illicit fantasy of every red-blooded woman around, told me that he loves ME.

  And I didn’t say it back?

  What the fuck, Wynn? What’s wrong with you!

  “Oh my god!” Rachel claps. “We’ll be planning a wedding again soon.”

  “Not so fast,” I say. “I didn’t say it back.”

  “Well of course you said it back,” Rachel says. “I’ve never seen you happier.”

  “But I didn’t say it.”

  “He knows,” Livvy says. “He told Callan.”

  “Did he really?”

  “No, I made it up,” she says. “Of course he told Callan because Callan asked him.”

  “But wait, back up,” Rachel says. “You really didn’t say it back?”

  “No.” And I feel like shit about that now.

  “Then you’re the single most stubborn woman in Chicago.” Gina glares at me like she means it then grins and says, “I don’t think the words mean so much to men. So you’ll tell him the next time you see him. No sweat, right?”

  All eyes are on me.

  There’s a long silence. Too long.

  Finally, I say, “I probably shouldn’t see him again.”

  Rachel rolls her eyes at Gina and Gina says, “Call the guys, Rachel. Let them know we won’t be home before dinner.”

  “What? Why?” Livvy asks, reasonably so since she’s still in the honeymoon stage of her marriage.

  “Because we’re taking our girl to the closest psych ward so she can have her head examined.” Gina crosses her arms. “You’re so crazy in love that you’ve lost your good senses.”

  “Have I? I don’t know anymore. I just . . . have this sick sense of abandonment since he left. You know?”

  “It’s called love,” Gina says.

  “I can’t have separation anxiety whenever my guy leaves me.”

  “She called him her guy,” Rachel points out.

  “She did,” Gina says.

  “Stop!” I laugh.

  “Wynn, live a little. Fly to Vegas and enjoy him!” Rachel exclaims.

  “Easy for you to say. You don’t have a gallery to run.”

  “Or a friend named Pepper who does an extraordinary job,” Gina says.

  “Okay, fine.” I suck in a breath and they collectively exhale. “I’m scared. All right? I mean, I’ve landed the hottest ticket in Vegas. Cullen Carmichael is a god out there and he’s . . .” A blurred line of good and bad, of hot and sweet, naughty and nice.

  The naughty gets me every damn time.

  “I’m a coward. That’s it. If he ever rejects me, it would truly break me.” I shake my head. “This feels so different than anything else I’ve ever had in my life. This is real love. Real and honest. It’s love, the kind that moves mountains.”

  “Then what are you waiting on?” Liv grins. “He loves you and you love him. I’ve watched you two together and that kind of love? Girl, it’s once in a lifetime.”

  “And there you go. Unless you have nine lives, you’d better start packing.” Gina winks at the other two.

  Livvy hugs me. “There’s a plane with your name on it. And it’s landing in Chicago in just hours.”

  I shake my head, my stomach in knots. But the truth is . . . I just want to feel his arms around me again, one more time, to be there for him.

  Whenever someone mentions him, when his name comes up in a conversation, my stomach wraps up like a burrito. It’s not even a feeling of butterflies, it just feels rolled up and tight, almost as if the name triggers some invisible baseball bat to swing right into my stomach. Sounds painful, right? It is! Is this what loving Cullen will feel like?

  Shit, what the fuck did I sign up for? It felt softer before, with all the other guys, not this intense, this deep, this life-altering.

  My heart feels more broken that it’s ever been in my life. I feel weak, and sick, and just dead inside.

  “It’s just not easy for me, and I don’t know why. I don’t know why this keeps happening to me. I believe in love being forever, but I’m starting to think that for me, it’s only temporary. I mean, nobody marries someone thinking they’ll get divorced. It just happens,” I tell my friends, aware of their understanding gazes.

  But is that reason enough to stay on the shelf?

  Is that reason enough to let real love go?

  No, every part of me whispers. Every voice in me. The slut and the hussy, the responsible one, even the one that sounds like my grandma.

  Every single inch vibrates. I know that I made the wrong choice. That I need to rectify this. That the guy that makes me crackle and sh
ine, tingle and burn, is facing his opponents this weekend in Vegas—and I want to be there with him.

  How can I be loved the way I have always wanted to be loved if I don’t believe myself deserving of it? How can I love a man with all my heart if I don’t love the very heart that I’m giving him, each and every nuance of it, even the body that houses it?

  I want to give this man everything that I can give, and even what I can’t give him on my own.

  VEGAS, BABY

  Thongs? Check. Sexy lingerie? Check. All the clothes he loves? Black dress? Boots and sweater? Lucky earrings? Infinite check.

  I’m packing like mad when the phone rings.

  “Wynn? Pepper. I have a couple of paintings packed and ready to ship. I need to get an address.”

  I groan. “Can you give me a few minutes and let me jump online? I’ll call you once I have the database pulled up.”

  “Won’t be necessary. You probably have this one,” she says. “I need one address for Cullen Carmichael.”

  “What?” I stop packing and stand at the window overlooking the courtyard where we ran from the rain and made out in public like a lust-driven couple who couldn’t keep their hands off each other.

  That’s because we are a lust-driven couple and can’t keep our hands off each other.

  “He bought a work from the show?”

  “Not just any work,” she says. “He bought the work, the crown jewel.”

  Oh god. “Oh my gosh, it’s perfect!” And my favorite.

  “I know. So’s the guy.”

  “Oh, he’s more than perfect, he’s . . . No, I mean . . .” I swallow, not wanting to bore her with details of Cullen’s study with its charming art and lavish appointments. The place he calls home, the home that is so overpowering that only a man like Cullen could live there, a sexy alpha who lives his life rather than allowing life to happen to him, the man who takes what he wants and to hell if it makes sense.

  My man.

  I blink and say, “I’ll see if I can get an address for you.”

  “Okay. Let me know.”

  “I’ll stop by on my way to the airport. I’ll see you in a bit.”

  I hurry out with my suitcase and jump in the waiting Uber. We drive to the gallery. I arrive to find a group of men already unstretching the masterpiece and rolling it in a tube for shipping.