“Why?”
“Because you don’t seem comfortable doing it.”
The longer she takes to think about it, the more I believe she’ll use her veto. Maybe I was a little too forward here, but I’ve been dying to know since our first encounter.
“I have a… list,” she reluctantly confesses.
“A list?”
“Of things I want to explore, of stuff I want to try.”
“Sex stuff?”
She nods, and my dick nods in return. So, she’s working her way through the ABCs of sex? And I was unknowingly part of it?
“How many have you done so far?”
I know she’s a little overwhelmed because instead of telling me it’s another question, she answers, “Two.”
So, I was one, and there was someone else. Earlier, when I saw her with that guy, I realized she has an uncanny ability to trigger jealousy in me. But the way my body reacts to this is ridiculous. My hand fists the cue I’m holding, enough for my knuckles to turn white.
“Which ones?” I ask.
She looks up almost timidly. “Try a Jacob’s ladder, and being edged so much I begged for it.”
Granite. My cock’s turned to granite. So I wasboththose things. Good.
Now, I need to get another two balls in there because I’m not done asking questions. It’s getting tricky with hers taking up most of the space, but I manage one. To sink the second one though, I have to hit a solid first, which makes it a foul.
“My turn,” she says with enthusiasm.
“Wait a second, I got two.”
“With a foul.”
“Still two, love.”
She squints her eyes at me, unimpressed by my logic. In the end, she surprises me by giving in. “This counts as cheating in my books, but I’ll allow it.”
“How magnanimous of you.” I lean back onto the table, its edge leveled with my bum, and fold my arms over my chest as I study her freckled face. “Did you really not think of me during those two weeks?”
Redness spreads across her cheeks, eating away the golden specks, and I know this gives me a better answer than anything she could say. She did think about me. Just like I thought about her.
“I’m using my veto for this one,” she says, eyes fluttering to the pool table to assess the game’s situation.
This is a strategic error from her; I now get to have two answers. To give her some space to breathe after my invasive questions, I decide to be lenient. “Tell me a random fact about yourself, then.”
She’s on the other end of the table now, and I watch her precise motions as she lowers to align her cue. When she looks up to meet my eyes, I read the mischievousness in them but also evident pride. “I grew up in a house with a billiard room,” she answers.
With remarkable accuracy, she sends the white ball rolling—right into an awaiting stripe that falls into a nearby hole.
Never trust a lawyer. Especially when that lawyer has the ability to relocate all of the blood in my body to my cock, rather than my brain.
She looks at me from head to toe, trying to come up with her first question.
“Why the tattoos and piercings?”
“It’s my idea of aesthetics. Why? Do you not like them?”
