Poker Brat

POKER BRAT …She was just too horny for words. It had been, what, almost a year since her last one-nighter? She nodded, thinking, a girl has needs. Fuckin’ A. “Why are you nodding?” His grip on her upper arm suddenly burned her bare flesh. “It’s nothing,” she choked out as he walked her into the elevator. They were alone. She swallowed to see the two of them in the mirrored expanse, shuddered when one of his hands clasped a buttock. He laughed, a rich, sexy sound that made her want to hit the elevator’s STOP button and

jump him. “Liars get spanked in my book. But you probably figured that out. That’s why you told me you won our little poker match by cheating. So you could get a good spanking.” “Lied? No, I cheated. Honest. I couldn’t live with myself, I had to come clean. It’s not like I’ll enjoy this!” Lord, I’m babbling. She jumped when his large hand smacked her bottom. He laughed again. “Yeah, darlin’ you just keep tellin’ yourself that while I heat up that adorable fanny of yours. I plan to check on your level of enjoyment once I’m through whacking you. Fact is, if I checked you right now—” The elevator door opened to her floor. She pointed wordlessly to the right. He walked next to her, hand on her arm, her backside still stinging from his palm.

She was absolutely going to die if she didn’t get a piece of the cowboy soon…

POKER BRAT BY

BARRIE ABALARD AMBER QUILL PRESS, LLC http://www.amberquill.com

POKER BRAT AN AMBER QUILL PRESS BOOK This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. Amber Quill Press, LLC http://www.amberquill.com All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review. Copyright © 2006 by Barrie Abalard ISBN 1-59279-553-6 Cover Art © 2006 Trace Edward Zaber Layout and Formatting provided by: ElementalAlchemy.com PUBLISHED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

To all those who encouraged me to write, starting with Mrs. Northrup in the sixth grade.

POKER BRAT Poker is a man’s game. CJ Jackson eyed the redheaded honey in the tight halter top, but her shuttered expression told him nothing. “Raise,” she said, pushing in a tall stack of chips. CJ shoved in an even larger stack. “Back at you. You need five grand, darlin’, if you plan to call.” The gal in the low-cut, glittering shirt said only, “Call,” before pushing in more chips. CJ could feel the eyes of every man at the table on him. Texas Hold ’Em—hell, poker in general—had been a man’s domain until recent years. Not that he didn’t respect the female pros—he’d been whupped by both Annie Duke

and Jennifer Harmon in tournaments. But the play of the hot little number across from him made no sense. She checked when she should raise, and called when she should fold. Yet, somehow, she’d amassed a huge pile of chips. CJ suspected the shameless display of her breasts did much of the work for her. Every man at the table seemed mesmerized by them, probably because they jiggled every time she moved. “Ow, paper cut,” she said, sucking her index finger so hard her cheeks hollowed. He considered what those crimson lips might be capable of, and sneaked another glance at her delicious cleavage while the dealer revealed the last card. Ace of hearts on the river. Hot damn. “All in,” he said. “All in,” she said. He couldn’t keep from grinning while

laying down his hand. “Ace-high flush. Read ’em and weep, darlin’.” The redhead giggled, making the contents of her halter top sway, but he barely noticed. He was too busy staring at her cards. “Aces full of nines,” she said, raking in the pot. “Full house? Then why’d you bet—” “A good player changes her game often in order to confuse her enemy.” “Enemy?” He pushed back the hat on his head to stare into her steel-gray eyes. She shrugged. “Poker’s war, just played with cards and money instead of guns, cowboy.” Cowboy. He prided himself on being a son of Texas, and the sneer in her voice when she said the word pissed him off. She needs a good spanking.

“How’d a purty little lady like you get enough money to play at this table?” He made sure his expression was innocent of any sarcasm. Unlike his voice. “The old-fashioned way. I earned it. And not the way you think I did,” she added. “You mean, you didn’t marry a sick but filthy rich old man, honey?” “I founded a company that was bought by a big corporation. I resigned, cashed out, and now I do whatever the hell pleases me most…honey.” Her smile took on a hint of pity. “C’mon, cowboy, let’s go have a drink. Winner buys. That means I’m paying, not you.” CJ heard the implied “loser” in her words, but followed her anyway. Normally he’d lead, pointing them to the cushiest watering hole in the place, but the view afforded by her skin-tight black pants more than made up for trailing behind her like a whipped hound. She

had a butt on her, that’s for sure—as full and bouncy as her breasts, and shaped like an upside-down heart. Too bad she was wearing flat sandals instead of really tall high heels. If she were, her tail would bounce like gelatin on springs. What he wouldn’t give to peel down her pants and apply the hiding of a lifetime to her luscious backside. The smart-alecky remarks would stop then, he was certain. Hell. He was hot for a woman who’d relieved him of his chip stack, and he didn’t even know her name. She chose a back booth, a little apart from the others. “This suit you?” she asked, not waiting for his response to sit. CJ slid into the opposite side. When the barmaid chirped, “What would you like?” he ordered as he always did—for both himself and the lady. “Maker’s Mark, on the rocks. She’ll

