Playing with Fire

Rory POV

The casino was dead quiet tonight, a rare break from the usual chaos. The slots hummed soft, and only a few guys sat at my blackjack table, sipping beers and tossing chips like they had all the time in the world. My hands moved fast, dealing cards, but my eyes kept darting across the room. Leo was there, leaning against a wall, arms crossed, watching me. His black shirt hugged his chest, and his tie hung loose, like he’d given up on looking proper. Every time I caught his stare, my stomach flipped, and my face got warm.

I’d been thinking about last night all day—that kiss in the storage room, his hands on me, his lips hot and rough. My jeans had been tight ever since, and I couldn’t shake it. He’d promised we weren’t done, and I was itching to find out what he meant. So tonight, I decided to mess with him.

I slid a card to a player, then “accidentally” dropped a chip. It hit the floor with a clink, and I bent over slow, letting my tight pants stretch across my ass. I knew he was watching—I could feel his eyes burning into me. I stayed down a second longer than I needed, grabbing the chip, then straightened up with a smirk. When I glanced at him, his jaw was tight, and his hands gripped the edge of a table hard, like he was holding himself back. My heart jumped. Got him.

He looked away fast, staring at the ceiling like it was the most interesting thing in the room. I grinned wider and dealt another hand, my fingers shaky with excitement. The players didn’t notice, too busy grumbling about their cards, but I saw Leo shift, his chest rising with a sharp breath. He was trying to ignore me, but I wasn’t gonna let him off that easy.

A little later, he walked by my table, pretending to check something. His arm brushed mine, and my skin lit up like a spark. “Nice dealing,” he muttered, his voice low and rough. His eyes flicked to mine, then away again, and I saw his tongue dart over his lips quick, like he couldn’t help it. My pulse raced, and I wanted to grab him right there, but I played it cool.

“Thanks, boss,” I said, winking at him. His head snapped back, and his eyes narrowed, dark and dangerous. He exhaled hard through his nose and walked off, gripping his clipboard so tight his knuckles went white. I bit my lip, holding in a laugh. This was fun.

The night crawled on, and I kept it up—little things to drive him crazy. I’d stretch my arms over my head, letting my shirt ride up to show a strip of skin. I’d lean over the table a bit too far, giving him a good view. Every time, he’d tense up—shoulders stiff, hands clenching—and then force himself to look away. But I could tell he was cracking. His eyes kept finding me, lingering longer each time, and my whole body buzzed with it.

Finally, my shift ended. The last player stumbled off, and I started stacking chips, my hands sweaty. Leo came over, his steps slow, like he was stalking me. “You’re done,” he said, his voice gruff. “Help me behind the bar.”

I nodded, my throat dry, and followed him. The bar was empty, just a few bottles and a sticky counter. He stepped behind it, grabbing a rag, and I slipped in next to him, close enough our hips bumped. He froze for a second, then started wiping the counter, his movements jerky.

I smirked, picking up a bottle like I was checking it. “Quiet night, huh?” I said, keeping my voice light.

“Yeah,” he muttered, not looking at me. His jaw was tight again, and his hand gripped the rag hard.

I set the bottle down and “dropped” a coaster, bending over slow like before. When I stood up, I turned to him, all innocent. “Oops. What? I was just picking it up.”

He snapped. In one quick move, he grabbed my arm and spun me around, pinning me against the counter. My back hit the edge, and his body pressed into mine, hard and hot. My breath stopped, and my heart slammed against my ribs. “Keep that up,” he growled, his face so close I could feel his breath, “and I’ll fuck you right here.”

My whole body shivered, heat rushing through me. His voice was low and filthy, and I could feel him—hard against my hip. I grinned, pushing my hips forward, daring him. “Promise?” I whispered, my voice shaky but cocky.

His eyes went dark, and he crashed his lips into mine. The kiss was fast and hungry, his tongue shoving into my mouth like he couldn’t wait. I moaned, grabbing his shirt, pulling him closer. His hands slid under my shirt, rough fingers digging into my sides, and I arched into him, my skin on fire. I could taste the smoke on his lips, feel his stubble scrape my chin, and it drove me wild.

I groped at his belt, fumbling with the buckle, and he growled into my mouth, his hand sliding down to grab my ass. I pressed against him harder, our hips rocking together, and my jeans got so tight it hurt. I wanted him—bad—and I didn’t care who saw. His fingers brushed my zipper, teasing, and I gasped, my head spinning.

“Hey!” a voice shouted, loud and annoyed. “Can I get a drink before you two start undressing?”

We jumped apart, panting like dogs. A guy in a loud shirt stood at the bar, waving an empty glass, his face red and sweaty. He coughed, looking at us like we were nuts, and I felt my cheeks burn. Leo ran a hand through his hair, his lips swollen, and I wiped my mouth, trying to catch my breath.

“Uh, yeah,” I mumbled, grabbing a bottle. My hands shook as I poured, and the guy snorted, muttering something about “kids these days.” Leo stepped back, adjusting his shirt, his chest heaving. He shot me a look—hot and promising—and my stomach flipped again.

When the guy finally took his drink and shuffled off, I leaned close to Leo, my voice a whisper. “Later,” I said, my eyes locked on his. I licked my lips slow, letting him see how much I meant it—a night of us, no holding back.

He nodded, his grin wicked. “Count on it,” he said, his voice rough and low. My heart raced, and I turned to clean up, my whole body buzzing. I could still feel his hands on me, his taste in my mouth, and I couldn’t wait for later.

Then I heard it—a loud crash from the floor, glass shattering somewhere. My head snapped up, and Leo cursed under his breath, already moving. “Stay here,” he said, jogging toward the noise. I watched him go, my pulse still pounding, but then I saw Frankie—that guy from last night—standing by the slots, smirking at me. He held a broken bottle in his hand, glass crunching under his boots, and his eyes were cold, like he knew something I didn’t.

“Having fun, kid?” he called, his voice sharp and mean. He stepped closer, and my stomach dropped, fear mixing with the heat still burning in me. Leo was gone, swallowed by the crowd, and Frankie kept coming, his smirk growing. What did he want? And why did I feel like I’d just stepped into something big—something dangerous?