His chair scrapes against the wood floor. “I should try to get some work done tonight.”
“I’m sorry,” I blurt. “I didn’t mean what I said. Don’t go.”
“I—”
“I’m finished too,” I interject, quickly wiping the corners of my mouth with what’s left of my napkin. “We can do something else.”
He answers gruffly. “What did you have in mind?”
“Anything you want.” I hate the words, hate that I’m pandering to him. I unclench my jaw. “A game,” I suggest. “We could play something.”
“A game?” he repeats.
“I’ve been practicing pool downstairs, but I have no one to play against.”
“I really shouldn’t.”
“I’ll—we can play for money or something.”
“You have no money.”
I look at my hands. “No.”
“Or something, then. We’ll play for something.”
“Okay,” I agree, swallowing.
“If I win, I get a blowjob.”
The backs of my ears heat. “What’s to stop you from getting a blowjob ever?”
“This blowjob is special. No fighting or resisting. You don’t do it because I make you, you do it because you want to.”
“But you would be making me.”
“That’s what I want, take it or leave it. I have plenty to do otherwise.”
“Okay,” I find myself saying. “I agree. I can’t promise I’ll enjoy it, but . . . okay.”
He grunts. “And if you win?”
I don’t hesitate. “You unlock my window.”
My eyes are locked dead with his, a silent battle we seem to have over and over again.
“That’s what you want? Out of anything in the world?”
“Yes,” I say. “No. Wait. What? I can have anything?”
He chuckles as I gape at him. “It’s too late. You already chose.”
I shake my head vigorously. “Are you being serious?”
“Of course not, Cataline. Unlocking your window is about as much as I would consider.”
“Oh. So we have a deal then?”
His fingers drum on the coffee table until he says, “Fine.”
I can’t help the way my eyes widen or the smile that spreads across my face. “Really?”
“Really.”
“Thank you,” I say. “Thank you so much.”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself. You have to win first.”
“I’ve been practicing a lot,” I say. “Seeing as how I have nothing but time.”
He stands and stretches his arms to the ceiling, showing me a sliver of tanned skin. “Come on. Rosa’ll get this.”
In the game room, I chalk two cues while he looks around. “It’s been years since I’ve come in here,” he says.
“Seriously?”
“I’m not much for games, especially when there’s nothing at stake.”
“Well, I hope you’re not a sore loser, because I’m about to dominate you.” Neither of us laughs. When he turns his head over his shoulder to look at me, I drop my gaze. “Sorry.”
“What for?”
“Is that okay to say?”
He turns back to the board game in his hands. “It’s fine. Jokes are allowed, Cataline.”
“Oh. Okay. It’s ready.”
He swaggers over and takes the cue from me. With his other hand open, he gestures at the table. “Ladies first.”
“We have to lag for the break.”
He arches an eyebrow at me. “This is your first game?”
“There’s a book on eight-ball in the library. I’ve been reading up.”
“I see. It’s fine. You go ahead.”
I shake my head and grab the cue ball as I head to one end of the table. “We play by the rules.” I bend over the table, take my shot, and watch as it glides back toward me, landing inches from the rail. I mark the spot before Calvin does the same. His ball touches the end rail and stops less than an inch away.
“You win.” I balance my cue against the table and proceed to carefully rack the other balls around the eight ball. I slide them over the table until they’re in position.
“You’re very thorough,” Calvin remarks.
I put my hands on my hips and look at him. “Go,” I urge. His gaze lingers on me a moment before he leans over the table to break. One ball goes directly into the corner pocket. “Solids,” he says.
“No shit.”
He turns to me slowly. “Mouthy tonight.”
I force a smile. “Another joke.” His next try is less successful, even though it should’ve been easy, and excitement flutters my heart. I round the table while surveying my options. I end up slipping between where he stands and the rail to set up my shot. When he doesn’t move, I turn my head over my shoulder. “Do you mind?” I ask.
He smirks. “Not at all.”
I look back at the table. When I bend over, my ass just brushes his crotch.
“You know,” he says, slightly pushing his hips into me, “for a beginner, your stance isn’t half bad.”
“You’re trying to distract me.”
“Is it working?” His body closes over my back, and I immediately tense. His hands cover each of mine, and he says, “Bend lower.”
“I can do it.”
“Lower.”
When I bow deeper into the table, his body comes with me until his mouth is by my ear. “Your chin should only be inches above the stick.” His right hand squeezes mine and pulls gently so the cue slides through our left hands. “Relax your grip. Lock your wrist.” He presses forward, and I can feel the graze of his penis against my backside. Together, we glide the stick back and forth slowly. “Keep your cue and head lined up with the shot. Envision a direct line of where you want the ball to go. Got it?”
I nod, breathless and unable to respond, but he doesn’t move.
“Are you sure? You’ve got a lot riding on this.”
“Yes,” I rasp and clear my throat.
He remains another moment before releasing me. My heart is hammering in my chest, and I barely remember what he just said, much less anything I’ve read or practiced. I miss the shot.
“You did that on purpose,” I say.
“Sorry to disappoint, Sparrow, but I don’t need to distract you. We both know I’m going to win this game.”
If anything can diffuse the haze he’s just inspired, it’s a challenge. I straighten up immediately and look him in the eye. “That may be, but I won’t go down easy.”
His lips roll into each other as his chest pulses with a suppressed laugh. “I have no doubt.”
I slam the base of my cue into the floor. “You knew all along you’d win. Did you even consider unlocking my window?”
“Let’s just play, Sparrow. Who knows, maybe you’ll have a bit of beginner’s luck.”
I don’t. I realize halfway through that he’s missing shots to extend the game, but he doesn’t let me win. I sigh as he collects my cue and replaces it on the wall rack.
“You did well,” he says. “Really, I’m impressed.”
For whatever reason, it eases my disappointment that he thinks so. Despite my attempt not to, or maybe because of it, my eyes drift as he walks back to me. In the flimsy pants, his growing erection is obvious. When he reaches me, he stands close enough that our bodies almost touch. A new kind of fear develops in me. I’ve never willingly had a man in my mouth, and I have no idea how to do it on my own. My jaw tingles, and I bend my knees to drop to the floor.
His hand catches my bicep. “I’ll collect later.”
My lips part. “Oh.”
He gives my arm a firm squeeze before leaving the room. My loneliness is immediate and crushing. So much so that I wish he’d let me pay my debt, just so I wouldn’t have to be alone again. And because I know well the anxiety of waiting until the moment he’ll return for his prize.
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