He walks around the table and studies it carefully. He’s sex-on-legs. God, when do we get to see the bedroom? He leans down at the table again, and pockets the yellow ball in the side pocket, followed by the purple one. And finally, he’s down to one. This one is tricky, right on the rail, and the cue ball is on the other end of the table. If he makes this one, I’ll be very impressed.
He bites his lip in concentration and considers the shot carefully. He strokes the cue multiple times, and I study his hands. He shoots a long bank shot, and the last of the low balls goes straight in.
“You’ve been playing me,” I finally say.
He laughs. “Yes, I confess. I was hustling you.”
I throw my hands up in the air. “Why?”
“I wanted us to have a game,” he explains. “I didn’t want to destroy you.”
“Well, you’re destroying me right now!”
He smiles playfully. “Well, there’s a lot at stake now.”
I think about the skirt and top I’ll wear for him. And the shoes. I’m not quite sure what I’ll choose, but the thought of dressing for him and arousing him turns me on so much. “You’re forgiven.”
He smiles, and pockets the eight ball. I clap, glad that he’s won. Next Monday promises to be quite eventful.
“We could play again, he suggests. “I can play with my left hand.”
“You’d probably still beat me,” I point out. “I haven’t played in years, and Mr. Boss Man here has his own table.”
He laughs and closes the distance between us. “Mr. Boss Man?”
I smile up at him. “That’s what Rosetta calls you.”
His bites his lip, not taking his eyes off me. “I know, but I like it better when you say it.”
“All right, Mr. Boss Man,” I tease.
He closes his eyes for a long beat, and when he opens them again, he asks me, “You want to see the master?”
I feel his words in every inch of my core, my chest, my belly… my sex. “Y-yes.”
His smile is shy, barely there, and I follow him to the back of the loft. My limbs are trembling. I’m both excited and scared. He can’t possibly… A part of me cannot even imagine it, but the other wants it desperately.
His bedroom is spacious but not overly so. It’s decorated in a simple contemporary esthetic. A large four post bed sits at its center, covered with a crisp white duvet, and accented with white pillows and red cushions. A tufted bench sits at the end, and a large fur throw is neatly folded over it. I can’t help myself — I need to touch it.
It might just be the softest thing I’ve ever felt. “Is this real fur?”
He brings a finger to his lips in a shush sign. “Don’t tell anyone,” he whispers.
“I won’t,” I promise. “It can be our little secret.”
“I like that.” He smiles. “I like secrets.”
Damn, he needs to pull it down a notch, or I might just throw myself on his bed.
I glance out the French doors to the patio. There’s a fire pit surrounded by curved outdoor sofas. I wonder if he ever spends anytime outside. I walk closer to the doors. “You have an amazing patio.” I’d seen the front end, but never this back part. “Mine is very small.”
He shrugs, and buries his hands in his pockets.
“It pays to own the place, I guess,” I joke.
“So this concludes the tour,” he says. “This is it.”
I walk around and peek at the ensuite bathroom, very similar to the kids’ one. My eyes are greedy when I walk by the walk-in closet. It’s stunning, all glass doors and sleek shelves. A round tufted purple ottoman sits at the center and is topped by a glamorous light fixture. A tall mirror and chair are tucked in one corner. I walk slowly in and marvel at how everything is so perfectly organized; shirts pressed, jackets and shoes perfectly aligned, clothing folded impeccably.
