Love in the Cards (Whole Lotta Love #1) Page 4

  It was pretty damn amazing what one wild and delightful night with a stranger could do and Maggie wanted to do it again…with Deuce. Then a thought slapped her. Hard.

  Protection! They’d gone and done a damn stupid thing—they’d had unprotected sex. And it had been fabulous sex too, but shit—how fucking dumb could they get?

  She gnawed her lip as she rubbed shampoo through her hair. She knew she was healthy, since she’d had her yearly physical not long ago. And she was on the Pill too. But him? Oh lord…

  ~~~~~

  In the bedroom, Deuce rolled onto his back. He sprawled across the bed like a lazy dog, with his legs spread wide, his balls dangling—and drooling. Me very sexy man. Suddenly he sat up straight. He waved, half asleep and mumbling. He said something about space aliens invading fast food joints, and then opened his eyes at last.

  Yawning, he tossed his legs over the edge of the bed and followed his usual morning routine of sitting semi-comatose wiggling his toes in the carpet while cupping his balls. He smacked his lips together, yawned again and with great coordination, scratched his balls and blinked at the same time. As always, he wondered if the two areas were linked together in his brain.

  The first lucid thought to cross his mind was I’m hungry.

  Deuce finally stood and headed toward the bathroom, morning wood bobbing like a symphony conductor’s baton, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror on the way. “Holy shit—talk about a bad hair day!”

  Looking more closely at his reflection he noticed nail marks across his shoulders. He twisted around. Yep. On his back too. And there, if he wasn’t mistaken, was a wicked bite mark on the meat of his chest as well.

  “Cool. Battle scars! Maybe I’ll go to the tournament in a tank shirt and show these babies off to the guys.” He flexed his muscles and grinned at himself in a moment that reeked of testosterone and pure male pride, even in his half-awake state.

  He stepped into the lit bathroom without paying much attention to the shower running. Peeing was becoming a desperate necessity, backed up with thoughts of the upcoming tournament.

  Helloooo. Who put the fucking seat down?

  He lifted it up and focused on peeing directly into the bottom of the bowl. It was a favorite morning trick of his, which he knew would make hundreds of tiny bubbles froth in the porcelain. Part of his mind rolled its eyes at him, but what the hell. Everyone was entitled to a few stupid quirks. It was a guy thing and he wasn’t about to apologize for it. After completing his mission, he raised his hands over his head and said “Victory”, then flushed the toilet.

  “Aaargh, you sonofabitch!”

  Maggie. Oh shit, Maggie was in the shower.

  Memories bubbled through his sleepy brain like—like—those bubbles in the toilet.

  Stay calm, be cool and don’t be an asshole about last night. It had been amazingly improbably fabulous. The sort of almost-inhuman sexual experience he’d only read about in erotic romance novels written by that perverted pair of authors, S.L. Carpenter and Sahara Kelly.

  He wasn’t much into reading those kinds of novels, but any guy who wrote a story about midgets, sardines and redheads was an auto-buy for Deuce’s small bookshelf, not to mention that the female half of the writing team actually let him get away with it.

  “Uh, sorry.” He finally spoke, trying to sound innocent and apologetic all at once.

  He grabbed the shower curtain, pulled it back a little and peeked in. Oh sweet Jesus.

  He saw her legs, her ass and lifting his eyes he saw that great set of breasts. The ones he’d lingered over with his lips, tongue and lastly, with his cock.

  “Deuce?” Her voice trembled a little. “We didn’t use anything. You know. Protection.”

  He stepped into the shower with her. “Well we did try the pulling out method but it made a mess on the sheets.” He took her in his arms. “Look, if you’re worried about getting pregnant—”

  “No, it’s not that. I’m on the Pill. And I’m healthy, Deuce. I just want to stay that way.”

  He smiled. “I know what you mean. You don’t need to worry. I cut myself a while ago, got a couple of stitches and a tetanus shot. They run those tests now at the emergency room—and I checked out just fine. They did recommend sex at least twice a day, however. For therapeutic purposes.”

  Maggie sighed with relief. “Thank God. That was real stupid of us, Deuce.”

  “Yeah, it was.” He held her tightly for a moment. “Can we be stupid again now, please?”

