Page 33 of Hyde

I can’t help my smirk when I lean over to her, my whiskers barely touching her cheek. “That tight pussy’s all wet for me again, isn’t it?”

“Ha! You wish,” she sasses back, lifting her nose up in defiance.

“Tonight, I’m going to give you a little taste of what happens when you lie to your man,” I promise her. Catching sight of the waitress approaching with our food, I lean back in my seat and try to ignore the obvious sight of Leslee’s nipples as they make themselves known through her lightly padded bra.

Eating our burgers, I ignore the watchful gazes of bartender and waitress, unabashedly reaching over to push a finger past my girl’s lips at one point. Leslee’s amber eyes take on a hazy glow when she tentatively starts to suck my digit, but the quick flash in them should have warned me—I’ll blame the fact that my blood has all rerouted to my dick—and the nip that she gives me has me yanking my hand back.

“What do you want to do the rest of today?” I ask her, after seeing the twinkle in her eyes again. “Outside the cabin, my darling sex fiend.”

“Are you tired of me already?” she asks, her expression feigning a pained look.

“Never. And don’t you dare say:sex in the woods,” I answer as I try to stay a step ahead of her. I’m find it impossible to stop myself from kissing her when she looks annoyed that I knew what she would say.

“Bowling,” she replies when our lips part.

I laugh, thinking she’s kidding until I see the look on her face. “Really? Hell, I haven’t bowled since your eleventh birthday party.”

“That was my tenth,” she answers. “And you didn’t bowl, you played pool with the guys.”

“Because I hate those fucking shoes,” I tell her, but the second I see her cross her arms over her chest, I know we’re going bowling. “You know, when you squeeze your tits together like that, it reminds me that I haven’t fucked them yet.”

“Bowling or back to the cabin to try that, then,” she counters, standing her ground.

“Just remember,” I tell her, reaching for my wallet and tossing enough cash down to cover the tab and tip. “You aren’t ten anymore, I’m not going to let you win.”

“That won’t be a problem,” she sasses back, threading her fingers through mine as she hurries to meet my stride as I head outside.

Leslee

Joe’s shoulders are tight with frustration as he scans the table in front of him. I already know the outcome, but I’ll let him give it a whirl anyway.

Sometimes I drive Xander and his friends to the local bowling alley, and while I’m not great, as Joe said, he doesn’t bowl at all.

After he proved to be zero challenge at bowling, Joe suggested pool; naturally thinking he’d have the upper hand. And while he may play a few times a month, I was practically raised in a clubhouse. As a toddler, Dad would lift me up onto the table and tell me how to line up a shot. Some of my friend’s parents even have pool tables instead of dining tables.

I suggested bowling to fuck with him, but right now, as he’s about to lose his third round of pool to me—I’m hoping it’s really sinking in that I can hold my own in his world.

“Man, why don’t you move along and let someone who knows how to handle their stick have some fun with her?” Some big, sweaty dude sneers, bracing his hands on the table across from where Joe is standing before running his eyes up and down my body.

Joe slightly shifts before making eye contact with me and when I look down, it’s to see that the eight ball is now directly lined up between the pocket and the cue ball. He makes a clicking sound before he shoots and neither of us have to look down to see the outcome.

“I win,” I needlessly announce, clapping my hands in delight and crossing to kiss him.

“Winner gets to pick their prize,” Joe drawls out the words like it was his plan all along, and gives me a kiss when I wrap my arms around his neck; completely ignoring the cretin and a couple of his friends who have wandered our way.

“Breakfast in bed,” I announce just loud enough for our audience to hear, trying to keep a serious expression on my face—but I know my eyes are telling him exactly what I want.

“Only about nine hours between now and then,” he replies, shifting his left foot back, allowing him to bend and toss me over his shoulder. “Better get a move on.”

Holding onto the back of his cut, I smile to myself, happy that he doesn’t allow his ego to override his good sense and challenge a guy who probably knows half the men in the bar. Not to mention the local cops.

That’s the thing about Joe, he’s tall with wide shoulders but otherwise lithe enough not to look too worrisome. Men who don’t know him would probably feel comfortable picking a fight with him.

One of the, I’m sure,many thingsthat I know, that those men don’t? The result would be the same as if they had fought my dad. Considering he’s the one who trained Joe.

*

Getting back to the cabin, Joe seems determined not to touch me. Yes, I’m a bit sore, but it’s like my body is craving him and that’s more frustrating than any discomfort I’d feel by taking him again.

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