"There's something I forgot to mention," I say as we enter the large entertainment room. Brandon chuckles behind me. Amelia stops dead in her tracks and slowly turns around to face me.
"What?" she asks carefully.
"Since there are two of us and you already feel outnumbered, it wouldn't be fair for both of us to play against you. I’m worth shit when it comes to playing pool, but my buddy here," I say, pointing my thumb to my best friend, "knows what he's doing. It will be you against Brandon. I'll sit it out. Who knows? I might learn a thing or two."
"That's fine," she says. "Those terms are quite acceptable to me," she adds in her fine British accent.
Now for the big one. "Oh, there’s something else."
She narrows her eyes, takes a few steps and pins her closed fists against her waist. "There's more?" she asks.
"Just one more thing, angel."
“Lay it on me.” She waves a hand for show.
She came up here thinking she could outmaneuver us.
Silly little kitten.
"We’re playing strip pool." I just raised the stakes way high.
"You can't be serious?" she chokes.
"I am."
"This isn't fair. I’m wearing a dress and heels. Brandon is wearing far more clothing that I am."
“Aren’t you wearing underwear?” Brandon asks.
“Yes. But still,” she laments.
"Nobody told you to wear your little red number," I deadpan.
"I thought you'd like it?" She looks so afflicted.
"I do. In fact, I like it a lot. That said, it will look even better on the floor," I wink.
"I'm up for the challenge," Brandon exclaims cranking his head from left to right like a boxer before a match.
"Of course you are. You can afford to make more mistakes than I can," Amelia retorts.
"Angel, the decision is yours. You're free to walk out of here anytime you want. You don't want to play strip pool? You don't have to." A gentleman always gives a lady a way out.
She considers me carefully before bouncing her gaze to Brandon's. "I haven't played in a while," she confesses.
"Then why did you suggest it as a way to retrieve your panties?" I inquire.
“When I mentioned your billiard table on the first night I was here, neither of you said much. You just made a passing joke. Since this isn’t your permanent home, I assumed the table came with the penthouse and perhaps neither of you really knew how to play," she explains.
"Assumptions can be a very dangerous thing," I remind her.
"So the writing is on the wall?" she frowns. "It sounds like I've lost before even playing." Oh, well. Too bad for you.
"I don't know about that, Amelia. I think my proposition makes you a winner. Big time. You got a taste of it last night. We’re just taking this to the next level. Think about it. Two men worshiping every single part of your body at the same time. Essentially trapping you in a vortex of pleasure. Bonus. You get two cocks to take you over the edge and make you climax over and over again until you lose your voice. As far as I see it, you'll definitely come out on top," I wink at her. I pause for a beat. “So you're in or out?" When she doesn't answer, I sweeten the pot. "Brandon will break the balls. How ever many he sinks in are yours. No questions asked. FYI, he's a very good ball breaker." Brandon snickers. "That’ll give you a serious advantage."
She nods. "Okay.”
“Let the game begin," I announce as I make my way to one of the chairs located on the side and sit down, beer in hand. Amelia didn't want another drink, but Brandon and I were due.
"I should warn you, sweetie, I only play this game one way—to win," Brandon says as he drops his beer on one of the side tables before walking to the pool table. Well, this should be easy. Thank the fuck God. After two and a half weeks, I'm as eager as Brandon is to sink my cock inside her pussy.
Brandon slides the rack into position on the table. His confidence in the game is legendary. He circles the table and grabs the cue ball, which he meticulously places on the table. He then grabs his cue and chalks it methodically. Once he’s satisfied, he leans into position—left hand on the table, right holding on the cue. Since I'm sitting right across and him, I can admire how focused he is. He lets the cue glide in and out of the bridge he forms with his left hand a few times. Finally, he hits the cue ball above the center and it leaves the cushion and rolls on the table. It lands in one of the pockets. Obviously, that’s a bad start.
Brandon straightens up. He hits the bumper rubber end of his stick against the hardwood floor and lets out a loud exhale. "I can't believe I missed that." He shakes his head. "That's so amateurish of me. Seems like I’m a bit rusty.” Sneaky devil. “Should I try again?” he asks me.