  She turned in his arms and rested her back against him, letting the spray rinse away the last of the shampoo from her hair. “I think I’d like that.” Maggie threaded her fingers through his. “Let’s play.”

  She let both hands drift over her slick body, tugging Deuce’s along with them. She cupped her breasts and let his fingers squeeze tight, the breath leaving her lungs as their combined grasp aroused her all over again. She was already on fire and Deuce was kerosene to the flames.

  The hardness of his body behind her and the feel of his chest rising and falling against her back was a real turn-on. His groan of pleasure as she eased her hands away, leaving his on the taut nipples, was music to Maggie’s ears.

  She reached behind her, finding his hipbones, and slid her hands down to the front of his thighs, scratching softly with her nails as she dragged them back up through the light furring of bristly hairs.

  Deuce’s cock was already stirring against her ass so she pushed back into him, letting his hardness nuzzle between her buttocks. It was her turn to moan. More. She wanted more of this man. He was an addiction and she was hooked.

  She stretched her arms as far as she could behind them both and grabbed his ass, pressing him into her, feeling his cock almost breaching her ass. She’d never had sex that way, and up until now hadn’t particularly cared for the idea, but—with Deuce— hell, he could stick it in her ear if he wanted.

  She didn’t care. Every place he touched her, everything he did with her, was just fine.

  Especially that. He slid a hand away from her breast and down over her slick belly, finding her pussy and the heat beneath. Oh yeah, really really fine.

  As she ground herself against his cock, he caressed her clit, stroking it, teasing it and making her sob with delight.

  “You sore, babe?” His whisper was hot against her ear and his tongue swiped over the curve in a touch that was scorching to her sensitive skin.

  “No—yes—oh God don’t stop…”

  She thrust her hips forward, unable to prevent the reflexive move, telling Deuce he’d found exactly the right spot. He rolled his hips down and slipped his cock between her legs. The swollen head parted the lips of her pussy but didn’t penetrate. It strained them apart and she moaned. Maggie wanted to just bend over and let him have at it. But this wasn’t going to be a simple fuck, this was a release brought on by touch. His touch.

  With light but demanding touches, he brought her to a shivering peak and held her there, gasping and shuddering as every muscle in her body tensed in preparation for the inevitable explosion to come.

  And come she did.

  In massive waves of pleasure, over and over, Maggie surrendered to Deuce’s masterful hand. Her hot nether lips caressed the thick hardness of his cock.

  The tip rested below where his hand stroked her clit. Deuce may have had the occasional semi-clumsy moment, but this was a man who understood a woman’s reactions, and right now he was smooth as silk.

  Blind to everything but the passion flooding her body, she cried out, surprised when she got a mouthful of water as well as an orgasm.

  She coughed and shivered and clamped her thighs tight around his hand. “Oh God…”

  “Easy, honey.” He winced as he slid his cock free from the vise of her legs. “You okay?” Deuce turned them around, taking the water on his back. “I’m sorry—I should’ve thought—”

  Maggie raised a shaky hand to his mouth. “It’s fine. I’m fine. Better than fine.” She smil
ed and kissed him, a long lingering kiss of satisfaction that brought their slippery bodies into contact and made her sigh.

  His cock dug sharply into her belly—she looked down—then back up at him. “And I think you should be fine too.”

  “Whoops.” The soap bar squirted from his hands, shooting across the shower floor.

  She put her hands on his chest, dragging them slowly downward as she lowered herself to her knees in front of him. “Let me get that. Would that be okay with you, Deuce?”

  That’s a no brainer. Deuce was becoming aware that he was mentally repeating himself an awful lot with this woman. “Hell yeah.” Perhaps it should be his new personal motto. He’d get it made up into a family crest. Or something…

  His thoughts evaporated as Maggie reached for his cock and cradled it gently in her hands. He was soooo dead.

  Your turn, Simba. Looks like the lion ain’t sleeping this morning either.

