Fifty-Two Pickup: Aces (Jessica Rogers Book 1) Page 4

  "I certainly have no claim on you, but it's kind of weird since you're from out of town. I mean, I know in California, you obviously date. But here, in Hartford? It's not like it's a big city."

  "I know. I know. It's just this fifty-two thing. I'm committed to accomplishing my goal, even if I have to go on a few sketchy dates and take a few chances. I'm weird. I hope you still like me?"

  "Are you going to get that?" he asked.

  My phone had chirped. Hell. I looked at the screen. My sister.

  Her text read: Can we expect you for Zachary's baptism?

  I should have turned off my phone. I didn't want to deal with this issue, nor with my sister. Hell, I'm on a date!

  Text: I'm about to have dinner. Date. Hot guy. I'll text you tomorrow.

  Text: It's a simple question Jess. It's FAMILY.

  It's not family I'm uncomfortable with. I don't go to churches. You know this.

  It won't kill you.

  I'm not going. I'll come to the house.

  That really breaks my heart.

  I'm sorry.

  Manipulative bitch. My sister. "I'm sorry about that," I said to Kirk. "It was my sister."

  "Not another stalker?" He said this light heartedly. It was a good thing, too. My sister gets my blood pressure up and I might have taken it out on him.

  "No. My sister wants me to go to my nephew's baptism. I told her I'd go to the house. I don't go to churches. It's not my thing. She should respect that. But she doesn't."

  "I'm sorry."

  "So much for foreplay and starting the evening in a good mood. I need a drink."

  "Coming up. We'll drink enough to forget the problems of the day."

  I put my hand on his knee and then stroked his thigh. I needed the distraction. He responded with a smile and turned the music up. We made the rest of the drive without speaking a word. He held my hand for awhile and stroked my hair a couple of times.

  It's the little things men do that make them so irresistible.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Life in Lubbock, Texas, taught me two things: One is that God loves you and you're going to burn in Hell. The other is that sex is the most awful, filthy thing on Earth and you should save it for someone you love.

  ~ Butch Hancock

  Ancient cultures often had foods that women were forbidden to eat. That sounds ridiculous, but modern cultures haven't changed entirely, powerful men still endeavor to dictate how we use our bodies. Fuck them to the lowest level of Hell.

  ~ Jessica

  THE SOUTHERN BARBECUE WAS SENSATIONAL. I love eating a messy meal that requires finger licking.

  Kirk watched me suck thick barbecue sauce off my hands. "You missed a spot," he said as he reached for my wrist. He slowly put my fingers into his mouth, one at a time. He wrapped his tongue around each digit and sucked them clean.

  I was hot between the thighs and ready for something sweet.

  "Dessert?" he asked.

  "I'll order you dessert off the room service menu," I said with a wicked smile and a wink.

  "Is that how it's gonna work?"

  "Yup!"

  "Waiter! Tab please."

  He'd made me laugh many times during dinner. It was exactly what I needed after the earlier drama (which had all been forgotten by the second drink). I love a man with a sense of humor, especially if he's got a good sense of timing. And he did.

  Handing our waiter his cell phone, he said, "Could you get us in a before picture?"

  "Before what?" I asked.

  He looked at me with lustful bright eyes. "Before...you'll know the 'after' when it comes."

  I'll have to admit; the man was damn sexy, and I was ready to find out how the dessert was going to taste.

  I HAD BARELY KICKED MY SHOES OFF and locked the door when Kirk slammed me against the wall and kissed me. Whiskey, and perhaps a lingering scent of smoky barbecue sauce flavored his kiss. He flipped his tongue into me like a gymnast, and I could feel every inch of his eager cock against my stomach. He rocked himself into me, the wall held me firm, and his power overwhelmed me.

  I kissed back with my own kind of power. I bit his lower lip and pulled his hair. I wanted his face in my face, connected, touching, our sweat mingling as the smell of lust filled the air.

  His hands were strong, yet soft, clean, manicured, and beautiful. I loved the feel of his fingers across my ears, down to my neck, and back to my face.

