"What did you have in mind?" I asked, hands carefully folded around my cards, trying to give nothing away. I had a full house. There was no way he was going to beat me, not this time.
"An hour of obedience," he replied, one eyebrow lifted. "The winner gets to command the loser to do whatever they want for one full hour. No backing out."
I shivered. The command in his voice sent a jolt of desire straight through me, all the way to my belly, and through to my tightened pussy. Part of me suddenly wished I had a bad hand. What if I lost? What would he do to me? But the other part wanted, fiercely, to win. To see this sexy, handsome, hunk of a man kneeling before me, at my beck and call. I could make him do whatever I wanted. Make him kneel in front of me and lick me until I came again and again, then make him fuck me right here on top of the table, knocking the cards off around us on the floor … I could make him take me to the shower and wash for me, perform for me, slowly run his hands all over his muscled body, touch himself wherever I wanted him to touch himself … I could drive him mad, the way he'd been slowly driving me mad this whole weekend.
"Deal," I said, and I hoped my voice didn't give away my winning hand, the quiver of excitement almost too much to disguise.
Zayne grinned. "So, you accept this raise in stakes?"
"I do," I replied.
"Good," he answered. "Consider us both all in, then." Then it came time for us to reveal our hands. I spread mine on the table with a smirk. His eyes widened, his lips parting for a moment. I resisted the urge to laugh. He really didn't know what I had up my sleeve.
"You're getting better at this," he muttered, a begrudgingly appreciative tone in his voice. But then he lowered his hand and spread his cards in response, grinning.
Royal flush.
Shit.
"You're impossible," I groaned.
He laughed. "Admit it, you love it. Now, I believe my hour starts now … " His gaze swept over me.
"Unfair," I added with a pout.
He lifted an eyebrow, suddenly stern. "Did I say you could speak?"
I snapped my mouth shut, though I continued to glare at him.
He laughed. "Mm, the sore loser look doesn't suit you. Stand up, Clove."
I rose from the table, pushing the chair back as I did. His gaze swept down again, over the casual T-shirt and pair of his boxer shorts I'd donned for dinner. We didn't stand on ceremony that weekend, not with all the stripping we'd been doing whenever possible. His gaze lingered on my top.
"Take off your shirt."
I stripped it off without a word and dropped it beside the table. I had no bra on, having already lost that in a prior round, so my breasts were immediately exposed, my nipples hardening in the chilly evening air.
He stood up and raised a hand, and I tensed in anticipation of his warm touch. But he didn't quite touch me, not yet. He let his hand hover an inch from my chest, tracing circles through the air just inches from me.
"Touch your breasts," he said.
I lifted my hands to cup my breasts from beneath, and squeezed them, massaging them lightly, pressing them together between my palms.
"Harder."
I clenched my fists around my skin, watched the way my nipples hardened even further at the sensation.
"Now run your hands down your body, slowly."
I trailed my hands down my sides, as slow as I could, tracing my ribcage, my waist, my hips. I hesitated at the boxer waistband, looked up at Zayne.
"Take those off too," he said, his voice gone low and dark with lust. I could tell from the hard bulge in his pants that he was enjoying this every bit as much as I was.
I pushed the boxers down slowly, letting them snag on my hipbones before they finally fell to reveal my mound. They dropped to my knees, then my ankles, and I stepped out of them easily.
"Spread your legs," Zayne said.
I swallowed hard, but obeyed him, standing with my feet shoulder-width apart.
"Arms out, too" he added.
I spread them wide to either side of me, feeling like I was on display.
When he finally touched me, I couldn't help but jolt with the surprise of it. His warm skin against mine felt like an electric shock, his rough palms grazing my nipples before his hands clenched around my breasts and squeezed, the way I had a moment ago, but harder, rougher. I began to rock in place slightly, unable to help myself, swaying toward him with every rough grope of my breasts.
"Hold still," he commanded, and it took effort to still myself, to balance on my feet in one position and let him take whatever he wanted from me.