have—” “A sparkling water,” the redhead interrupted. “With lime on the side.” She tucked two fifties under the barmaid’s order pad. “Lots and lots of lime, and an iced tea spoon, too. Keep our drinks coming till the first fifty’s gone. The other fifty’s for you. Lots more where that came from—if you take care of us.” “Yes, ma’am,” the woman said, pivoting on a stilettoed heel. How the hell did she work all night in those? CJ thought, gazing at the waitress. The why, he knew. They made her legs look world-class, and men always tipped a pretty young woman more than a plain one. He stretched, propping his rattlesnake-skin boots on the seat next to the redhead. “Okay, darlin’, I’m CJ Jackson. Who am I drinking with? ’Cause I never drink with someone whose name I don’t know. Kind of a rule of

mine.” *** Kat O’Toole regarded the cowboy’s boots with distaste and slid away from them. “Mary Katherine O’Toole. My friends call me Kat. That means you call me Ms. O’Toole.” His chuckle grated in her ears. “You mean I’m not your friend, Kat? Oops, I forgot, in poker I’m your enemy.” Not just in poker. I run from your kind—the kind who wants to control me. Images of control, hot, sexual control, arose in her mind, making her squirm on the booth’s padded seat. The center seam of her tight pants was pressing against a sensitive, needy area every time she wiggled her hips. The barmaid returned, hovering over the man in the booth as if he’d been the one to place a hundred bucks on her tray. When the woman bent over to show off her cleavage, Kat

sniffed. The woman obviously had implants, for her breasts didn’t move the way Kat’s own natural curves did. The man—CJ, was it?—God love him, at least he wasn’t ogling the waitress. Nope, Kat had his full attention. At least, her breasts did. Though he did manage eye contact most of the time. “So, CJ, you play poker much?” Her expression, she hoped, was innocent of her intended veiled insult. CJ laced his hands behind his neck, smiling only with his mouth. “Yep. And I only play Hold ’Em, bein’ from Texas and all that. Lubbock’s my home town, though I live just down the road a bit these days.” Just down the road a bit—a Vegas resident. Probably moved here to gamble full time. Damn, she’d never dated a real live gambler. Not that she was on a date. “And how’d you earn your first stake?”

she said, squirming now because, damn it all, it felt good when that center seam polished her panties. In fact, she was considering retiring to the ladies’ room to remove her pesky, in-the-way undies so the rubbing would feel even better. Because, no way she was letting the cowboy into her pants. No…freakin’…way. So she’d have to settle for the strokes the center seam of her pants produced when she wriggled just so… “I know what you’re doing.” His smirk made her face flush. Damned Irish Catholic guilt. Damned red hair and easy blush. “What am I doing?” She squeezed several limes into her glass without meeting his eyes, willing her hips to stop wiggling. “You’re playin’ hard to get. Honey, I’m easy.” His smirk morphed into a full-on leer. “Jes’ thought you should know.”

“I’ll just bet you are.” She dumped several packets of artificial sweetener into her water before stirring madly with the long-handled teaspoon. Ice and water slopped on the table. “What the hell are you doing? Besides making a mess?” “You never saw anyone make limeade before?” Kat met his eyes. They were so brown, so deep, deep brown. An odd combination with his sunburned face and streaked blond hair. And his lips…full, tempting. Mmm. Better not look at them. She dropped her gaze to his hands. His large, capable hands. Capable, she’d bet, of all kinds of delightful, controlling actions. Her secret desire filled her with desperate craving, turning her wet and ready. Flushing again, she stared at her drink. Looking at ice seemed safe enough.

“I have a proposition,” he said. The old, familiar come-on snapped her out of her sex-fogged thoughts. “I’ll just bet you do,” she said, “and the answer is no.” He raised his hands. God, but they were huge. And rough-looking, like tanned leather. She gulped the makeshift limeade to cool off her thoughts. “It’s not what you’re thinking. It’s a gambling proposition.” Working at being casual, she added more lime to her water. “Spill it.” “One poker hand for one thing only: if I win, I get to spank you until your sweet little fanny is bright red and stingin’ like the dickens.” Kat knocked over her glass. The barmaid came on a dead run. “Ma’am, here, let me wipe it up. I’ll bring you a new glass and more limes right away,” she said as

