Page 18 of Forged

I have to sit back for a second to collect myself. Because the memory of his mouth between my thighs slams into me with the subtlety of a freight train.

My pulse kicks. My breathing staggers and I can’t stop my thighs from pressing together.

He walks toward the table I’m seated at, and every step feels like he’s sending a message. A silentI’m here, Bella.Even if he doesn’t say a word.

I try to look unaffected. I really do. But when he reaches the table and takes the empty seat to my right, his gaze hooks into mine.

“Evening,” he says, voice low and sinful.

Damn it all to hell.

My mouth goes dry. My body reacts before my brain does—heat blooming between my legs, a pulse deep and insistent. It’s embarrassing how fast he reduces me to this, how fast my body remembers every stroke of his tongue and every press of his hips.

“You’re here early,” I manage.

He sits, calm as ever. “I didn’t have any afternoon meetings. Thought I’d come watch you play for a while.”

The dealer clears his throat. “Blinds?”

Lars has the button, so I pitch in my small blind.

“I told you I’d see you Friday,” he says softly as we watch the dealer distribute cards around the table.

I peek at my cards to hide the way my breath stutters. “Well, don’t be a seat warmer. Some of us have money that needs to be made.”

His mouth curves, “I’m sure you do, but I assure you, Bella, I won’t be the one losing tonight.”

The heat between us turns molten. I swallow, slide a chip forward to call a bet after the flop, and force myself to focus.

Poker first. The man next to me later.

The secondI step inside I feel her before I can see her.

A prickle at the base of my spine. A shift in the room’s energy. That instinctual awareness predators have when another one is nearby.

Then I spot her at a fresh table, and there’s an empty seat next to her.

Perfect.

I don’t even bother pretending I’m here for the cards anymore. I sit down beside her, close enough for our knees to touch. Close enough to smell her. There’s a hint of perfume, blended with her warm skin.

Fuck.

She turns her head, and those dark eyes flick over me. Her hair is loose tonight, blonde waves spilling over one shoulder. She painted her lips the same ruinous red. And the top she’s wearing dips just low enough for me to see the line of her collarbone and the slope of her breasts rising with each breath.

I lean back in my chair, but I can stillfeelher as if she imprinted herself into every cell of my body.

The dealer pushes out cards. I hardly glance at mine because her thigh brushes mine under the table, the slightest accidental contact—but my body reacts and hers does as well. I feel her go still beside me as her breath catches.

We go a few rounds with quiet tension building until a man in a suit sits down on her other side. He’s in his mid-forties, a gold band on his ring finger, and he’s already sweating through his collar.

He gives Neomi a slow once-over.

“So, what’s a pretty little thing like you doing at a table like this?”

Tension spreads through my body at his words, but Neomi doesn’t give him the satisfaction of a response. She simply flicks a chip forward with her middle finger, giving him no response.

I almost smile.