  My sex was hot, wet, ready, filled with anticipation. I clenched my pussy tight and moaned.

  "I want you," I breathed, the words coming like a sultry whore begging to be fucked. Nothing about Kirk made me feel cheap, however, and nothing he did made me uncomfortable or slutty. The opposite was true: I felt more beautiful than I'd felt in a long time.

  He stopped and stood back. He gazed at me like a wolf while he took off his coat. He took his sweet ass time unbuttoning his shirt, and then, with a smile like a shark, he pulled it off. I stood motionless while he undressed.

  "More," I said. I could see his erection standing tight against his slacks. "More. Now, all of it."

  He kept his eyes on me while he slipped off his shoes.

  He stared deep into my eyes while he undid his belt, which caused my pussy to clench involuntarily. My body was overheated, on fire, and filled with the ache of lust. I watched him drop his slacks, slide off his underwear, and stand there.

  He stretched his arms.

  Biceps: Carved and etched.

  Stomach: Six-pack, and hairless.

  In fact, his body was well manicured from head to toe. He'd manscaped, too. Wow, I could see how the sweat sparkled in the low lighting, and I enjoyed the contrast between my image of him as a businessman in a suit and the hard-body stud standing completely naked in front of me.

  It was empowering watching him become so vulnerable to me.

  I moved towards him, but he stepped backward. "Fair's fair. You're way too beautiful to be hiding so much skin."

  My dress hit the floor.

  He moved to me and undid my bra. He kissed my neck. I melted again. As he moved his lips slowly down my neck, I grabbed his muscular ass and squeezed. He was shaped like a statue carved in stone, but his skin felt soft, new, and fresh. I loved that he'd shaved his face. Our cheeks touched, and the feeling was frictionless, like a smooth, exotic massage.

  I moved my hands up his back. He moved his hands to my ass. I squealed like a schoolgirl.

  "That tickles!"

  "Good, I found a vulnerable spot so I can torture you later."

  "You're already torturing me."

  "Bed?"

  "Bed."

  He followed me, and we pulled back the bedspread. I don't exactly like fucking so often in hotels, but when your life is on the road, you get used to it. I had candles, at least.

  "Could you light the candles?" I asked as I headed to use the ladies room.

  When I came back, he was propped up on pillows. Candles provided the only light, and he'd used his iPhone to start a playlist.

  "You have a sex playlist?"

  "Of course. Doesn't every guy?"

  "God, you're sexy."

  "Thank you, but I'm not God. I'm better in bed, however, so it's your lucky night."

  "I'm banking on that."

  He pulled me up onto the bed and laid me onto my back. Apparently, his little overnight bag had a small Bose wireless speaker, which was piping sex music into the room, and massage oil, which he was pouring into his hand. A natural and spicy scent hit my nostrils, and a sense of peace filled my mind.

  He rubbed, massaged, and kneaded me.

  Goddamn if I didn't fall asleep at some point, but when he rolled me over and got to the Mons Venus, pushing blood into my lady parts with each stroke of his hands, I was beyond being awake. I was fully alive. I began to speak, "I --"

  "Shhhhh..." he whispered.

  I shut my mouth, but he opened his, and I felt his tongue touch my clit like a butterfly landing upon an orchid. It was maddening. I ju
st wanted--needed-- him to fuck me. "I need you to -- "

  "Shhhhh...." He went back to my pussy after reminding me he was in control. I was going insane. The slow, fluttering of his tongue over my tiny, swollen bundle of nerves: it was nirvana and heaven both.

  I grabbed his hair and pushed him into my triangle, into me, down, and hard. I moaned, and he moved his tongue faster, deeper, and harder. He moved his shoulders under my thighs and lifted my legs. His hands grabbed my ass, pushing upwards, clamping my sex to his mouth. I was being devoured.

  He lowered my legs so he could use his fingers, and I felt the first finger enter me, like an explorer going to plant a flag of conquest. He moved slowly at first, but then he curled it up into my g-spot and stroked while keeping the action going harder and faster on my clit.

  I approached a peak. "I'm so close. I'm so fucking close."

