Betting on the Billionaire in Lockdown Page 3

  “What’s on your schedule for the next month?” he asked, uncrossing his arms and shoving a hand in his pocket.

  She shook her head. “No major plans. I have no more tournaments for another three months.”

  He nodded and turned to lean on the railing again.

  “I have a counter to your counter. Same game, but the stakes are higher. You win and I hand you two million. I win and you give me complete surrender for the next four weeks. At the end of the four weeks you’ll still get your two-mil.”

  Her mouth dropped open as she calculated whether or not her family could get by without her for four weeks. “Are you serious? There’s no way I don’t leave with two million?”

  He gave a shake of his head. “What do you say?”

  She blew out a breath. “It seems like odds I can’t pass up.”

  “I need a yes, Rylee. I may want your unquestioning submission, but I also want your consent.”

  “Yes. But I want a licensed tournament official watching the match. You’re not going to cheat your way to a win.”

  “I should be offended.”

  She shrugged. “Probably,” she said, tossing his response from earlier back at him.”

  “You’ll find that I don’t cheat my way to anything. But you have no way of knowing that, so I’ll agree. But Hunter or one of his staff gets to find the official.”

  She rubbed her hands together as the excitement of a looming game bubbled in her gut. Poker gave her a thrill that little else could.

  “When do we do this?”

  He grinned. “My inclination is to say right now. But you’re bound to be tipsy after the way you tossed back that whiskey and I want it to be fair, so we’ll set it up for in the morning. The guys will just have to do without a poker lesson.”

  “Um…” she looked down at her hands, trying not to twist her fingers together.

  “What?” he asked. For the first time, she heard that dominant bite to his tone and she jerked her head to his.

  “I don’t know how to ask this. It just feels weird to have to potentially do things with you for the next month when we haven’t even… done anything yet.”

  “Are you trying to back out, or are you asking me to fuck you?”

  “You’re very blunt. I was just thinking a kiss or a scene in one of the play areas or something in between.”

  He chuckled. “I like the sound of that very much, Rylee. You sure you’re sober enough to consent?”

  She nodded. “I am, I promise.”

  “Good girl. Come with me,” he said as he extended his hand to her.

  She took it and relished the warmth that slithered through her as his hand clasped hers.

  He pulled her into a nearby room and led her to a corner. It was a large room and two couples were playing at stations that had been set up. Memphis was leading her to a third station—a wooden x shaped device known as a St. Andrew’s cross.

  “Kneel there,” he commanded.

  “Actually, wait one minute,” he said gripping her elbow.

  He backed her against the cross and cradled her head in both his hands. “You mentioned a kiss,” he breathed when his mouth was mere centimeters from hers. Her eyes drifted closed as their lips connected. The kiss was gentle at first, but when she wrapped her arms around his neck, he deepened it and stole her breath.

  “Much better,” he said as he pulled away. “Now you can kneel. I’ll be right back.”

  “Where are you going?” she said, feeling a bit of panic.

  “Just to get my toy bag, Ace. Stay here.”

  What had she just gotten herself into? She contemplated her predicament as she settled onto her knees and waited for him to return.

  He came back a few minutes later with a black duffel bag.

  “Limits?” he asked as he set the bag on a nearby table.

  “Um. No blood. Nothing gross. You can’t pee on me or anything like that.”

  He chuckled. “None of that appeals to me. You’re safe. What’s your pain threshold?”

  “I’m not a masochist, but I like dancing on the line between pleasure and pain.”

  He nodded as he circled her.

  Without warning, he reached down and fisted his hand into her hair and gave a sharp tug. “Up.” He commanded.

  She scrambled to stand with his hand still pulling at her hair. She winced as he tightened his grip and crushed his mouth to hers.

  “Take your panties off,” he commanded.

  She slid her hand under her skirt and obeyed. He backed her to the cross again and lifted an arm to attach her wrist to the wooden frame. Soon she was attached at the ankles and wrists and he was pulling her skirt up around her waist.

  “Let’s see how you feel about this,” he murmured as he reached into his bag and pulled out a crop.

  “You’re not really about to hit me down there with that, are you?”

  He quirked an eyebrow up. “You might want to practice calling me Sir. You know… just in case you lose the game.”

  She scowled. “That’s not an answer to my question, Sir.”

  He grinned. “Are you telling me you don’t want me to spank your pussy, Rylee? Have we found another limit?”

  She swallowed. “Just not too hard, please.”

  He held the crop at his side and pressed himself against her. “Don’t worry, Ace. I would never do damage to what will undoubtedly become one of my favorite parts of you.” His free hand slipped between their bodies and cupped her between her legs.

  She gasped as he let one finger run between her lips. “So wet for me. How long have your panties been wet?” he asked.

  She whimpered as he continued to caress her.

  When she didn’t answer, he pulled his hand away and stepped back far enough so he could rest the crop against her pussy.

  “Answer my question or you get a swat to your cunt.”

  She swallowed and whispered, “Pretty much since I met you, Sir.”

  He grinned and gently fluttered the leather tip of the crop against her folds. It grazed her clit and she gasped.

