by Radclyffe
She smiled lazily, feeling much better, but the fantasy in her head continued. Too soon to stop, she thought, as she envisioned herself in her own bed. Lyn’s shoulder would be against her cheek, their knees bumping and shifting until arms and legs got just right.
And she was falling asleep in Lyn’s arms, surrounded with the scent of her. It was the best fantasy of all.
Luck on the River
by Radclyffe
I leaned over the brass railing to get a better look at the feature table. The glaring television camera spots lit up the playing surface like high noon in the desert, while the rest of the room faded into gloomy darkness. I doubted Evie could see me, but I knew she knew where I was. Every now and then she glanced in my direction, and I could feel her gaze find mine. Surrounded by big men with big personalities and even bigger egos, she glimmered like a jewel in the midst of drab stones. She’d been playing twelve hours a day for six days, and she was tired. Her normally pale skin was nearly translucent now, stretched thin over arched cheekbones. The luster in her green eyes had faded, and even her red-gold hair had darkened to heavy copper. On an ordinary day, when she walked through a room, she turned heads. For the last forty-eight hours, she couldn’t step out of the elevator without being mobbed. Everyone wanted something from her—a comment, an autograph, or, under the guise of offering friendly advice, to prove they weren’t afraid of her.
They should be afraid. Eight players left out of a field of forty-three hundred, and she was the only woman to make it to the final table. I knew what it took for her to get there, because I held her through the nights, or what was left of them, when she jerked awake an hour or two after finally unwinding enough to fall asleep. Keyed up, exhausted beyond the point where real sleep was possible, she struggled to find the calm place inside where she needed to be to win. She was a pro; she’d earned her stripes in cash games up and down the West Coast, but she’d never played in the big tournament before. That was a strike against her. And she was young. Even though there were college boys younger than her who had qualified by whiling away their college tuition money playing poker on the Internet in their dorm rooms night after night. Another strike against her. And she was beautiful, which some took to mean she couldn’t also be smart, and she was a girl—my girl, which she made sure everyone knew. Strikes three, four, and five. More than enough to put her out of the game, but she was still in the running.
Only right this minute, her tournament life was on the line. She’d come in short-stacked at the beginning of play ten hours ago, and she’d managed to stay alive by betting smart and playing smarter, but she didn’t stand a chance of winning without a bigger chip count. She had to double up soon while she still had chips to bet with, and that’s exactly what she did. Because she played to win. She pushed the rest of her chips into the middle of the table and said coolly, “I’m all in.”
The room fell silent. One player folded immediately, leaving just her and the favorite. She looked poised and confident, when I knew acid had to be eating a hole through her stomach.
I tried not to be nervous. I trusted her. Hell, I loved her. But I knew how much she wanted this, how hard she’d worked, and how fucking tired she was. I grabbed the rail with both hands, willing her to feel my support across the twenty feet that separated us. I wished I could be standing behind her, rubbing her shoulders, whispering encouragement.
“I call,” her opponent said, and matched her bet.
Evie turned over an ace and a king, suited. It was a strong hand to go all in on, and I wanted to shout, Way to go, baby! Some people in the audience did.
Her opponent studied her cards, then her, and slowly turned over pocket aces. Fuck. The best draw in poker. Evie didn’t blink. I stopped breathing.
The dealer buried a card, counted out three, and turned the flop. A deuce, a jack, a king. Evie paired her king, but a pair of kings looked pathetically small against those two aces. Evie seemed composed, but she stood up, and her hands were clenched. The dealer buried another card and turned fourth street. Another king.
“Oh yeah,” I murmured. Evie’s three of a kind beat her opponent’s two pair. Only one card in the deck could beat her now, and that’s if the dealer turned an ace on the last card. The river card. And there was only one ace left in the deck.
“Good luck,” the favorite said to her, sounding as if he meant it.
“You too,” Evie said.
