Twisted Luck

by Mia Downing

Genres: Contemporary Romance; Paranormal Romance; Enemies to Lovers; billionaire romance; enemies-to-lovers; paranormal romance; demons; contemporary romance

Synopsis

"When I told him to go to hell, I didn't realize it would be a trip for two."

All I wanted was luck—the good kind. I'd lost my job, a jerk hacked my bank account, and I caught my best friend screwing my fiancé. When stood up by my Internet date in a bar, I met the perfect man—tall, dark, and handsome in the most expensive suit. He was out of my league, but I didn't want forever.

I barely remember the words he whispered under the veil of sin and seduction. I didn't believe in Satan, God, Heaven or Hell. I thought he was kidding. A figment. A dream.

I was wrong. With one, breathless yes, my fate was sealed.

Businessman by day, demon by night, Leo Weston now owns my soul in exchange for good luck. Time is ticking as he works to secure my mother's soul, too. Somehow, I have to take him down despite him being so damned gorgeous, glib, and devious. Will my gift of twisted luck be enough to save her and protect my heart?

Release date: April 7, 2017

Print pages: 290

Sample

Chapter One 

A

ll I wanted was luck. The good kind. Just once, I wanted something to go right.

That wasn’t happening tonight.

I sat at in the nearly empty bar at the restaurant, knocking back another shot of tequila without the aid of salt or lime. The liquid no longer burned a path to my stomach, a testament to how much I’d imbibed so far though I felt perfectly sober. I smacked the glass on the bar and checked my phone. I didn’t need to do so. He wasn’t showing up, and it figured. My life sucked that badly.

“Olivia, you want another?” Bob the bartender called.

I gave him a come-hither wiggle of my fingers. “Keep ’em coming. You sure this is the good stuff? I’m not feeling anything.”

“The best,” Bob confirmed. “Give it a few.”

Someone slid onto the stool next to me. I glanced over at the attractive guy in a suit, my heart pounding fast for a beat. Maybe my date had shown after all.

I turned just enough to check him out from the corner of my eye. Nope. The tailored, expensive suit and sparkling cufflinks screamed class and money. Definitely not my internet date.

I sipped the frozen margarita I’d nursed between shots and peeked again, trying to not be obvious in my perusal. Hot, broody, and dangerous, he wore a dark-gray suit that fit him to a tee. Short-cropped, dark hair, high cheek bones, firm lips, and a hint of dark stubble shading his strong jaw—all definitely my type. Probably mid-thirties. I liked older. With my luck, the guy had a wife and two mistresses waiting somewhere.

Yet here he sat on a barstool next to me, making my palms wet and my heart race. Disheartened, I sipped my drink and did my best to ignore the eye candy at my elbow.

I was definitely doomed.

“Can I buy you another drink?” the hot guy asked.

“That’s probably not a good idea.” I toyed with the stirrer in my drink. Wife and mistresses. I had to keep that in mind.

He chuckled, his deep rumble stirring something carnal deep inside me. “I assure you, I’m not married. Nor do I have mistresses.”

Had I said that aloud? I shrugged, not wanting to be sucked in to the charm and whatever else he was selling in that expensive suit. “Sure. It’s your dime.”

He ordered and casually leaned an elbow on the bar, the weight of his stare sliding along my skin, heating it. I’d worn a simple black dress that showed just enough thigh and cleavage for a first date. My exposed flesh warmed as shocks of pleasure and lust danced along my nerves.

Maybe the alcohol was finally kicking in. I focused on the television, hoping the hot guy would take his drink and sit somewhere else.

“You look like you’ve lost your best friend,” he observed.

“Nosy.” But yeah, I had lost her when she’d screwed my fiancé in my bed. I took one of the shots the bartender slid in front of me and downed it without clinking glasses or thanking the guy.

“You want to talk about it?”

“Nope.” I set the glass in front of him and met his chocolaty gaze for the first time. “Look, buddy—”

Gah.