  “Good girl. Now, I do want to smack you, but I promise it won’t be too hard.”

  She nodded. “OK.”

  “Try again or it will be hard,” he said harshly as he tapped against her pussy with the crop.

  “Yes, Sir,” she murmured.

  “Better.”

  He pulled his hand back and brought it up again. The crop landed with a stinging smack. It sounded harder than it was.

  “See, that wasn’t too bad was it?”

  She shook her head as the leather fluttered against her clit.

  “And if I do it a few more times, it will make this sensation even better,” he said as the crop flitted faster across her skin.

  She wasn’t sure how it could get much better, but she’d done enough exploring in kink to know he was probably right.

  The crop landed harder between her legs again and she let out a small yelp, but the stinging sensation soon morphed into pleasure as he let it flutter against her clit again.

  He repeated the pattern several times and each time, the fluttering of the crop brought her closer and closer to the edge. Soon she was writhing against the wooden cross and moaning as she neared the peak of pleasure.

  “Come for me, Rylee,” he said as he flicked her clit rapidly.

  She let out a strangled moan as the orgasm built. With one more flick of the crop, she fell over the edge. She heard the crop clatter to the ground and two fingers plunged deep inside her. His thumb pressed against her clit and rubbed small circles.

  “Again, Ace. I want to feel you come on my hand,” he murmured in her ear.

  She shuddered as bliss took her over the edge again. She wasn’t even aware that he’d unhooked her arms until she involuntarily wrapped them around his neck to steady herself.

  “Now that was hot,” he murmured when she had calmed.

  “What about you?” she asked tentatively. “We could find a private
room.”

  He shook his head and trailed a finger down her cheek. “No. I think I’ve decided I’m not going to fuck you until I’ve won and you’re mine.”

  She stuck her lip out in a pout.

  “What’s wrong with that?” he asked, his brows furrowed together.

  “Nothing. I mean not really, I guess. It’s just sad that you’ll never get to fuck me. Because there is no way you’re winning tomorrow.”

  5

  ♥♥♥

  The next morning, Rylee woke to the sound of a quiet knock on her door.

  Rolling out of the comfortable bed, she padded barefoot to the door and pulled it open.

  “Good morning, Ace,” Memphis said, holding a cup of coffee. “I wasn’t sure how you liked your caffeine but there’s cream and sugar on the counter in the kitchen.”

  She took the cup and inhaled the rich aroma before taking a sip. Black coffee suited her fine in the mornings.

  “Thank you,” she murmured.

  “What time is it?”

  He glanced at his smart watch. “It’s a little after seven. Staff will be here at eight-thirty to set up our game.”

  She groaned. “Is there a gym in this place? I usually run before a game.”

  He grinned. “There is. I just finished my morning run.”

  She gave a curt nod and shut the door in his face.

  Draining the coffee, she rummaged through her suitcase for her jogging shorts and a tank top.

  After setting the empty mug on her nightstand, she laced on her running shoes and made her way downstairs.

  Memphis was sitting at the table working on a laptop. She didn’t miss the fact that his gaze lingered on her legs before meeting her eyes. “Gym is in the pool house out back,” he said as he nodded his head toward the large sliding glass door in the main living area.

  She was amazed by how quickly cleaning staff had cleared all evidence of the BDSM party that had occurred last night.

  In the small gym, she hopped on the treadmill and set it for a mild incline. She didn’t play music the way most people did. Instead, she went through game strategy and gave herself a mental pep talk. It was her routine before any big game.

  Despite the fact that she’d gotten a taste of Memphis Foster and wanted more, there was no way in hell she was throwing this game. Winning was important, even if it had no effect on her tournament rankings. There was a high that came with winning a high stakes game and she was chasing that high today.

  Her feet pounded the treadmill belt as various game scenarios flashed in her mind. By the time she’d reached four miles, she was convinced there was no way Memphis would win this game. She’d even managed to drown out Hunter’s words about Memphis not needing the poker lessons.

  Back in the main house, Memphis hollered that breakfast was being brought in as she trudged up the stairs. In her room, she showered and changed into her favorite jeans and a faded t-shirt from her college days.

  When her hair was dry and she felt ready to face her opponent, she made her way down to the kitchen. Breakfast was a spread that rivaled most Vegas buffets. But Memphis just shrugged it off as no big deal when she said as much while he filled his plate.

  “I wasn’t sure what you would want to eat so I asked the caterer to bring his full breakfast menu.”

  She examined the spread and filled her plate with fruit, some scrambled eggs, and a small piece of ham.

  As they were eating, there was a knock at the door and Memphis went to answer it.

  Hunter Novak strolled in, followed by two movers carrying a heavy box that Rylee recognized to be a poker table in pieces. Behind the movers came two women in slacks and black button ups. They would be the tournament officials. Had he hired a dealer too?

  “Morning, you two. I couldn’t miss this game, so I cleared my schedule and brought a couple of my casino staff with me,” Hunter said as he leaned across the bar and snagged a piece of bacon off a tray.

  Rylee just rolled her eyes and finished the last of her fruit as she watched the movers unbox the table and set it up.

  “You know we could have played at the dining room table, right?”