The dealer buried a card and slowly dealt the river card. A sigh passed through the room. An ace, giving Evie’s opponent a full house, aces full of kings, to her full house, kings over aces. Evie smiled wearily and held out her hand.
“Nice playing,” he said.
“Yeah, thanks.” Evie nodded to the others at the table as she walked away.
As soon as she stepped past the rail and into the crowd, reporters descended upon her, asking her how it felt to lose after coming so far. How did it feel to be the only woman still playing? Stupid questions that made me want to get between Evie and all of them. Couldn’t they see she was beat? I managed to shoulder my way up to her and put my arm around her waist.
“You did great, babe,” I said.
“I did the best I could.” She rested her cheek against my shoulder for a second, and I heard cameras click. “I’ve always had lousy luck on the river.”
Then she straightened, smiled, and gamely answered questions as we walked slowly toward the elevator, people crowding around us. Thankfully, we didn’t have to wait long and the car going up was empty. Everyone was coming down to hit the casinos or to watch more of the finals. As soon as the doors closed behind us, Evie sagged against me and buried her face in my chest.
I rubbed her back and stroked her hair. I couldn’t tell if she was crying, but if she was, she’d earned a few tears for all the blood and sweat she’d shed in the last six days. When the elevator slowed and pinged at our floor, Evie didn’t even move. I wondered if she’d fallen asleep standing up in my arms.
“Babe? Honey. We’re here. Time to get you to bed.”
Evie mumbled and burrowed a little closer into my chest. I wrapped my arm around her shoulders and kept her close against my side as I led her down the hall to our suite. I keyed the lock, got her inside, and turned the lights on low. She appeared a little dazed as she glanced around the room, then she gave me a sad smile. “I can’t believe it’s over.”
“It isn’t. There’s always next year. And plenty of tournaments before this one rolls around again.” I cupped her face and kissed her. “Come on, let’s get you undressed.”
I led her unresisting into the bathroom, turned on the shower, and undressed her—then myself. I guided her under the spray, turning her gently as I washed her hair. When I started to soap her breasts and belly, she closed her eyes and swayed a little bit, so I held her with her back against my chest with one arm around her middle. She rested her head against my shoulder and gently clasped both hands around my wrist as I lathered her breasts.
“Feels good,” she murmured drowsily.
“I know.” I kissed her damp cheek. Fact was, it felt great. We’d had a kid right after New Year’s, and Evie’s breasts were still as full as they had been when she was breast-feeding. Every time I hold her breasts, I think about how beautiful she looked with the baby in her arms, nuzzling her nipple. Watching them together like that, my heart used to ache at the same time as my body went crazy, and sometimes I had to leave the room just to get a grip. Sometimes I’d be so damn excited I’d have to go somewhere and just get off. My clit was jumping now just from rubbing soap over her breasts, and I knew my timing was off again. What she needed right now was sleep, not sex.
“Honey,” Evie whispered, “are you thinking what I think you’re thinking?”
“No,” I said quickly.
She pivoted in my arms and wrapped hers around my neck. “Liar.”
I massaged her ass and rubbed her back as I turned us under the hot water and sluiced the soap from our bodies. “Okay. I w
as thinking what you think I was thinking. But it’ll keep until morning.”
“You know what I’d like?” Evie said when we stepped out of the shower.
“What?” I wrapped one of the big fluffy hotel towels around her shoulders. There was plenty left over for me to dry her breasts and belly, and as I rubbed the soft white cotton over her, I felt myself grow firm again. I wasn’t going to keep until morning, but I’d deal with that after I took care of her.
“I’d like it if you put me to sleep.” She took the towel from around her own shoulders and blotted the water from my body. Then she pressed against me and put her lips close to my ear. “Make me come with your mouth.”