I froze, mesmerized as I stared at perfection. His eyes—deep, dark-brown pools I’d drown in if I weren’t careful—were framed by the thickest, darkest lashes. My heart did weird things as I fought for the breath lodged in my tight chest.

Mr. Perfect stared at me as if he knew me, had lost me, and had finally found me again. And for some reason, I thought I knew him, too.

My heart fluttered in my chest, tightening under his scrutiny. I wet my lips, not wanting to break the moment…but I had to know. “Do I know you?”

“No.” His large hand reached out, a cufflink sparking in the dim light as he brushed a lock of hair from my face. “But you look like her. Same blonde hair. Same blue eyes. Similar features.” He cupped my cheek, his thumb brushing over my skin.

“Who?” I whispered. A blaze ignited my flesh with each swipe, searing along every nerve.

He stroked again and muttered under his breath, “Damn it.”

I don’t usually let strangers touch me, but I didn’t jerk away from his hand. I wanted his touch more than anything. A flash of sensuous images—his lips on mine, his fingertips skimming my bare skin—flooded my mind and left me breathless.

Something dark like jealousy clouded his gorgeous eyes as he searched my soul. “So tell me, Olivia, who were you waiting for?”

A warning bell rang in the background of my mind, and I pulled away from his hand. I stiffened my shoulders and narrowed my eyes. “How do you know my name?”

“The bartender.” He gestured elegantly behind the bar and took a sip of his drink.

I relaxed a little. Okay. Bob had said my name. When I was engaged to David, we’d come in quite a bit for drinks. But that was over.

“What’s over?” Mr. Perfect asked, intrigued.

“Did I say that out loud?” Another drink tapped down in front of me, and I sipped this time. “My engagement. Over.”

“Ah.” He perused me over the rim of his glass. “That would drive one to drink.”

“Oh, it’s worse than that. He got married today. To my ex-best friend and roommate.” I gave up sipping and nailed back the shot, the liquor failing to cease the pain stabbing at my heart. “I caught them screwing in my bed when they’d thought I was at a conference. They broke it.”

Images swam in my vision—David pounding into Jessie from behind, the bed crashing to the ground.

I shook my head. “You pile that on top of me losing my job yesterday, some asshole hacking my bank account and draining it…being stood up on my first date since the bed breaking is just icing on that crap pile.”

Mr. Perfect’s brows arched in surprise. “My. That’s a lot of bad luck.”

“You said it.” I gestured for another drink.

Mr. Perfect grabbed my hand, engulfing it in the warmth of his large palm. “You don’t need another drink.”

“I do.” I had issues to drown.

“Yes, you do have issues to drown, but I think you’re going a bit fast.” He gestured to Bob. “Another for me, soda for her.”

“I don’t want soda.” His concerned, gorgeous face blurred a moment then cleared. Ah, finally, the liquor had kicked in. “I am batting zero at everything except getting drunk. Let me have some semblance of victory.”

“I think you’ve already won. How about another conquest?”

Conquest. I snorted. “My intent tonight was to get laid. My exes are getting laid. It’s their wedding night.” Shot glass empty, I sipped from the soda placed in front of me and found it lacking. “I can’t even accomplish that.”

He cocked his head. “It’s not too late.”

I looked around the nearly empty bar. “I have Rudy the homeless guy and Nate to choose from. And Nate’s gay.”

“What about me?”

“You?” I laughed. “You’re as sexy as Satan. Way out of my league.”

“I assure you I don’t come close to Lucifer’s beauty or skill in bed.” His hand brushed my hair aside again, and when he cupped my cheek this time, I leaned into it. “But I’m not out of your league.”

“How do you know you’re not as good in bed as Lucifer? Unless you’ve done him.” I had no skills in bed. None. Zilch.

“No, I haven’t done him, but his infamy precludes his deeds.” Mr. Perfect pulled his hand away, and I mourned the loss. Fresh drink in hand, he cocked his head with a ghost of a smile. “No skills?”

Had I said that aloud, too? He didn’t need to know I was a virgin. Men shied away from that crap, and the more I studied him, the more I considered doing him.

