Dirty Pool

by Bethany-Kris

  After, though?

  Well, his ties to the Vannozzos would be over. They were more trouble than they were worth, and Michel wasn’t a fucking idiot. He could see a problem from a mile away, and he wasn’t foolish enough to get closer to it.

  Like this Irish thing.

  He didn’t ask what the Italians did.

  He didn’t want to know.

  Were the streets tense?

  Michel wouldn’t know.

  He went to the clubs, dealt to anyone who came up with the right word to get their drugs, and then he went home. He didn’t seek out Sal, or the guy’s men. A part of him was hoping that if he kept a respectable distance from the rest of the Italians, then maybe the Irish would realize he wasn’t trying to antagonize them like the others were doing.

  Simple, right?

  Probably not.

  Nothing ever was.

  Michel sighed, and leaned on the pool cue as he stared at the clock across the bar telling him it was edging closer to ten at night. He liked this bar close to his place because they never asked for ID, and it was always quiet.

  “It’s been your turn for two minutes, man.”

  He glanced at the guy who decided to take him up on a game for a bet of fifty dollars. Change to Michel, really, but he was never one to turn down the opportunity to best someone at a game of pool.

  A quick survey of the table told him he was about to win that fifty dollars, too. It wasn’t that the guy was bad at the game—pretty decent, all things considered. Michel was simply better.

  He liked that.

  Being better.

  Michel set himself up at the far end of the table near the left pocket. Bending down over the edge, he rested his stick on the wooden side, and measured how far the last striped ball on the table was from the cue ball, and which pocket he wanted to choose for it. His bigger problem was the fact that the eight ball was in the way, and if he sunk that fucker on accident first before the striped nine ball, then he was going to lose.

  Not a problem.

  He settled on a trick shot that would have the cue ball spinning back around to crack the eight ball into a pocket after sinking the nine ball into the right side pocket.

  Michel pointed his cue ball at the far left pocket he planned to sink the nine ball into, saying, “Game with this shot—left pocket for the nine.”

  “No way you’re going to hit that.”

  “All right,” Michel replied dryly.

  He bent down again, aimed his pool cue, and took the shot without overthinking it. That’s when he always missed his shots, so he’d learned to just trust his instincts, and go with it. A lot like the rest of his life, honestly.

  He wondered if Detroit was going to be the same.

  Were his instincts about this place right?

  Sure enough, the nine ball sunk into the far left pocket before the cue ball hit the corner, causing it to spin back around and crack right into the eight ball. He almost thought the eight wouldn’t sink into a pocket when it slowed near the middle, but it crawled its way home.

  Michel stood from the pool table, turning to face his opponent. The guy wasn’t looking at him, though, but rather … at the woman coming their way.

  Damn.

  Michel’s mouth went dry.

  She looked good in tight skinny jeans that seemed to be painted onto her legs, showing off the shape of her thighs and hips. Not to mention legs for days. God, yeah, he was such a fucking leg man. She’d let her loose, red curls down around her shoulders, and while she didn’t have a lot of makeup on, the red lipstick was more than enough to pop.

  And that crop top?

  Showing off her bare tummy?

  A navel he’d like to lick?

  “What are you doing here?” he asked her.

  Gabbie came up alongside the table, and shrugged one shoulder. “They talk a lot—my da’s people, I mean. I guess they’re watching you. You frequent this place, huh? They mentioned it when I was around the other night, and I figured … if I had time, I wanted to come and say hello.”

  Michel blinked.

  They were watching him?

  Still?

  Fuck.

  “And what, you thought it’d be smart to come find me?”

  Gabbie smiled. “Why not?”

  “Because it’s not smart.”

  Nothing was, lately.

  He liked seeing her there, though. She reminded him of sweetness and sex. All rolled in one fantastic package that was probably going to get him killed.

  Yeah, Michel was the smart one. Except when it came to this woman, apparently.

  “You want to play a game?” he asked.

  Gabbie’s eyes brightened. “Absolutely.”

  EIGHT

  “Do you want to rack?” Michel asked.

  Gabbie took the pool cue he offered, acutely aware that the man who he’d been playing before had slipped away from the table without a word. Michel didn’t seem like he was missing the man’s presence, either. Likely not a friend, then.

  “You can,” she replied.

  Michel shrugged those broad shoulders of his, and beneath the silk dress shirt, the action made his back muscles move in the best way. In a breath, Gabbie was reminded of what it felt like to have her fingernails digging into that back of his as he was working to make her see God as she came.

  Yep.

  She went there fast.

  “Lady’s choice,” Michel said, tossing her a wink.

  It was to her benefit, anyway. She got a nice view of his arse, and the back of his shoulders flexed as he leaned over the table to set the triangle up. Those jeans hugging his backside drew in her gaze, and she didn’t even try to hide the fact that she’d been staring when Michel stood straight and turned around to glance at her.

  In fact, she winked.

  Michel chuckled, and pointed his pool cue in her direction. “Ladies go first.”

