The air thickens. His fingers skim my shoulders, slidingunder the two thin straps holding my dress in place. He gives them the slightest tug, barely anything, and my breath catches like he’s tugging on my lungs.
“Why?” I manage to whisper.
“Because I’ve been craving you since the last night I had you.” His gaze drops to my mouth, then lower. “Dying for a taste again.”
A burst of panic or desire—something sharp—courses through me.
“I’m sure you’ve had others since me.” My voice wobbles.
His brows knit, tongue slipping out to wet his lower lip. “Fuck no,” he says, voice thick and honest. “No one compares to you. There’s never going to be others.”
His words steal the air from my lungs. “Oh…”
Of course, he catches it; his smirk is slow and devastating. “I’m really good at making you speechless lately, aren’t I?”
“Shut up.”
“Do we have a deal, baby girl?” he asks, stepping back, giving me space that somehow feels like a challenge.
Do I want to do this?
God, I do. I really do.
I haven’t been touched in months, haven’t felt the desire to be touched by anyone until now. The crazy thing is… even if I win, even if we end the night in letters and all the heavy things, a part of me knows I’ll still end up wanting his hands on me. The serious stuff will still be there tomorrow. The expectations, the carefulness. But this? Living in the moment, having one night off from all the rules, sounds pretty amazing to me. It’s something old me would have jumped at, something I would have pushed for.
To hell with the rules. A girl has needs, too.
I flash him a slow smile and saunter over to the table.Leaning forward, I line up the white ball with the perfect amount of intention. My eyes lift, catching his, holding… daring. Then the cue cracks against the white. It shoots forward, scattering the others across the felt. I let the smirk tug at my lips as I straighten.
“Deal.”
18
PLEASE
HUNTER
It’s taking every ounce of patience I have not to bend her over this pool table, flip her dress up, and take her in every way I’ve taken her in my dreams. The second she broke, confident, steady, looking me dead in the eye when she saiddeal, heat ripped through me so hard, it almost knocked me over.
One night.
If I win, she’s giving me one night without the heaviness of life hanging over us. A night like before. A solid ball sinks into the corner pocket. My eyes drag back to her just in time to catch the sway of her hips as she moves three steps toward me. Her curves, the way she’s pretending she’s not affecting me when she knows damn well she is, it lights something feral in me. Her gaze never breaks from mine, and I bite down on my lower lip.
She turns back to the table, and when she bends forward to line up her next shot, her dress rides up an inch, just enough to kill me. Her head shifts, glancing over her shoulder, a smirk playing on those soft lips. When she focuses back on the shot, she rises on her toes, her asspressing right into me. My head falls back, a low groan breaking free.Jesus Christ.
She’s teasing me. Testing me. Torturing me in the sweetest fucking way.
I force myself to step aside, creating space between us. I need to win this game, and if she keeps that up, I’m going to lose all my senses. I’ll crumble right there at her feet and beg her to let me win.
Another ball sinks into the pocket, and a soft giggle slips out of her as she circles the table, following the path of the white ball. This time, she stands on the opposite side, her eyes in my direct path. I can’t help but mess with her a little in return. When her arm draws back, I reach down, adjusting myself—because my dick, straining against my zipper, is actually uncomfortable as hell at this point. Her eyes snap to my hand, widening, and she smacks the ball too hard. It ricochets, rolls off its line, and she stumbles into the table as her cue clatters against the edge, missing her shot completely.
“Unlucky, baby,” I chirp, passing her with a smug grin as I set up my first shot.
She scoffs, her cheeks turning a pretty shade of pink. “You distracted me.”
“Like you weren’t distracting me on your first go.” I glance over my shoulder at her. “Two can play that game.”
Planting my feet, I lean over the table and line up my shot. The hairs on the back of my neck stand, a tight swallow working down my throat. I can feel her attention on me, like she’s dragging her nails down my spine without even touching me. I sink the first ball cleanly. Then another and another.
