Page 95 of The Rival's Obsession
“Feel that?” I purr, keeping my gaze fixed on the ballroom.
An elderly couple ambles past the corridor entrance, laughing softly, oblivious. They don’t see us—but they could. And I fucking love that.
He presses a little deeper, testing the shape of the toy inside me, and I shiver.
“I have one for you to wear too,” I whisper.
I pull his hand from my panties, lift it to my mouth—one then two fingers—sucking them clean like a dessert I’ve been craving all night. My other hand returns to his cock.
His jaw tightens. His erection twitches. And I smile.
Without a word, I loop my arm through his and lead him back toward the ballroom, our pace unhurried but his breathing anything but.
I lean in, letting my lips brush his ear as we rejoin the edge of the crowd.
“Have you ever enjoyed anal play before?” I ask softly, ensuring no one else can hear.
He’s quiet—for a moment, I think he won’t answer.
Until he finally does. “Yes.”
My lips curl.
“And did you enjoy it?”
His gaze flicks to my mouth. “Yes.”
I hum, pleased, and slip the discreet black velvet case from my clutch into his jacket pocket.
Then I rise on my toes like I’m going to kiss his cheek—and do.
But my words are anything but innocent.
“Then go be a good boy and put this in,” I murmur, lips brushing his skin. “Then come find me.”
I let my lips linger one heartbeat too long, then turn and walk away without a backward glance.
Because I don’t have to look. I know he’s going to do it.
Ispot Grant before he sees me—lingering near the edge of the crowd, tall and lethal in a black-on-black tux. Tension in his frame, hunger in his stare. But he doesn’t move—until I smile. Then he comes closer.
I’m standing at the center of the craps table crowd, one hand wrapped around a champagne flute, the other resting below the table’s edge. Hidden. Secret. Just like the game we’re playing.
Or at least… he thinks he is. Because I’m not the one holding the remote tonight.
Grant doesn’t know that yet—but he will.
Dante’s on a streak—the kind of winning run you only see in movies. Every toss of the dice is perfect. The crowd is euphoric, throwing chips and shouting praise. But the real show isn’t the money.
It’s us.
When the toy inside me flickers to life, I gasp. And across the table Grant’s lips part at that exact moment—and I know he’s wearing it. I mouth, “Good boy,” and watch his pupils dilate.
He doesn’t understand yet—that it’s synced to Dante’s phone, that every wave of pleasure is coming from the man he swore to hate.
I glance at Dante. He doesn’t look at me, not yet—just grins like a king. But I know he’s watching.
Grant follows my gaze—just as the plug’s rhythm deepens inside me. The one in him must match, because I see the shift in his posture—chest rising faster, grip tightening, jaw ticking like he’s trying not to reveal everything.