I kissed her and she melted into me. With an invitation like that, if I hadn’t known how close to falling apart she had to be, I would’ve boosted her up onto the granite-topped vanity and made her come right then and there. With my mouth. Just the way she likes it. But what she needed was to come hard, close her eyes, and finally get some sleep, so I took her hand and pulled her from the warm, steamy bathroom and over to the bed. I tossed a few pillows on top of one another and guided her down onto them so she was half sitting. She liked to watch me make her come. Then I dove under the covers and pulled them over both of us, leaving a tunnel around her belly so she could see me. Then I licked her.
Evie smiled and played with my hair. “I’m glad you were there tonight. I needed you.”
Her clitoris was a small, hard beating heart, and I kissed it. “I’m really proud of you, babe. You did great.”
“I wish I could have won for you.”
“You’ve won for me a million times. And not just at poker.” I brushed my hand up her stomach and felt her ribs too close to the surface. She hadn’t been eating right. I cradled her breast and used my mouth and teeth and tongue to suck and toy with her until she writhed against my face.
Her breath came fast and hard now, and her legs trembled against the outside of my shoulders. I played with her nipple, sucked on her clit, and slid three fingers inside her. She gasped in surprise and pressed hard against my mouth. That was her signal she wanted to come, and I knew she would if I kept doing what I was doing. If we’d been at home, on a Saturday night with the baby asleep and a lazy day ahead of us, I might have held her off. I could do that if I wanted, but not tonight. She needed this now, and trusted me to give it to her. I pushed a little deeper with my hand and set my teeth gently against the shaft of her clitoris. It was my signal I was about to make her come, and her fingers clenched in my hair.
“Oh, yes,” she whispered, and she came in sharp, wrenching spasms against my mouth that finally tapered off to slow contractions under my tongue.
When I was sure she was finished, I grabbed the covers and pulled them up with me as I stretched out by her side. She curled against my body, her head on my chest and one leg partially over my thigh. Sighing softly, she cupped my crotch and rested her thumb against my clitoris. That was usually her signal that she was going to make me come in her hand. My clitoris recognized the sign and got harder, even though my head knew it wasn’t happening. Not tonight. She’d be asleep in seconds, in fact from the sounds of her slow, even breathing, I thought she might be already. I held still because I didn’t want to wake her, even though every muscle in my body clamored for me to lift and thrust and rub against her hand.
Evie murmured something I didn’t understand and her fingers twitched on my clit. The pressure was almost enough to get me off and I held my breath, waiting for the next stroke. Nothing. Just my poor helpless aching hard-on held in the grip of the love of my life as she slumbered. I shifted my hips, trying to ease away from her hand because even the weight of her motionless fingers was more than I could take. The muscles on the insides of my legs were starting to cramp from the relentless tension, and the pounding in the pit of my stomach was all I could think about. That, and getting some relief.
I moved another inch and Evie jerked the way people do who are asleep but verging on waking up.
“It’s okay, baby,” I whispered. “Go back to sleep.”
“I didn’t get you off, did I?” she mumbled.
“It’s okay. I’m okay.” I stroked her hair and gently moved her hand from between my legs.
“You do it.” Evie’s warm breath tickled my neck. “Like it when you do it.”
I didn’t need a gilded invitation. I need to come so bad. I slid my hand where Evie’s had just been and groaned at how good it felt to drag all that thick, hot wetness over and around my clit. A few good strokes was all I was going to need, so I tightened my grip around Evie’s shoulders and closed my eyes. Evie must have felt me stiffen, or maybe I moaned, because she twitched awake again.
“Coming, honey?”
“Uh-huh. In a second.”
She surprised me by reaching down below my hand and sliding her fingers inside me.
“Wanna feel.”
I had my clit worked up to the point where nothing could stop me from coming, but when she amped up the pressure inside, I just shot off. I grabbed onto Evie and yelled so loud they probably heard me out in the hall, but it felt so good, and when I started coming she started fucking me and then it was more than good. It was great and I was thrashing and crying and begging her to just keep please keep fucking me. And she did until I was boneless and completely fucked out.
