Dark Deception (Vampire Royals of New York #1) - Sarah Piper Page 0,106

after she’d landed her first surprise hit, knocking Bone Crusher on his ass with a fireball. “This is kind of awesome.”

“I’m glad you think so.” Dorian paused the game and flipped up his face shield. “Time to up the stakes.”

Charley knew that look. It flooded her core with molten heat. “You’re so transparent, Bone Crusher.”

“Option one,” he said. “We shut off the game, head upstairs, and have dinner like civilized people.”

“And option two?”

“Winner takes all… of the loser’s clothes. One piece for every knockout. And the loser must do the winner’s bidding for the rest of the night, no questions asked, no talking back, no disobedience.”

“Tough call, Bone Crusher,” she teased, flipping down her face shield. “But I’m gonna have to go with option two.”

They sparred back and forth, trading hit for hit, until a quick error in judgment left Bone Crusher wide open. Miss Demeanor dropped to her knees and lunged forward, catching her opponent around the legs. The unexpected move sent him skittering backward, tripping over the curb, and landing on the sidewalk, flat on his back.

The announcer’s voice boomed through the speakers. “Oooh, Bone Crusher! You got housed!”

Charley laughed. “Lose the shirt, Bone Crusher.”

“I hardly think that’s fair,” he said, his avatar struggling back to his feet. “We’re just warming up!”

Taking advantage of his lapse in attention, she launched another fireball, knocking him back on his ass.

“Housed again, Bone Crusher!” the speakers boomed. “Your game is off tonight.”

“Your game isn’t the only thing I want off tonight,” Charley said. “Lose the pants.”

“I don’t think so, love.” After all his tough, winner-take-all talk, Bone Crusher abruptly turned off the game, stripped off his equipment, and leaped onto Charley’s platform, sweeping her into his arms and bringing his mouth to her ear. “Since you have a fondness for playing dirty, Miss Demeanor, I’ve got a new game in mind.”

Chapter Forty-Four

Charley had won the game fair and square, yet minutes later, she was naked and blindfolded, flat on her back on the polished oak bar.

Behind it, Dorian fussed with glasses and drinks, ice cubes clinking into a bucket, liquid sloshing from bottles. Without her sense of sight, every sound took on a mysterious, erotic subtext that filled her with red-hot anticipation.

She’d wanted to tease Dorian for being such a sore loser at Midnight Marauder, but now that she was under his command again, she didn’t dare speak out. She knew the rules—no talking without permission—and she was happy to submit.

All. Night. Long.

She felt as free and giddy as a teenager whose parents had just gone out of town. Sasha was staying at Darcy’s tonight, and for the first weekend in months, Charley had no scheduled events, no auctions, no roles to play but the ones she chose.

Now, she bit back a smile and forced herself to remain silent, giving herself over to whatever dark, delicious plans her dominating, sexy-as-fuck vampire had in store.

“Are you ready to play?” he asked, cool and commanding as he stood beside her. She couldn’t see him through the blindfold, but she could feel his powerful presence.

“Yes, Mr. Redthorne.”

“Good girl.” He smothered her with a devastating kiss. Eagerly she parted her lips, coaxing his tongue with deep, soft strokes. He tasted like scotch and sin, his hungry moan making her ache with need.

Finally breaking the kiss, he pulled back and said, “The game is called Hot or Cold. I’ll guess something about you, and you’ll tell me if I’m hot…” He wrapped his warm lips around her nipple, tonguing her in an all-too-brief tease. Then, without warning, he pressed an ice cube to her other nipple. “Or cold.”

Charley gasped, thighs clenching in a vain attempt to staunch her throbbing desire.

“That’s… not a fair game, Mr. Redthorne,” she panted. “You’ve got complete control.”

“Yes, that’s the idea. Let’s begin.” He skimmed his hand across her abdomen, his touch smooth and electric, bringing every nerve to rapt attention. “You’re originally from New Jersey.”

“How did you—”

“Hot or cold, love?”

“Hot.”

He rewarded her with another deep kiss, his mouth warm and silky. But it didn’t last.

“It’s the accent,” he admitted softly. “Despite your polished exterior, a bit of New Jersey slips in when you’re under duress. I find it very intriguing. Now, let’s see…” He traced his fingertips from one hipbone to the other, back and forth, his touch as hypnotic as his voice. “You went to Catholic school.”

“I’ve already told you that. I—”

“Hot or cold, Ms. D’Amico?”

“Hot. Definitely hot.”

Another kiss, another soft moan. This time, he dipped his fingers lower, teasing