Chapter 14 Wesley
Wesley
Fuck the plan.
Madison gapes, eyes wide as she takes in the cavernous space.
All around us, machines blink and whir, singing their siren calls to entice people to spend their coins—or credits now, I suppose, since payments have gone digital.
“How is there no one here?” she says softly, like she doesn’t want to be too loud and get us caught in case we’re not actually allowed.
The caveman in me thrills in having her like this—no one else gets to see the tiny fucking skirt she chose in order to drive me crazy, or the tight, deeply cut jumper giving me more than a flash of mouthwatering cleavage, or the tights with a few wide holes that make me imagine ripping another one somewhere for convenient access…
Mine.
“I know the owner.” Not strictly a lie—we met recently when I handed him a giant wad of cash.
“And he helps you with your game?” she jokes, grinning at her own pun.
“Only when my reputation for being fun is at stake.”
She laughs. “It’s a little post-apocalyptic,” she remarks, glancing around at the colorful lights, sending warring rounds of music into the air around us. Usually the chatter and laughter of other patrons would drown it out and it wouldn’t seem as discordant. “It’s creepy as fuck.”
Doubt starts worming in—did I miscalculate?—but then I see the smile on her lips. “I love it,” she breathes. “And I love arcade games. How did you know?”
Because I’ve saved every conversation we’ve ever had, and on August 12th at 8:07 PM, you said that you weren’t really into RPG computer games because you grew up on old school arcade games.
“I had a feeling you were the competitive sort.”
She sends me a sly look, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Is that, like, the polite, British way of calling me argumentative?”
“Well, I did hear from a very reliable source that you’ve been called a troublemaker. A menace, even, if I recall correctly.”
Her grin widens, still impish but even more pleased.
“Damn right. My tío used to take me to a place like this when I was little and I wouldn’t let him take me home until my name was every top score in Pac-Man.
So it’s on—and don’t think I’ll pretend not to know how to play something and let you rub all up behind me to ‘teach’ me,” she chides, dashing those hopes.
She must see it on my face because she winks, “If you want to do that, you’ll have to earn it. ”
I take a step towards her, gratified when she remains in that spot, head tilting up to watch me come.
Because I can’t help myself, I reach out and tuck a wayward lock of hair behind her ear, letting my hand fall to cup her jaw.
I watch my thumb stroke softly at the very edge of her mouth.
“And how do I earn it? Shall I win you a teddy bear?”
She swallows heavily, eyes clouding with desire as they scan my face.
When she speaks, I can feel her lips moving against the side of my finger.
“A teddy bear wouldn’t hurt.” Before I can react, she turns her face to the side and closes her mouth around the tip of my thumb.
She swirls her tongue around it, eliciting a choked noise from deep in my chest. With a sultry grin, she releases me.
“But I meant that you’re going to have to show me something really special. ”
Oh, fuck me. Blood pounds in my temples and shoots down to my extremities.
I let my thumb slide down so that my hand is cupping the front of her neck.
Her intake of breath is sharp, and her pulse throbs against the pad of my finger, fast and hard.
Excited by how close we are, or by where my hand is? Both? I’d take both.
“Gladly,” I murmur, cocking a smile as I levy another challenge into what is already a charged exchange. “Try to keep up, hmm?”
Eyes locked on me, she bites her full lower lip and I groan aloud, wishing like hell she’d do it to me.
With a coy grin, like she knows exactly what she’s doing to me and getting the exact effect she wants, she dips a finger into the waistband of my trousers, just behind my belt buckle, and tugs my hips closer.
“Don’t even think about claiming you let me win when I beat your ass. ”
All the blood in my body shoots down to my dick. I’m half-tempted to say fuck it and drag her into the manager’s office where there’s surely a couch or desk I can bend her over…
No. Stick to the plan, Wesley. Not only is her face lit up with child-like excitement and joy, but there was meant to be a very specific order to the night.
Play some games and feed her the best sushi in the city—her favorite food—to put her in a very good mood, then break the news about her life being in danger and all that…
And that’s not to mention the fact that when I finally have her, it won’t be as Peter fucking Smith. It’ll be my name she’s screaming.
Still, I can’t let her get away with this kind of teasing, or I’ll be half-hard all night—like any brat, she occasionally needs a reminder that her actions have repercussions. If I have to suffer through an aroused state, so does she.
