I worry my lip, thinking it over. A personal favor? “How about if I win, you make me one of your famous Margaritas. Rosetta tells me they’re fantastic.”
He smiles. “Well, I do love to make a Margarita. Sounds perfect.” His grin is impish when he asks, “What do I get if I win?”
I don’t know what comes over me. Perhaps it’s the mood of the room, or possibly the fact that I just want to rip his clothes off, but I inch closer and close the distance between us, and the next words out of my mouth are, “Depends… what do you want, Mr. Hanson?”
His eyes darken, and his lips part ever so slightly. I’ve left him speechless, and I have no desire to fill the delicious silence. I’m enjoying every second of it.
He licks his bottom lip, and I practically melt to the floor. “Actually, I’d love to see you with your hair down.”
I listen attentively, my core heating up with every passing second.
“I’d also like you in a skirt.”
God, yes.
“Easy… “ I practically purr. “I have a lot of skirts.”
“No stockings,” he says. “And an off-the-shoulder top.”
Damn.
“How about heels?” I ask. “Any preference?”
His gaze dances over me. “Round toes… high.”
I smile playfully at him. “Can do.”
He grins and shakes his head, not quite able to look at me. “Okay, let’s do this.”
He’s up again, and he throws me a mischievous smile as he shoots a long shot. It goes down easily. Next is a rail shot. His stroke is nice and soft, and he pockets it without effort. I watch attentively, getting suspicious. Has he been playing me?
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,”