I waved his question away with a hand, not believing for a second he was interested in me. “So what about you? Why are you here, talking to a nobody like me? You could have your pick of any model down in Manhattan.”

“First, you’re not a nobody, Olivia.” He leaned in, and I inhaled his cologne, a sexy mix of citrus and woods. “Family brings me to Connecticut. My father needs help with business.”

“Is that why you’re in a suit on a Saturday?” A hot man in a suit turned me on just like a woman in lingerie made men senseless. The haze of liquor mixed with desire. Every nerve ending sensitized, the heat in my sex radiated outward as the blood raced through my veins. The way he fiddled with those cufflinks, that swath of white shirt against the olive tones of his strong wrists…maybe he wasn’t out of my league.

His mouth quirked. “Yes. My father has quite the work ethic.”

“It sounds like you could use some fun then.” I stared at his mouth, his lips firm and sexy. Hell, I’d wanted a one-night stand. That had been the point of this date. To find someone to take away what I’d saved for David. I wasn’t going to be one of those whiny women losing their virginity, either. I wanted sex, damn it. Losing the V-card might bring better luck.

My gaze skittered to Mr. Perfect’s neck and the bare skin above that starched white collar. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, and I inhaled his citrusy scent. I wanted to kiss him, to taste his bare skin, to have him sample mine. Yeah, he’d do.

“Like what you see?” His whispered words swirled deliciously in my ears. “Would you like me to escort you home, Olivia?”

Did I? I licked dry lips and glanced at Bob the bartender. He nodded in approval, setting down one last shot for the road. Needing the liquid courage, I picked it up.

“No, Olivia, wait—” Mr. Perfect sputtered as I knocked back that drink.

“What?” I set the glass down and studied him, his handsome face lined with concern.

“I told you not to drink anymore.” He grabbed my elbow and helped me rise.

“I’m not driving.” My words were steady, but my legs bobbled. I braced my hand to his strong chest, steadying myself.

Male muscle flexed beneath the layers of material under my palm, the heat of his skin beckoning to me. I found my footing and still had to look up at him despite the heels I wore. Fuck-me pumps in black. Maybe I should have worn the red flats.

“How much have you had?” He removed a generous wad of money from his wallet and tossed it on the bar. I was going to tell him I had a tab going but screw it. If Mr. Perfect wanted to pay, I’d let him.

“I don’t know. I’ve never been this drunk before.” I tried to count. I’d needed drinks to bolster myself before I had left my apartment, had some at the bar while waiting, and some with him... “A lot, but I’m okay.”

“No, you’re not.” He escorted me by my elbow, his strides much longer than mine, and I stumbled. He heaved a sigh when he slowed to my pace. “Damn my father.”

“What’s your dad got to do with this?” We stepped outside, and the spring night air hit me full on. I shivered, wishing for a coat.

Mr. Perfect gave an agitated sigh, removed his suit coat, and placed it over my shoulders. His scent and warmth engulfed me, and I wanted to just swim in his essence.

His arm descended around my shoulders, and he hugged me to him. “Just keep walking.”

Confusion reigned as wind swirled around my feet, and suddenly, we were in the hallway of my apartment building. I bobbled on my high heels, and he held me up.

“Which one?” he enquired.

“Wha—” I glanced behind me, then up at him, confused. “Did I black out?”

“What apartment is yours?”

The words to ask what the hell was going on eluded me, so I pointed to my door. “That one.”

I have no clue how we made it inside, but the next thing I knew, I sat at my kitchen table, and Mr. Perfect prowled my living room.

The bottle of tequila sat in front of me, beckoning. “Am I allowed to drink?”

“The damage is done. Why not?” He returned to the kitchen and paused at my counter. He picked up my mail and leafed through it with long, tanned fingers.

I sat a little taller. “Hey. Buddy. That’s my mail.”

“Indeed, it is.” He lifted the eviction warning I’d received yesterday and read it. Perfect brows arched in surprise, and his chocolaty gaze met mine. “You were right about the horrid luck.”

