“The heck with it! How’s he gonna know it’s on backwards? He’s not going there anyway, so—it stays,” she declared, rushing into her bedroom pulling the straps up one arm, then the other, making the necessary adjustments on the way. “Now, what to wear?” She stopped in the center of her bedroom, running her evening casual wear through her mind. Looking at the dresser, then spun in place, looking to the closet. “Comfort!” She dashed to the closet and pulled from it a set with burgundy stretch pants and a knit multicolored top with a floral print. At her dresser she grabbed her favorite perfume, Provocative, and spritzed it in all the right places. Ten minutes left, according to her clock radio beside the bed.
“I am never doing this again. Why do I care how I look? What I smell like? This is not a date, after all!” she grumbled, pulling up her stretch pants, then grabbed the top to pull over her head. It caught on a hair pin. “Oh no, my hair is still pinned up!” Back to the bathroom, in the mirror, she snatched pins from her hair, shook her head, then combed it into place. “No time for makeup.” She sighed. “I’ll just dust with some powder and a little lip hue. That’s good enough.”
“Hmmm? Should I go now, or should I wait? It’s been twenty-five minutes, but I said thirty. Is she gonna be the type that needs me to be late? Or the type that expects me to be on time? Or would she find it considerate to be early? Or inconsiderate showing up early? Is she "as is" or did she get ready, too? Oh hell.” He sighed deep, running his hand through his hair in irritation.
“Damn women…pain in the ass, I swear,” this he muttered, rising from leaning on the window looking across the way. He walked to the kitchen with his stomach growling. “Hell, I’m hungry…I’m going now,” he grumped, then selected a bottle of wine out of the wine rack on the kitchen counter. On the way to the door he grabbed his lambskin jacket and headed out, putting it on as he tromped across the yard. The snow was falling in large cluster flakes and the night felt wonderful. He felt wonderful. There was something right about this night. About her, about them; she knew this too, regardless of how she protested. Obviously she was realizing this because here he was on his way to her house for dinner and a game of pool. Bottle of wine in hand, and a determination to show her that they were meant to be, no more lollygagging.
He noticed that she hadn’t shoveled her walkway to the porch yet, nor the porch for that matter. That would kill some time. He wouldn’t be late. Nor would he be too early. He would be there, but still allowing her enough time to do whatever it was that women did when awaiting men. Setting his bottle of wine down on the porch, he stepped over to the garage, opening the door he clicked the light on. Entering, he looked around for the snow shovel. There was one hanging on a utility rack on the wall.
Chapter Eleven
He was late! Ten minutes late! Sylvia came up the basement stairs and walked to her living room picture window to look out across the street, when he walked past it across her front porch. She gasped in surprise, went to the door, opening it she leaned out asking, “What are you doing? How long have you been here?” He glanced over his shoulder after pushing a load of snow over the edge of her porch. “I sure hope you have dinner done, I’m starving! I’m almost done, I’ll be in in a minute.”
“Sir, if you haven’t noticed, it’s still snowing.”
“I know, but if you let it pile up, the job to remove it is bigger.”
"If you say so.” She stood a moment, ignoring the cold to look at him. She’d never met a man like this before. He stood looking back at her, then turned slowly and walked up to her. The evidence of the cold showed on the breaths he took. Sylvia swallowed, mesmerized as she stared up at him, now that he was up close, placing the shovel down by the door. She noticed that his arms were long when he braced his hands on the door frame to stand over her, his body large and warm, radiating heat despite the cold. His nose and cheeks were red. Was it the cold, dark night standing behind him with the light of her porch shining a soft yellow that made his eyes so blue…when other times they were gray? He was growing a mustache, adding to the masculinity that was already overwhelming. He was so close…so very close. Her gaze caressed his face with a soft dreaminess that she had no will to stop. From his eyes, down the length of his nose, to his parted mouth. She could hear him breathing. Her gaze drifted back up to his. Finally his voice broke the spell.
“This is the one and only time I’m going to give you options, lady. As I stated, I’m hungry, and that’s plural. Which are you willing to feed?”
