Play Me Wild (Play Me 1)

I see the moment Aria decides to stay instead of running screaming from my office. Her whole body relaxes and she settles back into the chair instead of staying perched on the edge, ready to flee at any moment.

I relax as well, or at least give a good imitation of it. It’s hard to actually relax when my dick is already semi-hard and every instinct I have is screaming at me to take her, to fuck her, to tie her up and do a million unspeakable things to her.

But she’s skittish, ready to bolt and that’s the last thing I want. Not that I blame her—she gets hassled by rich men every day. Has, in her mind, even lost her job because of it. Why should she think I’m any different? Why should she think I want anything other than to take the last bit of control she’s hanging on to?

But the last thing I want to do is strip her of control—I want to give it to her, want to show her for the first time in her life what it means to be powerful. Strong. In control. But before I can do any of that she needs to understand just how different I am from the men she’s used to.

I start down that road with “I’m sorry about what happened to you last night. You were the only one on the floor who handled the situation and I think it’s appalling that David fired you for it.”

She looks at me like I’ve grown three extra heads. “I’m sorry?”

“I should be the one apologizing to you. I’m not in the habit of letting women be harassed in my casino and that’s exactly what was happening last night. You did what you could to stop it when the security guard, the dealer, even David wouldn’t. You shouldn’t be penalized for that.”

She still looks confused. “I don’t understand.”

“I’m not firing you, Aria. Not for doing what needed to be done. You can take today off, with pay, but your job will be waiting for you tomorrow if you still want it.”

If possible she looks even more astonished, eyes wide and mouth half-open in an adorable display of shock. “Are you serious right now?” she finally demands.

“I’m completely serious.”

“But I racked a whale.”

“I am aware of that.”

“With my drink tray.”

“Yes. I saw the footage.”

“Hard.” She draws the word out, stresses it, just in case I have any doubts about what I saw on the casino video. “I hit him hard.”

“And I’m really glad you did. My only regret is that you didn’t hit him harder—the bastard still managed to get up and hobble away a few minutes later. More’s the pity.”

“More’s the pity?”

I shrug. “He deserved that and a hell of a lot worse, in my opinion. Men who treat women like they’re property deserve what they get when it turns out that the property bites back.”

She does jump up from the chair then, and this time I don’t stop her because she’s not planning on running. She’s filled with nervous energy that needs an outlet. I have more than one suggestion on how she can deal with that energy, but sexually harassing my employees isn’t something I make a habit of. Ever. Especially ones who have to deal with it at work every night.

And so I clench my fists to keep from reaching for her and I watch, and wait, as she paces to the window and back.

“I don’t get it,” she says when she’s once again standing in front of me. “What’s the punch line?”

“No punch line. Your job is yours if you want it.”

“Even though I assaulted a customer?”

“Assault is such an ugly word. Let’s just say you defended a customer and leave it at that.”

“That’s not actually untrue. But you know, if you keep me here, he’s probably going to sue you.”

I smile then, a predatory baring of my teeth that has her eyebrows shooting up and her eyes sharpening with something that looks an awful lot like interest. Or fear. I can’t really tell at this point.

That makes me uncomfortable—I want a lot of things from Aria, things that include sweat-drenched sheets and unlimited access to every inch of her gorgeous body—but I don’t want her fear. Don’t want her to feel, even for a moment, like she isn’t safe with me.

“He can try to sue,” I tell her. “He won’t succeed.”

“How do you know?”