Those eyes… Something shriveled and dead inside me sparked again, like when a breeze hits an almost-spent ember. Heat pooled in my belly and spread along my limbs, my skin warming in a way that made me feel parched and longing for a cool drink and no clothes. The alcohol must have freed the dirty girl in me, now clamoring to see what that stubble would feel like on my skin, between my cleavage, between my thighs…

“There’s time for both…in a bit.” His eyes narrowed in a calculating way as rubbed his chiseled jaw with a thoughtful hand.

“I gotta quit speaking my mind.” Not that I remembered speaking. I pointed as he returned to my mail. “It’s not polite to snoop.”

“My, my. Touchy.” He set the letters down and removed his gold and black cufflinks. I squinted but couldn’t see the ornate symbol any clearer. Instead, I found my mouth dry as he rolled each sleeve up, revealing defined muscles in his tanned forearms. “You’ve had quite the run of bad luck, haven’t you, Ollie?”

“Don’t call me Ollie.” David and Jessie had called me that. I hated them.

He laughed and undid a top button on his dress shirt, then two. “You don’t hate them, Olivia.”

“I do.” But my answer lacked heat as I stared at that small patch of firm chest sprinkled with the perfect amount of hair.

He walked into my kitchen and returned with two glasses. The tequila bottle eased out of my hands, and he poured two generous portions. One he set in front of me, the other in front of him. Pulling out one of my kitchen chairs, he sat, crossing one leg over the other in a picture of virile casualness. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Didn’t we come back here to have sex?” I sipped the liquid from the glass this time.

“I’d want nothing more, but I don’t wish to force myself on you. There are other…factors…I need to worry about.”

“There’s nothing to worry about.” I rolled my eyes. “God. I’m single, you’re—”

Discomfort lined his handsome face.

“Oh God, you are married. Show me your hands.”

He winced and held up both naked hands. “I’m not married.”

“You had said no mistresses. Girlfriend, then? Because I’m not leading you down some dark path of sin.”

A smile quirked, erasing the discomfort. “I assure you, I usually lead.”

“Then do me already.” I couldn’t believe I’d said that. But then, I’d practically begged David many times. He’d wanted to wait.

Mr. Perfect sat a little taller and cocked his head. “That was noble of you. To wait.”

“His idea,” I grouched, angry that I obviously kept mumbling things that should remain secret. “He thought it would be romantic. We’d done everything but the dirty deed, anyway. But hey, when you’re porking the easy roommate, it doesn’t really matter, does it?”

My guest sipped his drink. “Obviously not.”

“It’s not like I was cold in bed or anything. I’d wanted to get laid, like all my friends. He just didn’t want it from me.” God knew I’d given him enough blowjobs and whatever else he wanted to try to convince him. I was just cursed.

Mr. Perfect’s gaze traced my mouth, and he smiled again, this one even dirtier than the last. He took a long sip of tequila, his gaze landing on the newsletter at my elbow. He rose from his chair, snagged the page I’d doodled on earlier, and sat back down before I could snatch it back.

He perused my handiwork across the paper heralding David’s engagement complete with photo. Mr. Perfect shot me a breathtaking smile. “Love the mustache.”

“An art major comes in handy.” I cocked my head. Something about that grin… “You really do look familiar.”

“I have one of those faces.”

“Yeah, the kind mothers warn girls about.”

He set the page down with a laugh. “But you like that I’m handsome.”

“I’d liked that David was handsome, too.” The tequila soured on my tongue, so I set the glass down with drunken force. “I also like window shopping for expensive shoes. That doesn’t mean I’m stupid enough to buy them.”

“I’m not for sale.” He contemplated me for what seemed an eon, his long fingers drumming on my table. “What would you give, Olivia, to have your revenge?”

“I don’t want revenge.” But honestly…I’d sell my soul for some good luck.

“What did you say?”

I frowned. “I don’t want revenge?”

“No, the other.”

“I don’t recall saying anything else.”