  “You racked the balls.”

  “I didn’t play you last game and win, though. It’s a new score card.”

  Gabbie nodded, happy that he knew the rules of the game. “I’ll break, then.”

  “Let’s see what you can do, donna.”

  That was fine by her.

  She rounded the table, hyperaware of just how close Michel was standing to her side as she leaned over the edge with her pool cue ready. “Have you heard what’s happening out there on the streets lately?”

  “I’m purposely staying out of it.”

  Gabbie took the shot, and once the balls broke, scattering across the table, she watched as a striped ball fell into the far-left pocket. “Stripes for me. And on the other thing … do you think that’s smart to just close your eyes and pretend like they might not come for you, too?”

  Michel cleared his throat, but didn’t answer. Gabbie was fine with that. She hadn’t exactly been expecting a response in the first place. Rounding the table, she eyed the balls and the possible shots she could take. Her next three sunk the balls in each pocket she called. Unfortunately, that left her without a shot that was safe. And by that, it meant the eight ball was in the way for every feckin’ shot.

  Damn.

  She took what she would consider a fake shot … something that would switch the table to Michel, but that was a risk, too. If he was as good as she assumed, given she watched him play for a bit with the other man before approaching the table, then he could very well take her for a ride in a few shots.

  She liked risks, though.

  That’s why she was here.

  Michel whistled when the shot she took missed entirely. “You had a good run there.”

  “You think?”

  Gabbie passed him a sly grin.

  Michel winked right back. “My turn, though.”

  “Go for it, pretty boy.”

  “That’s offensive.”

  Michel leaned over the table.

  She stared at his arse again.

  “Yeah, you’re right,” she replied, “all I see is a very go
od-looking lad with a cock he knows how to use.”

  As she said that, Michel took his shot and missed entirely. She’d done that purposely just to see if it might work. A bit of a cheap shot, sure, but Gabbie couldn’t help it. She might blame it on her raising any other day, but the truth was simpler …

  She liked to win.

  What she wanted, she got.

  Easy.

  “That was dirty fucking pool,” he said, laughing as he stood up from his crappy shot. His dark eyes met hers, and she swore despite his annoyance at her trick, she still saw appreciation shining back in his gaze. And lust, too. Just like that, her body was entirely too hot and the last thing she wanted to focus on was a game of pool. “You won’t get that one over on me a second time—I promise it.”

  Gabbie wet her lips, whispering, “Shame, then. I was just getting started.”

  “Good to know.” Michel’s jaw tightened, and she didn’t miss the way he looked her up and down as he rounded the table to put just a wee bit of distance between the two of them. “Take your shot, bella.”

  She surveyed the table as she walked from one end to the other, deciding which plan of action she wanted to take to—hopefully—sink as many balls as she could, and perhaps even win the game. All the while, she talked.

  “There’s been fights,” she said to Michel, “where there used to be peace. Places where my father’s men could work without the Italians stepping in, or vice versa … now it’s all up in the air. Someone tried to set a warehouse on fire last Wednesday, too.”

  Michel made a noise under his breath. “Irish or Italian warehouse?”

  “Yours.”

  She didn’t miss his scowl.

  “What?” she asked.

  “It’s not mine. They’re not mine, Gabbie. If those people were mine, they wouldn’t have done things this way. Where I’m from, we don’t start petty feuds with just anybody because we purposely try to avoid war.”

  She sucked in a burning breath, exhaling just as sharply as her gaze met his. “I think that’s the problem with my da and his men—he doesn’t care that you’re not one of them. You look like them, talk like them, and you come from the same kind of people as them. You’re basically the same, simply a different breed, Michel.”

  Michel arched a brow. “Has anyone ever told you that you know too much about the business of men?”

  Gabbie considered that statement as she leaned over the table, and readied her shot. She took it as she replied, “Striped nine in the far left pocket.”

  The ball sunk in.

  She stood up again.

  “I have been told that before,” she said, giving him a simpering smile, “but that doesn’t stop me from listening. How can anyone be expected to survive when they don’t even know what’s going on around them?”

  “Fair point.”

  “It’s a risk for me to be here … seeing you.” She sighed, knowing she would probably be in for a world of trouble when she did finally go home, and her father got word about where she had been. Still, she took that risk because she wanted to be here. “They follow me, too, and report back.”

  “Then why come?”

  “I like you, Michel.”

  “Hmm.”

  She gave him a look. “And you like me, too.”

  A sexy, lazy smile graced his lips. “Another fair point.”

  “They’re planning an attack.”

  That wiped the smile off his face, unfortunately.

  “Your father’s people?”

  “Against the Italians,” she confirmed.

  “And what do you expect me to do with that information, Gabbie?”

  Well …

  “Whatever you have to, Michel.”

  Whatever he needed to survive.

  “Even if it means playing a game of dirty pool to do it,” she added.

  Just like her.

  Gabbie went back to the game.