she cleaned up the spill. After she left, Kat said, “You’ve got to be kidding. Why would any sane woman let a strange man take her over his knee? It would mean being alone and vulnerable with you in a private space. It’s just not safe.” “Over the knee, huh?” CJ rubbed his chin. “Sounds like you know what a spanking’s supposed to be like. Only, I was thinking more of making you bend over the back of a chair. More swinging room for my arm that way.” Kat winced, her mind winging back to the only time she was ever spanked. At fifteen, her first boyfriend had spanked her thoroughly with her own hairbrush because she’d flirted with his best friend. She’d broken up with the guy afterward, just to prove she wouldn’t stand for such treatment from a guy, even though the whole process had been strangely thrilling. The spanking had been over her panties, because both of them were virgins. Her

boyfriend hadn’t had the nerve to pull them down. He’d been bold enough to flip up her skirt, however, and her sitting area had burned like he’d set fire to it. Kat bit her lip, remembering how the sting had loosed a craving she’d never felt before, not so strongly, anyway. Despite that, it had taken five long years before she’d let a man scratch her intimate itch. She and her college boyfriend had done the deed on a moonless summer night, al fresco, with a scratchy stadium blanket under her partial nakedness. He hadn’t spanked her, though. No, she usually dated civilized men, not men like the cowboy opposite her. This guy would have no qualms about pulling down her panties before he whaled on her behind. She was sure of that. As if reading her mind, he said, “I spank only on the bare, by the way.” She started squirming again. No one had scratched the familiar itch for her in a long,

long time. “You’re not afraid you’ll lose, are you?” She wanted to smack the smirk from his face. She, Kat O’Toole, never lost. She’d built a company from the ground up and had never stumbled, not once. She’d given her all to her staffing business, working nights, weekends, holidays. Never taking time for friends, let alone men. Her romances had been limited to an occasional vacation fling. She’d retired at thirty a wealthy woman, though she’d been damned lonely at the top. Two years later, she still was. Her friends had quit trying to fix her up. Kat had found fault with every single date, and sooner rather than later. Not one of the civilized, wealthy, well-dressed, and educated men had attracted her an iota when compared with CJ. Even though he infuriated her. “Hell, no, cowboy, I’m not afraid I’ll lose,

because I never do.” “Then let’s get this game going.” She nodded. “What do I get if I win? Besides keeping my bottom safe, that is.” “Me.” His naughty grin stirred something in her, but she sneered as if it didn’t. “Yeah, you’re really a prize I want. How about something real, like moolah, cowboy? How much is it worth to you? Put up or shut up.” “I can cover up to a hundred thou,” he said, “without having to cash out any investments. Lord knows I’d pay that much to spank your sweet rear end, you brat. But I thought you had a pile and didn’t need money.” She shook her head. “Cowboy, let me tell you…everyone needs more money, even when they’re richer than God. Which I’m not, by the way.” She cleared her throat. “Okay. You get

to spank me if you win, and I get a hundred grand if I win. But I have a suggestion. Let’s make it best four hands out of seven. That reduces the element of luck. Which is something you’re gonna need to beat me.” “Agreed. Where should we play?” “How about right here, at this table?” “If we can find a dealer. For such high stakes,” he said, grinning, “I think a pro should handle the cards.” “All right. It just so happens I see an off-duty dealer I know at the bar. Will she be all right?” “She? You mean Jessica?” He pointed at a tall, thin brunette. “You know her?” “Sure do. She’s fine with me.” He lowered his voice. “If I win, when and where’s the spanking taking place?” “We don’t need to discuss that, because

you’re not going to win. The only spanking you’ll be giving me is the one happening in your dreams.” *** CJ willed himself not to imagine winning. Well, not the winning, but the payoff for winning. If he thought about Kat’s cute butt, he’d never make it through the hand. All the blood in his brain would pool down below, leaving it starved and sputtering. They were three-all, so the winner of this hand would win the match. CJ peeked again at his hole cards: ace and king of diamonds. Not as good as a pair, but damned fine cards to hold in the deciding hand. The first three community cards came—ace, ace, seven. He’d flopped a set. Let’s see her beat that. Fourth street was a jack, and the river was another seven. He couldn’t see a possible

straight or flush, and if Kat had trip sevens, he had her beat. The only thing that could beat him up was if she had four sevens, which would take down his full house of three aces and two sevens. He eyed her, saying, “Time to lay ’em down, darlin’. I’ve got aces full of sevens. Can you beat that? I figure I’d better start warmin’ up my arm.” She frowned at her cards for a moment. “You might have me, cowboy. I forget—does four of a kind beat a full house?” Her grin was wicked as she tossed her pocket pair of sevens on the table. CJ couldn’t believe it. This woman had a horseshoe up her butt, she was so damned lucky. “Fours. Well, I’ll be damned. I should have known better when I saw the two sevens on the table.” Stunned, he watched her peel four fifties off her wad of cash for their dealer, Jessica.

