“A few times,” she says, avoiding eye contact.
She’s lying.
“You’re a hopeless liar, Anastasia. Either you’ve never played before or—”
“Frightened of a little competition?” she interrupts me.
“Frightened of a little girl like you?” I scoff.
“A wager, Mr. Grey.”
“You’re that confident, Miss Steele?” This is a new side to Ana I’ve not seen before.
Game on, Ana.
“What would you like to wager?”
“If I win, you’ll take me back into the playroom.”
Shit. She’s serious.
“And if I win?” I ask.
“Then it’s your choice.” She shrugs, trying to act nonchalant, but her eyes shine with mischief.
“Okay, deal.” How hard could this be? “Do you want to play pool, English snooker, or carom billiards?”
“Pool, please. I don’t know the others.”
I retrieve the pool balls from a cupboard under the bookshelves and rack them on the green baize. I choose a cue for Ana that should be right for her height. “Would you like to break?” I ask, as I hand her the chalk.
She is so going down.
Hmm. Maybe that could be my prize.
An image of her on her knees in front of me, hands bound, servicing my cock, comes to mind. Yeah. That would work.
“Okay,” she says, her voice breathy and soft as she chalks her cue. She purses her lips, and while watching me through her lashes, she slowly, deliberately blows off the excess.
I feel it in my dick.
Damn.
She lines up the cue ball, then hits it with such force and mastery that it scatters the rack. The corner ball, the yellow striped number nine, dives into the top right pocket.
Oh, Anastasia Steele, you are so full of surprises.
“I choose stripes,” she says, and has the gall to give me a coy smile.
“Be my guest.” This is going to be fun.
She prowls around the table, seeking her next victim. I like this new Ana. Predatory. Competitive. Confident. Sexy as hell. She leans over the table, stretching out her arm, so that her blouse rides up, showing a little skin between the hem and the top of her jeans. She hits the cue ball and the maroon stripe bites the dust. Circling the table again, she gives me a cursory glance before leaning over, stretching across the table again, ass in the air, as she pockets the purple.
Hmm. I may need to revise my plans.
She’s good.
She makes short work of the blue but misses the green.
“You know, Anastasia, I could stand here and watch you leaning and stretching across this billiard table all day,” I tell her.
She flushes.
Yes!
That’s the Ana I know.
I slip off my sweater and examine what’s left on the table.
Showtime, Grey.
I proceed to pocket as many solids as I can; I have some catching up to do. I sink three and line up to pocket the orange. I hit the cue ball and the orange hurtles into the bottom left pocket, followed by the white.
Shit.
“A very elementary mistake, Mr. Grey.”
“Ah, Miss Steele, I am but a foolish mortal. Your turn, I believe.” I wave my hand in the direction of the table.
“You’re not trying to lose, are you?” She cocks her head to one side.
“Oh no. For what I have in mind as the prize, I want to win, Anastasia. But then, I always want to win.”
Blow job on her knees or…
I could stop her from going to work. Hmm…A wager that could cost her her job. I don’t think that would be a popular choice.
She narrows her eyes, and I would pay good money to know what she’s thinking. At the top of the table she bends down to take a closer look at the lie of the balls. Her blouse gapes and I catch sight of her breasts.
She stands and there’s a little smile on her lips. She moves next to me and bends over, and shifts her ass first left, then right. She walks back to the top of the table and leans over again, showing me all she has to offer. As she bends over, she peeks up at me.
“I know what you’re doing,” I whisper.
And my cock approves, Ana.
Big-time.
I adjust my stance to accommodate my growing erection.
She straightens up and tilts her head to one side while running her hand up and down the cue, slowly. “Oh. I am just deciding where to take my next shot.”
Fuck. She’s a temptress.
She leans over, taps the orange stripe with the cue ball so it aligns with the pocket, then takes the rest from under the table and lines up the shot. As she takes aim at the white, I can see the swell of her breasts down her blouse. I inhale, sharply.
She misses.
Good.
I stroll around to stand behind her while she’s still bent over the table, and place my hand on her behind. “Are you waving this around to taunt me, Miss Steele?” I smack her hard.
Because she deserves it.
She gasps.
“Yes,” she whispers.