The Bet by Lacey Kane

 
    “You
haven’t forgotten our little bet, have you?” Dustin squeezed my hand and
chuckled, looking down at me—or rather, down at the valley between my breasts
enhanced by my strapless, black cocktail dress.
    He
guided me past a white van marked Bradford’s Bond Services and up the marble stairs
out in front of the mansion where his annual company holiday party was taking
place, never slowing his stride long enough for me to do more than wonder why a
bail bondsman might be parked outside.
    “If
Marina, The Bitch remembers your name, you win and I’ll be your sex slave for
the entire weekend, doing anything and everything you want, whenever you want.”
    Marina,
The Bitch was Dustin’s pet name for his a coworker, if you could call it that.
The same woman had been tormenting his life and that of everyone on his team
for the better part of three years with her crazy demands and me-first mentality.
    “And
if she’s forgotten it, like I know she will—”
    “Then
you’re in charge all weekend,” I interrupted with a slow, seductive smile. “I’ll
go along with whatever you’ve got planned. Yeah, I got it, babe. Me, your
personal sex slave.”
    “My
own little fuck toy.”
    I
laughed at that, because it sounded so ridiculous. It didn’t really matter to
me who won, honestly. Either way, it meant a weekend full of wild, crazy, monkey
sex. We’d been planning it for weeks. Dustin had reserved some swanky cabin in
the middle of nowhere at one of those “glamping” sites, out far enough that our
cell phones wouldn’t get any service, so there would be no interruptions. I’d
scheduled the time off at the hospital, volunteering for the holiday rush in
the ER, while he’d be busy with the company end-of-year insanity that happened
every year, so I could get the whole weekend now.
    And,
just because it was the perfect excuse for it, I’d gone to Candy Cane’s Adult
Supply and stocked up on everything I imagined we’d need—flavored lube,
glow-in-the-dark ribbed condoms, a pair of fuzzy handcuffs, crotchless panties,
and (just for shits and grins) a set of black, leather floggers. I doubted we’d
use the floggers, but I was dying to see Dustin’s reaction to them. He was
always telling me I was too uptight, even though I loved a good fuck as much as
he did.
    When
we walked through the main entry into the ballroom, he pulled me off into a
little alcove and shoved my back up against the cold, hard wall. “Good,” Dustin
whispered into my ear, just before he nipped at my lobe with his teeth, leaving
me a shuddering, gooey mess. “Game on, Jenna.”
    It
was a miracle I could keep standing in those heels, since my legs had turned to
Jell-O. Just that little bit of his teeth on my skin was all it took to send a
flood of heat between my legs, and it was all I could do to keep from wrapping
my legs around his long, lean frame and dry humping him then and there.
    I
thought that would be it, that we’d head out into the crowd and make nice for
the party. I shouldn’t have tried thinking. Not while my mind was so clearly on
anything other than rational thought.
    Dustin
pulled back from me a bit and grinned, that wicked grin that brings out the
dimple in his right cheek and means all sorts of delightful, naughty things are
in our near future. His blue eyes twinkled as he moved both hands up from my
waist to grab onto my breasts and squeeze the mounds through the satin fabric.
    “God,
I love your tits,” he said.
    He
leaned down and kissed me, his pepperminty tongue forcing its way inside my
mouth to sweep along the insides of my cheeks. Just as he angled his head to
take the kiss deeper, he found my nipples with his thumbs and fingers, pinching
the ever-loving life out of them so hard and so suddenly that I screamed in shock
and pain. The sound was muffled in his kiss. It would have been lost on the
noise of the party, anyway, what with the Santa hat-clad DJ blaring Christmas
music so loud you could barely hear