There are another few rounds of betting, with both your piles of chips dwindling dangerously, neither of you wanting to be the first to concede.
“All in,” Koji says at last with a wicked grin, surveying the small pile of chips remaining in front of you and sweeping his every last chip into the middle of the table. Then he calls, turning his cards over and laying them down flat on the table. He has three aces. It’s good, but it’s not good enough, and you keep your face blank while your heart thumps, and the guys all lean in to get a closer look, oohing and aahing at his hand.
Your expression innocent, you fan your cards out faceup, so everyone can see what you’ve got.
Both Benjiro and Makio whoop, and Koji, who was about to sweep up all the chips, assuming he’d won, looks at the cards, up at you, and back at the cards again.
“What!” he says, his face comic with shock. “No way!”
You smile casually, as if you pull royal flushes out of nowhere and bankrupt your opponents every day of the week.
Benjiro rattles something off in Japanese and Makio bursts out laughing. You can tell they’re teasing Koji, who laughs good-naturedly.
“You got me!” he says as Benjiro and Makio gather their bits and pieces. “They want to know if you’ll come back next week?” he goes on, and the two men smile at you. “They say anyone who beats me is a friend of theirs!” Everyone laughs, and as the guys count out their remaining chips and finish their drinks, you excuse yourself to go to the ladies’ room.
WHILE YOU’RE WASHING YOUR hands and fixing your hair, you visualize Koji at the table, the muscles in his forearms rippling, and you see your cheeks flush in the mirror. You picture those lips, imagining them pressed against yours—you’re sure they would feel soft as pillows and taste like a ripe piece of fruit. As you dry your hands in the compact hand dryer, which is toasty warm, you notice a condom dispenser bolted to the wall next to the sink. And it gets your mind wandering beyond kissing. You imagine what Koji would be like in bed. You’ve already seen proof of his dexterity this evening. If his tongue skills are anything like his knife skills, he’s sure to be pretty spectacular, you think, then blush at your thoughts.
But the condom dispenser is giving you ideas, and on impulse you dig around in your handbag for a few coins, which you place in the slot. Then you turn the knob, and a condom in a purple sleeve slips out and into your hand. You drop it into your bag. You’re not quite sure why you’re doing it, but you tell yourself a girl can never be too safe.
BACK IN THE RESTAURANT, Koji is alone at the table, idly shuffling the cards.
“Did the boys go?” you ask.
“Yes, they said to say goodbye and thank you for the game,” he says. “They also said to tell you same time, same place next week. They’re hoping they can replace Takumi with you—you’re much nicer to look at than he is, and we suspect he cheats.”
You smile at the buried compliment. “I’m sorry I didn’t get to say goodbye. I really liked them,” you say, a little disappointed that the night has come to an end.
“They’re good guys,” Koji says. “Both of them have been with me right from the beginning; Makio is my cousin.”
“This is your place?” you ask, impressed.
“Katsuko is my sister—we run it together,” he says.
“It’s phenomenal,” you say. “Best sushi I’ve ever had. Except for the eyeballs!”
Koji throws his head back and roars with laughter. “You did ask for it!”
You shake your head at the memory. “Thank you for inviting me to play with you,” you say, reaching for your bag and phone, intending to call a taxi.
“You’re not leaving yet, are you?” He looks disappointed. “I was hoping you would at least give me a chance to win some of my money back.”
You take a long look at him, your body stirring at the thought of staying for a more intimate game with him. You curb the urge to lean forward and run your fingers through his fringe.
“Why not? Just a few more rounds, then I’ll call a taxi.”
You sit down again, just the two of you with the whole restaurant to yourselves. The lights are low, and your breath quickens as he deals out the cards. You take a big sip of sake—you need a little Japanese courage.
Koji beats you in the first hand, and in the next one, too. But it’s worth losing to see those delectable lips turning up at the corners every time he wins.
