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He makes the bet, then loops his arm around me, kissing the top of my head. "Is that supposed to mean that your heart is black, Sparkplug?"
"Oh, yeah," I say, sarcasm dripping from my voice.
"Which is why your passion project is making AI more empathetic..."
I laugh. "You're too clever for me."
"No," he says seriously. "I'm not. That's the reason I'm here with you."
"As opposed to the countless women tearing me apart with their eyes, wishing they were with you instead."
"I haven't noticed."
The roulette wheel spins, landing on red.
"See?" he says, smiling down at me. "Even the table knows you're lying about the black-hearted thing. Could you take the next bet?"
"Sure, Luke."
He steps away from the table, taking out his phone and texting quickly. He's been doing that all night, ever since our meal at the SkyBar. I can't blame him. It's a CEO's curse, and he's got a lot to deal with. He's already mentioned he has five meetings scheduled for tomorrow. There will be conference calls, product redesign, PR plans.
He returns, squeezing my side. "We should get out of here soon," he whispers.
"Hmm, for what?"
He kisses my cheek. "I've booked us a suite. I have a surprise for you. A show."
"Ashow?"
"You'll see."
"Do you always have to be so mysterious?"
"Are you complaining?" he counters.
"No freaking way," I admit. "You make everything feel like an adventure."
"That's what you've made this trip for me, Sera. You've turned what could've been a disaster into the greatest adventure of my life..."
Pleasure sizzles across my body as he kneels at the edge of the bed, his hands gripping my thighs as he guides his mouth toward my sex. The first time we got intimate, I was nervous, but those nerves have quickly vanished as he touches me again.
He's shirtless, his chiseled body humming with desire. He strokes his tongue up my folds, focusing on my clit. I gasp at the sensation and slide my hand through his hair.
"Better than your books?" he says, his hot breath teasing over my core as he licks his lip.
"Wuh-way better," I gasp.
He thrusts his finger inside me, licking my sensitive bud at the same time. He quickens his pace with each moan I make, like he's addicted to giving me pleasure, like he can't get enough of me. I feel the same, drunk on him, completely intoxicated and never wanting to be sober again.
He pushes his finger in and out. The friction sends waves of heat through me. He growls and sucks on my clit, driving me wild.
I grind my hips against him, the pleasure swelling, and then he leans back, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his eyes glinting with complete obsession. How could I ever think we'd forget about each other? Just let go?
"You're so beautiful," he says huskily, pulling down his pants.
His manhood springs up, impressive and rock-hard, his tip glistening. He falls atop me, holding himself up with his powerful arms. I grab onto his muscled shoulders, digging my fingernails into their firmness.
He takes the condom wrapper from the bedside table, tears it open with his teeth, and slips it on.