Chapter 34 Fawn
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
fawn
Everything is going perfectly.
Aurora is here! Her elegant posture and confident smile make me stand a little straighter. She is also a strong female role model for me. Maybe not quite a mother figure, but certainly an inspiration, someone to look up to.
And—Alceu likes me, and I haven’t tripped or said anything too silly or immature.
Things are going great.
Feeling pretty pleased with myself, I hardly notice Sir direct me through a door into a private room that is pulsing with the music of Elvis Presley’s Burning Love.
I squint through the dim area. Slowly, the lamps brighten, revealing a poker room and wall-to-wall wooden liquor cabinets.
“I can feel the patriarchy here,” I giggle, spinning to take in the masculine space.
“Should I be offended that Alceu wanted to talk about cooking with me? Because I wasn’t.
He was showing an interest in my interests. ”
He stares at me.
I smile at him. “Are you jealous, Sir?”
He doesn’t smile back; his look of absolute wicked intent causes a damp heat to gather between my thighs. I squirm. His gaze drops to watch my thighs rub together.
“Territorial, sweet girl. As you so teasingly pointed out earlier.” He shuts the door with a deliberate and profound click. How can a click have meaning? Well, when Clay Butcher is staring at me like he wants to eat me, that’s how.
He stalks towards me.
I back up, gasping with excitement when my thighs touch the poker table. “So,” I giggle from my chest, flooded with butterflies as the Don of the District approaches me. “Am I your traditional wife?”
“You are.”
“Wow.” I giggle again. “Who would have thought?”
He is upon me, in my space, dipping his head to rub his nose along my neck, chasing my raging pulse. “You find your accomplishments in being a good mother and wife. You cook and make our home comfortable. You have always been this way. This is not news to me.”
“It seems unimpressive,” I breathe.
“Do you see a man like me with a doctor or an athlete like a ballerina who trains most of the day?”
“No. I suppose not.”
Inhaling me, his fingers slide up my sides, igniting my skin.
“I find nothing more beautiful than having you create a home for me,” he admits, his voice deep and thick.
“I need you. You have always been the perfect fit for a man like me, little deer, but remember, you can do anything you wish. Anything you can dream of. I will make it happen.”
“I’m not very athletic, Sir. Or clever, like Shoshanna. Yearning for family was the hand I was dealt.”
“The hand you’re dealt means nothing. What you choose to do with it, is all that matters.” In a smooth movement, he spins me to face the poker table, his body coming up close behind me. I feel his heat. The dangerous pulse of his presence. His arousal silent, yet loud.
He reaches around me. With one hand, he spreads a deck of cards out, face down, in front of me along the green felt of the poker table.
"Take Poker.” His breath hits my bare neck. "The players are dealt a combination of cards. If you get the highest hand, the game is easier but not guaranteed. You then take turns betting, raising, or folding based on the strength of your hand.”
I hang on his every husky word, admitting, “I know a little about poker, know the basic rules. I know the king isn't the most powerful," I tease. “Just like in chess.”
To silence that facetious tone of mine, his hard cock presses into my backside, nothing left to the imagination, shutting me right up.
"It doesn’t matter what hand you have, little deer,” he says, plucking seven cards from the spread deck.
“If you can bluff, you can win. Let’s play a game.
I will close my eyes while you look at your cards.
If you can bluff me, I will let you come. ”
I place my palms on the poker table on either side of me to keep myself steady as he slides my dress up above my hips, bunching the fabric.
I imagine him closing his eyes.
Swiping a finger between my legs, he growls, “The material of your panties is soaking wet, sweet girl.”
“I can bluff,” I tell him as I look at the cards before me. A shitty hand. Two of hearts, jack of spades, four of hearts, ten of clubs, four of spades, five of diamonds, nine of hearts. So… a pair? Is that all I have? One miserable little pair?
His lips brush my earlobe, the words, "Bluff then," whispering past, rumbling through my spine, travelling to the ball of need at my core as two fingers draw tight circles on the wet cotton at the delta between my thighs.
My knees buckle.
“I don’t need to bluff,” I lie. “I have a good hand.”
While he hooks his fingers through my underwear, dragging them down my thighs to pool at my ankles, he practically purrs directly into my nervous system. "What do you imagine is the best hand?"
