Page 77 of The Pakhans’ Curvy Prize

"Cheating," she insists.

I lean forward, grinning. "Prove it."

Her eyes narrow, and I can see the exact moment she decides to escalate. "Fine. Let's make this more interesting."

"How interesting?"

"Strip poker."

The suggestion catches me off guard, and I laugh before I can stop myself, even if my dick wakes up and springs to life at the enticing suggestion. "You want to play strip poker?"

"Unless you're scared you'll lose." One side of her mouth quirks up teasingly.

"I'm not scared of anything."

"Then deal."

The atmosphere shifts immediately. The playful teasing takes on a sharper edge, something more dangerous and electric. I deal the next hand, and she loses. She pulls off one sock with exaggerated slowness, tossing it at me.

"That's all you're taking off?" I ask.

"One loss, one sock."

"That's a bullshit rule."

"Deal with it."

I win the next three hands in a row. She loses her other sock, then her sweater, leaving her in a thin tank top that clings to her curves. She's blushing now, but she's also laughing, and that's worth more than anything else.

"You're definitely cheating," she mutters, dealing the next hand.

"You're just bad at bluffing."

"I am not."

"You bite your lip every time you've got a good hand."

Her hand flies to her mouth, and I grin. "See? You're doing it right now."

"That's not fair."

"Life's not fair, sweetheart."

She glares at me, but there's no real heat behind it. The next hand, she wins. I pull off my shirt and toss it aside, and I don't miss the way her gaze lingers on my chest before she forces herself to look back at the cards.

"Distracted?" I ask.

"Shut up and deal."

We keep playing. She loses her tank top, leaving her in a black bra that makes my mouth go dry. I lose my jeans. The pile of discarded clothing grows between us, and the fire crackles in the background, casting flickering shadows across her skin.

She's relaxed now. The tension in her shoulders is gone, replaced by genuine laughter every time one of us loses. She teases me about my poker face. I tease her about her terrible bluffing. The woods creak outside, and she glances toward the window, but this time she doesn't freeze. She just looks back at me and keeps playing.

"You're doing this on purpose," she says after another hand.

"Doing what?"

"Making me laugh. Distracting me."