chapter two: Strip poker

Lily's pov ......

I opened the door and the room was very beautiful, perfect for two couples to take a break. I sighed and kept my suitcase.

I took a long bathe and decided to watch a movie,

My phone had been blaring up

Ryan..

I sighed and blinked back tears, I put a soap opera and soon my heart felt heavy

I needed a release from everything going on in my life,

Fuck it I muttered

I opened my suitcase and brought out my rose vibrator

I placed it on my clit and hummed as I felt the lovely sensations.

I gasped and clutched the sheets,.my nipples were painfully tight and I moaned

Soon I was on the bridge of my orgasm, I moaned and clutched the sheets, I didn’t even hear the sound of the door opening

And came hard with a cry

I took deep breaths and looked up then I froze

A man is in my room

I looked at him and he looked very handsome, talk and muscular, and he was glaring at me

I looked down and screamed covering myself

“what are you doing in my room you creep “ I shrieked

“I should be saying that” his deep voice called out

“you’re in my room” I snapped

He rose his key card and my eyes widened

“Get dressed we’ll go to the receptionist “ he said and walked out

Fuck!!

A random man just watched me masturbate

Fuck my life

I wore my jeans and a sweater and went downstairs

Two minutes later, the two of us were marching side by side down the grand staircase toward the front desk, my suitcase bumping against every single step.

The receptionist’s bright smile faltered as we approached—me red-faced, him bristling like a storm cloud.

“Miss Hart,” she said nervously. “Mr. Drew. Is there… a problem?”

“Yes.” He snapped—because of course a man that hot would have a name that rolled off the tongue like expensive whiskey—leaned on the counter with folded arms. “Apparently you’ve assigned my room to her as well.”

“Which is impossible,” I snapped, slapping my keycard onto the marble. “Because this is the card you gave me. Room 1205. Ocean view.”

The receptionist’s cheeks pinked. Her eyes darted between us, fingers flying over the keyboard. Then, her face paled.

“Oh, dear.”

“Oh, dear?” I echoed.

She cleared her throat. “It seems there was a system error. Both of your reservations were entered into the same suite. Unfortunately…” She winced. “The resort is at full capacity this weekend. There are no other rooms available. The nearest hotel is thirty miles away.”

I blinked at her. “So, what—you expect me to bunk with him?”

“Or me with you,” the man drawled. His blue eyes—sharp, —flicked over me in a way that made my stomach knot.

“Not exactly my dream scenario, sweetheart.” He said

Heat flooded my cheeks. God, he was insufferable.

The receptionist looked like she wanted to crawl under the counter. “I’m so sorry. We can offer complimentary meals, drinks, and spa credit for the inconvenience. But… you would have to share the suite.”

I groaned, pressing my palms over my face. A solo trip was supposed to be empowering. Independent. Relaxing. Not roommate roulette with a stranger who looked like a sin wrapped in Armani.

The man sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Look, we’re adults. We can survive one night. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

His tone was reluctant but not cruel, which was… something.

I exhaled sharply, glaring at the receptionist one last time before dragging my suitcase back toward the elevator. “Fine. One night.”

Back in the suite, the silence was unbearable. He tossed his duffel onto the couch, loosened his watch strap, and cracked open a bottled water like he owned the place.

Meanwhile, I sat stiffly on the edge of the bed, scrolling my phone, pretending not to notice that every movement of his arm pulled his shirt tight across solid muscle.

“So,” he said finally, voice laced with anger.

“Let’s mind our businesses and stay out of our way “

My head snapped up.

“Sure do that”

His lips curved into a half-smile.

I glared, but my throat tightened

And a wave of sadness washed over me

I don't when the words tumbled out

“Graduation trip. Supposed to be with my boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend now.”

His brows lifted. “Harsh.”

“Yeah,” I muttered. “Caught him cheating. Congratulations to me.”

Something flickered in his expression—surprise, then sympathy—but it vanished as quickly as it came. He took a slow sip of water.

“Well,” he said, dropping onto the armchair across from me. “At least you upgraded. If you’d been stuck with him, you wouldn’t be sitting across from me.”

I rolled my eyes, but my lips twitched against my will. Arrogant bastard.

Few minutes later, the complimentary champagne arrived—two glasses, one bottle.

That’s when he pulled a deck of cards out of his bag.

“Poker?” he suggested.

I arched a brow. “Poker? Really? What are we, seventy?”

“Not just poker.” His grin turned wicked. “Strip poker.”

My jaw dropped. “Absolutely not.”

He leaned forward, shuffling the cards with practiced ease, his eyes glinting under the soft light. “Come on. You scared you’ll lose?”

“I’m not scared.”

“Prove it.”

Something reckless surged inside me—the same something that had made me get on the plane instead of curling up at home. If I could survive catching Ryan cheating, I could survive playing a dumb game with a cocky stranger.

“Fine,” I said, snatching the cards from him. “But don’t cry when you’re down to your boxers.”

His laugh was low, deep, dangerous. “Sweetheart, I never lose.”

Two hands in, I’d already lost a sock and my jacket.

He was smug, sprawled across the armchair in just his shirt and slacks, looking every bit the devil.

“You’re terrible at bluffing,” he teased, eyes raking over me as I peeled off another layer.

“I’m fine,” I muttered, tossing my cardigan aside. My cheeks burned, but a strange thrill hummed through me.

Another round, another loss. My tank top joined the pile.

His gaze lingered this time, sharper, heavier. “You’re really something, you know that?”

I swallowed hard. My pulse jumped. “Don’t get cocky.”

“Too late.” He leaned forward, dealing again, voice dropping to a near-growl. “I already am.”

By the time I was down to my pink bra and shorts, I realized this was no longer just a game. The air between us sizzled. Every flick of his wrist, every brush of his fingers when he passed me cards, felt intimate. Deliberate. Dangerous.

And when he finally set down his cards—four of a kind, of course—and leaned back with a victorious smirk, I knew I’d walked straight into a trap.

“Your move,” he murmured.

My throat went dry.

Because this wasn’t just strip poker anymore.

It was foreplay.

“want to finish the orgasm you started? He said

I gulped