She cleared her throat. “CJ, don’t you want to tip Jessica for helping us out?” He pulled out two C-notes with a shrug. “Thanks, Jessica. ’Preciate it.” The dealer smiled, tucking the cash into an inside pocket before walking away. “Nice payoff for twenty minutes’ work. Ask me to deal for you two again anytime.” He drained his glass of bourbon. “I guess that means I should leave now. Right?” “I don’t see why, unless you’re a sore loser,” she said. “Keep me company while I finish my water?” “Why don’t you drink?” he said, signaling the barmaid for another bourbon. “If I’m going to sit here, I’m going to have another one.” “I just don’t like it,” she said. “I don’t like my thinking turning fuzzy, don’t like losing control.” “Don’t like losing control. Now why

couldn’t I have guessed that?” “What do you mean?” “You’re a control freak of the first order, as well as a brat. No wonder you need a spanking so badly.” He noticed her eyes darting about. “Shh,” she hissed. “Not so loud with the spanking talk.” He took a slug from the fresh drink the barmaid placed in front of him—his fourth. He could usually hold his liquor pretty well, but he wasn’t right now. “Why do you think I’m a brat?” she said. Her question cut through his bourbon-fogged thoughts. “What?” “Why do you think I’m a brat?” she asked, stirring her so-called limeade mixture. He set his glass down hard, making a sharp noise that turned heads his way. “Because you are.”

“But…but, I don’t understand,” she said. “Look at yourself. You’re dressed like a hooker—” “I am not!” she cried. “Well, okay, just suggestively, all right? You do it to wave your ta-tas in every man’s face, taunting him with what he can’t have. You manipulate male poker players with your body. You’re all tease and no follow-through.” “I don’t understand why I’m a brat for wearing a low-cut shirt when I’m at the poker table. Poker’s war—” “Yeah, yeah, I know. I guess you have a point. I mean, it’s not as if other female poker players don’t do the same damned thing.” “But I do not dress like a hooker, and I’m not a tease,” she said, stirring her drink so rapidly that ice cubes flew out of the glass. CJ caught one as it skidded along the tabletop, then dropped it in his Maker’s Mark. After a

hefty swallow, he said, “Fine. You’re Mother Teresa. A poker-playing Mother Teresa with more luck than any one person should have. How the hell can you sit still with that enormous horseshoe up your ass? Anyway, you won. Let me finish my drink in peace.” “Fine,” she snapped. “But only after you tell me how you won your first stake. You never did, if memory serves me correctly.” “Stocks.” “What?” “Stocks. Wall Street. You know.” He relaxed, leaning back in the booth to catch her reaction. It was completely predictable. If her jaw dropped any lower, it’d knock her glass over. “You pulling my leg, cowboy?” He met her gaze full-on. “No. Not that I wouldn’t like to. Pull your leg, that is.” “You don’t look like a broker.”

He took in her coppery hair and liquid-silver eyes, both glowing in the low light, and his erection raged. The woman’s a frickin’ amalgam of precious metals. He hid a hard swallow of lust by rubbing his chin, as if deep in thought. “Don’t judge a book by its cover, honey. Just because I’m a good ol’ boy from Lubbock doesn’t mean I’m not smart enough to make a killing on the Street.” “And that killing was your first stake?” “Time came when I was making more money playing poker on the weekends down in Atlantic City than I was working for an investment banking firm. I have an MBA in Finance from Harvard, but poker’s a hell of a lot more fun. Don’t look so shocked,” he said. “I’m smarter than I look. And I look damned good.” As she sucked in a deep breath, her breasts

trembled, with her rigid nipples poking through the halter’s thin fabric. God damn it to hell. He wanted Miss Mary Katherine O’Toole so bad he’d swear on his mother’s grave he’d give up bourbon, if only he could have one night with her. *** Kat knew she should leave. CJ was trouble. A hard-muscled hunk who was also rich and brilliant—all her hot buttons in one tasty package. Still, she could walk away, if it weren’t for one fact: he wanted to spank her. She imagined how it would be, the sweet sting radiating warmth to her entire genital area. How he would probably restrain her hands. How his own would explore between her thighs. Her nipples hardened. Her vagina throbbed. Too bad she’d won at poker. If she’d lost,

she’d be enjoying his enormous, leathery hands right now. Not to mention his other delectable parts. She stood, slinging her purse over her shoulder. She wanted to leave, but it was if she were iron and he was a magnet. Damn it, she thought as she turned back to tap him on the shoulder. He frowned. “Yeah, Kat?” But a smug grin returned to his face when she whispered in his ear. He stood and took her by the arm. “In that case, let’s go, darlin’. Your place or mine?” “Mine,” she squeaked. As they walked to the elevators, Kat swore under her breath. She’d let her crotch do the thinking for her. Crap. She didn’t need a complication in her life, seeing as how she was perfectly happy alone. Not to mention, this one wasn’t her type. She liked civilized men.