He ran his hands down my back next, stepping closer to do it. He was close enough that the bulge in his boxers grazed my belly, and I sucked in a deep breath at the sudden skim of his cock against my bare, flat stomach. His hands, on the other hand, kept moving, running down the plane of my back, tracing my spine to my ass, which he gripped so hard I was sure he'd leave bruises. He pulled me up against him and crushed his cock against my belly so I was pinned there against him, my arms and legs spread, trying hard to keep my balance, to keep breathing normally, to keep my racing heart from driving me wild, right over the edge.
Fuck, I was soaking wet already.
He slapped my ass as he stepped back, an appreciative grin on his face. "Good girl," he murmured, stepping aside to walk slowly around me. "Are you enjoying yourself, Clove?" he asked, his voice a whisper at my ear as he paused beside me, and trailed one finger along my outstretched arm, raising goosebumps the whole way along. "You can answer," he added when I didn't reply, because I'd learned my lesson about the speaking thing once already.
"Yes," I breathed, and he chuckled, a low, dangerous sound. Fuck. What was he going to do to me?
I hoped it was anything. Everything. I wanted him to take me, possess me, own me. I wanted him to fuck me until I couldn't stand up straight anymore.
He dipped a hand between my legs and massaged my thighs, from the outside to the inner thighs, as rough and harshly as he'd massaged my tits moments earlier. I gasped as his fingers grazed the groove where my legs met my hips, then slid higher, higher, until it took every ounce of self-control I possessed not to cry out, to beg him to touch my pussy, finger me, fuck me until I screamed.
Finally, he pushed one finger along my slit, sudden and strong. I could feel him sliding along me, slick with my juices. I felt wetter than I'd ever been before. He must have noticed, because he laughed again, still that low, dark laugh.
"Someone's hungry for me," he murmured against my earlobe, lips grazing my skin. "Do you want me to fuck you, Clove?"
"Yes," I whispered.
"How do you want me to fuck you?"
I swallowed. "Hard," I managed to murmur.
He smirked. "You'll have to be a little more specific." Without warning, he spun me around, pulled me off balance until I had my back to the dining room table where we'd been playing. He bent me backwards over it, and I felt the cards sticking to my back, my body slick with sweat and desire, every inch of me trembling. "Do you want me to fuck you right here, like a dirty little slut?" He lifted my knees, then wrapped his hands around my ankles, forced my legs back until my knees bent on either side of my ears, and all I could see looking down was my body curled up in front of him like an offering, free for the taking. The shivers were impossible to resist now, because the cool air was breezing right across my soaked pussy, and his cock was right there, still tight in his boxers, inches away from me, but I could see every inch of him outlined through the thin fabric, pulsing with need the same way I was.
"Yes," I groaned, my voice hard to control now.
He lifted an eyebrow. "Do you want me to come inside you, little slut?"
My heart skipped. We'd talked about that earlier in the day, the last time we fucked. About how we'd both been recently tested, we were clean, and I was on the pill. I brought it up, unusual for me, because for once, I felt comfortable with a guy. For once, I trusted him, wanted to feel him without a condom between us.
Stupid Clove, I think now, but it doesn't stop the memory from continuing, pulsing through my mind, unable to stop now. I slide a hand down the front of my jeans, even though I hate myself for it, even though I hate that this memory still turns me on, after everything that's happened since.
"Come inside me," I'd whispered, and Zayne dropped his boxers at that. He thrust inside me in one swift motion, so fast that I didn't have time to brace myself, prepare. I screamed with pleasure, with the force of it, as his cock stretched my pussy wide and speared deep into me.
He planted my feet against his shoulders, kept his hands wrapped around my thighs to pin me in place, and fucked me against the table, his balls slapping my ass with every deep thrust. At this angle, he couldn't help fucking right along my G-spot, the head of his thick cock scraping right over it every time. I was already on fire, hot from the foreplay, and it didn't take long before I was shouting his name, writhing against the table.