Page 4 of Ctrl Me
I stood, my legs shakier than I liked. The electric shock of Gabe ordering for me, and perhaps orderingme, swam through my blood. While my cock wasn’t hard anymore, it wasn’t exactly soft.
This was a date? Holy shit. He wantedme?
Gabe stretched his arms above his head and revealed a glimpse of his tattoo. I so wanted to know where the rest of that design went. Now I actually had a chance to find out. Maybe trace it with my tongue. Jesus. Heat rose to my face and to my dick. “I thought pros liked real boards?”
I suspected Gabe knew exactly the effect he was having on me, but he didn’t show it. “We do. But so few places have corkboards anymore. Gotta practice somewhere.” He put some cash in the machine. “Have you ever played cricket?”
“That the one where you try to get three points on the high numbers?”
He nodded and selected the game. “Fifteen through twenty, plus bull’s-eye.”
“I’ve played that. I’m really good at hitting the low numbers.”
He snorted, then backed up. “Show me.”
I stepped up to the line and studied the board. Twenty was straight up. I aimed and threw . . . and the dart bounced off the wall next to the board. Heat rushed to my face. “Told you.”
Gabe fetched the dart and straightened the tip. “Wall doesn’t count. You still have three shots.” He handed the dart back.
Great. I swallowed and willed my pulse to settle down. My next throw hit the machine’s board, but not in the ring.
“Again.”
The next time I hit the two wedge. Then the eleven. I’d never felt more like a failure. “I’m really not—”
Gabe held a finger to lips, and I clammed up. “Were you aiming for the twenty?” He pulled out my darts.
I nodded, throat too tight to speak. Of all the things we could do together, he had to pick the bar game I was abysmal at. Why not pool? Hell, shuffleboard was better than this.
He gestured for me to come over, and I did, though my feet felt like lead.
“Honestly,” he said, “you look like someone kicked your dog. You’re not hopeless.” He took me by the shoulders and turned me toward the machine. “You just don’t know what the fuck you’re doing. Big difference.” He grazed the back of my neck, the part exposed by my ponytail, with his fingers. “Stand right here and pay attention to what I do, how I move, when I breathe. Understood?”
Between his touch and his voice, I had no fucking choice but to say, “Yes.” It came out in a near moan.
His breath caught for a moment. “Good,” he murmured, then picked his darts off the table, strode to the line, and threw. Three times. I tried to take it all in—the way the dart levitated from his hand, his back leg coming up, that he inhaled right before he threw, the intense focus in his eyes, the set of his mouth—all of it. I didn’t know how it would help, but my God, the man was beautiful.
The beeping of the machine barely registered in my brain, but when he was done, he pulled out his darts.
Bastard had closed the twenty wedge. “Before this night is out,” Gabe said, “you’re going to close the eighteen.”
“You’re out of your mind.”
“Am I?” He switched the darts in his hands, then returned to the line. “Come here.”
I went. God, he was hitting all my sub buttons. Did he know? Part of me hoped so, the other part was fucking terrified. I didn’t want him to turn out to be another asswipe of a Dom. This wasGabe, for God’s sake. Mycoworker. Who handed me my darts, took me by the shoulders, and pointed me at the board.
“Remember what you saw me do, pretend you’re going to throw, then freeze when you’d normally let go.”
I did, and he clicked his tongue. His hands landed on my hips and he rotated my lower body an inch or two. Then he moved my arm and wrist. “Like this. Feel the difference?” Holding my waist, Gabe brushed his fingers over the junction between my jeans and my tucked-in button-down.
I did feel a difference in how I stood, in the way the dart felt—everything was balanced. Stronger, somehow. But his fingers? They had my cock at full attention. “Gabe? That’s—” I shuddered when he gripped me tighter. How many of my fantasies had involved Gabe touching me, but with far less clothing between us? “That’s really distracting.”
“Good.” He pulled my shirt out of my waistband. “You need to be distracted.”
His fingers found the flesh beneath my shirt, and I nearly dropped the dart.
“Come back to standing.”
