I suddenly feel ten times more confident and make eye contact with Damon, keeping a sultry gaze. I hook my thumbs into the sides and shimmy down my jeans, tantalizingly slow. His eyes widen and he slips off of the cue, forgetting he had his whole body resting against it. After he regained posture, I had kicked my pants out from underneath me and allowed the end of my tank-top to rest at my hips instead of tugging it down. Swishing my hips, I saunter towards him and mentally scold myself because I know how embarrassingly uncharacteristic this is of me; but, I have to win. And by the way his longing gaze is trailing me I know I'm doing damn well at distracting.

I'm standing next to him now; his eyes are dancing across me.

"Still your turn," I say sweetly, peeking up at him through my lashes.

He keeps his cool composure, "Your level of observation is through the roof," he says arrogantly before bending over again.

I feel an annoyed twitch tweaking my eyelid; I want to shoot back, but I know I can't. He seems relaxed, and I'm about to give up on my plan until I notice something, or, more so, don't notice something. His jaw isn't clenching, which means he isn't concentrating, which means he isn't focused on his shot. I did throw him off his game, now I just need to complete the task to make sure he'll miss. Because, even if distracted, I'm pretty sure Damon's pure strive to win will pocket his next shot.

Leaning over the table, I arch my body in the most appealing manor possible and scoot in. I can hear the sharp intake of breath and feel Damon's body go rigid. He glances to his left quickly to get a peek, then resumes aligning his cue. As one final safety measure, I wait for him to pull his arm back before looking into my shirt and saying,

"Wow, have they grown?"

His cue strikes down into the green felt, scuffing it up. It just barely hits the white ball, not enough to even hit any surrounding ball let alone put one in a socket. I smile triumphantly and Damon sinks against the board, deflated. I walk over and grab my cue and skip back over to the table. He looks up with hooded eyes and begins to stand.

"I know what you're doing," he growls, clearly affected.

"What? Stripping you not only of your clothes, but of your dignity as well?" I reply in a cheery voice, delighted with my performance.

He makes his way over to me in record speed, and before I can protest, his mouth is on mine, kissing me with a fiery passion. I can't help but melt immediately. Damn my hormones, and damn Damon Black for being the best damn kisser. Damn it.

He breaks the kiss, and I just stare at him, breathless. He looks pleased with himself, and he kisses my nose before turning away.

"I'm not too worried."

"Mhmm," I hum before sinking my next shot.

I watch Damon leisurely pull his v-neck over his head, and I wait anxiously to spy his glorious body underneath.

Wait a second, "Hey, you didn't tell me you had a tank top on underneath!"

His white wife beater stretches across his toned chest, hugging in all the right places.

"Disappointed, are we?" he asks with a smirk.

I look back to his defined torso and bite my lip, "Not particularly."

I resume my turn and sink another ball. He unzips his jeans and rolls them down. He's focused on shrugging them off his feet, while I'm focused on his tight Calvin Klein boxer briefs: charcoal grey and, like the tank, hugging in all the right places.

I feel myself literally beginning to drool, so I promptly look back to the board and shoot at my next ball before he can do anything to screw me up. The cue-ball smacks against my desired stripped one, bouncing it against the opposite wall, and landing it in the front socket. I simply stare up at Damon and give him a flirtatious wink. He smiles wickedly and ever so delicately dismisses his shirt. I gawk at the lean, beautiful man before me in almost all his glory. It really is unfair how good he looks, and out of all the adjectives I could use to describe him, only one comes to mind: dimensional.

"Enjoying yourself?" he asks.

"Quite."

I only have one more ball, that's it (and the eight ball to win the game of course). One lonesome stripped ball just waiting to rejoin his companions, and who am I to refuse? Unfortunately, it's placed in a tricky position, and it's going to be hard to hit this right: hard, but possible. I lean over the board, keeping my hands steady and shifting my cue back and forth, testing the shot.

Suddenly, I feel warmth against me as something, as hard as this shot, rests against my behind. I yelp in shock and try to move, but Damon holds me down by my back, resting a single palm on top my spine. I feel him lean in, hovering his weight over me, and desire shoots through me as his chest grazes my shoulder blades, and his lips brush against my ear.

"Purr for me, Kitten," he whispers.

I try to regulate my breathing, but as his hands travel down my sides and grasp my hips, I know there's no way I'm going to make this shot. I pull back my arms, and he nips my earlobe right as my cue flings forward.

I hit the white ball, and it spins about forty degrees the wrong way. There was no chance.

"Shit," I curse silently to myself.

Damon silently chuckles and tries to play off his act, but I can see the desire lurking beneath his eyes. He wants more. Before I realize, he had sunk his shot and staring at me, running his fingers through his hair.

Well, here goes nothing.

I grasp the end of my top and peel it over my head. I'm standing in front of him in nothing but my light blue satin underwear and pale pink bra, both with lace trimmings to match, so at least I got that going for me. I stare at the wall, clenching one arm by the other draped across my stomach, too embarrassed to glance his way. I can feel my cheeks heating getting brighter by each passing second. My prior confidence has vanished; the pants I could use for my advantage, but now with my last sense of security gone, I'm completely vulnerable.

"You're breathtaking."

My eyes dart over to Damon's wide ones. He appears hypnotized, and the only thing moving are his eyes, scanning me up and down. My furious blush seems to consume me.

"Thanks," I respond quietly.

He breaks his trance and walks towards me. Landing a feather like kiss on my lips, he adds, "And I still have two more balls to go."

Winking, he lands another strike and looks up at me expectantly. My brain is running wild, desperately trying to decide. I grab my hand and start to twirl the ring on my middle finger.

What to do, what to do, what to...

I stare down at my hand, a wide grin crossing my face. I scrutinize Damon with a mischievous glare. He looks confused until I hold up my hand, take off my ring, and toss it onto the table.

His face falls, "That's not fair!"

"I don't play fair," I say while laughing.

"You're impossible, but I still have one more ball, so I'll get to watch you remove one of those pieces off of your delectable body," he says seductively.

I stop laughing. Oh yeah, I had forgotten that.

He sends me a crooked smile, eyes gleaming under the orange hue, while he makes probably the world's easiest shot straight to the corner. So I walk over to the room's corner to take off my bra. The rules are I have to remove the clothing, not turn around and show the world. I make my way to the back of the room, exceptionally dark because the low light just barely makes it this far, and reach my hands behind me to unclasp the hooks.

Without warning, both my wrists are grasped and abruptly placed against the corresponding walls. I feel my heart rate quicken.

"What are you doing!"

"I thought you could use a little help," he purrs.

Chills travel down my spine as he places his lips against the middle of my back, between my shoulder blades. He lays soft kisses down my spine before reaching the clasp. I'm waiting for him to let go of one of my wrists so he can unhook it, then I'll break free.

But it never comes.

Instead, I feel his teeth graze my skin before taking the clasp between his teeth. I gasp as I feel the straps pop open and fall to my side. My bra hangs loose and unguarded on my shoulders, and I try to calm my racing heart. Damon lifts his mouth to my neck, nipping my back along the way. I feel his warm breath slide against the skin below my hairline, and goose bumps sprout across my legs. And through all this, although I try to deny it, I can't help the arousal spreading within me, urging me to give in and satisfy it. I am hopelessly and desperately attracted to him, body and heart.

"What now, Kitten?"

I'm about to answer when I hear the door downstairs open and a sing-song voice carry out, "I'm home!"

Damon immediately releases me, "Fuck, my mother!"