Playing to Win (The Complete Series Box Set): 3 romances with angst and humor

by Alix Nichols

  I had no idea he could be like this.

  Desire darkening his gaze, he yanks his shirt off, removes my sweater, and scoops me up. He carries me to the bedroom, but unlike previous times, he lowers me to the floor instead of the bed. Picking up a condom from the top of my night table, he sheathes himself.

  And then he pushes me to the wall and cages me with his body.

  I put my hands on his hard chest. “Kiss me.”

  He doesn’t make me ask twice.

  As he plunges his tongue between my parted lips, I suck it, tasting myself and Julien, the mixture of the two tastes is incredibly hot. My hand reaches down between us and I palm him, my body singing with desire.

  Julien dips two fingers into me, then out, only to be replaced by his shaft as he lifts me against the wall. Sweet pleasure shoots through every part, every cell of my body. I shut my eyes, my whole being focused on Julien thrusting deeper and deeper into me. I can’t move. I’m filled and pinned to the wall with my feet not even reaching the floor. There’s nothing I can do to regain a measure of control, nothing I can hold on to, except the man who’s impaling me.

  I grip his neck and wrap my legs around him, allowing him to drive into me deeper still.

  My muscles clench and throb around him, the pleasure building, building, building. He squeezes my ass, pushing up. I push down, meeting him. Our flesh slaps together with every pump.

  Julien’s face contorts into a mask of pleasure and pain, sweat breaking on his forehead. He dips his head and sucks on the side of my neck, just above the arch of my collarbone.

  I moan his name.

  He slams into me with more force, his breaths jerky and his eyes blind. “Come… for me.”

  Whether it’s his words or the frantic tempo of his thrusts, I come.

  A few thrusts later, he does, too.

  Afterward as we cuddle under the covers, I wonder if what happened tonight will change things between us. I wonder if the change will be for better or for worse.

  Will he still admire and respect me, knowing this about me, knowing how much I enjoyed the rougher, rawer sex we had tonight? I didn’t just enjoy it—I freaking loved every hot, sultry moment of it. All the orgasms I’ve ever had before pale compared to the ones he wrung from me tonight.

  As if reading my thoughts, Julien pulls me to him and kisses my lips.

  I grow dizzy as his tongue caresses mine in slow, powerful strokes. His hand tight on my nape, he devours my mouth in a way that’s new, more passionate, and more demanding than before. But there’s something else to his kiss, an emotion I can’t quite pinpoint… Then it suddenly hits me.

  Desperation.

  Julien

  Someone, please tell me how a mean, spoiled brat can make herself as vulnerable as Noemi did tonight.

  She gave herself to me completely, and it was genuine. I’m sure of it. She couldn’t have faked the flush on her cheeks, the red blotches on her breasts, or her engorged, stiff nipples. Nor could she force her pupils to dilate like that, turning her hazel eyes black when she looked up at me with her lips around my cock. And how could she have produced all that creamy, delicious nectar I licked off her?

  Has she truly changed?

  Or has she always been this person, underneath the bitch? It would explain why I’d fallen for her in the first place.

  I must know. It’s vital that I know.

  “You seemed to enjoy yourself more than usual tonight,” I say.

  She stares at my mouth for a long moment and then shifts her gaze to my eyes. “I did.”

  I peer at her.

  “I’m going to be brave and make a confession,” Noemi says. “You deserve it.”

  I wait.

  She takes a ragged breath. “Once, years back, you took a huge risk when you showed up at my birthday party with a love declaration tattooed on your back and a letter in your hands. And you took an even bigger risk two weeks ago when you proposed on the boat.”

  “Please, you shouldn’t feel you owe me—”

  She cups my cheek. “But I do.”

  I shut my mouth.

  “It isn’t just to reward your courage,” Noemi says. “It’s also because for the first time in my life, I’m starting to understand who I really am.”

