Playing Poker with Old Foes

I was the last person to join the poker game and that suited me just fine.  It made me the wild card, the unknown variable.  Inexperienced players usually don’t adjust to changes well and these cats were no exception.  It took six hands for me to become the chip leader, a baker’s dozen before it was just the host and me at the table.

We took a short break so she could say proper valedictions to her dispatched friends and the game resumed with an understanding that a new one had begun.  Playing “heads-up” poker by definition differs from a full table, but our history complicates things.  Did I have an advantage because I could trace the arch of her hips from faded memories?  Did she have an advantage because she knew to kiss the exact spot where my neck meets torso that will buckle a knee?  I didn’t know.  I  did know that I had the bigger stack of chips but that she was dealing from a loaded deck.

Six hands were a virtual draw with us shuffling chips around the table but neither of us gaining tactical advantage.  In the seventh hand, I was slow playing a set of Cowboys and she was waiting for a straight draw after the flop.  As she contemplated her bet, I felt the heat of her with the crossing of her legs and leaning one against mine.

“Do you really think I’m going to show you a tell just because you’re resting your foot against my calve like it belongs there” I asked.

“You just did…” she said while pushing her cards to the middle of the table.  I told myself that it was a lucky guess but I knew she was right.

Suddenly aware of my breathing or vulnerability – it was a jump ball – I broke one of my poker rules and poured another bourbon.  When I returned to my seat I laid down a jack-ten off suit behind a pre-flop raise and her hand rested on my knee as if to say “I knew you would fold – and I’m only partially talking about the game.”

With the cards in my hands and the first shuffle underway, a hand returned to my knee and moved slowly up my thigh.  I wouldn’t make eye contact choosing to instead focus on the suddenly more complicated task of shuffling.  Another hand fell atop mine – I should have folded but I made a big bet.  I stood and rounded the corner of the table and kissed her.  It was instantly familiar: my left hand starting on her cheek and moving to her neck and hair; her right hand starting behind my thigh and moving to the small of my back.

I pulled Jordan from her chair to meet me.  With her facing away from me, she pressed her body to mine while my lips had a conversation with her neck.  There was urgency in her touch and mine. My fingers found the hem of her skirt, the soft of her skin.  Curving around her thigh until the temperature increased, I caught sight of her face in the mirror on the opposite wall.  Watching her closed eyes, slightly parted lips, I suddenly felt like I was spying on her moment.

Refocusing on Jordan, I undid the top button that had been begging for freedom all night.  Fingering the lace of the bra that I’m certain matches the panties, I appreciated the effort – liberating another button, then another until her blouse hangs open and my right hand roams unabated by fabric.

Jordan turned to face me and we kissed with the fervor of teenagers bumping against curfew.  Leaning against the dinning-turned poker table-turned erotic prop, Jordan wrapped a leg round mine until I lifted her onto the table.  Both of her legs are crossed behind me now and my hands wander up her back.  I consider undoing the clasp of her bra but stop myself for reasons I don’t know.

Urgency became insistence as Jordan unlatches my belt, trousers and zipper in rapid succession.  I raised her skirt past her thighs and over her hips, feeling a hint of a tremor on her skin.  Lace moved to the side, and Jordan took a deep and audible breath with me inside her and her nails in my back.

We moved quickly but deliberately in a slightly un-syncopated beat.  Taking off my shirt suddenly became an imperative for Jordan.  “I always hated this shirt” she moaned into my ear just before leaning back and ripping it open sending buttons across the room and me just a bit hotter for her.

Before long Jordan has reclined on the table in a sexy, spent mass.  I start to speak but am preempted by her “Shhhhh, not yet.”

We sat silently for a few minutes until she rose to extinguish the lights.  There was one playing card stuck against the salty sweetness of back.  It was the Ace of diamonds.

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6 Responses to Playing Poker with Old Foes

  1. k8 says:

    Was your intent to make me wet or what?

  2. citygirlblogs says:

    Quite a titillating post, Refugee! Your vivid images have left me rather flushed.

  3. April says:

    Wow is all I can say. All of a sudden, I feel I need someone to learn my tells.

  4. viewonderingnomad says:

    This is why I need to buy a dining room table. Incredibly erotic.

  5. Michelle says:

    wow. It’s a bit hot in here all of the sudden….
    I’m quite sure you are now officially my first blog crush.

  6. […] That last post of yours was, uhmm, well you know what it was.  If you’ve got that kind of chemistry with her why aren’t you with her? That post was pure fiction – pretty sure I labeled it that way – and was just something I wrote to exercise some prose.  I’ve done it before… and, no, I won’t say if it was inspired by anyone or anything in particular. […]

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