Page 56 of Playing to Win

“Izzy, please.”

“Please, what? Huh?”

Before I can think of the right words. Before I can tell her she was more beautiful than ever when she was naked, that kissing her was like my entire world breaking from the safety of orbit and spinning into outer space, her name is called by the guy running the karaoke.

She tugs her hand out of mine and makes her way to the stage. I move into the group as Sarah, Becky, and Madge start whooping and whistling.

The music begins to play and I recognize the track right away. Cher’s “Just Like Jesse James.” Izzy stands on the slightly raised stage. She is looking down when she first starts singing. It gives me a chance to think, Hot damn, this girl can sing. When she dips into her lower register, her voice is husky, yet soft, with a British lilt. It drives straight to my groin without stopping to look for hazards.

When she glances up, there is no mistaking the intent in her eyes or who she’s aiming her words at. Her voice grows sterner as she calls me out with the lyrics of the track.

The others start to talk about how good she is. Then I hear a few comments about Izzy and me. Someone asks if I’m certain there’s nothing going on between us.

All I tune into is Izzy, as she sings, “If you’re so tough, come on and prove it.”

One night.

I push aside everything running through my head, telling me this is a bad idea. It can’t be one night. There’s tomorrow, in the gym. She’s just another Alice. You’re setting yourself up for a painful letdown.

Tilting my head back, I drain the last from my bottle of beer, and pull my wallet from my back pocket. I slap sixty dollars on the table for the next round and make my way across the bar, with only one thing on my mind.

She watches me make strides toward her. Her voice falters but she keeps singing. I step onto the stage and take the microphone from her hand. “So, you want to know what my loaded gun is for, Izzy?”

As she looks up at me, her lips part, and I think she might have stopped breathing. I wait, praying that this is going to end the way I want it. My heart is thumping so loud she must be able to hear it. My entire body is charged with desire. I want her. Hell yeah, I want her.

Eventually, she nods.

I lift my hand to her cheek. She watches me, unmoving, until I slide my fingers into her hair. She closes her eyes and I press my mouth to hers. Her lips are as soft as I’ve been remembering. Her taste, something that’s delicious and distinctly her, is mixed with wine. It’s a heady concoction.

“I’m taking you home.”

She opens her eyes and licks her lips. “One more,” she says, before grabbing my T-shirt and pulling me to her. She kisses me in a way that makes me need to get off this stage.

I take her hand and lead her through the bar, noticing how her fingers seem to fit between mine, as if we have been holding hands for years.

There’s a breeze outside that blows her hair from her neck and whips her perfume past me. I pull her into my side as I hold out a hand and flag a cab.

The cabdriver tries to make conversation. I respond on autopilot, not registering his questions or the appropriateness of my responses, desperately willing my dick to relax, which is not helped by Izzy’s fingers slowly tracing the line of my erection over my jeans.

She keeps going until I can’t even pretend to listen to the driver. I hook her leg over me and squeeze her ass as I fuck her mouth with my own. We make out like teenagers who’ve never kissed before. I run my hand down her leg and over the bare skin of her foot.

“When we get back, I’m stripping you of everything except these shoes.”

“You noticed them, huh?”

“Izzy, I notice everything about you, even when I try not to.”

The cab stops outside our building. “Go inside and strip down to those heels.”

Her eyes seem to grow heavy as she looks at me then gets out of the cab. I pay the driver and follow her in. I watch the elevator numbers descend as it comes back down from dropping Izzy at the twelfth floor, damn happy right now that the thing is finally fixed. It gives me a chance to pause and just breathe. I need to calm down or this will be over too quickly. As I stand here, rational thoughts try to pierce my lust. I push them away. Not now. Not this time. This is happening.

Upstairs, the door is open. Izzy’s apartment is lit by lamplight only. A heady song, maybe Sia, is playing in the background.

I close the door behind me and step into the empty living room. I hear her footsteps and watch as she walks along the hallway toward me, naked but for those sinful heels. Her legs are endless. I follow them up to her bare pussy. She’s slim, but her waist still dips into an hourglass. Her small but perfect breasts bounce gently with each footstep. Her nipples are only a shade darker than her flesh, and they’re ready.

My cock feels uncomfortable in my jeans but I stay where I am and let her come to me. I pull my T-shirt over my head and slip out of my boots. My hands ache to feel her skin.

“Is this how you wanted me?” she asks. Her voice is hoarse, low, and drenched in sex.

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