  She explored him carefully, sliding her hands along his length, learning the contours of his body all over again and reaching between his legs to cup his balls, squeezing gently. She rolled them in her palm like dice, making him tremble, and when she slid her mouth over him, he surrendered.

  He moaned. “Jesus, Maggie…”

  “Mmmm…” She hummed as she pulled back and then plunged down again, sucking him enthusiastically. “You taste good,” she mumbled.

  Don’t talk, babe. Now is NOT the time for conversation.

  She shifted a little, bringing him closer, while grasping the base of his cock in one hand. The other went on a voyage of discovery, checking to see if his balls were still there—they were—and venturing on into strange new worlds. Places he’d never realized could send a bolt of lightning up his spine if pressed just right. Just like—that…

  Fucking A. Where had she learned that little trick? Deuce clamped down on something he figured would be damn near a squeak if he let it out.

  She was sucking him deep into her mouth, deeper still, almost to her throat, sliding her lips over him like he was some kind of delicacy. He’d had blowjobs before, but this one—with Maggie—should really be described as a suck-job that could win an award from whoever gave out awards for this stuff. No question about it, Maggie was different to his past lovers. In exactly what way he wasn’t sure and right now he wasn’t about to spend any time figuring it out. That would be for later. This—this pleasure was for now.

  He leaned his head back into the spray of the shower and closed his eyes, losing himself in the passion of her mouth. Blindly he groped for her head. Not to move her, but to reassure himself that this whole thing wasn’t some deliriously incredible dream.

  It wasn’t. Soft damp strands tickled his fingertips. He threaded them gently through his grasp as she rocked back and forth, still sucking and loving him with her lips.

  Her tongue tickled as she slid him out, catching just beneath the head and making him groan aloud once more. “Holy shit…holy fucking…”

  He grabbed for some control. She was taking him on one helluva ride, but if she kept going, he’d lose the reins of this particular horse.

  “Maggie…” He tugged on her hair. “Honey—if you don’t stop now…”

  “Deuce.” She breathed the words over his wet and swollen cock. “Shut up.”

  He shut up. Three of a kind beats two pair. A straight beats a—ummm. Oh lord. He couldn’t distract his thoughts anymore. He was doomed.

  Maggie smiled around him, her lips tightening and her grasp sliding down to his groin as her mouth pulled the other way. It was heaven and hell and—oh fuck.

  His spine started to sizzle and his balls damn near danced the Macarena as they tensed between his legs. He was gonna have to let go. “Maggieeee…”

  He erupted. His cock throbbed and his balls pumped as he shouted her name, spurting deep into her throat. She refused to budge, holding him with her lips and her hands, sucking on him—milking him until the last spasm eased.

  She’d swallowed him, devoured him and left him a happy, limp shadow of his former self.

  And she was grinning.

  Come to think of it, so was he.

  She stood up slowly, letting the water rinse her face as her body slithered against his. “Thank you, Deuce.”

  He blinked. “For what?”

  “For last night. For this—for everything.” She waved her hand in a casual gesture. “Your parents should’ve named you Ace.” She stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel. “And I have to go.”

  “But—” Deuce struggled. He was limper than a wet rag, his legs barely holding him up, and he sagged against the wall, heedless of the fact that the water was chilling now—and she was getting dressed.

  “I can’t stay,” she said gently. “We both know that.” She slipped into her clothes and peeked around the shower curtain. “We’ll see each other again, Deuce. That’s a sure bet.” She grinned. “I never say that, either. Not unless I’m absolutely certain.”

  She touched one fingertip to her lips then reached out, just brushing his with the same finger. “‘Bye.”

  And she was gone, leaving him in the shower, alone, exhausted and—and—hungry!

  Chapter Six

  The backs of Maggie’s knees were sweating.

  The air conditioning was working just fine, the environment a comfortable seventy-two degrees. She knew it had nothing to do with the current climate, but still she could feel the dampness in her neatly unobtrusive black pants, the only outward sign of her current state of mind.

  She was winning, and winning big.

