Page 109 of The Hot Shot
Chess laughs and strokes my lower abs. “Elvis and Willie Nelson.”
“Jesus.”
“You know, if you colored your hair black, you’d make a pretty good young Elvis.” She blinks up at me. “Do you know ‘Hound Dog’?”
“Cute.”
“‘Jailhouse Rock’?”
“Now, Chester, ‘Don’t Be Cruel.’”
She pauses and then snickers. “I see what you did there.”
I roll over until I’m on top of her. “Oh, noes, I’m ‘Stuck on You.’”
“Oh, God, stop,” she laughs, her sweet tits brushing against my chest.
I work my way between her legs and settle in. “Do you ‘Surrender’?” I give my hips a small thrust, loving the way she squirms beneath me. “‘It’s Now or Never.’”
“No,” she declares hotly between her laughter, but her hips rock against my dick, urging me on. The thin fabric of her panties taunts me further.
I nuzzle her neck, and she shrieks. I nuzzle some more. “Man, you’re a ‘Hard Headed Woman.’ ‘That’s All Right’, mama, no need to get ‘All Shook Up’...”
“Argh! The cheesiness, it burns. It burns.” Green eyes glare up at me.
I grin wide, our noses nearly touching. “What? You want ‘ALittle Less Conversation’? Totally understand. I’ll just hang out here and be your ‘Teddy Bear.’”
“I give, I give,” she wails.
Grinning in triumph, I rest my head beside hers, my body bracketing her smaller one. “Don’t mess with the master.”
Her hands find their way to my back to stroke my bare skin. I hum with pleasure.
Chess runs a finger down my spine. “Who knew you were such an Elvis fan?”
“It’s my mom and dad. They used to play Elvis songs on Sunday nights when they cooked together. Pet me some more.”
Chess hums, a happy noise. “Your parents are too cute.”
“Did I mention they sang along?” I grimace. “I swear, that alone was responsible for half my teen angst.”
“My parents sang show tunes. They loved duets.”
“Fuck. You win.” I settle onto my side and bring her with me. If I linger any longer on top of her, my dick will get ideas that, frankly, my weak stomach and pounding head can’t handle at the moment.
Chess resting on me feels so good, I’m happy to stroke her hair and doze. But my brain won’t turn off. “Hey,” I murmur. “How did your dinner with James go?”
Instantly, she tenses, which makes me tense, too. I lift my head to peer down at her.
She’s frowning.
“Okay,” she says.
“That is the worst ‘okay’ I’ve ever heard, Chess.”
With a sigh, she flops onto her back and blinks up at the ceiling.
“Chess?”
