what you’re doing,” he whispers, his eyes
dark.
I tilt my head coquettishly to one side, gently fondling
my cue, running my hand up and down it slowly. “Oh. I am
just deciding where to take my next shot,” I murmur
distractedly.
Leaning across, I hit the orange stripe into a better
position. I then stand directly in front of Christian and take
the rest from underneath the table. I line up my next shot,
leaning right over the table. I hear Christian’s sharp intake
of breath, and of course, I miss. Shit.
He comes to stand behind me while I am still bent over
the table and places his hand on my backside. Hmm . . .
“Are you wa一ving this around to taunt me, Miss
Steele?” And he smacks me, hard.
I gasp. “Yes,” I mutter, because it’s true.
“Be careful what you wish for, baby.”
I rub my behind as he wanders to the other end of the
table, leans over, and takes his shot. Jeez, I could look at
him all day. He hits the red ball, and it shoots into the left
side pocket. He aims for the yellow, top right, and it just
misses. I grin.
“Red Room here we come,” I taunt him.
He merely raises an eyebrow and directs me to
continue. I make quick work of the green stripe and by
some fluke, manage to knock in the final orange stripe.
“Name your pocket,” Christian murmurs, and it’s as if
he’s talking about something else, something dark and
rude.
“Top left-hand.” I take aim over the black, hit it, but
miss. It skirts wide. Damn.
Christian smiles a wicked grin as he leans over the
table and makes short work of the two remaining solids. I
am practically panting, watching him, his lithe body
stretching over the table. He stands and chalks his cue, his
stretching over the table. He stands and chalks his cue, his
eyes burning into me.
“If I win . . .”
Oh yes?
“I am going to spank you, then fuck you over this
billiard table.”
Holy shit. Every single muscle south of my na一vel
clenches hard.
“Top right,” he murmurs, pointing to the black, and
bends to take the shot.
de Saint-Exupéry, Antoine. Night
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