Page 164 of Charlie

"Do you want to make another deal?"

"What is it?" he asks gruffly, his jaw set, ready to refuse me.

"If I can sink every ball without a miss, we return to the hotel now."

He looks at the twelve balls left on the table. "Deal. But if you don't, we wait the full twenty-four hours for you to heal."

Fuck. This was a mistake. "Fine," I grind out, chalking up my cue and mapping out a plan of attack. The chance of this working in my favor is practically nil. I pick off the outliers first, cleaning up the table so I have a clear shot at the balls clustered in the center. I aim for the solid orange ball first, watching with my fingers crossed as it ricochets in a corner and sinks home into a side pocket. Four to go. I miss the shot with the blue-striped ball, but the gods must be looking out for me because it knocks the red one in. A light tap is all that's needed to get the blue-striped ball into the pocket this time.

Now only the eight ball is left, tucked into an edge, making for a nearly impossible shot. All three guys are holding their breath as I walk around the table, looking at every possible angle. I have two crappy choices. Either I forfeit now, or I work with the only angle I have, which means shooting with the cue behind my back and risking losing and looking ridiculous. I go for the only real choice, my cheeks heating, knowing I'm about to look like an absolute d-bag.

"Don't fucking laugh," I warn them, swinging the cue behind me and backing up to the table. I hold my breath as I line up the shot, pray to any gods that might be listening, and then tap the ball. I feel my soul leaving my body as it inches along the edge of the table and teeters on the edge of the pocket. Jack loses patience and slaps the ball into the pocket, grabs my hand, and pulls me out of the bar.

"I hope you're fucking ready, Sassenach. I'm bringing out the ropes tonight."

91

My entire body is buzzing, ultra-aware of the Ann Summers bag swinging from Lach's fingertips, of the warmth of Jack's hand against the bare skin of my back, the slow sweep of Cam's thumb over the inside of my wrist. My breathing becomes ragged, my heart in my throat as we enter the hotel lobby.

"You okay?" Lach tips up my chin, studying my face.

"Just a little nervous," I admit.

"We don't have to?—"

I press my finger against his lips. "I want to."

He nods once, accepting the truth in my answer. "Maybe a massage before we start will help you relax."

"Yes, please," I smile, standing on my tiptoes and pressing my lips to his.

We pile into the elevator with another couple, the tension unbearably thick by the time we get to our floor. Jack sees the tremble in my steps and scoops me into his arms, grinning.

"A little turned on, are we?" He laughs softly, carrying me into the room and setting me down on the bed. "Breathe, mo chridhe. In. Out. In. Out." I follow his guidance, taking deep, slow breaths until my heart doesn't feel like it will explode anymore.

"Jack," Cam calls, "Lach says to give Charlie a massage. We're going to take a quick shower." The bathroom door snicks closed before he's finished talking.

"I wonder why they're in a hurry?" Jack chuckles, sitting down next to me.

"Would you let me do that?" I blurt, mortification taking hold the second the words are out of my mouth.

"Let you do what?" he asks carefully, standing to pull off his sweatshirt. My mouth goes dry as I look up at him, at the way the light caresses his golden skin, highlighting every peak and valley. I clear my throat, forcing myself to look him in the eyes.

"Fuck you."

His throat jerks as he swallows. "I'll try anything once," he says, the huskiness of his voice doing funny things between my legs.

"Anything?" I raise my eyebrow, surprised by his answer. He sits down again, and I climb onto his lap, straddling him.

"Maybe." He shrugs. "This morning changed my perspective. I'm going to need time to examine that. But right now, what I want to do is see if I can make you come without touching your pussy." He pushes my sweatshirt off my shoulders, letting it drop to the floor. Callouses scrape over sensitive skin as he slides his hands up my torso and under my bra, lifting it over my head. I arch into his touch as he palms my breasts, his low groan raising goosebumps. I drop my hips, nestling his hardness at the apex of my thighs. He grips my hips, sliding me against him until he's nudging at my opening.

"These sweatpants are way too fucking thick," I pant, rolling my hips. His grip tightens, holding me still.

"If you don't stop, I'm going to rip those sweatpants off and fuck you until your pussy is strangling my cock," he says roughly, his muscles rippling as he pulls himself under control. He tosses me onto the bed without warning, taking hold of the ankles of my sweatpants and pulling them off in one hard tug. "Up," he murmurs, sliding my panties down when I raise my hips. "Stay,” he says, his hands warm on my waist as he turns me over.

*Jack's POV*

I can hardly bear to leave her there for two seconds while I look for the goddamn shopping bag. Her gaze burns my back, flames of naked desire singeing my skin. I spot the bag and snatch it up, pulling out the butt plug and the candle. Matches. Fuck. I rummage around in the nightstand drawers, then the desk, and finally find some in the console table drawer.

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