“I want to play, kitten,” I swallow, pretending it doesn’t affect me the way it does. Like my cock isn’t already getting hard, like my heart didn’t skip a beat, like I’m not looking at her like she’s the very thing that makes my world spin.
It’s not been long enough. We don’t like each other past fucking or getting on each other’s nerves. But when she says my name, either version of it, I can’t help but feel like the sun has just risen after several days of night, like the clouds haven’t just parted after endless days of rain.
I feel like I’ve just been shot – it’s happened – and this burning, all-consuming pain is flowing through me. It was a few years ago now, an ex-employee who had escaped my inner circle after he tried to betray me to my competition. I found out, ordered his demise and everyone involved, but he tried to take me out first.
The bullet sliced through me, at my hip, though hewas aiming for my heart, and it was a through and through, it went in and came out, but it still felt as if I was about to die.
That’s how it feels with her.
With Olivia.
Like the next moment with her might be my end.
And I anticipated it like a drug. If there were any way for me to go, at her hands, it would be with a smile.
“Fine,” She grins, taking the cue and circling the table.
She eyes the formation, the white ball and the table itself like she hasn’t played before. It’s obvious she has, and I don’t doubt her skill, I just know I am better.
“Who breaks?” She asks, fingering the collar of my shirt.
“Go ahead,” I give her a grin.
“And what do I get if I win?”
“Anything you want.” I tell her, “But if I win, I get you for one day. Twenty-four hours. With no rules.”
She quirks a brow and gives me a lazy half smile, the confidence oozing from her pores. “Fine.” She flicks her hand as if that isn’t a big deal. She thinks she’s going to win.
She lines up, bending across the table. My shirt slides up her thighs, teasing at the crease of her ass. I’m so focused on her, on where the material of my shirt whispers on her soft skin that I don’t see her take the shot. The sound of the white slamming into the ball’sjolts me from my trance on her body and I look to the table, seeing her pot two of the red balls.
“I played in college,” She tells me, “Willow and I made it our goal to out play the frat guys since they believed women shouldn’t be able to play. We always bet a lot of money and pretended we were awful to get them to play along. It brought me an immense amount of joy to crush them.”
She flutters her lashes.
“That’s called hustling,” I point out, watching her take her second shot. She pockets another red easily, a cocky little smirk pulling on her mouth as she analyzes the remaining four reds on the table.
“Hustling,” She shrugs, “I call it being fifty grand richer.”
“That’s how much you earned?”
“Throughout college, yes. Those guys didn’t care about the money though, they were more pissed that they were beaten by a couple of girls. Eventually they stopped playing with us because out of all the games we played, we lost maybe two or three. We didn’t need the money, but it was fun taking it from them.”
I chuckle, “I can imagine.”
She lines up and sinks a ball.
Three reds left and all my yellows are still on the table.
The white ball is positioned in such a way that she has to bend across the table directly in front of me. The shirt rises, leaving her bared to me. My cock strains behind my zipper. Fuck I need to be in her again.
I fist my hands to stop me from reaching for her. I want to finish the game even if fucking her right now is the only thing on my mind.
She strikes the ball but the red bounces off the corner of the pocket, rolling up the table.
Straightening, she throws a wink over her shoulder as if she knows exactly what she just did and did it, just to throw me off my game. I grab my cue, eyeing the yellows.
Time to bring this home. Having her for twenty-four hours, no rules, no restrictions is not something I’m going to lose the chance to have.