Sylvia was frozen in place and unable to move. From low in his throat, there came a deep, “Emm, good choice.” Suddenly his warm mouth was over hers. His cold nose softly brushing her skin. She whimpered, feeling a capable hand at her back pulling her against him as he stepped into her front door. His warm, moist mouth tasting hers with proof to his hunger as his tongue entered to taste deeper. His body strong and hard, Sylvia noticed with her hands pressed against his chest. Easily he closed her door, never breaking the contact of his mouth on hers, turning her against it as it clicked shut. With her heart pounding, she found his other arm around her. Her body lifted against the door, pressed there by his large body. Her mind was racing with what was happening to her. She battled mind and heart. Her heart wanted him with a passion she could not deny. Her mind warning her that this was happening too soon. That she was being foolish to let him manipulate and mold her as he no doubt had done many others before her. “Nooo!” She twisted her mouth from his, breathing deep and hard.
“Please, stop. Let me down…please,” she gasped, breathless. With his pulse pumping and throbbing, Everett slowly lowered her to the floor, but did not break the distance. It felt so right, so good to be this way with her…to be close like this. “What’s wrong?” he asked with a deep, throaty timbre softly spoken, hoping to coax her back to another kiss. She couldn’t look up at him. He stood over her, his body against hers, his forearms against the door on either side of her head. She had to collect herself. She had to bring her racing heart back to normal…this was insane. “Please, move…let me go,” she pleaded softly, swallowing deep and nervous.
“Why do you keep fighting me?” he asked, lowering himself with the bend of his knees to see her face angled as it was, hiding. She had to put distance between them and pushed her way from the door, escaping the space he held her in. “Look, I didn’t invite you here for this. That shouldn’t have happened,” she said, moving towards the center of the room away from Everett. He turned to follow her across the room. “Why did it then?”
“Because, you…you did it.”
“You wanted me to.”
“No, I didn’t!”
“Yes—you—did,” he enunciated slowly in an attempt to make her admit it.
“Well, I-I don’t want it to happen again. I don’t know you. I don’t know what you’re doing. I don’t know what you want—”
“I want you.”
“Well you’re not the first man!”
“I don’t imagine that I am.”
"Look, let me tell you so that you know…just like them, I’m not the one. There are hundreds of women out there more than willing to do whatever it is you need done. I’m not one of them. I invited you over tonight as a friendly gesture. The offer is for dinner. Maybe a game of pool or cards…and that’s it. You helped me out and I appreciate it. But don’t you go thinking that you’re going to end up in my bed! Because it ain’t going down like that and I mean it!” she finished, feeling her old self return. She finally felt back in control. “Now you, sir, have an option. Dinner here under my terms—or take out?” She swallowed again, unable to shake the nervous giddiness his presence made her feel. Plus, her body was still tingling with the throbbing of her lips. He sighed deep, shrugging his shoulders to remove his jacket. “You drive one hard bargain, lady. Okay…your terms.” He tossed his jacket on the back of the recliner in the living room.
“And hang up that jacket,” she ordered good-naturedly.
“Yes, ma’am. You
mind getting the wine off the kitchen porch stairs where I left it?” he asked, doing as she requested.
“Sure, I can do that.” She turned away, blowing out a "phew" in relief.
He was hustling her. He should be ashamed of himself, but he wasn’t. She was leaning over the pool table lining up another shot, a triumphant grin lighting up her pretty face. He’d won the first game they played, pretending by luck, noticing her pool skills. Automatically, his mind injected the plan to hustle her in the game for a kiss. Just one more kiss. He couldn’t get that first one out of his mind. Nor the feelings it evoked. He hadn’t felt so shaken to the core since his very first kiss as a young boy. When for the first time, he had experienced his tongue in a young girl’s mouth. Back then, the kiss had been sweet because she had just removed a Charms cherry lollipop for the kiss, so yes…cherry sweet. The kiss earlier had been that kind of sweet as well, not flavored with the taste of a Charms lollipop, but flavored with something infinitely sweeter. Decorum be damned. He wanted another one. He wanted to feel that body up against his again. Her full, soft breasts pressed firmly against his chest. He wanted to test the weight and firmness of her rear in his hands again. He stood watching her, resigned to his semi-aroused state. If he dare let his mind go any further in the fantasy of her, he would find himself at a full erection and no way to hide it. She took her shot and made it. She had three balls left on the table to his six. She stood, did a cute little wink and double click with her tongue from the side of her mouth. Um-hm, lady. You’re smug now. Let’s see how smug you are when I sit you on that table with “Otis” nudging at your door, my tongue in your mouth, and the cheeks of your firm ass in my hands.