He leaned closer and practically whispered, “Say it anyway.”

“I—” I licked my lips, unable to tear my gaze from his chocolaty one. “I’d sell my soul for good luck.”

“Would you?” He leaned forward on his elbows, interested and eager for my answer.

“Would you?” I countered, shocked by his words and that I’d even contemplate this to begin with. People didn’t sell their souls. I didn’t believe in God, Satan, Hell, or Heaven. When I was little, God hadn’t helped my mother or me when we’d needed him most. I sure as hell didn’t see any help on this horizon.

“I already have. Paid the piper, too.” Blatant honesty and sadness quirked in his slight smile.

I sat a little taller once more. Had this guy been through Hell and back? No way could someone fake that look, the one of cold despair. I knew it too well. I had seen it in my mother’s eyes, viewed it in the mirror when I gazed at myself. I had thought Mr. Perfect hot and out of my league, but this…maybe this soft admission put him square in my playing field.

I shrugged and found the will power to break eye contact. “And you’re still here, hot as sin and everything. So sure, what the hell. I’d sell my soul for good luck. What have I got to lose?” As if it were possible.

I went to take another drink, only to have air meet my lips, my hands empty. “Hey—”

Firm arms dragged me upward until I found my cheek pressed against that crisp dress shirt, my legs cradled under his firm bicep. The room spun. I don’t know if it was from the alcohol, the scent of his cologne, the firmness of his chest under that shirt...

My feet hit the floor in my bedroom and the spinning suddenly stopped. My head cleared long enough to stare into the depths of his chocolate brown eyes full of purpose and passion. I found myself lightheaded again but in a good way.

The drunken haze lifted as I stared at that mouth. God, what would it be like to be kissed by such perfection?

Those sinful lips covered mine with hard, blistering precision. Not soft like David’s kiss, but firm, with a pulse of welcomed tongue sweeping into my mouth.

Molten bliss better than any drink swept along my veins, amplifying and expanding as heat exploded in my core. Somehow, one of my hands landed in his hair, cupping the back of his head like a lifeline. The other massaged his shoulders, luxuriating in how his muscles rippled as he lowered me to the bed.

Cool sheets met my back, a delicious contrast to the hot, hardened chest pressing against my aching breasts. I shifted my hips, widening my thighs to make room for…wow. Moaning into his mouth, I arched my back, the needy parts of me seeking that long length of pulsing heat throbbing in his dress slacks.

He broke the kiss and nibbled his way down my neck. “This is your lucky night.” His thumb brushed the side of my breast in a long stroke, his finger stopping at the edge of my nipple. “I can make you feel very, very good, Olivia. I can give you the sweetest revenge over your cheating exes. I’ll make your toes curl and your blood sing.”

As if to make his point, that finger brushed the hardened peak of my nipple, and a fresh wave of desire coursed straight to my sex. “But I have to be sure you want this. All of it.”

A jumble of confusion stuttered all thoughts. Of course I wanted this. “Do you have condoms? Because I don’t have condoms.”

“I have condoms.”

I tugged his head back down to mine. “Good,” I whispered against his ear. “Then get to the toe-curling part.”

Fabric rustled, and cool air met my skin as he somehow whipped off my dress. Like, it was there and then it wasn’t…but I was fine with that as his large hand covered one breast and squeezed. The front clasp of my bra unsnapped and heated wetness replaced the fabric covering my nipple.

“Oh God.” So much better than David’s meager attempts, Mr. Perfect’s wicked tongue swirled laps around and around, the motion swirling the lust inside my brain.

“Something this sweet and decadent is wasted on God.” His mouth consumed the other nipple, his teeth tweaking it in a delicious way that sent spears of pain-laced pleasure straight to my toes.

I wiggled my hips and gasped as his hard length grazed my sex, setting that on fire as well. And since this was a one-night stand, I could be as naughty as I liked, right? No need to be worried or scared like I had been with David. Carpe diem. Or Carpe night. Or whatever.