I shrug. “I'm not the one playing. You should ask the lady," I suggest.
"Sweetie, what do you want me to do?" Don’t be fooled by his antics.
"It's okay, you can have another go at it. I don't think I stand much of a chance anyways," she says. Poor thing.
“You need to bring on your A game, buddy. Don’t forget, you’re playing on behalf of our princess,” I remind him.
"You're right. I should at least give her a fighting chance," he says dramatically. He's so full of it.
Brandon positions himself and tries again. The second time is the charm. The impact resonates throughout the room as the balls go rolling off in different directions. Like the master he is, Brandon sinks a solid color ball off the bat. There are still thirteen balls to play on top of the eight-ball—she’ll play the solid balls while Brandon gets the striped ones. This gives Amelia a tiny advantage.
"Angel, do you think you can take it from here?" I ask.
"I can try," she says hesitantly. She passes in front of me and sashays towards Brandon. Honestly, that dress doesn't hide a thing. My best friend hands her the cue and it's her turn to get into position. When she leans down, her long hair sweeps against the table in such a sexy way. As my eyes glide up to her face, I can't help but notice how her tits are even more prominent now. My God she's beautiful. She aims carefully and takes her first shot. She misses. I’m not very good at this game, but even I know that she’s angling her cue the wrong way. That would explain why the cue ball rolls off to the side without hitting any of the balls. "Gosh, it's worse than I thought."
"Try again," Brandon suggests.
"Are you sure?" she asks.
"I'm certain of it," Brandon confirms.
"Thank you. That's very generous of you," she says. "I think I know what the problem is. It's the hair. You wouldn't happen to have anything that I can use to pull it back?" she asks, searching our eyes.
When I meet Brandon’s gaze, I can tell he's fighting off a smile as badly as I am.
"No. I don't think we do." Brandon is the first answer. "Viking can you think of anything that could help our little princess out?"
I shake my head. "No. Not at all," I play along.
Brandon and I own enough Italian silk neckties that would do the job nicely and I'm sure we have plenty of elastics in our offices. Why make it easy for her? The truth of the matter is I've already made my decision and I have the perfect ally to make it happen. There's no way I'm giving her an inch. I'd much rather give her ten.
"I guess I'll have to improvise," she huffs and flashes us a half smile. What is she up to? I expect her to braid her hair or something like that. What she does next leaves me completely dumbfounded. She lifts the hem of her dress until her fingers latch at the sides of her panties. Her dress is high enough to reveal a peek of her underwear. She shifts her gaze from Brandon’s to mine and without much more than a long sigh, she starts pulling her panties down.
"What the fuck are you doing?" Brandon asks, almost panicked.
"I'm making do with what I have," she says matter-of-factly. Her green eyes are veiled with impudence. My cock twitches under her audacious stare. Fuck. Without giving us a chance to reply, she continues to pull her panties all the way down to her ankles
. She steps out of them and to my utter shock, she brings them up to eye level. She twists around the gold-colored lace fabric and brings it up to her mane. She pulls her cascade of hair up and wraps her panties around it.
“No way," I mutter.
“No she didn’t.” Brandon’s eyes practically bulge out of his skull.
"They say that necessity is the mother of invention. I might not be wearing much, but I know how to use what I have on." Her explanation is like pouring oil over a raging fire. Kaboom.
"Jesus," Brandon hisses. He’s all but slavering.
“Oh, maybe it isn’t only the hair,” Amelia keeps talking as if she doesn’t notice how baffled we suddenly are. “I think this dress might be a tad bit too long,” she says. She’s so flippant about it. Too long?
“No, it's not. I need to keep focused on the game I don't need any distractions,” Brandon protests.