  And quickly sunk each and every shot she took. Once she was left with the eight ball, she grinned at the table, pleased with her skills, as she leaned against the pool cue. Michel, on the other hand, was staring at her from the other side of the table like he was just now seeing her for the first time.

  “Something on your mind?” she asked him.

  “I have not lost a game of pool in five years or more.”

  Gabbie nodded, appreciative. “You haven’t lost it yet, though.”

  But he would.

  She readied her final shot, took it, and sunk the eight ball in the pocket she called. Exactly as she expected to do, and probably the way he assumed she would, too. She hadn’t even straightened fully from the table before Michel had crossed around to stand in front of her so that she was facing him.

  Then, he was kissing her.

  Hard, fast, and bruising.

  It took her breath away.

  Her lips felt numb.

  She tasted a hint of vodka on his tongue when it slipped into her mouth to war with hers. His lips worked against hers so fierce, and hungry. There was no question what he wanted, and she was more than happy to oblige.

  Her body begged for it.

  • • •

  Sex was better when one was in a state of desperation. Or, that’s what Gabbie found. It’s why she didn’t even think twice about climbing into the backseat of Michel’s car because no, she did not want to waste time going home, or to his place … she just wanted him.

  Desperation was the reason she found herself naked in his lap. The car was hotter than it should have been, but not because it was idling in the dark parking lot. No, it was hot because of them. Because of their bodies moving against each other in their need to get off, but to use each other to do it.

  His fingers dug painfully good into her hips, pulling her body down harder into his cock as his teeth found her throat again. Pain sluiced across her skin as the pleasure continued to build in her stomach, twisting and curling together until she didn’t know where the pain began, and the pleasure ended.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Michel grunted against her neck, his breath hot as she rode him harder. “You love that cock, don’t you?”

  Gabbie would have responded, but she was just flying too high. Like her nervous system was being washed with pleasure, and her tongue was too thick in her mouth. The only sound she could make came out high, and broken.

  She couldn’t get enough.

  She wanted more.

  “Are you gonna come for me?” he demanded.

  Gabbie whined. “More, more, more.”

  Next to his name, it became the only thing she could really say. And even that mantra melted together the faster she spoke, and the more her need grew. Yes, she was going to come. And yes, she wanted more so it would be so much feckin’ better when she finally did. His hands gripped tight to her backside, his fingers digging in hard enough to her arse that she was sure there’d be fingerprints left behind tomorrow.

  That was fine.

  She wanted his marks.

  She wanted to feel him on her arse, and between her thighs every time she sat down or took a step. A beautiful ache, really. She’d use that feeling and this memory when she was in bed alone, and the desperation came again. It wouldn’t feel as good, but she’d still need it. Just like he made her need this with him.

  Michel’s hand curved lower along her backside, his grip tightening to stretch her open as his other hand came down, too. She felt the slight pressure of two of his fingers against the tight hole of her arse before he was circling the ring of muscles.

  Every part of her tensed.

  Her sex flexed.

  “Here?”

  Gabbie’s breath rushed out of her violently, but he caught the sound she made with a burning kiss that had her nodding to his request. “Please, Michel.”

  Her fingernails raked red scores down his pecs as one of those fingers at her arse pushed in. The pain was back again, but it was numbed because something else was there, too. Something thicker, and teasing. She swore ever
ything became slower to her senses—she felt every single thing. His fingers working her arse as his cock stretched her open with every lift and lower of her hips.

  There was something freeing about that.

  Something wild.

  And raw.

  “Oh, my God,” she choked out.

  The second finger being fitted into her arse was what really did it. Her body wasn’t slowly coaxed over the edge of bliss, but rather, he fucking threw her over it. The sensation was almost violent, but she found a part of her that had been craving that.

  She burned everywhere.

  And it never felt better.

  Michel didn’t let up on her for a second, either. His hand on her arse tightened to a painful point, and he dragged her harder against his own body. Working himself higher and higher until he released a low, guttural sound along the seam of her lips, and she felt him jerk inside of her tender sex.

  That’s when he slowed.

  That’s when she could breathe again.

  His words whispered in her ear, making her smile and her heart beat crazy fast in her chest. “This is crazy. This is fucking crazy.”

  “But good,” she returned.

  Michel laughed against where the junction of her neck met her shoulder, his teeth dragging deliciously to her skin. “Where have you been all my life?”

  She didn’t have an answer.

  “I don’t know,” she mumbled.

  He pressed a soft kiss to her lips, a moment of tenderness in the roughness that had been their sex. It made her smile as she met his gaze. “I want you to take me on a date. A real date.”

  Michel blinked. “Right now?”

  It was dark.

  Way too late.

  Nothing would be open.

  Gabbie still nodded because she was not ready to let him go anywhere but with her for the moment. “Right now, Michel.”

  • • •

  “Here, duckies!”

  Michel’s dark chuckles came close to her ear as his nose grazed the back of her neck. Gabbie had all she could do not to shiver from the feeling of his lips pressing to her skin with featherlight kisses.