Chapter Eleven

Sloane made her way through the crowd with the ease of an expert. She made polite conversation with the bigwigs, had some laughs with some good friends, and schooled her face for the tournament. In usual form, she wore her standard attire of black, this time a high-necked black dress that fell right before her knee, with black ankle boots. No jewelry adorned her outfit, and her hair swung free, masking her face when she bent her head.

She ordered a seltzer at the bar and went to take her seat. The cameras whirred but she clicked into the zone, until the crowd was a distant murmur in the background. The clink of the ice cubes against the glass was the only sound that drifted to her ears, and suddenly she stiffened, as the memory hit full force.

Roman.

The man had a thing about ice. For the past week, he liked to surprise her with creative ways to torture and please her body with the use of extreme hot and cold. The memory of last night tumbled past her.

A hot wet tongue on her nipples. Sliding down so close to her aching pussy. Trapped from any visual stimuli and dependent on his breath and his touch to tell her what was happening next. A long slide down into heat. Then icy cold slamming her back and wrecking her defenses. Again. And again.

His fingers and mouth on her clit, teasing, stimulating. On the edge of orgasm as she waited for his next move. Then the slam of painful cold against her throbbing nub, hurtling her over the edge. Her scream told him she belonged to him.

The last week had changed her. It had started with sex. A release for her body and mind, and a way to help her win the tournament.

It had changed into real emotions and need for one man.

Roman Steele.

Between games and his work shifts, they met for a meal. Every evening, they fell into bed and played. Filthy, dirty, beautiful games. Games that freed her, broke her, and put her back together.

He forced her to share. Stories about her dad; her time on the streets. Stories about her past lovers and heartbreaks. She'd shared personal truths about her past she only shared with one other man before him. That man had rolled his eyes at her story and verbally lashed out. How could she be whining about her past when she was a millionaire? He had no patience for her or her poor little rich girl story. Afterward, Sloane locked herself back up tight and vowed to never share again.

Until Roman.

Oh, at first she fought the intimacy, but Roman was always fair, giving as much as he demanded, so she sat in fascination as he spoke about his family and brothers, the emptiness in his gut as he searched for his identity, the importance of his work and being in a high paced setting that heated his blood. He loved the jump of adrenalin, and the high stakes of betting. He adored alternative music, memory foam pillows, and the color blue. He hated vegetarians, liars, and reality TV shows.

And Sloane was in love with him.

She let the knowledge float before her, accepted it, and then let it go. This morning, when she woke up he was gone. At first, a razor slice of hurt caught her unaware, but she accepted his disappearance with a trust she never owned before. She’d told him about her ways of focusing before a tournament, the quiet place she got to inside her mind. For now, she needed the space, so she’d climbed out of bed, showered, and claimed her silence for the next few hours so she could go out there and win.

Sloane carefully set the glass down and made sure the ice didn't clink. Time to get into the zone.

Time to play.

The tournament began.

Her chips went up, and then decreased. She was always in it for the long game and liked to pace herself. When others began to tire, she became alive, hungry for the kill and the lure of the win. Her senses sharpened like an animal in the night, and she smelled blood. One facial reaction or flick of the cards could be a person's downfall. She made her way through the long hours of the play, until day blended into night and blended back again.

Her chips were up and she had one opponent left. Sloane fought to stay in the zone, but a shimmer of awareness crept up her spine like a kiss blowing in the wind. She turned her head half an inch and peeked from her peripheral vision.

Roman stood in the crowd watching her. His arms crossed against his powerful chest, hip out, and feet in a wide relaxed stance. His silver hair glimmered under the casino lights, highlighting the foggy blue-gray of his eyes. For one moment, their gazes met, locked, and delved deep.

Then he smiled.

Time stopped. That beautiful, masculine smile and the warm gleam in his gaze told her everything she wanted to know. Raw pride shimmered from every carved feature of his face. The quiet confidence in her ability, the naked emotion of possession, all told her he loved her.

Sloane turned back to her hand. Victory pulsed in her blood, and she knew her face reflected emotion for the first time in her life under the hot whirr of the camera.

And she knew she'd won.

When the chips were counted, and congratulations from the players eased, Sloane walked across the room to stand next to him.

“Good game, kitten.”

A joyous smile curved her lips. “Thanks. Why'd you leave?”

He reached out a finger and trailed it down her cheek. “You need to get in the zone. I would have just made you a bowl of mush with too many orgasms. I respect you.”

“I know.”

“I also love you.”

Sloane sighed. “I know. I happen to love you, too.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Good. So, here’s what we're going to do.”

She raised one brow. “Being bossy again, huh?”

He sighed with deep regret. “Why do you have to make everything difficult? Thank God I already have the necessary equipment to tame you.”

She stared at him with suspicion. “Equipment?”

“Handcuffs, blindfolds, whips, etc. So, here's what we're going to do. I'm going to cheer you on every step of the way while you make a shitload of money. I’d like to come to Atlantic City and watch you play. I can get the time off and we can visit my parents.”

“Sounds fair.”

“Then you're going to move in with me.”

She raised her chin. “I like my place better. You move in with me.”

“We'll argue about which place is better later. In the meantime, you need some food and water and relaxation.”

“You don't always know what I need, Mr. Roman Warrior. I had a hell of a day and I'll tell you what I need.”

“Go ahead.”

She raised herself on tiptoe and spoke right against his lips. “I need an orgasm. So get your ass back up to my room and take care of it.”

His eyes heated with warning. A thrill raced down her spine.

“Good girl.” He lowered his head and kissed her deeply. “Let's play.”

Finally, Sloane thought as she gazed up at the man she loved.

A happy ending at last.

The End