When a player puts all his or her chips in a pot, that player is said to be all in. In this case the chips are fish crackers from the minibar and we aren’t playing for money.

The sun is just coming up. “I’m going all in,” I announce.

He snorts lightly and drinks more juice. “You sure you want to do that?”

I lean forward in my towel, pushing all of my fishies to the center of the bed. “I am.”

Keen’s damp hair falls in genuine disarray over his forehead. “You do remember a full house beats two pairs, which beats three of a kind?”

“I do, smart-ass.” I stick my tongue out at him.

Yes, we’ve been at this for almost three hours, including breaks of course to pay up. And yes, he has won every hand, even though he is really trying to teach me. But you see, winning this hand is more than winning the sexual favors or shower privileges of the past hands. Not that I didn’t enjoy those fruits, even on the losing end. This is for the gold, the one who will make the first trip to see the other.

“I’ll see you,” Keen says as he pushes his chips forward.

Warmth swirls inside me as I put my ace and three of hearts down.

“Not bad,” Keen murmurs, setting his own cards down.

I make like I’m stretching and purr a little. “Mind if I go for my victory lap now?”

Straight faced, he shoves a licorice stick in his mouth and makes like it’s a cigar. “Just hold on.”

He flips the next card…

An ace of clubs.

Crap. Crap. And double crap. I am so going to lose that I can feel my shoulders start to sag.

Wait!

The tell.

He called that the tell.

I won’t give him any tell. I’ll bluff instead.

“Oh, lookey-lookey.” I kick my legs up a little and sit back, letting my towel open in the process. “Now that is one great card.”

Chewing on the end of his licorice stick, he glances across at me—more like stares right where I intended for him to stare. “Not going to work.”

“What isn’t going to work?” I ask innocently.

“Your sex appeal. Serious card players are immune to everything around them but the game.”

Honestly, I can’t help myself. I know he prides himself on being one of those super-serious players. He’s played in Vegas, underground in LA, and all over New York. He’s told me so. I think his passion for it is super sexy. So bad boy. Yet, I have to do this. I know exactly what I can do to distract him and I start with letting my towel fall from my body. And I’m just getting started.

Licking my finger, I draw a line right between my breasts to my clit and begin to rub slow, deliberate circles around it.

He’s watching.

Jaw slack.

Eyes gleaming.

Cock springing to life between the folds of his towel right before my eyes. And if I look hard enough, I think there’s some pre-cum on his tip already.

There, I did it, so I stop but leave my hand right where it is so I can gloat. Before I can do that, though, the fun turns serious.

In one fell swoop, he wipes the poker table from the center of the bed and rises up on his knees. “Don’t stop. Keep touching yourself,” he whispers in a voice rough-edged with need.

My gaze meets his as an inferno blazes between the two of us.

I brush my fingertips over my clit again, this time pretending it is his fingers, not mine. “What about the game?”

Soon his cock is settled firmly in his fist, and he pumps it slowly as he watches me with the most intent gaze. “Screw the cards, you win,” he murmurs. “I’ll come out to California in two weeks.”

I hold back my smirk, watching him watch me, way more pleasurable than gloating—right now, anyway.

I want him to fuck me one more time before our time is up. I want him to fill me, and talk dirty to me, and tell me how beautiful I am. I want so much, and yet time is short. Staying up all night didn’t seem to make it any longer.

I want him.

Him.

I fall back on the pillow and open my legs wide, giving him a better view. And then I move my hand faster and faster and faster still.

The bed dips as he moves closer. Every single nerve in my body is alive as I look up at him. He’s still on his knees and his hand is still on his cock. I wait for him to stop. To push inside me and fuck me until I scream his name. Until I have to leave.

“Don’t stop, Maggie,” he says. “I want to watch you come.”

Oh, God, he’s so hot. I move my fingers faster, harder, as I watch him do the same with his fist.

Pumping.

Moving.