I tighten my grip slightly, making her eyes widen in surprise that quickly melts into heat. Oh, fuck yes. She likes it a bit rough. And the tattoo on the back of my hand makes a fine necklace for her lovely neck.
“I don’t plan to ever go easy on you,” I murmur, lowering my head until our lips are almost brushing. I can feel her warm breath on my mouth—can practically taste it, “That’s what safe words are for.”
A small shiver wracks her body, and she licks her lips, touching mine ever so slightly with the very tip of her tongue.
“Good,” she declares. She pulls back on my wrist, and I begrudgingly let her go, hand clenching around nothing.
Dancing away and pivoting, she tosses me a look over her shoulder. “You coming?”
“Only if the night goes really, really well,” I mutter without thinking.
She throws her head back and laughs, sauntering away towards the row of Skee-Ball games, and I adjust my hard cock before I follow.
Taking position next to her, I swipe the card the manager gave me on both machines and the balls release towards us.
We both grab one, and I toss it gently to get the weight of it.
“Ready?” she challenges.
I nod. She throws first, tossing with an underhand motion, and launches hers too hard. It misses the small hole marked Jackpot! at the top right, bouncing off the edge and landing at the bottom in the return that gives no tickets.
“You’re supposed to aim for literally any of the other ones up there, I believe.”
She huffs and rolls her eyes. “All right, nerd. You’d better not be all talk after that…”
The taunt dies on her lips as I overhand throw the ball straight through the Jackpot!
She’s gaping when I turn for her reaction. Seeing my smug expression, her eyes narrow and she crosses her arms. “Oh, I see how it is,” she declares. “You’re a cheater.”
“Am I?” I return, grinning even wider.
“I don’t know how you do things across the pond, but you’re not supposed to throw the balls like that—you’re supposed to roll it along the ramp so it hits the bump and flies up.”
“Hmm.” I reach down and take the long string of tickets, folding them and pretending to count my winnings. “Look at that. Turns out it’s all the same to the machine.”
Her lips twitch, and she looks very much like she’s trying not to give in to what I’m sure feels like a childish impulse to chide me for my behavior.
“You are competitive,” I observe with a laugh at her obvious frustration.
She lays a hand on her chest primly. “I am a rule follower at heart—”
“I very much doubt that,” I snort.
“—unless I think that rule is stupid,” she amends. Leaning down, she grabs one of the balls and shoots me a sly look.
Unexpectedly, she jumps up onto the ramp, trots over to the board and deposits the ball directly into the Jackpot hole.
The smirk she sends me over her shoulder sends a zing of energy and excitement through me.
With a hearty laugh, I bend down and toss her the next ball that rolls out so she can drop another into the Jackpot.
And with that, our truce is formed.
It’s actually more fun finding ways to game the machines and cheat our way to jackpots than it would have been to have a legitimate competition.
Any task that involves aim is no match for our teamwork.
We toss aside the mallet in Whack-a-Mole and use our hands.
We shake the coin pusher until it drops half its quarters.
We count the seconds in the Stop The Light game, playfully but seriously arguing over the timing until we get it perfectly.
By the end of the hour, we’re both riding high on the slightly illicit feeling of cheating our way to the prize section.
She hops up on the counter next to the cash register and leans back on her hands, kicking her feet and scanning the wall of brightly colored stuffed animals hanging from hooks.
“I want…” Her eyes dart across them, settling on one with a smile.
She shifts forward and points. “The pink and purple dragon.”
I let myself behind the counter through the swinging door and dutifully start feeding the tickets into the return counter. We have so many I can barely hold them in one hand. After I satisfy the price, I pull down the stuffed animal and hand it to her with a flourish.
With a wide smile, she takes it in both hands, sitting it on her lap and admiring its fuzzy purple face. “I love him,” she declares, tapping the hard plastic nose. Looking up, she nods at the irregularly folded handful I’m holding. “And we still have a lot of tickets.”
“Pick something else. Looks like they keep the expensive stuff in the case,” I observe, looking down through the glass. “Want a neon pink hoverboard? Ages 12 and up.”
She snorts. “So it can break as soon as I step one foot on it? Pass.”
“A USB-powered desk aquarium?” I suggest, doing a double take as I read off the box. What in the world?