  Memphis shrugged. “I wanted to give you as many advantages as possible. Playing on the kind of table you’re used to should help your mindset.

  Collin, Evan, Bryce, and Brandon came downstairs as the table was being finished. When had Collin arrived? She assumed the other three had spent the night because they were at the party last night, but she didn’t recall Collin arriving. Not that she was paying attention.

  “This really doesn’t seem fair,” she said as she watched the dealer stack chips.

  Memphis quirked an eyebrow up. “How do you figure?”

  “You have a cheerleading squad. I have nobody,” she said as she motioned to the five men leaned against various counters around the kitchen and dining area.

  “I’m on your side,” Hunter said with a wink.

  Memphis just laughed.

  “The table is ready, Mr. Foster, Miss Colton,” the dealer said.”

  A few minutes later, they sat at the table across from each other with the dealer in the middle. The tournament official went through the rules and both of them agreed.

  Rylee threw away the first three hands after the flop was revealed but after that it seemed like the cards were working in her favor.

  Six hands later that changed. She got cocky and bet big on a hand she thought was a sure thing. Turns out it wasn’t, and she lost the hand.

  “Seriously?” she asked as she stared at her dismally small stack. “That hand was statistically in my favor like ninety-two percent in my favor.”

  “Ninety-three actually,” Memphis said as he studied his own stack.

  She sighed. This was not going well.

  The dealer slid the cards for their next hand to them, and she lifted them at the corner. Eight of clubs and a six of hearts. Not the greatest starting hand but she could work with it. She studied Memphis for signs that he was happy with his hand. He gave nothing away. They both checked for the pre-flop round of betting and she inhaled and held her breath as the dealer laid out the flop. Eight of spades, Jack of clubs, eight of hearts. Trip eights. She couldn’t have hoped for anything more, other than maybe a straight.

  “I’ll check,” she said, hoping he didn’t fold before at least one bet was made.

  He didn’t disappoint and bet the round minimum. She wasn’t sure what that said about his hand. He’d been incredibly good at not revealing anything. It was an admirable skill.

  Feeling confident, she raised the bet by double.

  Memphis hummed and stacked and restacked chips as he mulled over his options. The game had been relatively free of sarcasm or attempts to distract the other with insults, so she refrained from taunting him. It seemed like they had established an unspoken rule not to play that way.

  After several minutes of silence, he called and tossed chips into the middle of the table.

  The dealer laid down the turn card, a five of spades. It did nothing to improve her hand, but she needed to keep him thinking she had something, so she tossed a bet in.

  “Call,” Memphis said, without any hesitation. He was either bluffing and had nothing or he had a mediocre hand that had a lot of potential depending on the river. She hated not knowing his tells.

  The dealer turned over the river card, a two of diamonds.

  Could she force him to fold? She lifted the corner of her cards again to look at her hand. Leaning back, she watched Memphis carefully. His stack of chips was bigger than hers at this point so there was no way to take him out on this hand, but she could put a dent in it if she went all in and won.

  On the other hand, if he had better cards than she did, that would be all she wrote, and the game would be over. Was it worth the risk? That was the ultimate question for every poker hand.

  Triple eights with crap cards on the turn and the river meant the only way he won was with a crazy lucky straight or a full ho
use. She calculated the math in her head. It was a big risk.

  “All in,” she said, hoping it was the right choice.

  Memphis raised an eyebrow.

  “Call,” he said.

  When the dealer took his chips and nodded, Memphis laid his cards face up on the table.

  6

  ♦♦♦

  Rylee stared at the cards laying on the table. Memphis had revealed a Jack of hearts and an eight of diamonds. The bastard had a full house. She flipped up her own cards and tried not to feel angry.

  Had she really just lost to an amateur?

  It seemed that way.

  She cleared her throat. “So that just happened. Any chance of a rematch?” she asked, looking down at the red felt of the table. Around her, the men murmured quietly. At least they had the decency not to whoop and holler at her loss.

  Memphis chuckled. “Nope. Not gonna happen. I’ll accept you backing out of our bet, though.”

  She lifted her gaze to meet his and furrowed her brow. “You know I won’t do that.”

  He gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Just putting it out there that I’m not a bastard who’s going to try and keep you here against your will.”

  She shook her head. “No. I honor my bets. I’m just not used to losing so badly.”

  Memphis chuckled. “You didn’t lose that bad, Ace. I just got really lucky on the flop.”

  Hunter was leaned against the kitchen counter watching. “Do I need to stay, or can I get back to work?”

  Memphis turned and glared at him. “You really didn’t have to be here to begin with.”

  Hunter just laughed, “Of course I did. Rylee, let me know if you need a ride out of here.”

  She just stared at him as he turned and walked out. A few minutes later, the movers returned and began breaking down the table. Everyone but Memphis scattered while they worked, and they were soon loading the table back onto a truck.

  “What now?” she asked when they were gone.

  Memphis closed the short distance between them and bruised her lips with a harsh kiss. “Now, you go upstairs to your room and wait for me.”

  She stared at him for a moment, but he smacked her ass and narrowed his eyes. “Go.”