Don’t worry. You can go on your way after a little spanking and some wild sex, her lust whispered. After all, you’ve made it this far in life without a man. She was just too horny for words. It had been, what, almost a year since her last one-nighter? She nodded, thinking, a girl has needs. Fuckin’ A. “Why are you nodding?” His grip on her upper arm suddenly burned her bare flesh. “It’s nothing,” she choked out as he walked her into the elevator. They were alone. She swallowed to see the two of them in the mirrored expanse, shuddered when one of his hands clasped a buttock. He laughed, a rich, sexy sound that made her want to hit the elevator’s STOP button and

jump him. “Liars get spanked in my book. But you probably figured that out. That’s why you told me you won our little poker match by cheating. So you could get a good spanking.” “Lied? No, I cheated. Honest. I couldn’t live with myself, I had to come clean. It’s not like I’ll enjoy this!” Lord, I’m babbling. She jumped when his large hand smacked her bottom. He laughed again. “Yeah, darlin’ you just keep tellin’ yourself that while I heat up that adorable fanny of yours. I plan to check on your level of enjoyment once I’m through whacking you. Fact is, if I checked you right now—” The elevator door opened to her floor. She pointed wordlessly to the right. He walked next to her, hand on her arm, her backside still stinging from his palm.

She was absolutely going to die if she didn’t get a piece of the cowboy soon. *** CJ waited next to her as she opened the door to her room. Once inside, he knew he had to take command or she’d chicken out. He still couldn’t believe she’d told such a transparent lie. No way she’d cheated. No, this little lady wanted her tail warmed, but for some reason couldn’t admit to it. Well, she was in for the full CJ treatment. He pulled the desk’s armless chair to the middle of the room. “I’m going to sit in this chair, and you’re going to drape yourself across my lap, face down. But before you do, those pants of yours need to be at half-mast.” He sat, then crooked an index finger. “Come to me now, or I’ll spank you harder than you’d planned on.”

She approached. “Look, I don’t want to be spanked at all. I just had to tell you I cheated because I, uh, couldn’t live with myself.” “Uh-huh. Right. Stand here, darlin’, and drop your drawers.” He watched her swallow before unzipping those tight black pants of hers. Then he nearly sighed when he glimpsed the contents restrained by wisps of black lace underneath. She has an ass on her, for sure. “Panties down, too. Or would you rather I did it?” he said. “No, no.” She shut her eyes and hooked her fingers into the waistband, but the panties didn’t move. Who would’ve thought she’d be shy about uncovering herself? “Get across my lap, I’ll pull ’em down. That way I won’t see your private parts, okay?”

Her weight was that of an angel. An angel in black lace panties. He dragged those panties to her knees despite her clamped-together thighs. Shy, all right. That would change once her butt started stinging, and she started kicking. She wouldn’t care what she showed then. “Kat, you’re getting spanked for lying, not cheating,” he said, placing his palm on her sitting area. He rubbed her flesh in slow circles. “So let’s dispense with the fiction now. You lied because you knew I’d spank you for doing so.” He slapped one cheek lightly, delighted to hear her squeak of surprise. He slapped the other cheek, which produced another mouse-like squeak. “I know it burns a little. Don’t worry, darlin’, I’ll take it slow. I want you to enjoy yourself.” He slapped again, several times. A blush

of pink appeared on her sitting area. Her squeaks had turned into squeals. “Now, admit to me you lied. This is the time for honesty, or the slaps start to hurt.” “They already hurt.” The pout in her voice was plain. So he spanked harder. “Ow, ow, enough.” Her legs began to scissor. “Not till you admit you lied.” “That’s like admitting I wanted to be spanked.” He trailed his fingers over her warm, jiggling flesh, satisfied when he heard her gasp. “I guess it is. What’s so terrible about that?” She mumbled. He smacked her crisply enough to leave a flush of red. “I couldn’t hear you.” “I said, spanking is so, so, uncivilized.

Damn, that last one was too hard.” “Certainly you figured out from the get-go I’m not a civilized sort of guy.” He cracked his palm down twice. She threw her hands back to cover herself, but he grabbed them both in one of his. “Can’t have your hands in the way, darlin’. Now, admit you lied.” When she was silent, he traced patterns on her upper thighs. With a groan, she parted them. Oho. Maybe I can make her admit to the lie using different strokes, so to speak. His index finger brushed against her coppery hair, making her legs tremble a bit before she opened them wider. In response, he withdrew his finger, then lightly slapped her upper thighs. “You lied, yes or no?” “Not there, not there, it hurts.” He continued slapping. “Yes or no?”

