“Hmm, I’m not very good.”
“I don’t believe you,” I murmur, walking closer to her, grazing my hand down her arm. “You go first.”
“Done!” She turns, lines up her cue, and shoots, sinking two solids.
“Damn,” I breathe. “You’re good.”
“Take off your shirt, Coach.”
“Oh, it’s that kind of game, huh?” I pull at the neck of my Pythons shirt and toss it to the ground. Her eyes track over my chest, lingering on the V of my hips.
“Nice tent in your pants,” she murmurs, then scratches on the next turn and pouts.
I grab my cue and line up and sink two stripes.
She cocks her hips. “Well . . . what do you want?”
“Your shorts. They have to go,” I purr.
She unsnaps them and eases them down, revealing a black lace thong. Her legs go for miles, and my tongue darts out to lick my bottom lip, my teeth digging in. “Nice.”
I scratch on the next turn, and she lines up to shoot, bending over the pool table, her ass on display. My hand twitches to touch her. As if she knows, she throws a look at me over her shoulder. “No touching the goods,” she says. “That’s for later.”
My cock thickens.
Like she’s done it a million times, she adjusts the cue and sinks a solid, then turns to me. “Secret time. Tell me one.”
My lids lower. “I’d rather take my pants off and get this party started.”
“Secret. Now.”
I shift my feet, my gaze going to the closet door where Leia is. “I didn’t like the Leia because her hair wasn’t blonde.”
Her mouth parts. “You wanted a me-Leia?”
“Hmm.” I didn’t understand my dissatisfaction with the wax figure when she arrived, but . . . she wasn’t Nova, and I wanted something closer to the beauty I’d met.
She smiles. “Ah, that might be the sweetest thing you’ve ever said . . .”
I roll my eyes. “Just go again. I’m ready for my turn to happen.”
She misses, then gives me room to make a shot, grazing her hand over my crotch as she slides past.
I groan, adjusting my breathing from her touch, then lean over the table and sink a stripe. I tap my chin, eyeing her. It’s so clear what I want. Her naked. Completely. “The shirt. Off.”
She pulls at the hem slowly, her hips swaying back and forth as she tugs it over her hair and tosses it over her head. My chest rises at the sight of her in her black bra and panties. Our eyes lock. “You like?”
“Mm-hmm.” I turn and attempt another shot, and miraculously it goes in.
“Bra. Lose it,” I demand.
She unsnaps the front, dangles it on her fingers, and then throws it at me. “Get ready to wear it.”
I laugh, turning away from her luscious tits, and sink another stripe. “Yes!” I call out and pump my fist.
She curses.
My gaze takes in her erect red nipples. “You cold, babe?” She glares at me as I lean against the table. “What next . . . hmm . . .”
She puts her hands on her hips. “Just say it.”
“Underwear. Off.”
“You’re still dressed!”
“Those are the rules, babe.” I cock an eyebrow.
She grabs her phone and turns on music, “I Knew I Loved You,” by Savage Garden.
“Is that your stripping song?” I ask. “Or are you stalling?”
She flips me off, then sways her hips to the song, humming along as she tucks her thumbs in the sides of her panties and teases them up and down. The lace dances down her hips, past her thighs, to her knees, and then to her ankles. She picks them up and tosses them to me. “Your turn to go again. Or are you stalling?”
My mouth drying, I eat her up with my eyes. My knees feel weak, and with a groan, I turn and make my next shot. My hands are unsteady, but I manage to sink the ball.
I turn around and face her, trying not to gloat.
“Well?” she asks in a low, sultry voice. “What’s it gonna be, darling?”
“Get on the table. Spread your legs.”
Her breath hitches. “You dirty, dirty man. You still have the eight ball.”
“Fuck the eight ball. I want you. Now.”
She walks toward me, and I meet her halfway. I pull her face to me and kiss her. It’s a stormy kiss, explosive, throbbing with need as our tongues fight for dominance.
“I love kissing you. Each time is different,” I murmur as our breaths mingle. “Now get your sweet ass on the edge of the table so I can eat your pussy.”
“You’re so poetic,” she says as I sweep her up in my arms and set her down on the table, shoving the rest of the balls out of the way so she can lie back.
I trace my hand down her throat, letting it rest at the bottom. It’s a possessive “You’re mine” hold.