Ugh.
The one between my legs.
"Uh… The one you have when you’re winning," I say, biting back my gasp of excitement.
“Such a clever girl." I feel him moving behind me, unbuckling his belt, the leather ends tapping my back as he pulls it free and drags his hard cock out.
I feel the wet tip sliding along my lower back, leaving a trail of his arousal.
He presses his lips to my ear. “Let's see how well you can bluff your Don while you take his cock." Gripping my hip with one hand, possessing me, he feeds his cock into my centre, causing me to arch into the table, brace my hands harder, and swallow a long moan.
His low laugh rumbles against my back as my body trembles around his invasion. I palm the green felt, fingers opening and closing, fighting to stay still when he begins to slide in and out of my pussy.
"A royal flush beats everything else," he tells me, voice steady and controlled. “It’s an ace.”
He thrusts.
“A king.”
Thrust.
“Queen.”
Thrust.
“Jack.”
Thrust.
“Ten.”
His mouth traces a path from my neck to my shoulder, hot and deliberate, with each thrust pushing my pelvis against the hard edge of the poker table. “All. In. The Same. Suit.”
I see stars. "Oh, God."
"No, he won't help you."
I widen my legs.
Oh, fuck.
So good.
I’m royally flushed!
"Now, what do you do if someone raises?" Before I can register his words, he angles his hips, sliding against that spot that winds my muscles like a coil.
"I raise them back!"
"Not so quick. You need to evaluate. Are they bluffing, or do they really have a good hand? Is yours better? Make them simmer on your contemplation. Make them” —the hand on my hip snakes around my waist, down my trembling abdomen, to my clit where he circles and plays—“squirm."
"Oh..." A throaty moan falls through my parted lips. "I have a good hand... I raise. A very—" I gasp, and he thrusts. Plays. Thrust. Plays. "Very." Thrust. "Good hand."
Fucking hell.
Without so much as an uneven breath or an insolent groan to offer me, he claims me with the same targeted and meticulous attention he gives all his endeavours.
His warm breath hits my sweaty neck. "Your pretty little pussy loves my cock, sweet girl. The way you clench. The way you shudder. You can’t bluff me, even though your orgasm depends on it.”
Moaning, letting it all out while he holds the perfect poker-apathy, my orgasm swells within, causing my hips to work in circles—forwards to grace his fingers on my clit and backwards to meet his steady, detached but perfect drives.
My thighs tremble.
"Try again,” he purrs. “Do you like your cards?"
Hm. Cards, sure, sure.
I close my eyes as pleasure bubbles through my body, so close to boiling, so uncompromising and arrowed.
"You're so wet for me," he says as the slapping of his hips, the wet noise of him pounding into my wet channel, wild sex noises seem louder than usual because of his annoyingly still breath and even tone.
I want to come
"I want to raise," I beg. “I have a good hand, Sir. I do.” Ugh, I don’t want to play anymore. Want to come.
I feel his smile on my neck. "Try again."
You win, Sir.
You win.
"Tell me I can come,” I gasp and mewl, but can’t seem to allow myself to come undone. Need his permission. Need him to say the game is over. “That I don't have to pretend. I want to come.”
"Do you have a good hand?"
"No, it’s crap. Please, Sir, let me come."
His low chuckle vibrates through me, a physical sensation that travels from his chest to my spine. "Come."
Pleasure boils over within me, my vision going black but for stars and bliss.
My nails dig into the felt so hard they ache while my inner walls pulse and clench around Sir’s huge, thick cock.
Each thrust now sends aftershocks rolling up my spine, stealing my breath, sanity, and leaving nothing but broken gasps and trembling limbs and a terrible, terrible poker hand.
His hand leaves my clit, possessing my other hip as he works inside me, before holding himself deep and growling out his own release.
"Fuck, sweet girl." His voice breaks with emotion. The first crack in his poker-face since we started this game. While his cock pulses inside me, his forehead meets the top of my head. “Good girl,” he praises, panting. “That’s better.”
He lifts his head. “Now as you walk amongst those fuckers tonight, endearing them, letting them enjoy your pretty face and perfect legs, while you eat and drink with them, share your giggles and sweet smiles, you will feel my cum sliding into your knickers to remind you who owns you.”
I blush. “Yes, Sir.”