“Oh, yes, yes, damn it all.” CJ thought he heard her voice shake with the admission. He hugged her tighter against him, the better for her squirms to rub his rigid, aching cock. Either he or his jeans would burst soon. His finger played between her legs. She hissed. It was almost time. He probed one last moment, stifling a groan when he felt her wetness, her openness. He spanked her once, hard, on the center of her behind. She yipped like she’d been stung by a hornet, jerking. She would have fallen off his lap if he hadn’t been holding her tightly, pressing her against his tented jeans. “Spanking’s over. You took it like a trooper, Kat. Go ahead, get off my lap and pull your pants up. I’ll shut my eyes so you can

keep your modesty.” *** Oh, fuck. It’s over already? She raised her head to peek at him. His eyes were shut, just like he’d said they would be. “C’mon, darlin’. We can go get a steak or something, if you want. I’m pretty sure you can still sit okay. I barely tapped you.” When he let go of her hands, they flew to rub her burning sitting area. Actually, the sting was subsiding, leaving the spreading warmth she remembered feeling at fifteen. Along with the hunger she didn’t have the nerve to satisfy back then. Thing was, did she have the nerve to satisfy it now? “Kat, let’s go, gal. I’m hungry.” She stood, kicking away her clothing.

“I’m hungry, too,” she breathed. She sat on his lap, facing him, legs spread. His eyes opened, locked on to hers. Grasping her hips, his thumbs grazed where her upper thighs and torso met. She shook with need, breathing only, “Cowboy.” His lips grazed hers. His tongue darted, touched hers, withdrew. His thumbs moved lower, to the edges of her delta. He lowered his head, biting a nipple through her halter. It hurt so good. She moaned as his teeth played first with one peaked little point, then the other. His thumbs teased her hot wetness. Then his mouth crushed hers, his tongue invading like a conquering army. She had to do it now. “Hey, CJ—” She grasped him through the tight denim. He pulled his lips from hers, took his talented thumbs away.

“Ready for that steak now?” he said, grinning. She knew he was tormenting her deliberately, enjoying the sight of her frustrated arousal. “Oh, you, you!” She slapped her hands on her hips. “What’s a gal have to do to get fucked around here?” His expression changed, the lighthearted smirk replaced by the dark look of a starving wolf. “You just said the magic word, honey.” He tore off her halter, ripping the seams. Her hands scrambled for his belt, his zipper, but he tossed her on the bed with a growl. He shucked his pants and was on top of her before she’d completed exhaling. “Uh, I kinda prefer to be on top,” she said, her hands grasping him, effectively preventing his entrance. “Especially when the man’s so, uh, thick.”

Grabbing her arms, he pinned them above her with one hand. The other held her hips fast. “Well, I like it this way. And you will, too, by the time I’m finished. Kat, my darlin’ little control freak, let go and enjoy. I won’t hurt you. I promise.” His cock rubbed her entrance. She felt the silky head slide inside, only an inch or so. The torment of not controlling the pace drove her arousal to places she’d never been. Her hips fought back, but he kept them motionless as he took her, fraction by fraction, inch by inch, until she thought she’d scream from the tension. When he was finally, fully inside her, she said, “No one’s ever done it like this with me before.” “I know,” he said. “I know.” He released her hips. She felt them spring to life as if they belonged to a stranger. Her body undulated—she couldn’t control it, not at

all. He continued to pin her arms above her head. They were the only motionless part of her body. The rest of her shook and jerked. Hunger drove her movements, made her savage. She bit his neck, heard him groan with pleasure. He began to stroke her clit while they coupled. Bright light and heat and a feeling of flying through the air washed over her. Molten waves of thrill coursed inside her all the way to her toes. She felt him shift his movements, thrusting high. She was dying. She was reborn. She was screaming. It took forever for her to come, and yet it was over too soon. He rode her hard and fast, yelling a while before he slowed. Sweat covered both of them. She was totally satisfied. Yet all she wanted was to do it again. Oh, crap. I think I might love the cowboy. He rolled off her, rubbing his neck where

she’d bitten him. “You take a piece out of all your lovers?” She sat up, wincing. “You spank all of yours?” “Yes, darlin’, I do.” She rolled onto her stomach. “Can’t believe my butt still burns.” “It’s only a little pink. You’ll be fine soon.” He whacked her upturned bottom. “Hey!” She punched him on the shoulder. “No more spanking.” “Ever?” She raised an eyebrow. “For right now. Um, you want that steak, or what?” *** He turned his face away. Her eyes were that bright, liquid-silver color again. He knew what that meant. She’d fallen for him. Just as he had for her.