His mouth returned to mine, kissing me with renewed reverence as his hand alternated between my nipples, caressing, tugging, and pinching in just the right increments to make my head swim.

Panting, I reached between us and unbuttoned his shirt, somehow making quick work of the event because poof, the fabric was gone, leaving firm, hot skin under my fingertips. Oh, yes. Just a smattering of hair covered the lean muscles, and it was a divine exploration along the dip of his pectorals, savoring the tightness of his nipples, the ripple of his abs as he drew in a ragged breath.

I excited him, did I? I liked that, turning on Mr. Perfect. My tongue teased the depths of his mouth as I dipped my hand lower to cup the zipper of his dress slacks. He ground against my palm, rumbling deep in his throat, his cock hard, insistent, big.

He broke the kiss and peppered my neck with little nips. “It’s a good thing it’s big,” he whispered hoarsely, his hand covering mine over his dick. “Remember the toe-curling pledge.”

Mouth suddenly dry, my hand lost its grip as I thought of debating that. He rocked to the side, and his hand covered my sex, his fingers squeezing my swollen flesh through my panties. Strong pulses of need shot from my clit down my legs to my toes. This had never happened during solo happy time.

And damned if I didn’t want more of that.

I licked my lips, my heart pounding double time as his fingers traced a pattern over that tight bundle of nerves. “I think I might die right here.”

“You won’t die. I promise you.” He slid one long finger under the material and along my slit, teasing my needy flesh. The material disappeared—maybe it ripped—and his fingers had full access.

His mouth returned to mine, and he explored with tongue and fingers until I tore my mouth from his, panting. “Please…”

I wanted him to finish the orgasm that teetered on the brink. At the same time, I never wanted it to happen. Ecstasy this sweet should be savored, only I had no knowledge of how.

He laughed and gave each nipple a swift kiss. “Sometimes the sweetest bliss is right on the edge. The edge of pleasure.”

I groaned.

Those deft fingers found my clit and pinched. “The edge of pain.”

I drew in a gasp of pure sin as ripples of an orgasm beckoned. “You’re driving me mad.”

“Sanity is over-rated.” His mouth returned to mine in a kiss that rendered me crazy with lust. My heart pounding, body sweating, core throbbing with need in a way that seemed to sweep away my inhibitions.

Those hot lips kissed their way down my ribs, his stubbled jaw tickling across my belly, his tongue sliding along my slit. I gasped, and before I could say no, he spread my thighs wide and buried his face between them. His tongue lapped around my clit in insistent, take-no-prisoner circles.

I wanted to protest, but the pulse of an impending orgasm changed my mind. My hands sank into his hair, tugging him closer. His mouth nipped, sucked, and rocketed the orgasm straight to orbit.

Each breath seemed shallower, my heart pounding so hard my ribs hurt. My toes curled and cramped as ecstasy shattered my core in clenching, rippling waves that made my thighs shake against his cheeks. I didn’t just see stars. I saw constellations that mapped the way straight to Hell.

I sank my head into the pillow and panted, staring up at my ceiling as it spun slightly. He kissed his way back up, across my belly, along each rib before propping himself up on his elbows.

He grinned down at me. “Well? Toes curled? Blood singing?”

I swallowed and nodded, still dazed.

He trailed a finger along my cheek and across my upper lip in a tantalizing brush of gentleness. “There’s more, you know.”

“Well, yeah.”

His smile softened as he continued his pattern to include my bottom lip. “Oh no. I mean, more. More you can gain, more luck to be had. Not only can I rock your world, but I can change your life.”

I somehow controlled my breathing to eke out more than two words. “Losing the V-card is often a life-changing experience.”

He tossed back his head and laughed, one that reverberated down my body. “Let me make love to you, and I’ll show you life-changing.”

Everything began to throb in a different way, one that demanded instead of pleaded, and I found myself nodding in a dazed and hungry way. To hell with my shitty life, the asshole exes, and no money. If my life was going to Hell, I was going to do it with multiple orgasms under my belt and a satisfied grin on my face.

I nodded. “Yes.”

