Read Sweet Victory: A Novella (His Wicked Games #2.5) for Free Online Page A

doing right now—and all the work that awaits us tomorrow.
    I let my hand glide across his hard stomach. His chest is still heaving up and down, and I revel in the fact that, even now, I can do this to him. I can make him so wild that he loses all self-control. I can bring him such pleasure that it overrides even his naturally competitive nature. I only hope that I’ve managed to put his mind at ease once more—that, for now, he’s utterly convinced of my desire for him,
    “So,” I say, flipping over so that I’m partially on top of him. “How about that hint?”
    He gives a breathless chuckle. “Can’t a man recover first?”
    “You’re very demanding for someone who just lost a challenge.” I grin and tilt my head, letting my hair fall across his chest. The strands are a tangled mess right now, but Calder doesn’t seem to mind. He runs his fingers through the waves.
    He gives a playful, over-exaggerated sigh. “Fine. What’s your question?”
    This time I’m ready. I don’t expect to be able to pull off a trick like last time—even if I still contend that I was merely being clever, not cheating—so I need to start narrowing down the details one by one.
    “Is it something for our apartment?”
    “I’m sorry, love, but I’m afraid it’s not.”
    “Really?” Well, that does shrink the guessing pool, doesn’t it? But if it’s not for our apartment—well, it could be for anything else.
    “Unhappy with that answer?” His eyes crinkle.
    “Just… confused.” I sit up. “You’re making this very, very difficult, you know.”
    “Me?” He doesn’t bother to hold back his laughter. “You agreed to this little game, my dear. And you seem to be enjoying it so far.”
    I shake my head, unable to hide my own amusement. I am enjoying this. But I’d also hoped I’d be a little closer to the answer by now. All I know is that it’s in the apartment but not for the apartment. I can only assume that that means it’s explicitly for me—unless, of course, it’s something for the bedroom. That sort of gift would be for him, too.
    Then again, it’s probably something really, really obscure. That way Calder can ensure that I’ll make plenty of wrong guesses.
    I shake my head. “What if I never guess it?”
    The corner of his mouth twists up. “Then I suppose you’ll be stuck here as my sex slave forever. Unless, of course, I take pity on you and decide to hand it over anyway.”
    I give him a playful smack on the shoulder. “I don’t need your pity.”
    “Not yet, anyway.”
    My glare doesn’t even faze him.
    Nor does the knocking. In fact, we’re several minutes into our little standoff before I realize the pounding isn’t coming from my own thumping heart.
    “Is that our door?” I say.
    Who could be knocking on our door? Especially at this hour? I haven’t had a chance to give everyone our new address yet. I suppose the delivery guy could be paying us a return visit—maybe he forgot one of our dishes and we didn’t notice?—but it seems a little late for that. Maybe the walls were even thinner than we thought and one of the neighbors has come to complain. Calder’s already climbing to his feet, and he pulls me up beside him. We return to the living room together.
    The pounding is growing louder, more insistent.
    “Stay back,” Calder tells me. I can tell by his expression that he, too, is unnerved by this late-night visitor. I’m about to suggest that we ignore the knocking and hope whoever it is goes away when our unexpected guest stops pounding and starts yelling through the door.
    “Come on, Calder! I know you’re in there!”
    I freeze. Why is a woman screaming through our door? Why is she looking for Calder?
    I glance over at him, and it appears that he’s just as shocked as I am. He’s frozen, stunned.
    “Who is it?” I hiss. If she doesn’t hear us, there’s still a chance she’ll give up and go away. I steal a glance at the door, and I’m relieved to see that both