  The tournament had begun at eleven a.m. sharp, the players assembling in the large convention hall and eagerly finding their places at the thirty-two tables set up at discreet distances from each other. The eight players at each table then proceeded to do their best to win their round.

  The next several hours had reduced the tables down to sixteen and Maggie was quite content with the progress so far.

  She’d been bluffed, flirted with, avoided a couple of feet that had strayed too close to hers beneath the table and done it all with her quiet smile and “poker” face. The one that said, “Hello. I’m a girl and therefore no threat to you.” And it said it right before she raked in her winnings. She’d ignored all the requests for drinks afterward and managed to elude the room key one guy had wanted to slip into her winnings along with his ante.

  The only hand she’d completely blown had been the one she was holding when she caught sight of him on the far side of the room.

  Deuce. Damn it, he was here for the tournament.

  Alone in her room after a night of unbridled sex that had practically melted her thighs, she’d wondered. He’d been very comfortable with a deck of cards in his hand and played poker with a casual ease that said a lot about his hobbies.

  But she hadn’t been positive, although she’d certainly considered the notion.

  Now she knew. He was there to win, just like she was. Now things would get interesting. The sight of him had dazzled and distracted her to the point where she’d checked instead of raising and needlessly blown a couple of grand.

  She’d recovered and gone on to win the table, but it irritated her. It bothered her that one man could pull her mind out of her game—something that had never happened before.

  She sipped a soda as the tables were rearranged and everyone took a much-needed break. Deuce was chatting with some guys across the room—she didn’t even know if he’d seen her. And she shouldn’t even be thinking about it, since the next round was about to start and she’d better be damn sharp, since her opponents would no longer be looking for a quick lay on the side. The games were winnowing the players down to the real pros, as opposed to the amateurs.

  It was a time for concentration and complete mental focus. Not vaguely unsettled sexual yearnings for a guy three tables over.

  Sure, they’d had fabulous sex. Wonderful sex. The best sex in three states, probably, and they might well have committed a few misdemea
nors according to the laws of several others! She’d never come like that before, or so many times, either. She hadn’t known that was possible outside of some high-falutin’ women’s magazine column, most of which she’d scoffed at while reading it.

  So what the hell was it about this guy that rang all the right bells on her private slot machine? Besides the fact that he could do some pretty incredible things with his personal handle?

  There was something beyond the obvious, there had to be. He was attractive, but not breathtaking. He was fun, but not a stand-up comedian. He was…nice. And he cared. Or at least she thought he did.

  She frowned into her glass. He’d treated her with respect, affection and attention, taking the time to learn her body and seduce her mind.

  Damn him.

  She shook her head at herself. This is so fucking stupid.

  The players were called to their seats and Maggie sauntered over to hers, thanking the gods of poker players that she wasn’t at Deuce’s table. Yet.

  It seemed pretty inevitable that they’d be playing against each other at some point during the tournament.

  They’d played with each other last night—that was for sure.

  She stacked her chips, trying to clear her thoughts. Tonight. She’d think some more about Deuce and their games tonight. She just knew she’d see him. Her intuition was holding up large, clearly lettered signs. He’s gonna come back for more.

  She sincerely hoped so.

  Maggie sighed, deliberately pushing Deuce from her head. It was time to play more poker.

  ~~~~~

  Deuce was smokin’.

  Not literally, of course, since it had never been one of his vices, but the cards in his hands were hotter than hot. And he was playing them just right. The first few deals took care of a majority of the players at his table and he and one other guy were left to battle it out.

  It wasn’t much of a battle, either. A couple of bluffs, a nice ace in the river coupled with a jack in the flop and his opponent was all in—and very quickly after that, all done. Yep, Deuce was riding high.