Page 20 of Shifted

"Don't tempt me." His hand moved closer from my back to fully squeezing my ass lightly as we continued forward to a table of men in black tie dealing away. We sit down as they all gaze at me.

"Princess, who invited you to the party.” One of the men speaks with his words, leaving me in disgust. He was older, maybe in his sixties, with a scar on his forehead and an overgrown mustache.

"Call me princess again, and you'll lose a few fingers." He smirked at me. “Feisty, eh? Pierre, your wife must play now, too." I looked at him, unsure. I knew this was a losing game, but for some reason, he seemed to trust in me that it would work. "No exceptions made, plus you have double the shot at winning." They snickered as I simply nodded at him.

"Deal,” I replied.

"Mrs. Donahue, I hope you understand that. This ain't no go fish?" The other man, who looked to be about 80 years old, mocked me as I sat. I could pretend this character, Mrs. Donahue, was a good poker player, and maybe then I would not lose as badly.

"I assure you, sir, I don't.” The cards were dealt, and I was given my hand.

As the game went by, I wasn't losing like the others, but I wasn't at the top either—not until my hand grew and I displayed my worried eyes, "Fold."

We all folded as all eyes turned to me. "Hate the game, not the players, boys." I collected the chips gracefully. "You make me look like a rookie, Elena." He whispered into my ear as his lips brushed my neck. That same tingly feeling caught my stomach in a whirl again.

"I used to watch my father's games as a child. I wasn't supposed to, but I did secretly." His hand traveled down my thighs, teasing my thong as I grabbed his fingers. "No distractions, Pierre. We must play." I won enough money to pay off some of my student loans and found a new love of poker. Sticking it to those old assholes also felt like a win.

He took my hand, leading me down steps to an oak room. A pool table was displayed as he locked the door behind us. "Are you trying to beat me at pool?" I teased, and he stepped away from the door, examining me as I leaned against the table.

"I was more so thinking about playing a different way." He stepped forward, taking off the strap that held the integrity of my dress.

"Hmm, and what way is that?" I ask as I tease his belt. His hands wrapped around my waist, reaching around for my ass, and he gripped it. “The way I lift you up and fuck you right here and right now on this pool table."

"You're right. I like that way better." My dress was lifted further up as my thong suddenly made its way past my smooth legs to the floor. He stared at me confidently as I unbuckled his belt and watched as his pants dropped to the ground. Lifting my dress, he pulled down his briefs, and within an instant, he thrust into me as his hand gripped the pool table, and I held onto his arms.

"Hope." he groaned breathlessly in my ear.

"Pierre, shhh, don't blow our cover," I whispered, giggling softly, leaning my head against him. As his pace grew, I grabbed onto him as I pressed my mouth into his chest. He swiftly lowered my bra strap and moved his head to my breast, taking me into his mouth as I gasped. He sinks all the way in as my legs begin to shake, "Fuck-" his hand covers my mouth as I moan into it to cover any noise that could be heard.

"Quiet, the others will hear." This time, he warned me as I held onto him breathless. I could feel myself pulse around him, growing closer. His free hand moves down and presses against my clit, and I almost scream out. The burning build-up in my gut releases, and we hold onto each other as he rides me out. Then, as we reach our high, his thrusts go slower.

"Hope…" His eyes gazed at me adoringly as my hands traced the tattoos against his slightly exposed chest, each of them with a deeper meaning.

"Yeah." I stared into his eyes as I grazed his light stubble.

"I love you.” He rasps out the words I've been dying to hear for days, months, and even years at this point, I've lost count.

"You're not just saying that because of the really good sex we just had, right?" He shook his head, sure about his words. His fingers brush back my hair as he holds my head to where his lips brush over mine, taunting me almost.

"No, no, it's not because of that." His arms wrapped around me, and he placed a kiss on my forehead. “It's because I've been waiting to say it forever." I rolled my eyes; what a cliche.

"Hope, what's going through that head of yours?" I duck my head down, but he ducks with me and faces me head-on, "You don't have to say it back. I know I just threw this on you."

"See, I'm just trying to figure out if you mean it or if it's just lust," I admit my worries. If he didn’t mean it and I returned those sentiments, I don’t know how I could move forward from that. I’d never loved anyone like him, and I’d never been with anyone like him.

He reached down to his pants instead of pulling them back up. He grabbed his leather wallet and pulled out a gum wrapper. "What is that?" He flipped it over and handed it to me. My eyes gazed at the date, which took me back all those years ago.

3/14/14, Denison

"I can't believe you still have this." I looked up at him, surprised, "You told me to write down a wish on one side, and you'd do it on the other."

"You peaked at my wish, didn't you?" I mused. I mean, I would’ve. It’s been about a few years since we’d written these wishes. I don’t think I’d be able to contain my curiosity, either.

"Well, all you wrote were the letters IWHLMB; I never knew what they stood for." I reached for the palm of his hand, facing it toward me.

"I" I began to trace each letter.

"W, wish."

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