He lets his free hand roam to my hip and then down, but not where my hand is, lower still. A place, I have to say, I have never let a man touch.

Slowly, he circles the puckered skin, a little faster as I play with my clit, and even faster as he hand-fucks his cock.

The pleasure is immeasurable. My breath is coming in short, harsh pants, and my hips are moving. Bucking. Thrusting. I’m close. I’m so close.

“Come for me. Maggie, come for me.”

His plea is easily answered as every part of me contracts—my clit, my ass, my pussy—and then pleasure explodes in bursts of colors all around me.

“Yes, fuck,” he cries. “Maggie!”

Hot wetness spatters my chest. It pumps out of him in hard spurts. The scent of him filling me, the sound of him filling me, the very essence of him filling me.

He leans to kiss me in the softest, sweetest way, and then he pulls up the sheet and wipes me clean again in the sweetest way.

It’s unexpected.

Hard and soft.

Falling beside me, he pulls me into his arms. “What is this thing between us?” he asks, his voice low but still audible.

“I don’t know.” I shake my head and look up at him.

He pushes the hair from my face. “We won’t label it. We’ll just see what happens when we see each other next?”

“Yes, who knows—we might hate each other,” I joke.

He laughs. “You’ll hate me if I don’t make it.”

I laugh too, a little ruefully, though. “Yes, I will.”

Grinning, he holds me a little tighter. “I will do my best to get off work and come out to California in two weeks.”

That satisfies me. So much so that I wiggle out of his hold and stand up to cage his chest with my legs. Raising my arms in the air and doing a little dance, I shake my head back and forth.

With a shake of his head, he grabs at my calves and hauls me back down to him. “You are crazy.”

My gaze lowers down his hot body. “No, I’m just excited.”

Noticing, he smirks a little and lifts my chin. “Be as excited as you want, but this stays between the two of us until I can talk to Brooklyn.”

The stern look on his face is to tell me not to tell Cam or Makayla either. It’s just a little unrequited crush that obviously doesn’t really matter, considering the fact that Brooklyn hooked up with two girls last night, but I give him a dutiful, “I promise.”

“Good! Now that that is settled, why don’t you be a good girl and walk over toward the television.”

I eye him. “Why?”

He reaches for the night table and picks up his phone, lifting it. “Just do it.”

So he wants my picture, does he?

I’ll be happy to oblige. I slip into my skimpy panties and sway my hips, walking away from him as I do. No face, of course, but I’ll let him gawk at my body if he wants.

Snap.

Snap.

This thing between us is so easy, and I can’t help but grin like a cat that ate a canary, all the while swaying my hips and even giving him the “hang loose” sign, just because I can.

When the room is too quiet, I look back. His face screams of sin. It makes me want to run toward him and jump on the bed. And as if that isn’t enough, his hair is all mussed up and sexy looking as he leans back against the headboard. It’s not my fault that I’m wondering if we have time for another round. It’s his, and his over-the-top good looks and incredibly obscene moves in bed.

Knock.

Knock.

Panic grips me. “What time is it?”

Keen looks a little closer at his phone. “Eight.”

“Shit! Shit! Shit!”

“Maggie,” Makayla calls. “You ready?”

I rush toward the bed and wrap the sheet around me before going to the door and cracking it open. “Hey,” I say through the small opening. “I’ll meet you downstairs. Give me five minutes.”

Looking really peaked, she starts to open the door. “You want me to help you pack?”

I close it a little. “No, I’m good. Meet you downstairs.”

“Okay. Cam is meeting Keen for breakfast. It’s just you, me, and Brooklyn,” she says, rather relieved I don’t need her help, I can tell.

Hung over—obviously.

I close the door and lean against it. Keen is gathering his things that are scattered all over the room and I wish I could stay. But I can’t. I start my new job tomorrow and he has to work today anyway. Geez…he works all the time, from what I can tell.

Looking up, he catches my eye. “Remember what we decided.”

“I do,” I answer resolutely.

Promise.