A Game of Hearts and Heists: A Steamy Lesbian Fantasy Romance (Girl Games Book 1)

The shock on The Poisoner’s face is precious. I knew she hadn’t seen me watching her from the club’s shadows.

Stirling, for all her talk of getting me laid, vanished the moment she saw her friend. And by friend, I mean the casual ‘let’s fuck every time we meet’ kind of friend. I was about to leave when I saw Quinn enter the club in the most spectacular dress. I was taken aback. She doesn’t seem the sort of girl to wear a dress like that. Not that I minded. The slit in the black silk cuts over her hip. Easy stabbing access… or easy access for fingers to slide in.

I edged my way around the room, watching. Waiting. She danced with the club owner. It took all my strength not to pull out the blade I’m hiding in my waistband and throw it across the room at Lustra.

I might hate Quinn. But she’s mine to fuck with. No one else’s. I had to force myself to stay against the wall and watch as she wrapped her fucking fingers around Lustra’s neck. I wanted to cut them off, slice Lustra open. That’s when I took Chance out. I wasn’t going to bother. I would’ve been happy voyeuring my way through the club, studying Quinn for weaknesses. But she had to go and dance with Lustra, and that pissed me off.

I rubbed the coin between my thumb and index finger.

“Do I go to her? Do I go to The Poisoner?” I asked and flipped the coin.

I knew before I even looked under my hand what it landed on. I’ve tossed Chance too many times. I know the striations like breathing oxygen.

So here I am, standing in front of Quinn. Her hand is still wrapped around my bicep. I tensed it on purpose. As I strain the muscle, her tongue flicks across her lips and her eyes drop to where she’s grasping me.

She releases me, suddenly, as if I’m made of fire.

Her eyes darken. There she is.

Hello, my angry girl.

It makes my thighs heat and my pussy warm, wondering how much I can provoke her. Whether I can coax power from her core, her fury. The angrier she is, the more beautiful she becomes. It’s exquisite.

And infuriating.

I decide in that moment I’m going to make her cry my name into the thumping music tonight. Or maybe I could just throttle her and watch as the life slips from her eyes. Both are so appealing, especially after the shit she’s caused me.

I make the mistake of lowering my eyes to her cleavage as hers dropped to mine. I wore the push-up bra tonight, Stirling’s idea. She made me unbutton one too many buttons on my white shirt, too.

Mistake.

Can’t kill Quinn with the way she’s dressed. My eyes rove her curves, her leg peeking out from the silk fabric. My breathing hitches faster. It would be too much of a waste.

Can’t kill her tonight, anyway.

But I can fuck her.

When Quinn’s forest-coloured eyes lock on mine, I swallow. I hate that she has this power over me. Hate that she’s crushing my business, destroying my sanity.

She needs to be punished. I’ll fuck her until she’s orgasmed so hard she can’t walk for a week. Good thing I’m packing. I inch forward, the leather straps beneath my trousers pinch against my skin. The cock dangles between my legs and presses against my thigh. Like her, I’m not wearing underwear either.

“You,” she spits. And the word curls through my brain like a drug, my vision narrowing until she is the only thing that exists in the club.

I lean down, grab her waist and yank her towards me. “Yes. Me,” I breathe into her ear. Her cheek presses against mine, soft, warm. “Good evening, Poisoner.”

“I knew you were watching me,” she says and shoves me off. “So predictable. Can’t get enough of me. It’s pathetic, really.” She looks up at me.

She’s baiting me, prodding and poking to see if I’ll bite. This is the game we play. The back and forth, insults, threats, promises. She professes to hate games. It’s a total lie. She plays harder than anyone I’ve ever met.

My nostrils flare. She won’t be walking for two weeks for that. I grab her arm and pull her away from the bar and shove her up against the wall. She sucks the corner of her lip.

“Jealous, Scarlett?” The words purr out of her mouth. Her fingers tiptoe up my abs. I slap them away. And she grins.

Gods. I’m going to ruin her.

“Just because my poisons are better than your blades doesn’t mean you can treat me like a rag doll.” She gestures at the wall.

I yank out the blade strapped to my waistband and shove it under her chin. But that only makes her smile deepen.