Shit and goddamn. He traveled alone. Always had. Always would. No room for entanglements in his life. She nudged him. “Hey, cowboy, you hear me? Steak?” “Maybe I should just be on my way.” God, he was a chicken-shit asshole. Wouldn’t even have dinner with the lady. And this one was a lady, in the best sense of the word. The fever in her eyes dulled, their color reverting to steel gray. “Sure. Okay.” She grabbed her clothing before slamming the bathroom door. He couldn’t leave it like this. “Hey, it’s just that I have to be…somewhere else soon. How long you in town?” he called after her. The door jerked open. “I don’t know.” “Let’s have that steak another time. How’s tomorrow sound?” She lifted her shoulder. “I don’t make

plans that far in advance when I visit Vegas. You get hungry, you know where to find me. At the tables.” She stared at him. “I think you said you had some place to go? Maybe you should dress now.” He slipped his jeans back on. Once he was back on the elevator, he kicked himself all the way to the lobby. *** Kat stared glumly at her cards. She’d won again. So why did she feel like such a loser? She took her chips and left the Omaha poker table she’d been sitting at, oblivious to the other players. Maybe she could lose if she tried the Stud tables again. Winning was depressing the hell out of her. For three days now, she’d avoided the Texas Hold ’Em tables. No way she wanted to revisit the humiliation embodied in long, tall,

cowboy CJ Jackson. Wham, bam, thank you, ma’am. CJ had given her the wham and the bam—and what a wham-bam it had been—but he hadn’t the decency to say, thank you, ma’am. Hell. Maybe it was time to cut her wins and go home. “Kat. Kat.” CJ in all his glory stood before her. She tried going around him, but he blocked her. She scowled. “What the hell do you want?” “Nice talk for a lady. You cruisin’ for another spanking?” “Like I’d let you touch me again.” “Look, darlin’, you said to find you when I was hungry. Well, I’m hungry all right, but not for steak. Though I’ll happily buy you dinner if that’s what it takes.” “Fuck off and die.” She darted past him,

but didn’t get far. His hand was clamped on her upper arm. “Kat,” he said, his voice soft. Against her better judgment, she strained to hear him above the casino’s hubbub as he whispered in her ear. “I was an ass, and I’m sorry, darlin’ Let me make it up to you. Let me take you up to the roof. Trust me, you’ll love it.” His hand was burning her flesh, and his scent was making her dizzy. A hot fist punched her low in the belly, and her knees quivered from lust. She wanted to sink to the floor in the middle of the casino and pull him on top of her. But she wouldn’t give in that easily. “Look here, cowboy You don’t pay your gambling debts. That’s lower than the proverbial snake’s tummy. Now get your hands off me.” She shook off his grip. The absence of contact with him felt like she’d lost a limb.

“So that’s why you’re pitchin’ a hissy-fit.” He chuckled. She folded her arms. “I am not pitching a hissy-fit. I’m angry. You owe me a hundred thou for winning our little poker match. Or did you conveniently forget that once you got into my pants?” He pulled her to him, winding his arm around her waist, forcing them to walk with hips bumping together. If he touches my butt, I’m going to self-combust. “Let it never be said that CJ Jackson doesn’t pay his gambling debts. We’ll fix that up right now.” She allowed herself to be dragged to the cashiers’ cages, where he finally let go of her waist. Her breathing would have returned to normal, but he slapped a meaty paw on her buttock and squeezed.

“What’s the matter, honey? You don’t look so hot.” The bastard squeezed again, grinning at her like he held a royal straight flush instead of her butt. I’m going upstairs as soon as I can to jump on the bedpost. That’d be preferable to impaling myself on him. He whispered in her ear. “I think you just need a good…dinner.” They’d reached the top of the line, and CJ’s behavior changed. “Hey, Jimbo, how you doin’?” “Fine, Mr. Jackson. What can I do you for?” “I’d like a hundred gees in ten-gee chips. I assume my checks are still good here?” “You know they are, sir.” “Thank you kindly,” CJ said, depositing the one hundred thousand in chips in Kat’s

hands while she stared. “There you go, all paid up, and negotiable at any cashier here. Now, what about riding up to the roof with me? You know I’m going to pester you till you do, so save us both the time, all right, darlin’?” She let him drag her to the elevators. If nothing else, she’d see one hell of a view of the Strip. *** He inserted his key card in the special slot, sending the elevator to the penthouse on the roof. Keep cool, CJ. She’s going with you. Don’t screw this up again. He hugged her close while they rode the elevator, despite her crossed arms and frown. She has a right to be pissed at you, boy. Play your cards carefully.

When the elevator’s doors opened, another door faced them. He opened it to reveal the luxury penthouse suite with rooftop garden. As they walked through the suite to the garden, he watched her try to keep the surprise off her face, pretending to be jaded with the finest suite in Vegas. “Like it?” he prodded. She shrugged. The waiter he’d hired showed them to the table. A poker table. “You dragged me up here to play poker?” “And eat shrimp and caviar and drink Cristal.” CJ opened his arms to encompass the flowers he’d had delivered and the side table loaded with delicacies. “Okay, this is pretty cool, I’ll admit. But where have you been for the last three days?” She poked his chest with her index finger, stabbing him with every syllable. “Setting this up, once I sobered up.