He kissed me hard, one with promise and lots of sweeping tongue action that had me gasping for breath again. Somehow, that thick cock became encased in a condom, and he dragged the tip along my slit in a tantalizing way, each slide causing the head to dip in and tease my entrance. I rocked my hips, needing more.

“Do you want it to be really good?” he whispered in between kisses along my neck. “Really magical?”

“Yes,” I breathed, entranced.

“When I enter you, I want you to ask me for whatever it is that will make your life better.”

“A unicorn?” I had a thing for sexy, imaginary creatures.

“No, silly.” He dropped a searing kiss on my lips. He slid just the tip inside again, teasing with small thrusts that made my core seize with pleasure. “Humor me. It’s the first and only time you lose your virginity. Think of it as blowing out a candle on your bucket list cake. What do you wish for?”

That was easy. “Luck. The good kind.”

He nuzzled my neck. “That’s it? Not fame, fortune, a new career? Someone new to love?”

“No. Luck.” I arched my hips, trying to drive him in and end the sweet torture. “The good kind.”

“You had said earlier you’d sell your soul for it.”

Somewhere in my hazy mind, a warning buzzer went off. “I don’t know if this is a good idea.”

“That’s your decision.” His mouth nibbled and sucked while his fingers dipped between us to rub that sweet spot, the pressure calling forth another orgasm. “I want you to be sure. Just say the word, and I’ll stop.”

But I didn’t want him to stop. The pleasure inside me bridged on pain that needed release despite the orgasm I just had. He had no right to do this to me. I groaned.

“Well?” His breath warmed my ear as fingers stilled and he rolled, the heat of his body departing from mine, leaving me…alone.

A moment of panic-laced longing hit as I reached for him. “Please…”

“You sure?”

That warning swirled in the haze of lustful confusion. Why not be happy for once? His hand returned to stroke lazily along my body, dashing away all thoughts.

I swallowed and nodded. “The answer is yes. Take whatever. My soul, the last ten bucks in my wallet… Just do it.”

“Now?” His body returned, looming over me as he dropped a kiss to my lips. He stared into my eyes, his glittering like onyx, his mouth quirked with something that echoed triumph.

The desire beckoned louder, and I bit my lip on another moan. “Now.”

Slowly, slowly he slid inside, the stretch foreign yet deliciously good in a needy, full way.

“Oh,” I breathed.

“Say it,” he said through gritted teeth. “What did you tell me earlier? What would you wish for?”

“I want—” I gasped as he sank deep, deeper… “Luck. The good kind.”

He slammed into me with a force that exploded like something nuclear. The instant ecstasy bridged on something catastrophic laced with loss. My groan mingled with a scream as a weird sensation shattered across my back and along my right arm. He deepened the kiss, soothing my noise with his mouth, his tongue stealing my breath.

A moment later, something euphoric and…wonderful…surged as his cock sank to the hilt. The constellations I’d seen earlier became a supernova of color before my eyes. I arched my hips, seeking more.

Each stroke took me higher, each kiss and nip and bite on my neck, lips, and breasts shook me harder. I hung on to what I could, his skin sweaty and slick, his hands and mouth a beautiful accompaniment to each timed, precise thrust. I ceased breathing. I’m sure my heart stopped. And oh God, how the hell would I survive the tsunami of an orgasm brewing?

“Tell me again,” he whispered, his glittering gaze searing into mine.

I heaved a breath, sucked in another. My parched tongue licked beads of sweat from my upper lip. “L-luck,” I ground out. “The good kind.”

He murmured something in an accented tongue and kissed my lips, my nose, and each eyelid.

This orgasm rocked my core like an earthquake, rattling every cell, firing every muscle. Free-fall from a spaceship couldn’t be this good, the spinning, swirling, kaleidoscope of colors delighting my brain. I gasped for air like I’d surfaced from the depths of Hell only to be plunged back in again with another toe-curling tremor.

“Good girl,” he crooned, smiling down at me as if I were a cherished possession. “Let the luck begin.”