jut of her behind – something that only made Tatum’s smile broaden.
It was the worst-case scenario: she was his type.
The sickness in the pit of Jessie’s stomach intensified. Her hands tightened on the wooden seat, the struggle to keep up the appearance of indifference, she was sure, slipping a little. She should have left, but like watching the ticking clock amidst the inevitable loss of a loved one, she felt helpless to watch on.
As Pummel moved in to take his own shot, Eden pulled away from Tatum to ease up onto the stool only two away from Jessie – his far enough forward for her to see the right side of his face.
‘You don’t have a lot to say for yourself,’ Tatum remarked, stepping between Eden’s spread thighs as Pummel reclaimed his lead in the game. She reached for his wrist, laying it out flat to expose his forearm. ‘But I like the quiet type. I think there’s something very sexy about a man who has nothing to prove.’
Brushing the leather of his watchstrap, her fingers were feather light on his skin as she ran the pads of them delicately up his arm, tracing the numbers. As her lengthy nails skimmed his skin, her spaghetti strap slid down her shoulder with the motion, partially exposing her breast to him. But she did nothing to rectify it as her eyes met his again.
Jessie’s jaw tightened as she watched through her shroud of hair, restraining herself from shoving Tatum away.
‘I bet you can make a man bleed with those,’ Eden said, glancing at her nails before knocking back another mouthful of drink.
And that was the problem: she would.
Tatum smiled again. ‘I can use them however you want,’ she said, releasing his forearm to slide both hands up his inner thighs, splaying her fingers dangerously close to his crotch as she leaned in to whisper something in his left ear.
He didn’t even flinch. Instead his smile was fleeting before he took another mouthful of beer, his cool dismissal only fuelling Tatum’s need for persistence – particularly when he placed his hands low on her hips only to move her away to take his next shot.
As he bent over, Tatum stepped in beside him, slid her hand down his behind, leaned over and whispered to him again.
Only this time he met her gaze; smiled despite missing his shot. Eden stood, cupped the nape of her neck and whispered something back, his groin unashamedly close to hers as he backed her against the table.
Tatum’s eyes flared too tellingly, not least as his hand slid down her behind, disappearing between her legs as he whispered another something into her ear. In a move one step more blatant than Tatum’s, it confirmed that, despite her previous doubt, she hadn’t got him wrong. From a grasp that exposed him as anything but a gentleman, he proved he was exactly like all the others.
Like the rest of the cons, sex was about sport, entertainment, the dispelling of aggression or experimentation. She’d seen enough of it over the decades and had seen that side to human nature in its darkest and most twisted form, until everything that was bad and fetid and wrong with it became the norm – sex linked only to fear or power or control. That was her reality.
And for someone who looked like Eden, someone with that edge of charm, she had no doubt he regularly turned it to his advantage to get what he wanted – just like he had no doubt intended to do with her.
A sinking sensation consumed her as what followed in the next agonising twenty minutes was far more than just harmless flirting. Because, when it came to Tatum, there was no harmless flirting – and it seemed Eden was of the same ilk. It became more than just playful taps on her behind as she got in the way, more than just glances as she perched or leaned on the table between his and Pummel’s shots. Instead, Eden’s confident and controlled gaze was brimming with sexual intent, something that pushed every single one of Tatum’s buttons and subsequently did nothing to help his cause
It was the worst-case scenario: she was his type.
The sickness in the pit of Jessie’s stomach intensified. Her hands tightened on the wooden seat, the struggle to keep up the appearance of indifference, she was sure, slipping a little. She should have left, but like watching the ticking clock amidst the inevitable loss of a loved one, she felt helpless to watch on.
As Pummel moved in to take his own shot, Eden pulled away from Tatum to ease up onto the stool only two away from Jessie – his far enough forward for her to see the right side of his face.
‘You don’t have a lot to say for yourself,’ Tatum remarked, stepping between Eden’s spread thighs as Pummel reclaimed his lead in the game. She reached for his wrist, laying it out flat to expose his forearm. ‘But I like the quiet type. I think there’s something very sexy about a man who has nothing to prove.’
Brushing the leather of his watchstrap, her fingers were feather light on his skin as she ran the pads of them delicately up his arm, tracing the numbers. As her lengthy nails skimmed his skin, her spaghetti strap slid down her shoulder with the motion, partially exposing her breast to him. But she did nothing to rectify it as her eyes met his again.
Jessie’s jaw tightened as she watched through her shroud of hair, restraining herself from shoving Tatum away.
‘I bet you can make a man bleed with those,’ Eden said, glancing at her nails before knocking back another mouthful of drink.
And that was the problem: she would.
Tatum smiled again. ‘I can use them however you want,’ she said, releasing his forearm to slide both hands up his inner thighs, splaying her fingers dangerously close to his crotch as she leaned in to whisper something in his left ear.
He didn’t even flinch. Instead his smile was fleeting before he took another mouthful of beer, his cool dismissal only fuelling Tatum’s need for persistence – particularly when he placed his hands low on her hips only to move her away to take his next shot.
As he bent over, Tatum stepped in beside him, slid her hand down his behind, leaned over and whispered to him again.
Only this time he met her gaze; smiled despite missing his shot. Eden stood, cupped the nape of her neck and whispered something back, his groin unashamedly close to hers as he backed her against the table.
Tatum’s eyes flared too tellingly, not least as his hand slid down her behind, disappearing between her legs as he whispered another something into her ear. In a move one step more blatant than Tatum’s, it confirmed that, despite her previous doubt, she hadn’t got him wrong. From a grasp that exposed him as anything but a gentleman, he proved he was exactly like all the others.
Like the rest of the cons, sex was about sport, entertainment, the dispelling of aggression or experimentation. She’d seen enough of it over the decades and had seen that side to human nature in its darkest and most twisted form, until everything that was bad and fetid and wrong with it became the norm – sex linked only to fear or power or control. That was her reality.
And for someone who looked like Eden, someone with that edge of charm, she had no doubt he regularly turned it to his advantage to get what he wanted – just like he had no doubt intended to do with her.
A sinking sensation consumed her as what followed in the next agonising twenty minutes was far more than just harmless flirting. Because, when it came to Tatum, there was no harmless flirting – and it seemed Eden was of the same ilk. It became more than just playful taps on her behind as she got in the way, more than just glances as she perched or leaned on the table between his and Pummel’s shots. Instead, Eden’s confident and controlled gaze was brimming with sexual intent, something that pushed every single one of Tatum’s buttons and subsequently did nothing to help his cause
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