She tuts at me, “And to think I thought you were meant to be the best of the best Assassins.”

There’s a sharp sting between my ribs. I glance down.

The fuck?

“Wh—’ I start.

She leans forward and cuts me off, “—You’re not the only one capable of smuggling blades, Grey.” Then she sucks my earlobe. My nipples stiffen as she pulls away and leaves the lobe as wet as my pussy.

“You need some new tricks, Old Dog. You’re slowing down,” she smiles. It’s a sneering sort of smile, one I’d gladly wipe off her face.

A looming shadow appears beside me.

Shit.

“Blades,” he says. This man is a giant. I’m tall, he’s enormous. He holds out his hand, which is less a hand and more a spade, and both of us slap the knives into his hand, our jaws gritting.

“Prison. Now.” He glares and points at a giant black glass box on the other side of the room.

“You can sort your differences out in there.” He raises an eyebrow, and when neither of us moves, he uses those spade-hands to shove us towards the box.

We’re pushed inside. “Jack, please,” Quinn says.

She knows his name?

“Twenty minutes. And when you come out, you better play nice, ladies. Blades can be collected from the cloakroom, where you should have fucking stored them in the first place.”

Then Jack slams the door shut and clicks the lock.

Brilliant. I flex my neck, irritated. I could have been getting drunk or, even better, hunting for commissions from drunk and desperate guests. There are spotlights on the roof throwing out dim rouge light. We can’t see out, no one can see in. Chains and cuffs dangle from the roof, and in the middle of the room is a soft velvet cube. The floor has a velvety carpet too. And there are toys of all varieties in the corner on a shelf.

Quinn rushes up to me and shoves a finger into my chest. “That’s the second blade you’ve stolen from me.”

I lower my gaze to her finger.

She hesitates and pulls her finger away.

“That’s a good girl. We both know you shouldn’t point fingers you don’t want to lose.”

“I’m serious, Scarlett. I still want that blade back.” Her words are as sharp as the blades we just lost.

“What kind of prison is this?” I say more to myself than anything.

“A sex club prison, obviously.” She rolls her eyes at me and turns her back on me.

I cock my head at her. “Well, Quinn Adams. You’re liable to get spanked with an attitude like that.”

“You spank me, and I’ll cut your hand off,” she’s snarling. But she’s also leaning back, closer. Her perfume is rich, spicy. The heady scent fills my mind, leaches away rational thought, leaches training and sense. It drives me wild.

“You wouldn’t dare. You like them too much.” I drag my hand slowly up her bared thigh.

She sucks in a ragged breath. Fury melds with lust as her eyes rake down my body and her tongue slides over her lips. Her fingers flex like she wants to throttle me. But her hips betray her. They tilt towards me.

I smile as I push my fingers higher, sliding them over the rounded flesh at the top of her thigh.

“You have other limbs that can be cut off,” she says. But the words are warm now, rumbling in her chest, lust threaded through them.

“The only thing that’s going to be cut off,” I say, slipping my hand over her pussy, “is your income when I destroy your business.”

“Don’t be petty. Jeal—”

I part her flesh, silencing her. My finger poised on her clit. She leans her ass into my hand, forcing my finger to move up and down. She lets out a gasp and then a moan as I pick up the pace and rub her core.

She turns round, pushes me to my knees, pulls her dress aside.

She tilts her head, her eyes alive, hungry.

An invitation.

A demand.

When she looks at me like this, I’m never sure if we’re going to fuck or fight. Honestly, I don’t think I care.

“You know I’ve punished women for demanding less than that.”

Her lip curls, “And yet I’m the only one who can get you to your knees.”

This time, I growl. I grab her ass and lift her up. She swings her legs around my neck and I lean into her flesh. I carry her, my face pushed against her pussy, to the velvet cube where I put her on her back. And then I draw my tongue down, parting her.

The moan it elicits from her carves me in two. She sits up, and her hands go to my trousers and crotch.

“Oh,” she says as her hand presses against the hard cock. “Oh, that’s new.”

“Shut up and bend over.”

Her mouth twitches like she’s suppressing a smile. “Yes, ma’am.”

