The Invitation

I invited him into my hotel room for a drink.

“Make yourself at home,” I told him with a smile, before slipping into the bathroom to

change. Truth is, I didn’t just want a drink. I wanted that piece of meat—and badly. I washed

up quickly, then slipped into a half-lace, half-silk nightwear with nothing underneath but a

lace panty. My nipples were already perky, poking through the thin fabric.

When I stepped back into the room, I saw him swallow hard.

Got him.

We got chatty. I was almost drunk, and on top of that, I was ovulating—and horny as hell.

Everything about him—his voice, his scent, the way his lips moved—only made it worse. I

wanted him. Right here, right now.

But I’d never made the first move before. How was I supposed to do that now?

Then it hit me.

“Let’s play strip poker,” I said with a playful smirk.

He chuckled. “If you lose, you’ve barely got anything on to take off.”

I giggled and disappeared into the wardrobe. I came back wearing a long coat over my

nightwear and added a pair of socks. “There. Now I’m ready.”

I brought out the cards, and the game began.

I lost the first round—off came one sock. He lost twice—shoes gone. I lost again—the other

sock. Another loss and off went my coat. His turn again, and he lost four times. His shirt and

trousers came off. Now he was down to just his boxers and socks.

He lost again—one sock gone.

Then I lost.

As I stood to take something off, I noticed the way he shifted in his chair, cleared his throat,

and looked at me. I paused, scanned his face, and let out a low laugh.

“Don’t worry,” I teased. “I’ve still got something underneath.”

I turned around and slowly slipped off my lace panty, making sure to pull it down slow,

sensual, deliberate. I threw it softly at him.

He caught it—and to my surprise, brought it to his nose and sniffed.

Then he growled.

That hunger in his eyes? That wasn’t a tease anymore. He was losing control.

We kept playing, and he lost again. Last sock—gone.

Final card. A tie.

“To break the tie,” I said, “let’s switch to truth or dare.”

I went first. “Truth.”

“Do you want to fuck me?” he asked, his voice low, eyes locked on mine.

I could lie and take my dress off instead—but he wasn’t going to get off that easy.

“Yes,” I said, holding his gaze. “I want to fuck you.”

His turn. “Dare,” he said, confidently.

“I dare you to sign over your company to me.”

He laughed, full of charm. “Smart move.”

We both knew he couldn’t do that.

He reached for his boxer, ready to strip.

But I stopped him. I walked closer, leaned into his ear, and whispered, “Let me help you with

that.”

I slid my hands down his back, palms tracing the firmness of his ass, trailing along his thighs

as I slowly pulled down the boxers. My breasts brushed against his front as I crouched, rising

up slowly once I reached his legs.

And oh my God...

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