Page 25 of Gambler's Conceit

“Sure, I can do that,” I answer, digging my fingers into his hips. “I’ll kiss every bruise I leave behind. And maybe add a few more.”

“Promises, promises,” he says, his eyes half-closed and his breath hitching. It takes him several seconds to recover when I pull my hand back, and I quirk a brow as I watch him come back down. “All right. Let’s do this.”

He leads me toward the blackjack table with all of the confidence of someone who’s meant to be there, and from the look on the dealer’s face, she recognizes him.

Thankfully she isn’t the same dealer from when I’d been banned, and while I’m sure she’s got a list somewhere, she’s too distracted to check. I’m not going to swipe my casino card either, so there’s no reason for her to suspect I shouldn’t be here.

Two other people join the table, and the game gets going. We start slow at first, with me explaining the rules to Seven again. When he hesitates on the betting, I either stroke his stomach or pinch his ass, depending on what I think is better.

I did learn my lesson about not overdoing it, so our winnings are mostly slow and unsteady.

I’m not sure what I expected of Seven, but it hadn’t been for him to get so into our little game. He leans back against my body and grinds his ass against my pelvis, giggling flirtatiously.

“I don’t know…” Seven mumbles, batting his eyelashes at me. “What do you think?”

I glance at the table. It’s decent odds that we can still win. I pretend to think about it. “How much of my cash have you bet already, babe?” I nuzzle my head against his neck and say, “Let’s quit, I’m gonna be too broke for dinner.”

I also slide my hand inside his jeans and pinch his ass.

“I haven’t betthatmuch,” Seven whines, wriggling against me. “Come on. I have a good feeling about this one.” He smiles at the dealer. “I wanna keep going.”

I groan loudly. “Babe… fuck, if you lose all the winnings…”

“I won’t lose!” he insists, and I wonder if he really has that much faith in my abilities or if he’s just that good of an actor. He doubles his chips on the table. “Besides, I’m the one holding the cash.” He pauses, looking at the chips. “Chips. Whatever. Hit me, dealer!”

I swallow hard, imagining roughing him up.

The dealer shrugs and deals out another card.

Thank fuck. I grumble and squeeze my eyes shut like I don’t want to see the result. The other person at the table complainsabout things taking too long, and the dealer finally turns the next card.

“Holy shit,” Seven says, going still in my arms.

I open my eyes, and I have to admit I’m shocked too.

We hit 21 exactly.

He squeals in delight, pawing at my arm when he recovers. “Look! Look, I told you I had a good feeling.” He laughs, and the dealer counts out our winnings. “I guess I’m the one who’s gonna buy dinner for you.”

“Wow,” I agree. “Guess you’re a lucky charm.” I start to let go of him—even though he feels so fucking perfect in my arms—but Seven hooks his arms around my neck and leans up, pressing his lips to mine.

Fuck.

I haven’t properly kissed a guy in ages, not since… not since before the army, and that whole fucking culture of repression. Did a few quick fucks here and there, but this is my first real kiss in years.

I groan and kiss back, gripping his hips harder and pushing him against the blackjack table.

Seven kisses hard and deep, pressing his body tightly against mine—tight enough to where I can feel his burgeoning erection—right up until the point the dealer clears her throat loudly. He pulls back, and I can’t help but notice that he looks dazed. That only lasts for a second, though, before he’s putting chips back down onto the table.

“Let’s go again,” he demands, licking his lips.

“No way,” I say, pulling our winnings toward us. “We’re gonna put these chips to good use now.”

Seven whines and shakes his head. “Come on! We can keep going until we’ve got even more. Just one more round. Two.”

I grab his arm with more force than I intended and start dragging him away. “Careful. That’s how gambling gets you.”

Seven follows me with a disgusted sound. “It’s not like it matters. It’s not my money I’m spending. Besides, you knew what you were doing,” he says when we’re far enough away to keep from being overheard.