My Sinful Temptation

by Lauren Blakely

  John, looking unfazed, tapped his fingers on my thigh and lifted the corner of his new card for a peek.

  He cursed under his breath, declaring himself bust.

  I crowed with triumph, and John shook his head, flipping all his cards face down for the dealer to scoop up. Leaning onto my elbows, I came close to whisper, “You win some, you lose some.”

  He drained the last of his drink, his eyes never leaving my face as he set the glass down with precise care. “I haven’t lost anything.” His fingers on my leg inched a little higher. Nothing scandalous. Nothing anyone but the two of us would notice.

  But, oh, did I notice.

  “I’m on my way to a win, I’d say.” His eyes strayed down to my cleavage, pushed up by the way I was leaning on my folded arms. “You win some, and then I win some, and then maybe you win some more.”

  “Big talk, big spender.” I nodded to the impatient dealer. “He’s waiting for you to ante up.”

  John gathered his modest stack of chips, tossed a tip to the dealer—extra for having made him wait—and stood, crowding me where I sat, and then crowding me closer with a hand on either side of the stool. “Now we’re on our own time, and here’s what’s going to happen. I got a room here—because you like hotels”—his eyes glinted as he used my words to tease me—“and we’re going to go up there, do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars, and do have hotel sex.”

  My blood rushed to the surface of my skin. Fiery. Tingly. Maddening. “And what exactly does hotel sex mean to you?”

  “Sex where you can check your worries and inhibitions and bang like you’ll have no regrets tomorrow.”

  I only pretended to think about it. Then . . . “Okay. I’m down for that.”

  “And trust me. I’m up for it.” He wove his fingers through the hair at the base of my skull. “For you, always.”

  11

  Mindy

  The elevator couldn’t go fast enough. “Why are elevators so slow in this town?”

  “To seduce you to stay in the casino,” he said, layering kisses across my neck.

  “That makes no sense. We’re already in the elevator,” I teased.

  “Does this make more sense?” he asked, threading his fingers through my hair and running a thumb across my top lip.

  Heat flared wherever he touched, and sparks ignited in my chest. Technically, nothing about this fling, if you could call it that, made sense. How could he have this much effect on me already? How was everything so instantaneous and intense with him?

  There was no rhyme or reason to it.

  “I can’t make sense of anything when you do that,” I confessed. “But it’s a sexy kind of nonsense.”

  The doors slid open at the eighteenth floor, and we made it to the room without disgracing ourselves. As if making up for the slow elevator, the lock clicked on the first pass with the keycard.

  We pushed inside, and the door had barely closed when John pinned me against it.

  There was no other word for it. No other feeling like it.

  For as long as I’d wanted him, I hadn’t been fully prepared for the kind of lover he’d turned out to be.

  It was no surprise that he turned me inside out with pleasure. I had feelings for him, and feelings do that to a woman.

  But I hadn’t expected him to be so . . . dominant.

  And I’d never have guessed that I’d like it so much when he gripped my wrists, pushed my arms against the door, and pressed his deliciously hard body against mine. I was caged in and I didn’t fight it, which was the complete opposite of Mindy during the day.

  But Mindy at night liked being overpowered.

  Loved it when he set to work stripping me.

  Thrilled at the determination in his eyes and the rough murmur of praise.

  So sexy.

  So gorgeous.

  Those weren’t words I thought about myself. I wasn’t decorative; I was the tough one. My body wasn’t there to look at; it was a tool.

  But John disarmed me. I didn’t have to be tough. He seemed to like it when I was soft, when I gave in, when I let him have his way with me.

  And his way amped up the electric charge between us.

  Soon, he had me down to my bra and panties, and he let go of my wrists to make quick work of the buttons on his shirt.

  I unzipped his jeans, freed him from his boxers, and stroked his length, feeling powerful in a whole new, sexy way when I touched him, when he gave in, groaning and thrusting into my hand until he muttered, “That’s enough.”

  Then he rolled on a condom, hiked my thigh up to his hip, and wrapped my leg around his waist as he sank into me.

  He let out a shuddery breath, and I gasped at that delicious moment when he was fully seated in me, holding there as I adjusted to him.

  With one hand on my hip, he lifted my arms in the other, stretched them over my head, and fucked me like that against the door.

  This was why hotel rooms in Vegas were dark and dimly lit.

  For hotel sex.

  For commanding men to take you against the door, to pound into you, to make you feel.

  And with John, I was feeling so damn much.

  Feeling as though he was marking me, claiming me in a way that was far more than physical.

  “You,” he murmured.

  That was all.

  But he poured everything into that one word, somehow making it convey everything that he wanted.

  He wanted me.

  I wanted him.

  That was enough just for a while, to drown out the tick-tick-tick of the countdown to the end.

  12

  John

  Saturday afternoon, I was doing laundry to distract myself from the thought of Mindy back at her condo, boxing up what she wanted to store and marking what she wanted to move, when I got a text.

  * * *

  David: Going for a spin. You up for it?

  * * *

  I abandoned the laundry without regret.

