Pool Man by Sabrina York Read Free Book Online

judging from his expression, the way his attention kept drifting from his cards to my breasts, playing in the buff was an advantage for me.
    I made it a point to sigh heavily and suck in deep breaths and anything else I could do to jostle my bosom.
    Not that I would resort to cheating to win a hand of poker, but I would.
    Besides, it was hardly cheating, was it? I was just workin’ the hand I’d been dealt.
    No surprise, then, that I won the next hand.
    He tossed his cards down, showing a dismal display, and I had to wonder if he’d deliberately thrown the game. But I didn’t wonder long. I didn’t much care.
    “I won,” I said, splaying my neatly arranged cards.
    “I see that.” He leaned forward, his arms braced on the table. “What do you want?”
    I cracked my neck. Rubbed my nape. “You mentioned a massage?”
    His nostrils flared. “I believe I did.”
    “Well, that sounds awesome.”
    “Okay. Massage it is. With or without?”
    I scrunched up my nose. “With or without what?”
    “Oil?”
    Oh. Oh my.
    “Are we talking vegetable oil here?” Because, eww .
    His lips eased into a lazy, lusty smile. “Oh, ye of little faith. I have massage oils.” Of course he did. This was Marlee’s place. She would insist on it. I thrust the thought away. Locked it up with all the others clawing to escape the crowded cage in the back of my mind.
    “What, um, what kind of massage oils?”
    “Stinky ones.”
    “Stinky ones?”
    He winked. “You know. Jasmine. Rose. Peppermint.”
    “Which one do you like?” I didn’t want to smell like something he considered stinky .
    The question seemed to throw him. He stared at me, his mouth agape. Then he swallowed and murmured, “The vanilla. I like the vanilla.”
    His tone sent a shiver rippling over my skin. I was suddenly reminded that I was bare-assed naked in the breakfast nook with a near naked stud poised on the brink of meeting my every need, my every desire. “Vanilla it is.”
    Without a word, he stood and came around the table, holding out his hand. His palm was warm as it skimmed mine. The shiver became a tremble. As I rose, my attention snagged on something in his shorts. Something hard and long and prominent.
    Jesus God. He was aroused.
    Ready.
    I was too, but I wasn’t missing out on this massage. No way. No how.
    He led me back to the bedroom, the one done in black, where we’d made love before. As we made our way down the hall, he trickled his fingers up and down my spine. I sucked in a breath and reveled in his touch.
    I couldn’t wait for more.
    He went into the bathroom and emerged with a large bath towel, which he laid out on the duvet, and a bottle of oil. He nodded toward the bed. “Go on. On your tummy.”
    It occurred to me that I should protest his commanding tone. I was the one who had won the hand after all. But then it occurred to me that I didn’t mind the commanding tone. In fact, I quite liked it.
    So, watching him over my shoulder, I crawled onto the bed and poked my ass in his direction and, for good measure, waggled it. I didn’t expect the fervor that blazed in his eyes. The way his features went taut, then slack. The way his nostrils flared, like a stallion in heat. “Lie—” He cleared his throat. “Lie flat.”
    I complied, burying my head in my arms.
    The bed dipped as he sat down beside me. A moment later, the scent of vanilla filled the air and I heard him rubbing his hands together. “Warming it,” he said.
    “Mmm.” I was atingle with anticipation.
    Gently, he brushed my hair off my neck. I shivered at the whisper of his touch. Goose bumps rose on my arms and legs. The sudden stirring of the air kissed my sensitive skin.
    What was he waiting for—?
    And ah ! His hands, hard and warm and slick with the scented oil, came down on my shoulders. Broad palms eased over the tense muscles. “Relax,” he murmured. And he began to work.
    I had expected some playful rub-a-dub-dub, something superficial and