Page 31 of Double or Nothing

Eli’s definitely got more steel than I have, but as I watch the two nervous lovebirds lighten up, just a tad, it brings out the inciter in me. I want to go big and go home. With both of them. And by the way these two are looking at each other, despite their pent-up nerves, I reckon they want a piece of the action too.

BT isn’t a guy I’d usually go for, and an abstract artist with her imagination high in cloud cuckoo land isn’t someone I’d usually want to play filthy games with. Quite the opposite, despite how hot she’s looking right now. I usually like it flesh on flesh purely for the thrill of the physical. Sex that gets the blood flowing without any emotion to dampen the dirty, but with these two it’s like a game of Cluedo. I want to get the answers to the flurry of questions building in my head. I suspect this mystery game goes deep.

I’ve pushed poor BT enough for now with the public kissing, so I ease it down and play dull, bringing the attention back to the safe zone.

“Tell me about your work, Alice,” I say, making sure my smile is interested. “The way the art screams from the canvas feels like it’s an echo of your soul.”

I don’t look at Bryce, even though I feel his stare burning like hot coals. He’d only distract me.

Alice shuffles in her seat as she takes another sip of champagne. And there’s the imposter syndrome, right there.

“It is from my soul,” she says.

“Tell me about your soul, then. It must be bursting with life to smash the canvas with such ferocity.”

Her smile is timid. I’d bet money her heart is racing. I’ve touched on something, and the door is slightly ajar, so fuck it, I opt to elbow my way into that motherfucker and force it open wide.

“Ah, I get it. You’re bottling it up, aren’t you? That soul,” I say. “I’ve met plenty of artists before, and I sense the same from you. The same kind of energy. Your art allows you to be yourself in a world that wants to box you in, holed up in the rules and restrictions of the mundane. Of convention.”

I can see the very whites of her eyes, so beautiful as they lock onto mine.

“I don’t ever do convention,” I say. “Believe me, I chiselled my own way through that repressive bullshit and set myself free. If I had any talent as an artist, maybe it’s a route I’d have taken myself.”

The second part of my pretentious waffle is a load of bullshit, but the first bit isn’t. I don’t ever do convention. It’s dull as all fuck. I did chisel my way through it a long time ago.

“So, where is your outlet?” she asks me. “If you chiselled your way through it, what tool did you use to get there?”

“Sex,” I say, simply. Then smile. “Sex and gambling.”

She laughs at that. “Glad I found my paintbrush first.”

“Really?” I pick my moment to lean in towards her, daring to put my hand on her knee. “Maybe you should give them a whizz before you dismiss them so easily. They may be more up your street than you think they are.”

Another beautiful widening of her eyes greets mine. Her legs tense up, but she doesn’t push me away.

“Jack!” BT chides, but I ignore him, my eyes digging hard into Alice.

There’s no doubt about it. This woman will be a pure firecracker when the hedonism of filthy fuck play sends her pussy into overdrive.

“I always express myself through my art, and it works for me,” Alice says, but her voice is weak. Flimsy.

“And how about right now? Does that beautiful soul of yours feel like bursting free through a different avenue?” I give a cheeky grin. “If not, tell me to fuck off, and we can sip champagne and talk about black lines and gold. It would be fine by me.”

Here is the moment.

The go big or go home.

“Jack!” BT says again, swatting me in the arm. “This isn’t appropriate. Alice isn’t like that. Stop it.”

The way her eyes snap to his speaks volumes. He’s taken the repression I’m digging into and jabbed it straight in the ribs.

“How the hell do you know?” she asks him, with a snip in her tone so sharp it could give a paper cut.

She clears her throat. Takes another swig of champagne, and my balls tingle as she lays down the ace card, opening her thighs just a touch as she looks back at me and not at Bryce.

“Maybe I am happy to try a different avenue,” she says. “Maybe I’m not such an uptight, boring little vanilla princess as he thinks I am.”

Oh, the silence. The beautiful silence.