  * * *

  John: Hell, yes. Usual place?

  * * *

  David: See you in thirty?

  * * *

  John: See you then.

  * * *

  Our usual place had a running path wide enough that I could jog alongside his wheelchair and not worry too much that a bicyclist would take me out.

  Oh, they still tried—like that speed demon who came within inches of clipping me—but at least there was room to dodge.

  “Watch it!” I warned, with a flashback to my days in a patrol car. The guy on the bike raised a peace sign without looking back.

  Not breaking the rhythm of his gloved hands on the wheels, David said, “Kids these days, right?” He didn’t bother to keep the laughter out of his voice.

  I shot him a skeptical side-eye as I kept pace beside him. “Guy was fifty, at least.”

  He gave a quick laugh. “I’m talking attitude, not age.”

  David and I had been friends since our school days, since before the drive-by shooting that paralyzed his legs. His experience—violent crime coming to our neighborhood, David’s life forever altered—was one of the reasons I’d gone into law enforcement.

  “Ready for the last push?” I asked.

  “Don’t choke on my dust, Winston.”

  We saved our breath for the effort. David once observed that this stretch was where he had to have the right running partner. It had to be someone comfortable with not talking, and who kept the pace when society’s conditioning said to slow down for the man in the wheelchair.

  At the same point as always, we slowed to cooldown speed, finally stopping at a bench by the exit to the parking lot and stretching while our muscles were still warm.

  “So, how long are Lucy and the kids out of town?” I asked. His wife and daughters had gone with his in-laws to the West Coast.

  “They’ll be back tomorrow night.” He stretched his right arm across his body, then his left. “It’s weird having a Saturday with no soccer games or ch
ores to be done at home.”

  “I refuse to believe Lucy didn’t leave you a list.”

  “Okay, then, a Saturday without my beloved wife making sure I got my part of the chores done.”

  David’s wife was a good one. She reminded me a little of Mindy—practical, straightforward, took no shit. And for a moment, a pang tugged under my ribs. A kick from some part of me that said, Pay attention. You want some of what he’s having.

  A list of chores? If it came from Mindy, yes.

  Someone I missed when she went out of town.

  Someone who returned to me.

  But Mindy was going away, and I couldn’t imagine sharing a list of chores with anyone else.

  “Anyway, I’m already tired of pizza delivery,” David said. “You want to grab dinner tonight?”

  I had plans with Mindy—a plan to grab all the time I could while she was here. David and I hadn’t hung out in far too long, but he’d still be there after she’d left.

  “Hot date, huh?” Then he leaned forward in his chair to peer at my face and said, “Aha! You do.”

  “Well, I have a date to play mini-golf. I don’t know about hot, since the only things swinging will be putters.”

  “Mini-golf,” he echoed, liked I’d shattered his illusions about my sexy bachelor life.

  I shrugged. “Mindy loves it. It’s kind of her thing, so I’m taking her to play then to grab drinks afterward at one of her favorite bars.”

  “Wait up.” He held up a hand. “This is Mindy? Mindy from kickboxing? Mindy-who-pops-up-in-conversation-suspiciously-often Mindy?

  “I only know one. But we were just friends until recently.”

  “You’d mentioned that.” Tapping his temple, he gave a sage nod. “But I logged the information as a curiosity.”

  “If you’re so curious, you should join us. Mindy’s heard about you too.”

  He shook his head. “Call me crazy, but I’d rather not interfere with your swing. Mini golf, or anything else.” I rolled my eyes as he cleared his throat before venturing on. “But I would like to meet her, since sooner or later you’re going to need my relationship advice.”

  I blinked, startled by the word. And I was rarely startled. “It’s not a relationship.”

  But saying that was painful. I hadn’t thought beyond making a move while I had the chance. I knew she’d made her decision to move, so I hadn’t let myself even think the word “relationship.”

  “She’s leaving town in just over a week.”

  “Hmm. So, sooner instead of later, then.”

  He was joking, but not really. I was going to have to deal with these feelings—and I did have feelings for her, all kinds of feelings. I wasn’t sure about taking his advice, but it would be nice if I wasn’t alone while I grappled with this.

  “Don’t give up hope, John. You don’t give up on a work challenge or a physical challenge. You don’t have to give up on an emotional one.”

  Why did he have to use the words “give up,” dammit?

  Because he knew me that well, of course.

  I scrubbed my face with my hands, scratchy with dried sweat. “All else aside, I’d really love for you to meet her. I’ll text you the details of the bar.” I’d offered the invitation impulsively, but it was deliberate this time. If there was a hope in hell of making something work here, I was going to need advice.

  He must have sensed it, because he agreed.

  “And then John peppered the cop with question after question.” David had joined us for a round of drinks after Mindy and I enjoyed a round of mini-golf. With her encouragement, he was recounting the greatest hits from our childhood—in this case, when a police officer had visited our fifth-grade classroom for Career Day.

  “The rest of us just wanted to get outside for recess, and he wouldn’t let up. But not even the risk of being pummeled behind the jungle gym would deter him.”