  A sense of foreboding washes over me. In my gut, in my heart, I know she’s being honest now. She’s pushing herself to open up and tell me things she might regret later—things that I might use against her.

  I should be gleeful. But instead, my hand burns to cover her mouth to stop her from saying more. I don’t want her to. I can’t let her. Given my plans for her, how will I live with myself if I do?

  “So, here’s the weird thing,” she says. “I’ve always gone out of my way to be what my parents, my so-called friends, and now my boss expect of me.”

  “And what’s that?” I ask, even though I already know the answer.

  “Being guarded and calculating.”

  She peers into my eyes as if trying to gauge my reaction.

  I hold her gaze.

  “I’m through with that.” She nods to reinforce her words. “Starting tonight, I’m brave enough to tell them they can shove their guidance.”

  A glimmer of hope illuminates the abyss I’ve been sinking into. Maybe Noemi’s confession has nothing to do with me, or with her feelings for me. Maybe it’s just about her finally growing up and emancipating herself from the dictates of others.

  “I’m happy to hear that,” I say, forcing a smile. “Nobody bosses my Noemi around!”

  “You mistook my meaning. What I really want to say is…” She shuts her eyes for a moment. “God, it’s hard!”

  “Then don’t say it,” I murmur. “I don’t expect you to strip your soul bare. I don’t need it, Noemi.”

  Her eyes fly open. “But I do.”

  She rolls on her back, then on her side, and faces the wall.

  “Noemi?” I touch her shoulder. “Are you OK?”

  “Yes. It’s just… It’s hard to say these things facing you, so…”

  “Please, baby—” I begin in a last attempt to stop her.

  “I’ve always played a part,” she says. “The part of a woman without vulnerabilities, beyond reproach, a woman who would never do anything weird, unbefitting, or anything to be ridiculed for. Both in bed and out of it.”

  Something strange happens as she says this.

  I no longer want her to stop talking. Tough shit if I won’t be able to live with myself afterward. What she’s saying is too important to walk away from.

  It’s impossible to walk away from.

  “I think that’s why you never dared to push me harder before,” she says. “Why you never really claimed me, despite the ring. But tonight, you did. And I loved it. For the first time, I feel I am truly yours—and you, mine—without holding anything back. It was amazing.”

  My blood pounds in my ears.

  “I trust you with my body and soul.” Noemi reaches behind her and finds my hand, which she brings to her lips. “And I won’t let my insecurities and overblown fear of ridicule undermine our relationship.”

  We remain in that position for the longest time, until Noemi’s breathing becomes deeper.

  She’s fallen asleep.

  But me, I’m reeling too hard to sack out.

  Did she mean what she said?

  Is it possible she’s no longer the devious bitch who humiliates people for fun? Can you wake up one day and decide to be good?

  Bam! Just like that.

  Or is it yet another brilliant scheme in which savvy Noemi plays loser Julien like a fiddle?

  Need a cig.

  In the seven years since I quit smoking, I haven’t craved a cigarette more than I do now.

  Noemi

  Once Melissa and I are on the rooftop, we unwrap our sandwiches and spend a few moments eating. The view over the mainly five- and six-storied buildings of Paris from up here would’ve been breathtaking if other high-rise office buildings did
not obstruct it.

  You can’t have everything, as they say.

  Like this rooftop, for instance. It would’ve been a perfect lunch break terrace if it had a few chairs and tables, and a scattering of potted plants to offset its slate-gray functionality. But the powers that be don’t want that or don’t care.

  Which suits me fine today because the rooftop’s stark barrenness ensures that I can have a tête-à-tête with Melissa.

  “You wanted to have a chat,” she says, apprehension making her avoid eye contact.

  With all the shit she’s endured over the last few months, the poor thing has learned to expect the worst.

  I pull my cell phone from my bag. “Have a look.”

  While Melissa watches the video of Bertrand swiping a document from her desk, I watch her face. At first, her expression is bleak, then her jaw slackens, and then her eyes narrow in anger.

