Page 72 of Center of Gravity
“Not a chance.” He gave me that maddening close-mouthed smile that was almost arrogant.
I ran a hand over my collarbone, watching him as I let my fingers drop to pluck and twist at the barbell through my nipple until his smile sobered. He may have had a decent poker face at cards, but when it came to my body, he was all tells. It was my turn to smirk. Until he laid down his cards.
“Didn’t you literally just have three of a kind two hands ago?” I tossed down my measly two pairs and unbuttoned the top of my jeans, adjusting in the process so the growing bulge that lay beneath strained at the top of my zipper. “You’re rigging this somehow.”
He chuckled. “That’d be virtually impossible.” After raking up the cards, he shuffled and dealt a new hand.
“So who are these guys you play poker with? Work buddies?”
“Just some other guys who live in the same complex.”
“What do they do?”
Rob’s fingers paused on top of his cards. “There’s a lawyer, a sales rep, some tech guys, a banker, Scott—we usually play at his apartment.”
“What’s he like?”
His head tilted to one side. “He’s nice. Divorced, two older sons. Nice guy.”
“You said that twice.”
“Well, heisnice.” The corner of his mouth tipped up. “You get a tiny line between your eyebrows when you don’t like something. It’s not quite a frown. More like the idea of one that you’re holding back.”
I brushed his index finger away as it lifted to caress the spot.
“You’re jealous.” He laughed, seeming humored by the idea and completely non-threatened.
“I’m not,” I groused. “I don’t get jealous.” But I was, imagining Rob hanging out with a bunch of other guys who all had their shit together, everyone laughing and joking and in their element.
I threw a chip from my diminishing pile into the pot and studied my hand. I checked and when he raised, I picked up a stack of chips to match it before biting at my lower lip.Clickwent the ring against my teeth. His attention snapped up as if the sound were a gunshot. I loved the Pavlovian effect it had on him. “If I win this hand, I want to fuck you.”
Rob’s half-lidded, soporific gaze widened with alarm, like I’d told him I was about to hit him or something.
“Wow, I take back what I said about your poker face. That was a tell a mile wide. Do you hate bottoming that much?”
He tried to brush it off with a wave of his hand. “No, it’s not that I hate it, it’s just…” He grimaced and went quiet for a second as if trying to choose his words carefully. “It’s just that it doesn’t seem like something that should be a transaction.”
I both understood what he meant and didn’t, especially when it came to us. Wasn’t that what we were? One long transaction of orgasms served and taken. He scrutinized my face and exhaled a sigh, straightening on the bed and tossing his cards aside. “Fuck, I said the wrong thing, didn’t I? I made you feel bad for asking?”
Yes.He had, and if we got into it now, this fragile thing we’d created was liable to collapse, and the night would be ruined. It wasn’t his fault that I didn’t want to keep my dick in my pants around him. Wasn’t his fault that I wanted more out of it when he’d been clear from the beginning. Our relationship felt like something composed of thin filaments strung together with sex, and I was just as much an instigator as he was.
I hesitated, the concern in his expression melting away some of my prickliness. I didn’t really fucking care if he bottomed for me right now, but I wanted to know the option was there, and he hadn’t said it wasn’t.
“Nah, I’m good.” I jutted my chin at his cards. “So what’ve you got?”
He gave me one more long look, as if doubting I meant what I said, before he flipped his hand in my direction. My full house had his straight, which meant the last button on his shirt was mine. I tossed my cards aside and crawled across the bed, pulling the cards from his hand and tossing them too as I straddled him.
His gaze fastened to me as I slipped the button free and pushed the shirt off his shoulders. “That’s not a hard no or anything,” he murmured, eyes falling shut as my fingertips danced over his collarbone. “Fuck, that’s good.”
I nipped at his earlobe, trailed my mouth across the underside of his jaw, and opened his pants. His fingers slipped between my parted lips and I sucked them until he groaned and pulled them free, wedging his hand inside the leg of my boxers and slicking them against my hole. Nerve endings sang and heat rushed through me. He circled and teased my hole until my cock was leaking and my hips were chasing his movements, trying to force him inside.
“You’re such a fucking tease,” I moaned the second before he plunged one finger in me and made me gasp.
“Only because I love the way you look when you’re flustered.” He pulled my mouth to his, tangling his tongue with mine. I felt him kick free of his pants.
“Likewise,” I panted.
“Get these off,” he growled, pulling his finger from me so I could shuck my boxers. Instead, I sat up and snapped them back into place with a smile. “You didn’t say please.”