  Mindy laughed. “And did he stare lovingly at the guy’s badge too?”

  “Like he’d discovered buried treasure,” David said, then took a drink of his beer. “All of the gear—you’d think he got to handle Batman’s utility belt. Especially the handcuffs. Eventually, he got a pair and practiced picking the lock while they were off, while they were on . . . I never doubted he’d eventually become a cop.”

  “That’s ‘Detective’ to you, sir,” I added, deadpan. “Show a little respect.”

  David rolled his eyes. “When you earn it, I will.”

  I leaned back in my chair where I could see them both, Mindy and my best friend, teaming up against me. I was damned glad they’d met, and I hadn’t realized how much I needed to see that look on her face tonight—happy and in the moment, grinning like it made her cheeks hurt.

  I needed to store up this snapshot for later, when she was gone and there weren’t any more. We hadn’t discussed whether she’d come back to visit, and that had been purposeful. Sure, we’d mentioned the possibility of a visit here or there, but we hadn’t had the talk. Maybe because I wasn’t sure what to say, or what I could truly offer her. Whether I could offer her what she deserved.

  Eventually, we said good night to David, Mindy bending to give him a hug as if they were longtime friends. Over her shoulder, where only I could see it, David mouthed, Sooner or later.

  He was right. Ignoring my feelings didn’t make me immune to them. My life and my job would be a lot easier if I could pick and choose what to feel. But I couldn’t.

  Mindy and I walked slowly to my car. I didn’t like to leave until David had gotten situated behind the controls of his van—I was always impressed by how he folded his wheelchair and lifted it in after himself—but I tried not to loiter too obviously. Once he’d left and we were in my car, she arched a playful brow. “So, can I see your badge, Detective?”

  Her fingers traced an outline over the place on my shirt where a badge would go if I were in uniform. I caught her hand and held it against my chest. “Ms. Gamble, are you trying to get under my utility belt?”

  “What if I am, Officer?”

  I let her go and turned the key in the ignition. “Then I’d say it’s not my badge you need to see. How about the cuffs instead?”

  “Deal.” Her light-speed answer made me laugh, and made the drive to my place seem way too long.

  Because the way we were together—the way I wanted her, no matter what happened when she left – wasn’t meant for sooner or later.

  It was meant for now.

  13

  Mindy

  He slammed the door shut, and there it was—the dark look in his eye. The side of this man no one else got to see.

  The cool, calm detective—unruffled, laconic, self-possessed—was a different man after dark.

  Intense, commanding, and . . . voracious.

  I was the object of his desire, and that thrilled me.

  He turned me around and pressed my cheek to the door, lingering at my back and whispering into my neck, “You have the right to be fucked hard.”

  “I’d like to exercise that right, please, Detective,” I said in a throaty purr that left no doubt I was down for this as long as he didn’t stop touching me.

  He undressed me completely, then yanked my wrists together, slapped on the cuffs, and marched me to his bedroom.

  Hottest perp walk ever.

  We reached the bed, and he gave me a little push so I landed softly on my stomach. With one knee on the bed beside me, he undid the cuff on one wrist, took both my hands, and lifted them above my head. The click was so loud as he fastened the cuffs around the headboard and closed it around my other wrist again.

  “Lift your ass for me,” he said.

  And I did, offering myself on all fours.

  I was bound to his bed, unable to move my arms, naked and with my ass in the air. I must have been out of my mind.

  But when he moved behind me and licked a path up one leg, lingering decadently on my thigh, the sound he made suggested he was the one barely holding on to his wits.


  He was the one who needed control, I suspected, as he cupped each cheek with one hand, spread me open, and then dipped his face between my legs, licking my wetness. He pulled me along with him to madness, because I was out of my mind with desire too.

  The sounds I made were criminal.

  The noises he made were obscene.

  There were no words, just grunts and growls from him, and moans and sighs from me.

  This man I was falling for devoured me, and my mind went hazy. My world narrowed to only this—the sheer bliss of him consuming me with that wicked tongue until I was shouting, crying, and coming so damn hard.

  He didn’t uncuff me.

  He left me bound to the headboard, and I craned my neck to watch him strip. To watch him take off his shirt, undo his jeans, sheath himself with a condom, and then cover me with his strong body, finally sliding inside.

  “Ohh,” I moaned. “That’s . . .”

  “Incredible,” he whispered in my ear as he moved, slow but purposeful, leaving me with an exquisite ache on each thrust.

  It didn’t feel like fucking.

  This felt like connecting.

  Like true and honest intimacy.

  Like John was letting me see another side of him.

  How he needed it. How he wanted it. And as he stroked faster, his breath coming harder, I knew it was more than simply a craving for dominance in the bedroom.

  “It’s never been like this,” he rasped out as he neared the edge.

  It wasn’t just a release for him.

  It was us, the way we came together.

  14

  Mindy

  The only concessions I wanted for the night before I left for New York were that I got to choose the restaurant—my favorite dim sum place—and where we would spend the night—his place, where there weren’t boxes to remind us I was getting on a plane tomorrow afternoon.