  He moved a second finger into me. His pinky slid, it touched my bud, not penetrating, but applying enough pressure to mix up the signals in my brain.

  His tongue worked my clit viscously, like a starved animal feeding on my lust, and the two fingers in my pussy worked, in-out-in-out, so that my g-spot tingled. My ass clenched. He brought his other hand up to my right breast. He must have been a yoga master in another life.

  His fingers on my nipple were wet--whether from his body or mine--I didn't know. What I did know was that my nipple had been hard, aching, and longing. I responded by swelling more, causing my back to arch, and my legs to quake.

  I felt the beginning of the orgasm in my core. It started up, inside me, where his fingers worked magic, and then moved to my clit, which was still being played like a musical instrument with his thumb. He sucked and licked while I came in an explosion.

  "Holy fucking...fuck...God! Oh! Oh! Ahhhhhhh." I squirmed. I was still convulsing when he kissed my neck. He'd moved to my side while still holding me, and after kissing my neck, he moved to my ear.

  "You're delicious," he whispered.

  The earthy sound of his voice, so close to my ear, made me shake again. I got goosebumps up and down my body. Both of my nipples were swollen, aching, and wanting more. I desired to kiss him at that exact moment, so I rolled over to my side and took his face in my hands.

  "That was wonderful," I said between pants.

  He didn't speak, but kissed me, instead. We kissed slowly and gently. We touched each other.

  When my breathing slowed, he rolled me onto my back and mounted me. Spreading my legs apart, he slid his cock into me, like a dragon entering its lair.

  "That is so incredible," he said. Maybe to himself. Or to the sex gods, it didn't matter, I would have said the same thing, but I couldn't speak.

  The feeling of a man's being and essence entering me for the first time is special, and I always wonder if a first time will end up being: 'The First Time.'

  Which first time would end up being a stepping stone on a long path?

  I didn't know--but I wanted this memory to be a special--and it was...perfect and dreamy.

  "Touch yourself," he commanded.

  He lifted his body up by his arms and thrust himself deeply inside me.

  I gasped.

  He moved steadily, but not too fast. He leaned down, kissed my lips, and then pulled back. He looked at my face and said, "Touch yourself and come with me.”

  I placed my hand on my clit and pushed. Nobody knows my clit as I do, and it was already wet, hot, and swollen before I laid a finger on it.

  I lost myself. I panted, moaned, and worked myself to another climax.

  As I was coming, I heard Kirk cry out. He opened his eyes and caught me watching him. He smiled. "Come again," he said between moans of pleasure. "Let it go..."

  I screamed out, literally, like a wild animal. I was in a unique world--a parallel universe--when I climaxed again. My fingers brought my sexual lust to a peak while I clamped down on his cock with my walls of pleasure.

  He remained inside me as he moaned in the joy and craziness of his release.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Poker is a microcosm of life precisely because it is the most intellectually complex, emotionally rich, and social game we've ever invented.

  ~ Arthur S. Reber

  Do you know why they don't have million dollar chess tournaments? Because an amateur has zero chance of winning even a single game against a chess master. But in poker, even a complete moron can bust out a world champion. Poker is a game of skill, strategy, observation, and patience, which has been vigorously spiced with luck.

  ~ Jessica

  SATURDAY MORNING ARRIVED TOO QUICKLY—unlike my lover the night before—who seemed to have pretty damn good timing. He'd left sometime early in the morning. I smelled coffee brewing, heard the shower, and I'm reasonably sure his kissed my forehead and said goodbye to me in a soft voice.

  I appreciated that he let me sleep. The tournament start time was four, so I needed to leave Hartford at two, maybe one. I hate the anxiety of being late for important events.

  I had a hangover feeling, not from drinking too much--although I'd had a few drinks--but from the adrenaline rushes the night before and muscle fatigue.

  Oh, no, I'm not going to tell a tale of making love all night long--as if that's even possible without the use of drugs, but I'd had two supremely satisfying climaxes. On top of the sex, he’d given a skilled massage. The real story of how the night ended isn't so romantic: I'd been so relaxed, and felt so peaceful, I hadn’t even brushed my teeth before falling to sleep. Good sleep improves my poker play, so I was feeling extra confident.