When her ass is in the air, I walk around the cube and take one of the dangling handcuffs. I strap her in one hand and then the other. I yank, testing their strength. There’s no way they’re coming out of the ceiling.

I pull the key out and slip it into my pocket. Then I lift Quinn’s chin up and place a kiss on her mouth. She parts her lips and pushes her tongue over mine. She tastes like forbidden things. Peppery and hot, and the faintest hint of sweet smoke.

I drop her face and move to her backside, hoisting the fabric of her dress up. I slap her ass and she squeals. My clit pulses. I’d kill to ride her face right now, feel her warm mouth lap at my core as I grind into her.

But tonight is not about me.

It’s all about revenge for what she did last time. I was on an open commission. This duchess had offered a high reward for slaughtering her rich uncle, open contract, quick turnaround time. Of course, the competition was much stiffer. Quinn and I both turned up to kill off the uncle. We fought. I was an inch from gutting her in the uncle’s living room. If it weren’t for the fact that I’d slashed her top and she wasn’t wearing a bra…

Instead of killing her, I ended up fucking her all over the guy’s living room. We broke furniture, smashed vases, ripped cushions. It was… well; it wasn’t my most professional moment. After, Stirling had to come and help me make it look like a break in.

Anyway. Quinn must have slipped me some kind of poison because by the time I’d finished fucking her face, my right arm was paralysed and my leg and foot weren’t far behind.

She got the kill, of course. And then left me there to deal with the consequences. One nil to her that day.

And to top it all, I was paralysed for two very long days. Stirling had to feed me because I kept spilling everything. Guess she’s two nil up.

I owe her.

I owe her big.

I unzip my trousers, pull the cock out and rub it over her pussy. I lean down onto her back, sprinkle kisses over her neck, nipping at the skin.

“Tell me you want it,” I say, a growl biting at my throat. This is the best part of the game. Submission. No matter how much she hates me, she wants me to fuck her more.

“I—I want it,” she pants, and my jaw flexes.

I shove inside her, shunting her forward into the velvet cube. She gasps out a moan. And then… “Harder, Scarlett.”

My teeth grit, my eyes squeezing shut. The demands. It floods adrenaline through my insides, my muscles tighten, daring me to obey, daring me to punish.

The way she says my name, the husky longing. I can’t stand it. How dare she command me. And yet… I submit.

I’d do anything to make her scream my name like that over and over.

I thrust into her. Deeper. Faster. Until she’s dripping wet and moaning into the velvet fabric beneath her, her knuckles white where she grips the corners.

I trail my hand around her legs and onto her swollen clit. I flick my fingers, rubbing and teasing and thrusting into her until she’s wound so tight she’s panting out my name like fire and flames. It bores into my mind.

“Scarlett. Scarlett,” she breathes, and my soul caves open. She might be the one climaxing, but it’s me that’s laid bare. She arches up, gripping my arse, pulling me in harder. The chains clank and strain as her fingers squeeze punishingly hard against my skin. It’s on purpose. She likes to mark me, I’m sure of it.

I’m hers as much as she is mine to play with. To fuck and discard. To threaten and screw.

I’m glad she’s on her front. One look from her would strip me open and tear out my darkest secrets.

She stiffens against me, her world shattering. For a fleeting moment, I wish I hadn’t used the cock but my fingers so I could feel her clench me. But there’s always next time.

No.

No more next times. I pull out of her, eliciting a sharp intake of breath as she collapses on the cube, the chains holding her arms clinking. This needs to stop. I put the cock back inside my trousers and zip myself up. I check the handcuff key is still in my pocket and then smile.

“Till next time, Quinn. Have a pleasant night.”

“What?” she says, still breathless and revelling in the orgasm. The chains clang as she tries to wrench around to see me. She can’t turn fully, but she can see enough to realise I have a smug grin on my face.

“Don’t you dare leave me in here like this.”

I laugh and pull out my spare switch blade—all good Assassins carry more than one—and jangle it against the door lock. It clicks open.

“One nil to me, Quinn.”

“I will fucking ruin you. I…” she screams, but I shut the door on her before she can finish the rest of her sentence.

If I strain against the thud of the music, I can still make out her shrieking and the clanking chains.

Glorious.

Utterly, glorious.