The red ball teeters at the edge of the pocket. I can’t believe I didn’t hit it hard enough.
A second later the ball falls into the pocket, and I jump with excitement. I look over at Tony.
“Nice shot,” he says, “but you still have to pot the black ball.”
Feeling like a soldier going into battle, I nod and brace myself. Based on where the cue ball ended up, I can’t hit the target ball straight on. It’s resting near the rail. I could try to ricochet the ball off the rail, but that leaves room for a lot of error, and I’m not skilled enough to attempt that.
Tony goes to stand behind the black ball and points to the side of it. “You want the cue ball to gently kiss the black ball here.”
Is he helping me out because he doesn’t think I can make this shot or because he’s not that vested in spanking me with the cue?
He puts a finger on the bumper just an inch or so
to the left of the black ball. “Aim the cue ball right here.”
I chalk my cue and position myself over the table. I don’t want to think about how hard the cue is or about the possibility that if Tony hits me really hard, it might even break.
Instead, I visualize the cue ball heading toward his finger and tapping the black ball on its side, and the black ball rolling toward the corner pocket, falling in.
I can do this.
As soon as I hit the cue ball, I worry that I’ve hit it too softly again. It rolls rather slowly toward the black ball and might not have enough power to send the black ball into the pocket. Tony walks over to me, and together we watch the cue ball hit the spot his finger had been pointing to. The energy transfers to the black ball, which rolls toward the corner of the table. My grip tightens on my cue as I realize I might have done it.
The ball falls into the pocket.
“I did it!” I squeal and turn around to face Tony.
His eyes seem to reflect my delight as he wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me to him.
“Congratulations,” he says. “You escaped a brutal spanking.”
He’s exaggerating, right? Nonetheless, my relief increases. I hadn’t wanted to consider what kind of spanking he had intended.
He crushes his mouth over mine, making my head spin. I’m glad I didn’t take any of those Jell-o shots so that I can experience his kiss unadulterated by alcohol. It’s a high unlike anything I can think of. I feel powerless to stop him from devouring my lips, provided I would want to. Which I don’t. I love how strong his mouth feels on mine, yet there’s a finesse there. It’s not just about pressing lips to lips like some passionate kiss from an old film in a time when actors couldn’t kiss with mouths open. I feel like Tony is savoring my mouth while claiming every millimeter of it as his.
Without separating his mouth from mine, he takes my cue from my hand and lays both mine and his on the table. Scooping me, he sits me on the edge of the table and continues to kiss me, probing deeper this time. His hand at the back of my neck alarms me a little, just because it’s such a vulnerable place. How had he killed this man in Hanoi anyway?
The question fades as his tongue delves into my mouth. I do my best to respond, but he doesn’t leave much room for me to guide the action. Warmth flares through me, stymied only by the fact that Sierra or Eric might walk in on us at any moment. But there’s no way I want this to stop. The scent of the cigar doesn’t bother me as much as that of cigarettes, and I think I could kiss Tony for hours.
Tentatively, I reach for him. I’m not completely sure if I’m allowed to touch him, but I wrap my hand about his neck the way he does to me. He shoves his tongue harder into my mouth. I can feel the tone of the kiss change. He’s been holding back, but his ardor is rising. The unleashing of it is where it might get dangerous. But we’re not at The Lair. We’re in someone else’s place. And we don’t have the privacy of Cell Three. That should temper what he does. I think.
Abruptly he pulls me off the table, whirls me around, and bends me over the table.
"I thought I escaped the spanking," I protest.
His hand is still on my back, holding me down. "This isn't going to be a spanking. It's a fucking."
What...
He slips his hand easily into my sweats while his body pins me to the table.
"But Eric and..." My words disappear as he starts to rub me. I'm not an exhibitionist. Small public displays of affection are okay, but making out in public is not something I would ever consider doing. Getting fucked where people can see is beyond my comprehension.
Only this is happening. What's worse, my embarrassment if Eric or Sierra should walk in on us isn't dampening my arousal. In fact, it doesn't take long before I'm wet for him. He rubs my damp underwear against me, and I moan, wanting more. But I don't. At least not here, bent over a snooker table. His fingers slide beneath my underwear and spread my wetness over my flesh.
"Eric and Sierra are right outside the door," I try again.
Just shut up and let him do his thing, my libido tells me.