Next it’s your turn to deal, and as you shuffle the cards, you have a bold idea. Even you are a little surprised to hear the words coming out of your mouth: “Why don’t we raise the stakes a little?”
“What, up the ante?” he asks, raising a thick eyebrow.
“Yes, why not?”
“What do you want to up it to?” he asks, and you know you’re both thinking the same thing—it’s just a matter of who’s going to say it first.
You take the plunge. “How about for every loss, we take off an item of clothing?”
“I thought you’d never suggest it!” he says. “But your beginner’s luck can’t last forever, you know. I plan on beating the pants off you!”
“We’ll see about that,” you say. Then you deal the cards quickly, hoping he won’t notice that your hands are trembling. You beat him in the first hand, with nothing fancier than a pair of jacks—pure luck of the draw. He smiles and sheds his chef’s coat without any comment, standing up and making a show of slipping each of the white buttons out of their holes, not taking his eyes off you for a second. He’s not wearing a shirt underneath, and you marvel at his smooth, sculpted chest. Each of his abdominal muscles is so clearly defined, it’s as if he’s carved them with one of his knives. You stare openly—at this point you’d no sooner take your eyes off him than fly yourself to the moon.
Next it’s his turn to deal. You do a quick garment count as he shuffles: you have your dress, your heels, and your bra and underwear—just the four items. While he still has his shoes, socks, trousers, and a pair of underpants to go. So you’re even for now. Once again, you thank your lucky stars you wore your lacy G-string tonight—Koji is right, your winning streak can’t go on forever.
You manage to sneak through the second hand with two low pairs, but his pair of tens is no match, and he sheds his shoes.
You lose the next hand, and slip out of your shoes, doing it slowly and deliberately to tease him after the show he made of shedding his coat. He laughs as you do it, filling both your cups with more sake.
Your head buzzes with desire, the urge to reach over and run a hand across his chest mounting with every passing second. Then, much to your delight, Koji manages to lose the next two hands in quick succession, and you wonder if he’s losing deliberately. First he sheds his socks, then he’s forced to stand and drop his trousers to the floor. This leaves him in nothing but a pair of white briefs, luminescent against the tan of his skin. You gaze at his smooth, taut thighs, and you can’t help but notice his generous erection growing by the second.
“I think I might have a hustler on my hands,” he says, teasing to break the sexual tension rising like smoke between you. “It’s a good thing we’re only playing for clothes—if it was money, you’d be taking me to the cleaners.”
“I’m just a lucky girl,” you say, holding his eyes and smiling slowly. Who knew poker could be so rewarding? “This is better than winning money, if you ask me. It’s your turn to deal,” you say, handing him the pack. His fingers brush your hand as he takes the cards from you, and the tension ratchets up a notch.
He shuffles the cards, studying you closely.
“What are we playing for this round?” you ask, your voice husky.
He stops shuffling for a second. “How about winner takes all?” he says.
You nod, desire a slow burn in your chest and your pussy. He deals and you reach for your cards, almost afraid to look. Koji lays out the rest of the cards, and you keep checking your hand, hoping some valuable combination will materialize before your eyes, but you’ve got no
thing. When it’s time to call, the only flush is on your cheeks as you lay out your hand. Koji whoops as he lays out his cards, and you see he has two fours. Hardly the best hand in the world, but it’s certainly enough to beat you.
“At last!” he shouts, grinning broadly. “I win!”
“Yup, and winner takes all,” you say. With that, you stand up and slip your hands under your dress. Moving slowly and teasingly, you take hold of your panties on either side of your hips and pull the lace down off your thighs, past your knees to your ankles, and then you step carefully out of each leg.
Koji watches your every move, his eyes wide with desire, his erection now straining impressively under the tight fabric of his underpants. Once you’ve dropped your G-string on the floor, you step over to where he’s sitting, almost naked on his chair, and you sit astride him, feeling the warmth of his body, and beneath you the power of him pressing hard against you, through the only item of clothing he has left on. He wraps both his arms around you and kisses you, and you were right about his lips, they’re so full and soft that your lips sink into them. His tongue touches yours, and it tastes like sake. As you kiss you can feel him grinding up against your naked and very wet pussy, and you grind back down on him.