“Argh! I hate it when I miss an easy shot like that!” Sylvia exclaimed, stepping back from the table to give him his shot.
“Yeah, sure. Obviously you invited me here to show off what a pool shark you are,” he spoke as if serious but okay with it. Sylvia grinned. “Who, me, a pool shark? Not hardly. I just find the game enjoyable and relaxing. You play pretty good,” she offered, trying to keep from crowing at the high of whipping him in pool. She loved to win, and in this, she was doing just that. Or so she thought.
“Thanks,” he responded, just so, making a shot that looked unplanned by an amateur of course—and missed. The appropriate deep sigh followed. Sylvia bit into her bottom lip not to laugh out.
“You’ll learn. Just be patient, and draw the geometric lines in your mind. The cause and effect of alignment and impact,” she advised, trying not to sound like she was bragging on her skill.
“Oh, now I’m getting a lesson in physics, hm?” he grumped sourly.
“I'm just saying, besides, physics help.” She profiled with her stick lined up for a shot then winked at him, took it, and hit dead on with the ball taking the side pocket with a resounding knock at the rail before she sunk it. “What can I say?” Now that was a blatant brag.
He hid the sinister grin behind narrowed eyes. Obviously she didn’t understand the magnitude of that kiss. Nor the way it made him feel. If nothing else, this lady had his lust meter flicking madly in the hot zone. As much as he hated admitting it, it was much more than that. Than lust. I might have taken sympathy on you, lady, but there’s a lesson to be learned here, and "teach" is going to give you one you’ll not soon forget.
“Em-hmm. No big deal. It’s just pool...anybody can learn to play pool and win. If you ask me, it’s a game for wussies. If I wanted to, I could beat you. I just don’t want to,” he said, aimed and missed the next shot.
“Ach!” Sylvie sounded. “Say what? Wussies?” she simpered, then chuckled. “You just mad 'cause you can’t play,” she furthered. “I brought you down here, fed you that good and tender steak, and you know it was good—wudn’it?” she prodded for affirmation. He nodded, looking her in the eyes.
“Yeah, it was good, if I must say so myself.” Take it nice and slow…she’s about to set up the knock down…just let her lead you, and you follow her right in, he coached himself silently.
“Doggone right it was good! Nice, fresh-tossed salad. Perfectly baked potato, I might add and dessert is waiting,” she continued to boast.
You better believe it, baby, and it’s gonna be sweet, he thought in anticipation. “Now, having said that, the least you could do…” She had that black pride feeling raising its ugly head. Her gestures, drag and motion, just too confident. “I said, the least you could do, is take this whippin’ like a man. I ain’t gone hurt ya bad, just a lil’ spankin’. You like spankings, don’tcha?” She grinned, then laughed out as she set up the last two shots and sunk them both, and without hesitation she polished off the 8-ball in the corner pocket. Her finale was a little victory dance, crowing in her joy and laughter. Oh, but he played his part well. “Oh, I see how you are now. Didn’t your mama ever teach you when you play a game with a man, you're suppose to let him win?”
“My mama never taught me no such thing,” she returned, with hands on hips and attitude high.
"Well she should have. I could win at this stupid game if I wanted to. I just didn’t want to.” He played the sore loser role to perfection.
“Excuse me? First of all, the game is not stupid. Second, it takes time to develop the skill level needed to be a successful pool player. And…obviously you haven’t put that much time into it. Which is why—I spanked you—three out of four games. That first one was my warm up, or you wouldn’t have won that one either,” she continued, digging a deeper hole for herself.
“Skill my lily-white, hairy ass!” he shot, making Sylvia gasp in shock, followed by uncontrollable laughter.
“You gettin’ mad, ain’tcha? It ain’t nothin’ but a thang…you ain’t the first I beat. It don’t minimize your manhood none. Everything you came in with—you get to leave with. Pride might be a little bruised, but that, too, will heal.”
“Oh, that’s it! Round up the balls, set ‘em up! Rack ‘em up! Whatever the hell you call it, let’s go. My turn now!” He pretended to be wounded and ready to fight for his manhood. Sylvia was grinning, shaking her head. “I think that we should just forego anymore pool tonight and have dessert. I mean…it’s only going to get worse.”