She ignores him and starts to bunch the fabric around her waist, forcing her dress to glide up her legs. Honestly, at this point, it might be easier to remove the damn thing altogether so she can put me out of my misery. My mouth is watering as I look over to Brandon. We just stare at each other. I mean, how do you respond to that? Once she's done fixing her dress, she reaches out for the cue. She grabs it and places it between her legs before leaning forward to fetch the chalk. I follow her every move. She rubs the chalk furiously against the tip of the cue stick with a cocky grin stretched across her face. She bounces her gaze from mine to Brandon almost daring us to say something. The more she rubs, the more my cock twitches inside my jeans. A few more rubs and she just might get me to come. I swear, this woman has a horny alter ego. When Amelia is done, she blows at the excess of chalk before dropping the chalk to the side. She circles the pool table until she's standing right in front of me. Brandon follows right behind her and takes a seat next to me. Amelia bends over, causing the bottom of her dress to inch up to dangerous levels. Christ. Although I’m intimately familiar with what Amelia is hiding underneath that dress that keeps riding up and up, I tilt my head to the side like a dog. I'm just a hair away from sticking my tongue out in the hopes she'll flash me. Funnily enough, Brandon is doing the same thing. She takes another shot and this time she doesn't miss. Two balls fall into the pockets one after the other.
"Holy shit," Brandon and I exclaim in unison.
"Better?” she asks with feigned innocence. As if she didn't already know.
"Are you kidding me?" Brandon is up on his feet. "I thought you said you were out of practice."
"I guess I got lucky," she shrugs. I don't believe it one bit. "I think we’re playing strip pool, right?" She cocks an eyebrow at me. I nod. "In that case, I think you boys need to get rid of those kick ass Converse trainers. Since I got two balls in, that means both shoes go. She says proudly. “Pity, they look good on you." What a tease. When we hesitate, she presses. "Chop, chop. Hurry, we don't have all night, boys." Reluctantly, I unlace my white high top Chucks and toe them off. Brandon kicks off his denim blue ones with a gruff growl.
"Happy now?" he asks sourly.
"No need to be so snippy. You're the ones who made the rules. Not me,” she reminds us. “I'm just an innocent participant." Bullshit. "I guess I get another crack at it."
Brandon rolls his eyes.
"You earned that right fair and square," I say. It's still very early. I'm sure Brandon will pull through for us.
Amelia assumes the position again, but this time she teasingly waggles her ass at us. Brandon and I just shake our heads. She pulls her right arm back and when the stick hits the cue ball, she lands another one in the pockets.
"Shit," Brandon shouts.
"Oh my, I’m on a roll," she cheers. "I think you boys need to remove another item of clothing. Will it be your tops or do you want to play it safe?"
Brandon and I glance at each other before removing one of our socks.
"Don't worry, buddy, I'm sure she's going to miss the next shot," Brandon announces. No, he's not taking this very well. I doubt it has to do with the fact that he might lose this game and more with the fact that we may end up not getting what we want.
"Are you jinxing me?" Amelia asks.
"Not at all, doll, just call it a hunch," Brandon snickers. Instead of answering him, Amelia returns her focus to the game. She hunches over and with a vengeful strike, she lands yet another ball in a pocket. "Fuck," Brandon growls. Amelia laughs.
She straightens up and turns around to face us. "I guess you were off on your prediction, Petty Officer Buckingham." Well, I'll be damned. This girl knows what she's doing. She played us. "It looks like you two have to give up another item of clothing," she rejoices. "It's a good thing you have a second sock," she adds. Once again, Brandon and I oblige. "Seems like it's still my turn," she grins proudly.
"Stop gloating and just play," Brandon snaps.
"Testy, aren’t we?" Amelia teases.
"Just play," Brandon repeats impatiently.
“Okay, okay. Don't get your knickers in a bunch," she mocks. Amelia circles the table and returns to her original position. From this vantage point she can stare at us while she tortures us. "There are three balls left. I wonder if I can get them all in with one shot?" She asks the question more to herself than anything else. Clearly neither Brandon nor I want that outcome. "Well, I can try," she shrugs. Those damn words from earlier... the same ones that convinced me this would be as easy as pie.
At this point, I'm seriously praying for her to miss her next shot because it looks like I’ll be fucking my fist tonight again. Brandon will succumb to the same unfortunate fate. I drop my bottle of beer on the side table and slide to the edge of my seat, eager to see which way the pendulum will swing for us.