“You know,” Evie sighed, her hand still inside me and her thumb hooked around my clit, “I might have lousy luck on the river, but coming home to you means I always end up a winner.”
“I’ll be there after the last hand is played, baby, no matter what,” I whispered.
Evie was already asleep, but I knew she heard me.
Winning Hand
by Karin Kallmaker
“Better luck next time.”
I turned to stare at the woman who had just passed me in the hall. “Were you at the seven-card finals?”
She didn’t pause, but said over her shoulder, her chin brushing the mink casually draped there, “I was watching on closed-circuit.”
She was fifteen feet away from me, and farther away by the second. “Do you watch me often?”
That made her turn around. The hotel’s opulence was compromised by the housekeeping carts that dotted the hallway. I needed to check out before the cut off. Needless to say, after my losses at the tables, I couldn’t really afford another night’s charge.
She fiddled with her Gucci bag. “I watch you every chance I get.”
I was aware of my suitcase in my hand, my leather jacket tucked under my arm. I was getting out of town and she obviously wasn’t going anywhere.
She was staring. Given her chic dress and air of someone with places to go and things to do, it seemed out of character. However, since hitting the big time on the poker circuit, I’d attracted a few fans, some of whom offered more than their admiration.
In that long glance we shared, I thought about a couple of different things. I’d counted on winning more than I had, and private stakes games had also gone badly for me. I was going home with far less than I’d come with, and for the first time in my life, I’d been playing with money I couldn’t afford to lose. It ached, the losing, when it hadn’t before.
And I was thinking about home, and I knew I had to go back. I wasn’t seriously debating that. Every day my mother stayed at the hospice was a larger bill I was going to have trouble paying. My kid brother couldn’t be trusted not to slip a paper in front of Mom to sign, giving him more of her money and some of mine to feed his meth habit. I had a day job waiting for me, unlike most high stakes players, because poker didn’t give a steady enough stream for insurance and taxes and Mom’s medical bills.
Sometimes I wanted to run away from home, and certainly heading out to these tournaments was an escape. Coming home with cash made it a legit way to spend my time. I was fully intending to go back home, back to my responsibilities. So okay, I wasn’t exactly Skipping-to-My-Lou to do so.
And I was thinking that this woman
thought I was the Big Time. Thought I must fuck as good as I played cards. I wasn’t a quickie kind of gal, though, never had been. I wasn’t crazy about the players who’d take a break, pick one of the dewy-eyed girls out of the crowd, and disappear for fifteen minutes. I looked at her, and I could tell what she was promising, and I didn’t want to be one of those guys.
But she wanted me to be one of those guys. Part of me wanted to tell her that I was a little insulted by her presuming I’d fuck and walk. The rest of me was thinking this could be the best thing I got out of this trip to Vegas, that I could smell her on my fingers during the flight back to San Antonio.
If we both got what we wanted out of fifteen minutes, did it matter if it was different things?
A housekeeper emerged from a room in between where we stood staring at each other. She moved on to the next room, swiping the lock with a card key and disappearing inside.
She hadn’t made sure the door of the room she’d just left had closed completely…it was slightly ajar. Before a puff of recirculating air blew it fully closed, I quickly pushed it open.
After a glance back at her, I walked into the room. I didn’t have to look to know that she’d followed me.
I made sure the door closed.
My first thought was that she was a little younger than she looked from a distance, not exactly a compliment to her makeup and hair designer. But the difference between forty and fifty didn’t matter to me. I pushed her against the wall. The mink slid to the floor along with her handbag, and she yielded completely to me.
When all the players sit down at the table, it’s a swirl of motion and chatter, posturing and positioning, everyone planting their early bluff. When the cards were dealt, the players quieted. TV cameras became invisible, the drone of announcers was silenced, the cacophony of bells, alarms, wheels clacking, and a thousand voices talking all at once faded into the background.