  The phone rang and I thought, Oh, crap, my sister…calling--not texting--and I knew I had to answer in an attempt to keep the peace between us.

  "Hello, Eve,” I said into the phone with an ‘I just woke up’ voice.

  "Am I getting you at a good time?"

  "As good as any. I just got up. If I sound cranky, it's because I haven't had a second cup of coffee yet."

  "You shouldn't drink so much caffeine. It's bad for your heart."

  "Yeah. Okay. Thanks."

  "So, about the baptism. I know you don't like church. God still loves you, Jess. Even though you've rejected him, he hasn’t rejected you. He's very patient.”

  "Jesus...are going to give me a sermon?"

  "Jessica, please. I hate it when you are so flippant. I know-- "

  "Stop. Let's agree to disagree, okay?"

  "Okay. Can I count on you to do the right thing and be part of the family and come to the baptism? Spend the day with us? Please? It's hard enough with dad gone off to, to..."

  "Fuck Thai women?"

  "Jess!"

  "Well, it's true. And good for him."

  "I don't want to talk about it. I miss him, warts and all. And, with mom gone, you're about the only family I have coming. You and Harry are it on my side. Ray has a big family, over twenty people are coming from his family, plus a lot of his friends will be there. So, I'm not asking you for that much."

  "I'll be at the house. I'll be part of the day. I'm just not going into a goddamn church. I'm not."

  "You're so like dad."

  "What's that mean?"

  "It means that after mom died--you and dad--you two became the bitter twins. You both say the ugliest things about an important part of my life. It was important to mom. She's looking down now, I know it, and it's not fair. It's not fair that you and dad are so bitter and so against the church like that was what killed her."

  "Fuck."

  "Jessica."

  "No, really. Fuck. I'm not giving into this bullshit guilt. Mom's dead. She's gone. Dad's available sometimes. He is what he is. But what good is church going to do me? Nothing. It won't bring mom back. It won't change our father into the happy Sunday School grandpa you want so bad. It's not going to happen. Maybe you need better friends."

  "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "Nothing."

  "Don't say nothing. You meant something. I don't like this side of you."

  "I'm d
one arguing about it. I have a tournament in a few hours. I need to prepare my mind. I'll be there for Zack. At your house. Or whatever restaurant -- "

  "It's at the house. Like always. Ray's parents are catering. I guess I'll see you there. Don't embarrass me."

  "What?"

  "You heard me."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "Your stupid..." Silence. Silence. Silence.

  "Yes?" I wasn't going to let her off the hook that easy.

  "Your thing. Your lifestyle. Dad told me about your plan. Dating all these men you meet online or at bars or whatever. It's not healthy. You're being dangerous. And it's embarrassing explaining it to people."

  "It's none of their fucking business."

  "People ask about you, Jess. They remember you. Mom's old friends. Ray's family. I'm not going to lie."

  "Don't lie. Tell them to mind their own fucking business."

  "You're a sad person."

  "What?!"

  "You are hiding. You know in your heart what you need -- "

  "I have to go." I cut her off and hung up. I'm not going to listen to the same shit over and over. If her version of reality is the right one--hell and the whole fire and brimstone thing--I guess that's where I'm going to end up. But I'm not changing my principles for her, for our old church, for my dead mother, or for any god that doesn't show up and talk to me face to face like a man. No more bullshit.

  I did breathing exercises and yoga to get my head ready for poker.

  CARDS WERE IN THE AIR at the appointed time. I enjoy playing at Foxwoods, in spite of the Red Sox Nation folks, Tom Brady fans, and other Northwestern and East Coast nerds, hot heads, and stuck-up rich. Hell, I live in Los Angeles. Y'all are the crazy ones.

  I'd put my sisters bullshit out of my mind completely.

  I'd spent an hour on the phone with my poker coach. Uncle Harry. Last name Potter. Yes, I know. He was born in the 1950's, who knew? He’s my mom's older brother. Her name was Patricia Potter, so other than the weird alliteration; I don't think it was ever an issue with her.