Covered Edges

Chapter 18

I gulp, "T-today?"

He nods, "mhm, and you're dressed perfectly for it too."

I glance down at my outfit; it was a chillier spring day, so I had on a knitted over-sized sweater with a tank-top underneath and a pair of dark skinnys, not too many items and not too little. I wasn't worried about my clothes though, all I could think about is trying to remember what underwear I put on today. I look over Damon's apparel, seeing that he's chosen around the same amount of garments as me with a white v-neck accompanied by a red flannel hanging open over black jeans that hug his thighs.

Damon patiently waits for me to complete my thoughts, an amused twitch playing about his lips. He totally thinks he's going to whip me and leave me stripped without having to even remove his shoes. I can see it on his smug little face; well, he has another thing coming to him. I want to play now just to show him not to underestimate me; and, also, naked Damon is probably a sight to see. I bite my lip to hold back my smile then nod back to him.

"I always come prepared," I respond.

"We'll see Kitten, it shouldn't take me that long to strip you bare like the trees outside."

"Bring it on."

He guides me upstairs and towards the door I very much remember from the dinner night tour. It opens wide revealing the same game room, and I look to my right to find the large pool table with two cues already set out, ready for battle. There's no lights in the back outside of a single long lamp that runs above the table, giving off an orange iridescent glow. Damon brushes my fingertips as indication for me to follow him towards the back of the room. I step up a solitary stair step to the ledge the table sits on. The green felt of the board looks almost unused, and the balls, already positioned inside the triangle, glisten. Damon tosses a cue to me along with a chalk block. He stares at me intently while rubbing the blue dust over the tip of the stick, and I try my best to look calm and collected. I shouldn't have anything to worry about, I do actually know how to play, but the determination in his eyes make me second guess how well indeed I can. Damon's shadowed face smirks at me from behind the light while he blows off excess chalk from his cue. He waves his hand over the board,

"You can break."

"How generous of you," I say sarcastically.

He walks over to the same end as me and leans in, "That's the last time this game I'll be so kind," he says deliberately slow.

I blush and lean over the table. He removes the triangle as I line up my shot. I pull back, then snap my cue into the pile. Balls scatter across the board, and a stripe falls easily into a back socket. I grin proudly at Damon and I can see the entertained look on his face.

"I guess that makes me stripes."

"Rightfully assumed," he says before he knocks off both his shoes, kicking them to the side.

I look quizzically at him. He notices and says, "Socks and shoes go as a pair darling, there's only so many balls, and I'd like to have you completely undressed by the end of this game."

My cheeks blaze, "In your dreams, Black."

I walk over to my chosen position and sink another ball and Damon removes his socks. I stay in the same place and hit another into the corresponding side socket. He walks behind me and drapes his flannel over my head. I look up at him, annoyed, and blow a piece of hair out of my face while I shrug off his shirt. He looks completely relaxed and unaffected by my shots while he leans leisurely against the wall. I walk over to my next shot, directly in front of Damon, and lean over the edge, trying to align the cue-ball with stripped number nine.

"I could watch your ass bend over my pool table all day," I hear Damon mutter behind me.

I inhale sharply and unsurprisingly miss my shot. Shit.

"Well well well, looks as if it's my turn to play."

I spin around, "Cheater! You said that to purposely mess me up."

"You should learn to not be affected by such trivial things then, Kitten," he jokes while patting my cheek before walking past me.

I brood to the side while I watch him take his first shot. He leans down, shirt hanging loose and jeans stretching tighter. I gaze at his arms, watching the muscles tighten and relax while he aims his cue. His hair dips in dark waves that glow under the lamp and fall over his face. His jaw clenches rhythmically as usual when he tries to concentrate, and his tongue travels quickly across his bottom lip.

Essentially, I'm melting in a pool of seduced bliss, and I'm almost, guiltily, hoping that he'll make the shot so I can watch it all over again.

With a 'pop' the white ball skims across the board, landing a solid in. Damon doesn't move, but glances at me through his lashes as I kick off my converse. He continues to sink two more, effectively removing my socks and sweater. My nerves pick up and I'm unfortunately remind why I don't want him to do well, no matter how hot he looks shooting.

He sinks another and stands, resting his weight against the tall pole. His eyes watch me with wild anticipation.

"Now we're getting somewhere," he says in a deep, throaty tone.

I stand paralyzed: shirt or pants, shirt or pants? I decide on pants because at least my tank should come down far enough to look like a dress: a really, really short dress. With trembling fingers, I unhook the button to my jeans and pull down the zipper.

It's just like a bikini. It's just like a bikini.

I keep reminding myself. I peek up at Damon. He's waiting with a plain expression, but I could sense his eagerness from a mile away. I look back down; I'm wearing a pair of light blue satin underwear with lace trim. Oh thank heavens.

Then, a solution pops into my head. The only way to make him miss is to mess him up like he did to me: with distraction.