Page 7 of Double or Nothing

Everything.

We’re almost at my street turning when the jolt of oh shit hits me.

My freshly signed divorce papers are still on full display on the coffee table.

A psychic like Jack won’t need to be a psychic to see those…

CHAPTER THREE

JACK

Hats off to me, Bryce is a hot choice. His need for cock is more fragrant than the cologne he’s wearing. Just the kind of accomplice I was looking for tonight.

We’re still kissing as the cab pulls up. The driver has to announce the fare three times before I finally hand him my card. I tell him to take an extra twenty as a tip for putting up with our back seat groping.

Bryce climbs out before me, and the cab speeds off as soon as I slam the door. We’re in one of Kensington’s high class residential streets, lined with period terraced houses. My instincts were wrong for once. I’d pictured Bryce as a glass fronted apartment kind of guy.

He leads me up a set of stone steps to one of the towering houses, opening the door with an old style key. I may have got the style wrong, but I didn’t get the apartment part wrong. This house has been converted into three, and his is the top floor. No elevator. Bannister rails and stairs all the way.

He’s laughing along with me as I grope and kiss him on the ascent. I could fuck his ass right here and now. Get one load out of the way and take a bit of chill time to soak in the ambience. But Bryce isn’t a man comfortable with getting it on in public. His eyes flit around us between kisses, checking for prying neighbours. He breathes a sigh of relief as we finally make it through his front door, but I don’t let him relax. I’m straight back on him the moment he gets the light switch, my hands on his face as my tongue teases his.

It’s him walking backwards as I push forwards. He shrugs his jacket to the floor and goes for mine, but I don’t let him. This isn’t a mutual strip show. Instead, I start on his shirt buttons, grinning against his mouth when I get to the bottom.

I want to see the goods before he does.

I shove him away and give a wolf whistle. Club lighting can be deceptive, but the man holds up to my attraction. His dark mousy hair is dishevelled from our antics now, far less slicked back than it was in the bar. The shadow of his stubble is deliberate, not overgrown, and his green eyes are brighter than I gave credit for.

My instincts on how much I’d fancy him were right on the money.

“Like what you see?” he asks, and he may be grinning, but there’s a flash of nerves in his eyes.

I wonder how long he’s been out of the game.

My hand goes to my chin as though I’m judging a competition entry, and I nod slowly as my gaze roves down his chest. He’s a good catch. A touch of hair and a solid set of abs, but he’s not ripped. I’d say a cardio guy, rather than a gym bunny.

“I love what I see.” I smirk. “Show me some more.”

I get a weird tickle in my gut when his grin beams with pride. Bryce is definitely not a one-nighter type. My eyes lock on his and I see something I haven’t seen in years, since I’ve been addicted to casual, casual, casual. This guy is human. Real. Genuine.

Emotional.

And I’m in his home with him…

Maybe I should have chosen a hotel after all.

“I’m waiting,” I say. “Show me.”

But he shakes his head, that pride of his still glowing.

“How about I show you a beer from the fridge first instead? Then you can give me a viewing.”

Bryce wasn’t lying about his preferences. He likes being top as well as bottom, he’s just a scaredy cat right now. The glow of pride in his eyes stokes his fire, and another beer will sure feed the flames. Getting him on all fours can wait a little. Still, even now I can’t help but negotiate. It runs in my veins.

“A beer from the fridge then I get a full view,” I counter. “You get yours after.”

He puts a hand on his hip. “I’m hardly a gigolo, Jack. You should have picked one of the groovers on the dance floor if you wanted a strip show. Mine would stink.”

I scoff. “You don’t have to be a gigolo to get naked. I’ll give you a hand if you want.”