“Didn’t figure you’d want an audience because when I win, I’m bending you over this table.”
“Ha. You mean if you win.”
I grin at her as she goes over to the sticks, taking her time in choosing one.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d think she’s trying to hustle me.
The bar empties out and it’s just the two of us.
I go over to the jukebox and turn it down. “You want the music off or on?”
“On. I’ll rack.”
I shake my head at her and move behind the bar for another beer. Popping the cap off I stare at my wife. Dressed in a pair of dark tight denim jeans with the knees ripped out and a white V-neck tee that hugs her tits. Her dark hair is swept up on her head, and all I can think about is tangling my fist up in the silky strands again. Taking a long pull from the bottle I cross the room and see how she did racking the balls.
“I’ll let you break. C’mere.” I sit my beer on a nearby table.
Ainsley moves around the table looking sexy as hell. Her jeans are lowcut, and I can see hints of my brand on her hip. The sight makes me hard. She’s goddamned beautiful and she knows it.
“Stand right here,” I instruct from behind her. “Now lean forward and hold the stick like this.” I move over her small fame, guiding her fingers into position. “Hit hard, but not too hard.”
“Like this?” She looks over her shoulder, pushing her ass straight into my crotch. Win or lose I am fucking her over this table. I don’t give a damn what she says.
“Yeah. Just like that.” I grab her hips and thrust.
“Abel, stop. This is serious.”
“Fine.” I step away and hold up my hands. “I was going to take it easy on you but have it your way.”
“Thank you.” Pursing her lips, she resumes her stance and takes the shot, managing to sink two balls.
She’s good but not that good. I’m down to the eight-ball and she has three balls on the table. “Better run the table or the game is mine.”
“Shut up and stop distracting me.”
I lick my lips and finish off another beer. If anyone is distracting, it’s her swaying those hips and wiggling her ass at me every time she moves around the fucking table. She’s damn near hypnotizing.
I don’t stand a fucking chance. I haven’t since I first laid eyes on her laying in my brother’s bed at the Roadhouse covered in my grandmother’s quilt. I knew then that I wanted her Axel be damned. He’s my brother, and I love him, but I love me more. I’m a selfish prick, and I’m going to make her mine in every way that counts.
Chapter 7
Ainsley
“What are you doing? I can’t stop the smile from creeping across my face as Abel hooks an arm around my waist and kisses my neck. “I won. That means we do this my way.”
“Technically speaking. I won. You didn’t call the pocket.”
“That’s not fair.” I squeal when he tickles my ribs.
“Who said anything is fair in love and war? Now get these off.” He hooks a finger through the belt loop of my jeans and jerks me forward.
I gape at him. “You can’t be serious. What if someone walks in?”
“They won’t. I sent them all away, remember?”
“Aren’t there cameras in here?”
“Yup, but I’ll erase them later. I’m claiming my prize.” Abel fumbles with the button on my jeans and proceeds to unzip them. Dropping down he takes my jeans down my legs with him leaving them at my ankles. I kick my boots off and turn around, placing my palms on the green felt table.