He drops his warm mouth on to one side of your neck and runs his hand up and down the other side, his fingers deft and strong.
And then he’s kissing you again, and he slips the straps of your dress and bra down and takes the weight of one of your breasts in his hand, kneading it gently. Then he takes one of your taut nipples in his mouth, teasing it with a very agile tongue. He returns to kiss your mouth, and while he’s doing that his hands move lightly to your thighs under your dress, stroking and massaging the flesh, shifting further and further up until the thumbs of both his hands are rubbing between your legs, massaging your inner thighs and at last finding your slit and stroking it, too.
You close your eyes and try to remember to breathe as waves of pleasure spread through your body. You drop your hands down to free his hard, throbbing cock from the restraint of his underwear, and as you run your fingers over the length of it, you’re astonished at how silkily smooth it is—his skin is so soft to the touch, it’s like velvet.
“I never thought I’d be so happy to literally lose the shirt off my back,” Koji murmurs. “Even though I lost, I still won,” he says, before tilting his head back down and kissing you deeply again.
Not speaking, you reach back toward the table for your purse, fishing for the condom you bought earlier. You hold it out to Koji and watch him open the wrapping and stretch the condom over himself. Then he kisses your neck again, and you run your nails gently over the top of his back, then his shoulders and up his neck and into his hairline, alternating soft, tickling scratches with slightly sharper, more needy ones. Then you run your nails back down his neck and his shoulders, being sure to cruise the tender, sensitive area below his arms, down his sides, and you hear him gasp audibly at the feel of your nails.
Then, unable to wait any longer, you take his sheathed cock in your hand and slide down onto it slowly, your breath catching as he fills you entirely. And then you rock backward and forward very slowly, getting accustomed to the size and shape of him inside you. The feeling is so good it’s almost unbearable, and he gets the message from your moans, rocking his hips back and forth in tandem with yours. Slowly you speed up, never bouncing, only ever rocking, and it’s like he’s massaging your pussy from the inside. Your eyes shut tight, you clasp his shoulders, and then he kisses you with such abandon that you forget where you are for a moment.
And then you don’t want to hold back anymore, so you rock faster, and an intense orgasm washes through you, his lips still pressed against yours, his tongue winding around yours, breathing the same breath. And you can feel your pussy clenching and unclenching around his cock, as you scratch your nails hard down his back, and the sensation takes him over the edge, and he wraps both arms around your back as he comes, squeezing your body tightly as he cries out in pleasure.
Flooded with the relief of your orgasm, you drop your forehead down onto that perfect silky shoulder, both of you fighting to get your breath back.
“How about another round—double or quits?” he says when he can finally speak again. You can’t help but giggle into the softness of his neck.
LATER, AFTER YOU’VE BOTH won one more time, he leads you through the restaurant back to his kitchen. He’s wearing just his underpants, and you’ve slipped into his oversize chef’s jacket, the sleeves rolled up to fit you. He brews up a pot of green tea, and you sit on a high stool at the counter, blowing on your cup to cool it, enjoying watching his deft, sure movements as he wipes down each of his knives and packs them away into their leather carry-case.
He feels your eyes on him, reaches into one of the fridges, and pulls out a perfect red radish. Then he selects a small, lethally sharp–looking knife, and sets about the radish, his hands moving so quickly they’re a cartoon blur. Seconds later he holds the radish out to you—he’s carved it into a perfect red rose. You laugh, touched at the sweetness of the gesture, and he puts away the last knife before giving you one more gentle kiss.
You stroll back into the restaurant on rubber legs, and he turns off the lights and locks up while you call a taxi. It’s definitely time to head home—and with a smile on your face. Your only decision is whether to stop by your late-night coffee shop on the way, for a celebratory hot chocolate.