“Oh, oh, oh! Scared now, aren’t you? Scared I’m gonna beat you at your own game!” he fronted. She rolled her eyes. “Honey chile', please. That is the least of my worries. I’m trying to save you from yourself. You couldn’t handle the last three whippin's. What make you think you can handle one more? Ain’t you sore enough?”
“Rack ‘em up!”
“You not gonna win. Come on, let’s have some dessert. You need to calm down.”
“You’re just afraid I’ll beat you, that’s all. I bet you I’ll win. I’ve been watching how you play, I can do what you've been doing.”
“You’ll bet me?” Sylvia asked, incredulous, then laughed as if he were crazy. Then thought, what the heck. I’mo have to teach this white man something right now.
“Okay, you rack ‘em up. I’ll even let you break,” she offered, relishing the thought of winning the bet.
“Wait, wait, wait. What are we betting for?”
“Darlin’, you can bet for whatever you want. You ain’t gone win. Skies the limit,” she bragged confidently. “It takes time to get where I am at pool,” she informed him again, then stated what she wanted, “I tell you what I want. I win…you have to keep my porch shoveled. Annnd, you have to keep my car cleaned off. If I’m going somewhere, you have to warm it up for me. I hate going out in the morning and getting into a cold car.” She shivered to emphasize the point.
“You keep your car in the garage!” he exclaimed, incredulous.
“I might forget and leave it out one day, and even in the garage, it’s still cold. No matter how early. If I call you…four in the mornin’ tellin’ you I got to be somewhere by five, you got to get out there and have that car warm for me. As a matter of fact, I want it warmed up, pulled out of the garage and parked right in line with the front door, so all I h
ave to do is run out and jump in. I want you waiting out there for me until I come, so you can hold the door open for me like a valet,” she finished, grinning with tears in her eyes.
He shook his head thinking, oh baby, it gets sweeter and sweeter. “You sure that’s all? I mean, maybe I should run and fill it up with gas, too!” he added, sarcastically.
Her eyes grew large. “Oh, yeah! I hate standing with that cold wind blowing as I pump the gas. Okay, yeah, that too. If I need gas, I expect you to take it and fill it up. Thank you, that’s a good one.”
“Ohhhh,” he growled deep in his throat.
“Hey, a bet’s a bet. You said it. Now when I win, you just follow through, no backing down.”
“No backing down?"
“No—backing—down. The bet stands, right here, right now."
“You sure about that?" he checked.
"I'm sure…sure!"
"You got it, lady, and you remember the same,” he added with calculating eyes. “Now, my turn for what I want.” His eyes, his gesture, his stance shook Sylvia deep inside, and for a moment she had a weird feeling come over her. The feeling, as if she might have been taken, but she shook if off. She was good when it came to pool. She would win. She knew she would.
Chapter Twelve
“Fire away…let’s hear it.”
“Immediately following my victory of this game, I’m going to take you by the waist, set you on the rail of this fine table here, part your legs and step in between. I’m then going to grab your hips and pull you snug and tight up against me—so you can feel for yourself what you do to me.” He gave her a moment to digest that, lifting one large hand before her. “Then this hand will be at your lower back holding you there so you don’t move away, while the other will be behind your head, pressing your mouth to mine as my tongue tastes tonight’s dinner and every hidden crevice there. You will not break the kiss! Only I can break the kiss, no matter how long I make it. So take a deep, long breath now, lady, because after this game, every breath you take, I will claim as mine. As a matter of fact, from this day forward, if I decide to grab you and kiss you, you have to let me. Again, I break it, not you. That’s what I want, and by the way, wherever it is that my hand wanders during the kiss, they have the freedom to wander, and again, you have to let them. Now let’s play your game.” A confident brow rose and he winked at her. Sylvia gulped. Next thing she knew, his whole manner changed. His focus was entirely on the pool table. He took the triangle ball rack, placing it on the table and lining it perfect with the correct side dots. Reaching down into the open slot, he retrieved the balls, placing them in the triangle according to the correct color, solid and stripe arrangement, numbers included. Next, he gave the rack a move forward, then back, stabilizing the balls and removed it with ease. Setting it aside, he grabbed his stick, the chalk cube and applied his desired amount of chalk to the tip.
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