  She looks at me. “How did you come by this?”

  “Recorded it myself,” I say not without pride.

  She blinks.

  I smile. “Remember the fake cactus I put on your shelf last week?”

  “The one you said would bring me luck?”

  “The very same.” My smile widens. “It’s a nanny cam.”

  “What?”

  “I’ve had it for a long time, and I must confess that once, long ago, I used it in a way I’m still ashamed of. But now I got a chance to use it for a good cause.”

  And my residual inner bitch got a chance to redeem herself.

  Hope flickers in her eyes but gives way to doubt. “Is it legal?”

  “No.” I shrug. “But who cares? Which option do you think Bertrand would choose: sue me, after I send this vid to everyone in the firm, including clients, or stop the funny business and let you do your job?”

  Melissa’s hands begin to shake. “I don’t have the guts to confront him. I’ll faint the moment I step into his office with that video.”

  “I don’t expect you to confront him,” I say. “Recording him was my decision. It’s up to me to do the confronting.”

  “You’re taking a huge risk.”

  I shrug. “No big deal.”

  “Noemi, listen to me.” She grabs my arm. “What you just offered means the world to me. It really does. But I refuse to let you ruin your career for me.”

  I drop the phone back into my bag. “And I refuse to look the other way while that scumbag ruins your life.”

  She lets go of my arm and begins to chew her nails.

  “It’s simple,” I say. “Do you need this job or not?”

  “Of course, I do!”

  “I’ll make sure you keep it.”

  We finish our sandwiches and take the elevator back to our floor.

  As soon as Bertrand returns from lunch, I invite myself into his office and show him the video.

  “Melissa and I have copies tucked away safely,” I say.

  He gives me a black look. “What do you want?”

  “Justice.”

  Bertrand smirks. “As a lawyer, you should know that justice is a myth.”

  “Can I use that in my signature? I’ll attribute the quote, of course.”

  His eyes become slits. “Little bitch.”

  Coming from him, the insult feels like a compliment. An acknowledgment that he’s dealing with a worthy adversary who is a force to be reckoned with.

  I’m OK with being that sort of bitch.

  “What do you want?” Bertrand asks again.

  “You stop harassing Melissa immediately and irrevocably.”

  “Is that all?” His gaze bores into my eyes. “How do I know you won’t come back next week asking for a promotion?”

  “I won’t. But you’re right, you can’t know that.”

  Blackmailing Bertrand for a promotion hadn’t even occurred to me. What did occur, many times, is to take on more cases as a public defender and apply for a job in a legal aid center. My salary would nose-dive, but I think I’d be happier.

  In time, I might even start my own nonprofit. It would be called “Bitches for Social Justice.”

  “OK,” Bertrand says. “I’ll leave Melissa in peace. But you’d better uphold your end of the deal.”

  I nod and march out. As I pass Melissa, she looks like she’s about to faint with anxiety, so I grin and give her the V sign.

  She slides down in her chair with relief.

  When Bertrand leaves—and something tells me he won’t linger tonight—I know she’ll rush to my cubicle for details. There won’t be much to tell, but I’ll take pleasure in describing every sweet second of Bertrand’s inglorious retreat and capitulation.

  I’ll squeeze the scene for more joy when I reenact it for Julien next week. He’ll be proud of me, and I’m sure he won’t mind that I used the same nanny cam from my birthday party eight years ago. He’s completely over that silly episode. I have it from the horse’s mouth.

  What a bummer recounting my heroics to Julien will have to wait until he’s back from Belgrade!

  He left this morning straight from my place—our place until we buy something together—and he won’t be back until next Tuesday.

  As I ride the crowded métro home, I wonder what Julien will think of my short-term plan to find a new job and my long-term plan to start a nonprofit. Will he laugh at the fanciful name I’ve come up with?

  And then there’s the motto: “Only a reformed bitch will fight for your rights tooth and nail!”