Amelia walks back and forth her eyes riveted to the table. Her eyebrows are knitted together in concentration. If I had to guess, I'd say that she's carefully analyzing the positions of the ball on the table. Please God, she can't get them all in. When she's ready, she leans forward and assumes the position. She slides the cue a few times between her fingers and takes the shot.
“Un-fucking-believable," I mutter as I stand. Slowly, I approach the table. I need to make sure that my eyes aren’t playing tricks on me. To my dismay, they aren't. We gave Amelia the benefit of the doubt and now we’re the ones holding onto the shorter end of the stick. "You got all three in," I mutter meeting her gaze.
"Look at that," she says.
I stride towards her. "You knew all along that you’d get your way," I say, standing right in front of her.
"That's beside the point, Holden—"
"I guess you're right, angel," I nod. "Royal, you’re playing against a pro, buddy. Unfortunately, that means we have to lose three more items of clothing."
"I'm sorry, but as far as I see it, our little princess has forgotten all about rule number two.” Brandon circles the table and comes to stand next to me. “She lied to us, Viking."
"I object to that,” she volleys. “You never asked me how good I was," she adds. Damn, she's smart.
"She brings forth a good point, Royal." Brandon lets out a ragged sigh. I don't miss how his jaw grinds. I suspect it’s his effort to control whatever is raging inside him. The rapid movement of his Adam's apple doesn't go unnoticed either. Nope, my boy isn’t happy. I don't blame him. "I was wrong. You want your panties back more than you want our tongues and our cocks," I say, shifting my attention back to her.
She waves a finger at us. "Hmmm. The jeans and the top must go. That's only two items. There's one missing to even out the score." She masterfully deflates my comment. "I say the underwear should follow. I hope for your sakes you didn't go commando." She actually preens a little when she says that.
"Not so fast, princess. I'm wearing a belt," I announce.
"So am I," Brandon quips.
"Ah.” She flashes us a wicked smile. "You boys are still safe for the last round then." She's taking so much pleasure in this.
"Don’t count your chickens just yet,
" Brandon throws at her.
"Says the man who still has seven striped balls staring at me," she quips. "Come to think of it, you haven’t played since you broke those balls. Gosh, that feels like ages ago." She adds salt to our open wounds.
"Give it up." I attempt to be the voice of reasoning.
Letting out a long sigh, Brandon undoes his belt. He then unzips his jeans and brings them down to his ankles before stepping out of them. This isn't at all how I expected this evening to unfold. With resignation I follow his lead. We both straighten up and shoot each other a glance before pulling off our long-sleeved crew neck tops over our heads and letting them fall on the floor. You’d think this was a well-rehearsed choreography, but it's not. My eyes are riveted to my massive erection—that will go uncared for tonight—when I hear Amelia gasp. Immediately, my gaze snaps up to hers.
“Oh. My. God.” Her eyelashes bat a mile a minute. "Jesus, your bodies," she pants. The bewildered expression on her face reminds me that this is the first time she’s seen us without clothing on. That means the first time she sees our war wounds. "Dear God. You have so many tattoos. I've never been with someone who..." She lets her words hang.
"Most of the SEALs I know have some ink. The same goes for a lot of guys and girls I know who were in the Army and the Marines," Brandon offers.
“Some of it is purely for esthetics, some are meaningful and some are to hide nasty scars," I reveal, running my finger along my left arm. "This one was particularly bad." I move my hand to my right leg.
Amelia drops the cue stick on the table and takes a few steps forward. "I never imagined these words would come out of my mouth, but your tattoos are gorgeous. They're so edgy and intricate." She reaches out and traces her index fingers along the lines of the ink etched on my chest. The contact sends a ripple of shockwaves straight to my pulsating cock. Her eyes drop for a beat. When she brings them back up to me, what I read is intoxicating. She's as aware as I am of my undeniable arousal. I know she knows exactly what’s going on here—especially when her eyes travel to Brandon's crotch. His cock is as needy as mine. Surprisingly, she chooses to ignore how much we want her. "Everything about your tattoos screams bad boy," she continues.
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