Because I like you so much, I got scared, and tied one on for a good day and a half. I was a pure-D fool, Kat. I hope you’ll let me make it up to you. Rod, you can go now,” he said to the waiter. She stood, hands on hips. “If we’re playing poker, where’s the dealer?” “First things first.” He filled two flutes with champagne, handing one to her. “A toast, darlin’. To jerkoff redneck cowboys and smart ladies with hot asses.” She laughed, then clinked her glass to his. It’s going to be fine. “How do you mean the ‘hot asses’ part?” she said after she’d sipped her drink. “Both ways, honey, both ways.” He fed her caviar on a cracker. He offered her a shrimp with him holding the tail between his teeth. Then, finally, he kissed her. Once he’d

stopped seeing stars, he heard her speaking. “When are we playing cards?” “Right now, if you want.” “And where’s the dealer?” “I’ll let you deal, if you want,” he said, “seeing as how we’ll be playing strip poker.” “Cowboy,” she said, “You’re talking to a woman on the biggest winning streak she’s ever known. Get ready to lose your shirt…and your pants.” *** For days, she’d wanted a losing streak to hit her because she’d been down about CJ. And now that Kat needed to win, she was losing every hand. The night was warm, thankfully, because she was down to her bra and panties. She glared at the man across from her, still nearly fully dressed. He’d lost, what, one

hand? She’d lost at least a dozen. “Once I get you naked, darlin’, you know what comes next. Unless you want to play me for it?” She picked up her hand. Pocket rockets—a pair of aces. She found another ace on the flop. “I’m all in,” CJ said. “How can you go all in during strip Texas Hold ’Em?” “Call or fold, little lady.” “All in.” She slapped her cards down. She had three aces. He had a king and a jack, not of the same suit. With the flop, so far he had nothing. He might make a straight, but so far all he had toward it was the ace and his pocket king and jack. The odds were against him making his straight. Damned if a queen didn’t show on fourth street, and a ten on the river.

“Gimme that bra and those panties of yours, darlin’. You’re flat broke.” Well, it isn’t as if he hasn’t seen me naked before. She stripped off her filmy underthings and threw them at him. “Here you go, cowboy. Now what?” He enfolded her in his arms. When the kiss ended, she was breathing hard and shaking with need. “I think you need to look at the view,” he said, walking her to the railing along the edge. Cupping her breasts from behind, he tweaked her nipples till they stiffened. A breeze ruffled the hair between her legs—or was it CJ’s fingers? She bent over, gripping the railing. Ah. That has to be CJ, she thought as she moved in time with his hand. “Land sakes, I do believe I’m still hungry,” he said.

Oh! She undulated her hips in time with his tongue. Somehow his hands were still on her nipples, teasing them rigid. When her legs had turned to wet noodles, she heard the sound of a zipper as if it were far away. His tongue vanished, and he took her from behind. He ravished her, enjoying her as roughly as he wanted, and it was what she wanted also. His rough thrusts sent her to the moon she’d lost sight of because her eyes were squeezed shut with pleasure. She yipped and yodeled and didn’t give a shit if anyone saw or heard her, naked and bent over the railing, her breasts bobbing free. After a few moments, CJ groaned. “God damn, I wish I still smoked. Sex with you, darlin’, cries out for a cigarette chaser.” “I have a better idea,” Kat said.

“What’s that, honey?” “Best four hands out of seven. Loser gets a spanking.” She felt his palms clasp her buttocks. “And the winner?” “Gets to take the loser to bed, where he’ll receive a good tongue-lashing.” “Sounds as if you already know who’s gonna win and who’s gonna lose. Why waste time playing the hands?” He picked her up in his arms. She sighed, resting her head on his shoulder. He kissed her softly, whispering her name. “I’m sorry about the other day,” he said. “I’ll spend the rest of my life makin’ that up to you, I promise.” As he carried her to the bed, she murmured, “You’d better. My heart’s all in, cowboy.” “Mine too, darlin’. Let’s try not to mess

up this good thing, what do you say?” \ “I say, deal me in.”

BARRIE ABALARD Barrie has worked as a radio personality, technical writer, taxi driver, bank clerk, and ad copy writer, but she’s always come back to her first love, fiction writing. For eleven years, she has written for various spanking-oriented e-publishers. Her credits include the sale of more than thirty-five short stories and two short novels to CF Publications, for whom she writes as “Miss Lee.” Barrie is married with a grown child and lives in one of the Middle Atlantic States, along with two persnickety cats. You can learn more about Barrie by visiting her website: http://barrieabalard.com

AMBER QUILL PRESS, LLC THE GOLD STANDARD IN PUBLISHING QUALITY BOOKS IN BOTH PRINT AND ELECTRONIC FORMATS ACTION/ADVENTURE SCIENCE FICTION ROMANCE EROTICA WESTERN MAINSTREAM YOUNG ADULT

SUSPENSE/THRILLER PARANORMAL MYSTERY HORROR FANTASY HISTORICAL NON-FICTION

BUY DIRECT AND SAVE http://www.amberquill.com