  I’m grinning at my own cleverness as I step inside my apartment. But my smile fades even before my brain has fully registered all the little things that are wrong with it.

  They all boil down to one big thing.

  All of Julien’s stuff is gone.

  His shoes and jackets no longer rub elbows with mine on the rack in the entryway. The laptop that he rarely uses has disappeared from the dining table that had become his desk. So have his books and papers. I dash into the bedroom and open the closet. No single suit, shirt, or underclothes of his is in sight. The bathroom has been cleared of his toiletries.

  The only thing he’s left is the spare set of keys to my apartment. The one I gave him on our fifth date, with a tiny yellow water polo ball attached to the key ring. It sits on the entryway table atop a white envelope with my name on it.

  With clammy hands, I open the envelope.

  Noemi,

  By the time you find this letter, you’ll know I’ve left you. But you won’t know why.

  Remember the “joke” you played on me years back? I lied when I told you I’d gotten over it. Call me petty and vengeful, but after all this time, I still haven’t forgotten the pain of your betrayal and your gratuitous cruelty.

  So yes, the dating and proposing was a sham. My end game had been to jilt you at the altar. But the loser that I still am couldn’t go through with it.

  So, I’m breaking up with you now.

  You won’t see it that way, but I’m doing you a kindness. By dumping you now, I’m sparing you public humiliation, which was the whole point of my revenge.

  Please, feel free to sell the ring I gave you. Unlike my proposal, it’s real.

  Julien

  I reread the note four more times, hoping the letters and words in it will rearrange themselves into a different message because the current one is too hard to wrap my mind around.

  Too brutal. Utterly incomprehensible.

  Julien never loved me.

  He sought revenge. He had carefully plotted his retaliation and served it to me nice and cold on a pretty platter. He had charmed me, seduced me, moved in with me.

  He’d proposed, for Christ’s sake!

  But the aim of his proposal was to make sure I would suffer maximum damage and pain once he dumped me. Like those assholes who build dirty bombs and blow them up in crowded places.

  There are no words to describe how deeply he’d hurt me.

  And over what?

  A prank I played on him when we were eighteen.

  Part
II

  “Feelings that come back are feelings that never left.”

  Anonymous

  Julien

  I regretted the self-righteous tone of my letter on the flight to Belgrade.

  The letter itself didn’t strike me as an immature and ill-considered act until I got back to Paris five days later. Three weeks after I’d penned the unfortunate missive, I had trouble seeing why it had been so necessary that I dump Noemi. Since I’d given up on the end game, anyway, I could’ve come clean instead and suggested we cancel the engagement.

  But not the nightly sex.

  Or our weekends and vacation together.

  Or the living under the same roof.

  Fact is I miss her.

  I miss Noemi in my arms, against my chest, impaled on my cock, kissing me, moaning, and digging her fingers into my back. Sex aside, I also miss her conversation, the smell of her, the shape of her…

  To be honest, there isn’t a thing about Noemi that I don’t miss. To be even more honest, this past month without her has been shit.

  I park the car and run the few blocks to the pool in a rainstorm that soaks my clothes. We’ve had this weather for a couple of weeks now, which is unusual for early November. Being drenched doesn’t matter right now, since I’m headed for the pool, but getting into damp clothes after the workout isn’t something I look forward to.

  Not that I’ve looked forward to anything of late.

  The realization hits me, and I halt in the middle of the lobby, bumping into and apologizing to a group of teenagers heading out after their session.

  A month is thirty days.

  Thirty. Fucking. Days.

  Nonstop games and travel notwithstanding, I didn’t need thirty days to own the monumental failure of the whole revenge operation. Nor did I need thirty days to admit what I’ve known in my gut since my first date with Noemi back in June.

  Life without her sucks.

  So what if I haven’t completely forgiven her for her so-called “joke”? I may never get over it, resentful bastard that I am. So what if she isn’t the flawless, perfect human being I’d imagined her to be? She may never come anywhere near perfection, no matter how hard she fights her natural meanness.