To go straight home, click here.
To go home via your local late-night coffee shop, click here.
You’ve decided to get a ride home in the sports car with the bodyguard
YOU WATCH AS THE George Clooney look-alike drives off in the taxi. He certainly was charming, but tonight is definitely a night for racing around in a sports car.
“So, you ready to go?” the bodyguard asks in that deep brown molasses voice, slipping his phone back into his pocket.
“Everything okay?” you ask, indicating the phone.
“Yeah, all good. Just a little misunderstanding. So, shall we?” He grins and gestures at the car.
You hesitate. “My mother always told me never to accept rides from strangers.”
“Doesn’t the fact that I was a cop make you feel any better?”
“A little bit, but how do I know you were a good cop, not a bad cop?”
He smiles and you notice that he has dimples, not to mention the most perfect white teeth, both of which help to soften his strong jaw.
“To be honest, back in the day, sometimes I had to be a little bit of both. But tonight I promise you’ll only get good cop.”
You run through your options. You wouldn’t normally get into a car with a complete stranger, but this guy is hardly a complete stranger, is he? First of all, you feel safe with him—and your instincts are usually good; second, he’s Charlie Dakar from the Space Cowboys’ personal bodyguard—it’s his job to look after people; and third, this isn’t just a car, it’s a limited-edition, supercharged, incredibly rare classic. Surely different rules apply in this kind of situation?
You stroke the car’s smooth, eye-candy curves. You can’t help wondering what your car-mad ex would say if he knew you were contemplating a ride in one of these. Or what Melissa would say if she knew what you were planning, and who the car belonged to.
“Here, give me your phone,” says the bodyguard, holding out his hand.
Curious, you hand over your cell. He walks around the front of the car and takes a photograph with it. Then he comes back and hands you the phone.
“There you go,” he says. “Send that shot to a friend, and tell them who you’re with. That way, if anything happens to you, they’ll know where to start looking.”
You examine your phone and see he’s taken a photograph of the license plate (which is, embarrassingly, SEXGD 1). You have to remind yourself that it’s not his car. If it was, all bets would be off—forget never getting into a car with a strange man, no self-respecting w
oman should ever get into a car with an arrogant personalized license plate.
“Wow, that’s not a bad idea,” you say. You fire off a quick text to Melissa and explain what you’re up to, and to let her know that you’ll message her again in a couple of hours to let her know you’re okay.
The bodyguard opens the passenger door for you. You slide into the bucket seat, enjoying the feel of the soft, cool leather against your skin. There’s not a single straight edge in the car’s interior: every surface is curved and sleek, and the dashboard would look perfectly at home in a space shuttle.
The bodyguard closes your door and then goes around to the driver’s side. He takes off his jacket and drops it onto the back seat, giving you the opportunity to inspect arm muscles that strain at the sleeves of his shirt. You were worried that he’d barely fit inside the car, but the interior is larger than you were expecting, and while he fills the seat, there’s more than enough room above his head for comfort.
As he slots his seat belt into its socket, his fingers briefly brush your thigh. Neither of you says anything, but your skin smolders where he touched you. You catch a trace of his scent, a masculine woody smell that melds perfectly with the car’s leather, and for a second you’re reminded of Mr. Intense. But sitting here, next to this bear of a man, your body tingling with anticipation at the thought of shooting through the night in a super-charged high-performance machine, you don’t feel a shred of regret.
You tell him your address, and he programs it into the car’s onboard GPS. “You mind if we take the highway?” he asks. “It’s a bit of a detour, but at this time of night, with no cars on the road, it might be more fun.”
You take a second to consider. “Okay. But if it looks like you’re trying to abduct me, then I’m going to yank up the hand brake. At full speed. And you know what that means.” You smile sweetly at him and he chuckles, a deep rumble.
A Girl Walks into a Bar Page 11